Monday, December 14, 2015

A whole lotta trees this year

How is it already 3 months since I've written anything new here? They have been a busy 3 months, I guess. Those are my trees. All, um, 10 of them, which means I'm behind on my paper trees advent calendar. But since it is supposed to be for fun and relaxation, that's okay.

The far right - those are many of the NYTimes I did and didn't read this year. Some crosswords worked, others just left completely ignored. On the far left - the Economist tree.

I've been out of touch with many friends these last three months, too, and am finally catching up. And remembering how good it is to talk with friends. About parenting struggles, about relationships, about life. I've been reminded that sometimes a TV show for both kids makes you a BETTER mother, and that other people struggle with their kids, too. I've been shown just acceptance and understanding. It is a huge gift to get, when you're struggling with all the supposed "best" things you can do for your kids. And I've looked forward to every single visit, coffee, and spa night. Because they are not about telling each other what we could be doing better, or should be doing. They are about listening and commiserating. They fill my empty mothering gas tank with ideas to try but also with the knowledge that I'm engaged in a difficult activity and not just falling flat on my face because I'm worse at it than others. There has never been a "God loves you" or "may Jesus bless you" or "I'm praying for you" that has helped me as much as 15 min with an understanding friend. No "we at least you have..." that has given me the renewed energy to try again to find compassion and kindness with kranky children.

Merry Christmas, you all.

Friday, September 25, 2015

Judgement day...

is every day! At least on Facebook. Let me be the first to admit that I am probably about to judge a whole mess of people in what follows.

Judgement has come up in a number of places this week - from The Mother Dance (a great little read about stories of motherhood from a woman therapist whose other books I've been through), to a new group I just joined on Facebook - the Grumpy Expat. What took me so long?! That group is my tribe. A place where you are supposed to complain about expat life instead of being eternally grateful and in awe of this wonderful place. All places suck at some level (and excel at other levels), so go ahead and bitch about it.

What is odd (but not really, because this happens in specialty groups all the time, right?) is that there are people who judge the grumping on that group because refugees from Syria and because it's not a problem of racism, it's an opportunity to open your own store! Really? First of all, it is a group called Grumpy Expat. Don't join if you love it here and have no bad days you want to share. Second, it's called Grumpy Expat stop judging people who are being grumpy and start stepping up with those stories of little things that make you swear under your breath. There was even a healthy dose of "white not grumpy expat man giving someone grief for interpreting her not white grumpy woman's experiences differently than his." Dude, you're behind even the old, white, astronomy dudes in how clueless you are about your privilege. That's embarrassing.

Back to the book. And another book that is on our parental reading list (I read, mark where I stop, transfer to M, he reads, marks where he stops....), Scream-Free Parenting. Both have been mentioning how heavily judged parents (especially mothers) are. And how damaging it is to feel responsible for your kids' behavior - they are individuals. You can't force them to do anything, if you're not willing to kill their spirit, so stop using their behavior as something that says anything about you. They throw a tantrum - that's them, not some embarrassment to your parenting. And anyone who says otherwise can just get over themselves. Guilt, says the Mother Dance book, is a great way for society to get you to spend all your emotional energy worrying about making mistakes and trying harder to be a good mother (or a good father), instead of having the waking moment available to question societal norms about what a "good" mother is anyway.

We had our annual daycare parent teacher conference this afternoon. I arrived 30 minutes late because 14.00h is not the same as 4:00pm. It is two hours earlier. Oops. My husband had been there for the first 30 min, and we tag team switched when I arrived. And now that this is kid number two, who is also doing great at daycare, and behaving much better (less throwing of food, dish, anything on the table items; less whining; less baby bottle using) than at home, I'm ready to learn from our first child. He is able to do all sorts of stuff at daycare, but not at home? Great. He's learning that somewhere and hopefully that translates to behavior in public. At home, I'm just going to have to get over the baby bottle thing and remember that A took a long time to give away her pacifier and is still a great kid. Who can eat without food falling out between her upper and lower teeth because THE PACIFIER DIDN'T LEAVE HER MOUTH HELPLESSLY DISFIGURED after all. Go figure.


Thursday, July 9, 2015

Maybe she's born with it, maybe it's....totally not what I think.

She's probably my age. Over 40. She is heavily pregnant, on the hottest week of the last 6 years here in Zurich, and she's walking along the sidewalk holding hands with a 3 1/2 year old on one side and a 2 year old on the other. She's sort of smiling. No one is screaming. She's wearing skinny pregnancy jeans.

And suddenly all the little props I've given myself this last week, for keeping two kids basically hydrated and safe from sunburn, and a dog away from heat exhaustion, kind of seem little. Small. Ridiculous. How does she do it? How does anyone with more than 2 kids do it? How am I so lost with my paltry two children and measly 25% work?

Luckily, the next thing that comes to mind is the conversation from the other day with a mom of two from our daycare. And her story of one preemie and both kids being born within an hour (one, single, 60 minute hour) of the start of her contractions. Her good memories of birth. Her story that once again brought to mind how silly words are. She's given birth and I've given birth. To two kids each, roughly at the same time in history, and in the same place. Yet there are oceans and mountains of difference between our experiences. To the point where you almost shouldn't call them by the same term. Or at least we should start inventing a multitude of terms for "birth", to distinguish all the varieties it takes on - varieties of happy and sad, joyous and disappointing or scary, long or short, easy or hard. Why do we use just that one word?

And this brings me to remember comments I've gotten about birth and pregnancy and motherhood. The women who sound upset that my second child is so young and yet I've got no extra weight to speak of. I know that tone - it takes up a lot of time in my head, that "how come you got that and I didn't?" feeling. And if we don't have much time to talk, they don't know that I'm on antidepressants, on part time work, that I didn't eat milk products or onions or garlic for 4 months after my second was born. They don't know that the choices I've made are mostly due to fear - of not sleeping because my baby's tummy is upset, of being desolate and depressed, of having back pain. So I should be assuming that behind every smiling parent pushing a twin stroller is a story as well, instead of berating myself for being less than because I've seen the perfect moment by chance.

Thursday, June 11, 2015

Because the bare minimum is actually good enough

Oh the vaccum cleaner. I've posted before how it is said to have damned all future generations of people who have a space that could be vacuumed. Before its invention, that level of clean would not have been sane.

I've had long lists in my life these last few weeks. In my head, on my phone, on scraps of paper. And although no one is ill, and I'm getting enough sleep and even enough me time (meaning, some each day), I've barely made a scratch. I'm not overworked. My house is most often a mess. My husband has pretty much taken over doing the dishes. But I keep choosing to rest or read or sit, instead of checking just one more thing of my list.

The things I actually check off, I've realized, are the only things that need to be on my list. And that is what I get done - I make sure Baby J has enough milk for an evening and morning bottle. I make sure we have something for dinner (we can discuss the quality of dinners lately...no one is starving, but we all get by with an extra yogurt to make up for some of what I've been cooking). I make sure the dog is covered for walks and food. I do the things on my work list. I pay the bills.

All else is non-essential. The clothes to recycle. The shoes and books to give away. The dress for my daughter to make out of my husband's Star Wars t-shirt. Picking up after pretty much anyone in the house (including myself) except on cleaning woman day.

And at the end of the day, no one has fallen ill because of a book I haven't sent to a friend, or that broken pane of glass that has sat there for over a month now. It will get done. It is out of kid reach, and it will get done.

So enough with all the shoulds. Bare minimum, plus an extra ice cream after kindergarten, is more than enough.

Tuesday, May 19, 2015

So, how come the men don't have to wear heels?

I've been thinking lately about shoes. My shoes. More specifically, my feet. They don't like many shoes anymore. They never liked many shoes, but these days they seem to like even less. Like heels. They top out at about 2" high cowboy boot heels. And as I've been thinking about how to keep getting rid of clothing, shoes have come under attack here at my house.

There are so many shoes of my size, even (these days a women's 11 or 12 depending on the shape of the toe part), that don't fit me or hurt my feet after only 30 minutes of walking around. I was going to write a post about flat shoes soon. About my hunt for nice, comfy, beautiful, funky flat shoes and my getting rid of my last two pairs of heels.

And then this showed up somewhere in my online reading today. It reads like it may or may not be true. But it doesn't sound far fetched to me.

*sigh*

Tuesday, May 12, 2015

Summer and shorts are back

I've had hairy, unshaven legs now for going on 2 years.

In that time I think I've seen one other woman with legs that were not shaved - there is of course the Hairy Legs Club tumblr, but I mean in person. I still don't think they look glamorous. I still don't wear my girliest clothes with them. But I also haven't spent a single minute on leg hair removal in two years.

It's funny, arm hair doesn't look unfeminine to me for some reason. Mine isn't as dark as my leg hair, so that could be part of the reason, but it surprises me how much my own gaze in the mirror stops me from wearing certain clothes with hairy legs.

After having, and nursing, a second baby, I've also lost much of what I used to have up top. My breasts are not coming back, and since they weren't very big to begin with, I've also been spending a lot of days without a bra. Deflategate on my own body comes at a lucky time because recently there seem to be more women in the media spotlight who are protesting how freaked out we get by female nipples. Tiny bikinis are fine, as are male nipples and breasts, but whoa, a female nipple?! Put that thing away. Because,...it is...the only one....that's....um...actually useful?

Men don't have a single purpose for their nipples. Women have evolved to breastfeed babies, and we know they have nipples. Why do they have to pretend they don't?

The other day, my 5 year old daughter saw a guy rollerblading by without a shirt on. And she wanted some of that freedom for riding her bike, too. So, off came her shirt, on came a LOT of sunscreen, and she went on her merry way around the square. And it didn't matter. People here in Zurich are less unsettled by kids being naked at play, but mostly people probably thought she was a boy. Because her hair is cut short (her choice) and "boys can take their shirts off"....otherwise, there is no other way to know if she is a girl or boy because at that age there are no differences when the pants are on. Especially if it takes a short haircut or lack of shirt to indicate to people she might be a boy. The only way people decide is by whether a child is "acting like a girl" or "acting like a boy".  Nature, my ass.

Monday, May 11, 2015

Just a day in May

It has been so long since I've written and that usually means that each day that goes by it seems like I should have something even more epic to write. But we all know that isn't how it works.

So here I am. Just because I haven't been in a while.

There are some things I think I've finally learned with the second baby in the house.

1. My clothes aren't "everywhere" for no reason. The more places I store reasonably clean jeans, t-shirt and pajamas, the more likely it is I can wear something reasonably clean even if baby J is sleeping in the room that holds my closet. Same goes for A's and M's clothing. It isn't chaos, its a PLAN.

2. You have to give things up to get other things in life - it is a zero sum game. I needed to simplify life last month, and in addition to getting off of Facebook and Candy Crush for 30 days, I finally started to clean out my closets, inspired by the recent "capsule wardrobe" trend. (Disclaimer: I'm working on a modified capsule wardrobe that does, in fact, include yoga pants and such, because see number 3 below).

3. Whatever you wear at the dining table is basically an extension of the baby's bib. Don't wear black. Or what you plan to wear to work that day. Or anything that doesn't incorporate 3-4 pastel babyfood colors in riotous print. Unless you want to change after the meal.

4. Part of simplifying was getting extra trips to the second hand store in to donate old clothes. So something else had to give. Some days, that was recycling and I just tossed glass babyfood jars in the garbage instead of taking 30 seconds to clean them. Having less clothing and toys around as a result of that time that was reallocated has made a net positive difference in my life.

5. Sleep training was useful last year, but really, apart from letting baby J cry a bit to settle into naps, we are finally getting enough sleep that it is okay by us if he still wakes once a night some nights. Or takes a bottle. Actually, this point is about the power of waiting (or rather, being able to wait because the way things are isn't damaging to health and happiness of the family) until a child is developmentally more than ready for a next step. And the calm that it brings and the minutes or hours it returns to your life. The number of times I fought with A about her pacifier, trying to get her to give it up at 1 year old, 1.5, 2 and 2.5 and 3 years old...those add up to a lot of lost time I could have just chilled out. Rested. Or had a better interaction with her. Because, when she was ready to give it up at 3.5 years, it took 2 nights of 15 min crying each. Done, easy. Trying to push a child at the first possible moment he or she is ready takes way more work than waiting when they're totally ready and maybe a bit past ready. What a difference in quality of relationship it makes!

That's what I've got today.

6. I almost forgot - conditioner. As far as my hair is concerned, the only thing conditioner does for me is make it necessary for me to wash my hair the next day because by then it looks greasy. I'm done for a while with conditioner. I shampoo and leave it. For 3 days sometimes, and it looks just fine. It makes conditioner and hair products seem like a total scam.

Sunday, February 8, 2015

...and a partridge in a pear tree

If we'd only kept him home this year.

I think we would have had less sick days.

Then again, have to get them out of the way sometime, right?

So here's the current list:
rotovirus twice (this time, like yesterday and today, with a significant amount of vomiting),
5 days of pink-eye (on the tail end of a 3-day fever), two weeks ago,
3 rounds of croup,
1 ear infection,
lots and lots of runny noses,
and constant teething.

Whew.

Thursday, January 29, 2015

Where did women's shoes go?

Seriously, what is up with women's shoes?

I got my annual fix of "trying on more shoes that fit than I wanted to buy" while back in the US over Christmas. Peanut butter, cranberries, Cheerios,...these goods have all made it to Switzerland. Women's shoes for a size 42/43 foot? Not so much.

My stomping grounds in America are Zappos.com, and a DSW store near downtown Chicago. Many a happy purchase has been made through each. This time, as well.

But the last few years I've noticed that more and more often, some of the purchases in a store have to come from the men's section. Not just because of size but because while men's shoes are still mostly made of leather, women's shoes are increasingly constructed of vinyl, Kleenex, cheap cloth and fruit rollups. What gives? Not only do we have to wear high heels but now they dissolve upon contact with water, mud, grass, and,....well, air.

Pair of black, lace-up boots - women's models looked like they were for playing dress-up and not for walking in. I may be missing something, but my personal car service has yet to materialize and I find myself still walking. Outside. For 10s of minutes a day.

Anyway, this is a pretty punky post for such a long absence, but I'll just say the the anti-depressants are settling into my system quite well and I'm feeling better. My fuse is longer, my reserves are higher, I sleep better, and I can even watch someone else breastfeed and not be upset in any way. Besides, with the arrival of teeth 7 and 8, little baby J has now taken to biting skin, hard, as a way to snuggle. I think. He bites, I yell "ow!", he smiles with his tongue out in a sort of mischievous way. It is cute and very thankfully not directed at any mammary glands in the house.