So, I think I might have mentioned that I have a little part-time job. I work from home while Baby is asleep. It took a while to get used to working at night when all I wanted to do was lounge on the couch with a heaping TV-full of Netflix Surprise. Luckily, I like the work I'm doing. I'm working from a research grant for a law professor who is researching an writing state and federal anti-pornography legislation.
It's been really fun to dig into legal research again, especially about freedom of speech on the Internet (or suppression of harmful material on the Internet, depending on your point of view). As you might expect, I am pretty strongly against pornography, but I am also pretty strongly in favor of free speech. While it's uncomfortable sometimes to read the pro-porn arguments, it feels good to be more informed about the whole issue, and it feels really good to be able to skewer the pro-porn arguments.
I'm pretty sure that I'm happier with a job than I was without a job, but I'm not ready to categorically state that stay-home moms will be happier with jobs because I know for a fact that some of them won't. Here are the things about my job which make me happy:
1) It takes intellectual energy and skills that I know I have
2) It consistently rewards me with both money and/or headpats
3) It doesn't make Baby's life any worse, and it probaby makes it better
4) It helps people
Other non-job things might also meet these criteria. I just read a fabulous book about a stay-home mom who spent every evening entering jingle-writing contests. I read another book about a stay-home mom in Africa who ran a medical clinic out of her kitchen. I know a woman who writes for multiple popular blogs. Another woman I know writes tons and tons of letters to her congressperson. My Relief Society president is a stay-home mom.
Now that I think about it, the happiest stay-home moms I know are the ones who do something on top of their momming. In fact, I'm pretty sure I can say I don't know a single happy mom who only takes care of her house and her children. It's not that House and Baby couldn't use all of my waking hours, it's just that House and Baby don't take intellectual energy and don't reward me with money or headpats.
Tuesday, January 29, 2008
Saturday, January 12, 2008
Lessons
Baby had his first parent-tot swimming lesson today. There's something about seeing a little boy splashing around and laughing that makes you just want to kiss him right up. He loved it, and I consider the experience a success in spite of the fact that he didn't manage to master the skill of the day (kicking). He came home and had the easiest going-down-for-a-nap time he's had in weeks.
Baby has also been going to parent-tot tumbling. Basically, a local tumbling place opens early once a week and lets kids, five and under, come play on the equipment for an hour with their parents. Baby is really good at running up and down the ramps (he has a thing for ramps, as I think I've mentioned before), and last week he mustered up the courage to jump into the pit of foam rubber blocks all my himself.
Why, you may ask, is this woman putting her child in extra-curriculars before the child is even old enough for the "curricular?" Am I a competitive, pushy mother who must see her child succeed prodigiously at something? Am I a free-thinking mother who wishes to maximize her son's options by allowing him to explore interests at a ridiculously early age? Am I a bored mother with too much time and money and a willing child to use it up?
No. I am a mother who is tired of having a cranky baby with nothing to do on these January days except watch "Curious George" and "Learning About Numbers" for the millionth time.
Baby has also been going to parent-tot tumbling. Basically, a local tumbling place opens early once a week and lets kids, five and under, come play on the equipment for an hour with their parents. Baby is really good at running up and down the ramps (he has a thing for ramps, as I think I've mentioned before), and last week he mustered up the courage to jump into the pit of foam rubber blocks all my himself.
Why, you may ask, is this woman putting her child in extra-curriculars before the child is even old enough for the "curricular?" Am I a competitive, pushy mother who must see her child succeed prodigiously at something? Am I a free-thinking mother who wishes to maximize her son's options by allowing him to explore interests at a ridiculously early age? Am I a bored mother with too much time and money and a willing child to use it up?
No. I am a mother who is tired of having a cranky baby with nothing to do on these January days except watch "Curious George" and "Learning About Numbers" for the millionth time.
Thursday, January 10, 2008
Weddings
I just came home from a pre-wedding dinner for my cousin. Weddings are great. I wish my friends were still getting married all the time. The couple getting married is matchy-match perfect for each other. I'm pretty sure that no one thought that at my wedding, but everyone thought that at this one.
It's so cute. They will get married tomorrow, and then they'll get tons of presents including a set of plates with roosters on them which they will never take out of the box, and they'll set up their first little housey together, and then they'll fight like crazy about stupid things, but they'll realize how stupid they are and then they'll be even more in love with each other, and then one of them will go to law school and the other will help her study, and they'll go to Washington, DC for a summer internship where one will work for a public interest law firm specializing in legal services for disabled veterans and the other will work for a Latin American political publication, and then she'll get pregnant during her third year of law school, and she'll have to drastically change her career plans, and they'll have a baby who will change their lives forever . . .
I'm so excited for them. I love weddings.
It's so cute. They will get married tomorrow, and then they'll get tons of presents including a set of plates with roosters on them which they will never take out of the box, and they'll set up their first little housey together, and then they'll fight like crazy about stupid things, but they'll realize how stupid they are and then they'll be even more in love with each other, and then one of them will go to law school and the other will help her study, and they'll go to Washington, DC for a summer internship where one will work for a public interest law firm specializing in legal services for disabled veterans and the other will work for a Latin American political publication, and then she'll get pregnant during her third year of law school, and she'll have to drastically change her career plans, and they'll have a baby who will change their lives forever . . .
I'm so excited for them. I love weddings.
Saturday, December 29, 2007
And so another phase begins
My baby is graduating from Mommy-and-Me type playing with other kids to My-Buddies-and-Me type playing, where I just watch and let him do his own thing with the other kids. It's weird to watch him playing at day-care or nursery without my constant commentary ("Look, Baby, this is Nora! Say hi to Nora! Can you share? Share your truck with Nora? Hooray for Baby! Baby shared his truck with Nora! You want your truck back from Nora? Can you say please? OK, Nora has decided to play with the truck for a little longer! Can you be patient? Can you wait for Nora to finish? OK, Nora's all done now! Now you can play with the truck again! Can you say thank you? Thank you, Nora!"). Instead I watch through a little window in the door and hope my commentary about sharing, patience, please, and thank you will prevent him and the other children from being bullied, ignored, or ostracized.
Last night at the Extended Family Christmas Party, Baby toddled into the basketball court where a bunch of kids were playing a variation on dodge ball that involved rolling a volleyball under the volleyball net.
I watched from the doorway as Baby shuffled back and forth through the middle of the game. He was already in his feetie-jammies, and he was by far the youngest kid there, so I was a little nervous about potential slippings or clonkings.
Even though rolling a ball more than about two feet is beyond his immediate ability, he laughed and clapped for all of the other kids who did it, which they appreciated. And then the other kids were classy enough to stop the game and let him try to throw the ball. When he gave it his best one-year-old effort, they all clapped for him. Baby happens to think that all humans between two and four feet are about the coolest ever, so he was deliriously happy when they clapped for him. When the game dissolved into some kind of running around in lines game, they were so sweet about not bumping into him, but also running close enough to him that he didn't feel deserted. He loved it! I loved it! What a great party!
Non-Mom playing? Bring it on.
Last night at the Extended Family Christmas Party, Baby toddled into the basketball court where a bunch of kids were playing a variation on dodge ball that involved rolling a volleyball under the volleyball net.
I watched from the doorway as Baby shuffled back and forth through the middle of the game. He was already in his feetie-jammies, and he was by far the youngest kid there, so I was a little nervous about potential slippings or clonkings.
Even though rolling a ball more than about two feet is beyond his immediate ability, he laughed and clapped for all of the other kids who did it, which they appreciated. And then the other kids were classy enough to stop the game and let him try to throw the ball. When he gave it his best one-year-old effort, they all clapped for him. Baby happens to think that all humans between two and four feet are about the coolest ever, so he was deliriously happy when they clapped for him. When the game dissolved into some kind of running around in lines game, they were so sweet about not bumping into him, but also running close enough to him that he didn't feel deserted. He loved it! I loved it! What a great party!
Non-Mom playing? Bring it on.
Sick Baby Christmas
I hope all ya'll had a Merry Christmas and that you're winding up the old year with panache.
Baby was sick on Christmas. It is sad to see an otherwise boisterous and energetic child drooping and flushed with a fever. Especially on Christmas when people actually want him to do cute funny things and they are finally free to pay attention to him. On the other hand, I have to admit that it was pretty blissful to sit in my big blue chair for an hour with a Baby's warm head on my shoulder and arms around my neck. While I read a book. This is something that could never happen if Baby weren't sick. Is it shameful to say that I secretly loved it?
Anyway, he's better now and back to his old boisterous self. All things considered, I would one-hundred times rather have a healthy boisterous baby than a sick snuggly baby. In fact, Husband called me this morning from Grandma's house to say "[Baby]'s being naughty again. It's awesome."
Baby was sick on Christmas. It is sad to see an otherwise boisterous and energetic child drooping and flushed with a fever. Especially on Christmas when people actually want him to do cute funny things and they are finally free to pay attention to him. On the other hand, I have to admit that it was pretty blissful to sit in my big blue chair for an hour with a Baby's warm head on my shoulder and arms around my neck. While I read a book. This is something that could never happen if Baby weren't sick. Is it shameful to say that I secretly loved it?
Anyway, he's better now and back to his old boisterous self. All things considered, I would one-hundred times rather have a healthy boisterous baby than a sick snuggly baby. In fact, Husband called me this morning from Grandma's house to say "[Baby]'s being naughty again. It's awesome."
Thursday, December 20, 2007
My Favorite Christmas Painting
This painting is on display at BYU's museum of art right now. It makes me ache.
Saturday, December 15, 2007
Why I'm not a Homeowner
My really great landlord has spent far more money on my apartment than we've paid in rent the last few months. Since we've moved in, we've had our carpets cleaned, our windows replaced, our walls painted, our shower drains snaked, and our furnaces cleaned. On top of that, we have the apartment managers to take out the trash cans, mow the lawns, rake the leaves, even change the light bulbs. Then last week, the main sewage line for the house ruptured, dumping, you know, sewage into the unfinished basement. So we had more inspectors, a flood repair company, and plumbers come check it all out, clean it all up, and replace all of the plumbing.
Mind you, it hasn't been a picnic dealing with all of this home improvement, but it has made me really glad that we are renters and not owners. While I can appreciate the many wonderful things that homeowners enjoy, I am also experienced enough to also appreciate all of the nastiness associated with owning a little piece of paradise with faulty plumbing. And I've read enough property law cases to appreciate all of the really horrible things that could happen to an otherwise savvy buyer. And I don't have any money. So there you have it. No real property for me. Not yet anyway.
Every couple of years of my adult life, I graduate into another phase of adult development. First I would see all of my friends going through it, and then I would go through it (I'm a bit of a late bloomer when it comes to development). First all of my friends got married (and I became an expert on bridal shower gifts), and then I got married. All of my friends started having babies (baby shower gifts), and then I had a baby. Now all of my friends are buying houses (house warming gifts (if I get around to it, what with the husband and the baby)), and I'm getting nervous that I might catch the bug.
I think it's kind of weird for people to never want to get married, or once they are married to never want to have children. I can understand not wanting to get married immediately, and I also happen to think that anyone can have a happy life if they don't get married and/or have children. But isn't it a basic human impulse to want a committed relationship? And have children? When I hear about someone wanting to never come near these things, I can't help thinking they're being more than a little immature. Because I used to feel that way, but, like I said, I moved on to the next phase.
That's what worries me. I never want to own a house. No picket fence, no swingset, no vegetable garden. Is it a sign of arrested development to want to rent forever?
Mind you, it hasn't been a picnic dealing with all of this home improvement, but it has made me really glad that we are renters and not owners. While I can appreciate the many wonderful things that homeowners enjoy, I am also experienced enough to also appreciate all of the nastiness associated with owning a little piece of paradise with faulty plumbing. And I've read enough property law cases to appreciate all of the really horrible things that could happen to an otherwise savvy buyer. And I don't have any money. So there you have it. No real property for me. Not yet anyway.
Every couple of years of my adult life, I graduate into another phase of adult development. First I would see all of my friends going through it, and then I would go through it (I'm a bit of a late bloomer when it comes to development). First all of my friends got married (and I became an expert on bridal shower gifts), and then I got married. All of my friends started having babies (baby shower gifts), and then I had a baby. Now all of my friends are buying houses (house warming gifts (if I get around to it, what with the husband and the baby)), and I'm getting nervous that I might catch the bug.
I think it's kind of weird for people to never want to get married, or once they are married to never want to have children. I can understand not wanting to get married immediately, and I also happen to think that anyone can have a happy life if they don't get married and/or have children. But isn't it a basic human impulse to want a committed relationship? And have children? When I hear about someone wanting to never come near these things, I can't help thinking they're being more than a little immature. Because I used to feel that way, but, like I said, I moved on to the next phase.
That's what worries me. I never want to own a house. No picket fence, no swingset, no vegetable garden. Is it a sign of arrested development to want to rent forever?
Sunday, December 09, 2007
Earning His Keep
Baby is learning some chores. Here's what he's got so far:
1) Closing drawers, cupboards, and refridgerator doors
2) Putting his toys in his toy box (he also likes to put them in his crib)
3) Swishing the toilet brush around in the toilet bowl
4) Putting his feet in his shoes
5) Wiping a sponge around on the kitchen floor
6) Pushing the vacuum (with Mom's supervision)
7) Emptying the dishwasher (we're working on where the dishes actually go . . .)
8) Stirring mixing bowls
Isn't he cool? I think so too. No, I'm not interested in your questions about whether his doing these little jobs actually saves me time or effort. I'd also prefer not to consider whether his ability to obey and help with clean-up coincides with an increased ability to make messes. That's not the point, see? The point is that he is a happy, obedient, sweet-natured (if a bit over-inquisitive) little guy who makes his mother very proud.
1) Closing drawers, cupboards, and refridgerator doors
2) Putting his toys in his toy box (he also likes to put them in his crib)
3) Swishing the toilet brush around in the toilet bowl
4) Putting his feet in his shoes
5) Wiping a sponge around on the kitchen floor
6) Pushing the vacuum (with Mom's supervision)
7) Emptying the dishwasher (we're working on where the dishes actually go . . .)
8) Stirring mixing bowls
Isn't he cool? I think so too. No, I'm not interested in your questions about whether his doing these little jobs actually saves me time or effort. I'd also prefer not to consider whether his ability to obey and help with clean-up coincides with an increased ability to make messes. That's not the point, see? The point is that he is a happy, obedient, sweet-natured (if a bit over-inquisitive) little guy who makes his mother very proud.
Our Christmas Party
On Friday night I threw a church Christmas dinner party for 150 people. It was a success, but I'm still so tired. Some people get energized by throwing parties. I guess I do too, but only if certain elements are in place:
1) I have people helping me whom I trust to get things done
2) I feel like there's a really good reason for the party
3) I like all of the activities we're doing at the party
4) I have enough money to afford the party
5) I know and love all of the people who are invited to the party
So, for example, when I threw a surprise party for my husband's birthday, I loved every minute of it from the invitations to the food ordering to the quick cover-up when the babysitter wrecked the surprise at the last minute ("have fun at your surprise party!") Same thing when I threw parties and socials at the law school. By my third year, I'll tell you what, I had law school pizza parties down to a science, and I loved it, loved it.
None of the elements were in place for the party on Friday. This didn't mean the party was doomed to failure--it just meant that, instead of enjoying it, I stressed my guts out putting the party together. I didn't know the other people on my party-planning committee very well; I didn't feel like there was any particular reason to have the party exactly the way we did last year; I wasn't jazzed about a lot of the things we were doing; I was constantly worried that we were out of money; and I only knew the names of about 30% of the people there.
But like I said: it was a success. We found free decorations at the last minute, extra people came to help set up, we got a discount on the food, the other people on the committee turned out to be completely dependable, the numbers came out right for seating and food, and my parents had paid for eleven years of piano lessons so I could fill in for the background music when we forgot to bring a CD player (this also served to soothe my nerves while everyone arrived). Everyone left satisfied.
But it's all worth it for the one really cool thing that happened. I hadn't managed to get a Santa Claus to come to the party, which I was really sad about because I knew a lot of people wanted to have one (even though the traditional Santa's lap sitting is one of the things I think is unnecessary at a church Christmas party). Anyway, three minutes before the party started, Husband flew in with an S on his chest and found a Santa, a costume, candy canes for the kids, and a photographer. For free. While I was tinkling away at the piano. Did I mention that I'm married to him? And I love him wildly?
1) I have people helping me whom I trust to get things done
2) I feel like there's a really good reason for the party
3) I like all of the activities we're doing at the party
4) I have enough money to afford the party
5) I know and love all of the people who are invited to the party
So, for example, when I threw a surprise party for my husband's birthday, I loved every minute of it from the invitations to the food ordering to the quick cover-up when the babysitter wrecked the surprise at the last minute ("have fun at your surprise party!") Same thing when I threw parties and socials at the law school. By my third year, I'll tell you what, I had law school pizza parties down to a science, and I loved it, loved it.
None of the elements were in place for the party on Friday. This didn't mean the party was doomed to failure--it just meant that, instead of enjoying it, I stressed my guts out putting the party together. I didn't know the other people on my party-planning committee very well; I didn't feel like there was any particular reason to have the party exactly the way we did last year; I wasn't jazzed about a lot of the things we were doing; I was constantly worried that we were out of money; and I only knew the names of about 30% of the people there.
But like I said: it was a success. We found free decorations at the last minute, extra people came to help set up, we got a discount on the food, the other people on the committee turned out to be completely dependable, the numbers came out right for seating and food, and my parents had paid for eleven years of piano lessons so I could fill in for the background music when we forgot to bring a CD player (this also served to soothe my nerves while everyone arrived). Everyone left satisfied.
But it's all worth it for the one really cool thing that happened. I hadn't managed to get a Santa Claus to come to the party, which I was really sad about because I knew a lot of people wanted to have one (even though the traditional Santa's lap sitting is one of the things I think is unnecessary at a church Christmas party). Anyway, three minutes before the party started, Husband flew in with an S on his chest and found a Santa, a costume, candy canes for the kids, and a photographer. For free. While I was tinkling away at the piano. Did I mention that I'm married to him? And I love him wildly?
Tuesday, December 04, 2007
The Season to be Jolly . . .
. . . that I am not gearing for law school finals. At this moment, my living room is full of law students studying how narrowly tailored a law has to be before a state may use its general police power to infringe on a parent's right to direct the upbringing of a child. I am blissfully blogging away.
Law school was awesome--it really was, but Christmas is Christmas, not study-like-crazy time. I gave up seven Christmas seasons to test preparation. I missed every festivity, I did no shopping, I did no decorating, I made no baked goods, and I didn't look out any frosted window panes until the last day of finals on December 22 or so. That meant I had all of three days to get into the Christmas spirit. And I wondered why I was such a Grinch. It wasn't until last Christmas that I realized what I was missing.
Besides being just generally awesome, Christmas with a baby is a whole new holiday. For example, yesterday I dressed my baby in red pajamas that said "HO HO HO" across the bum. He has a little finger puppet nativity set that he plays with every day. I'm trying really hard to get him to say "Hey!" after I sing, "One horse open sleigh." He looks out the window every morning and says "'No?" meaning "May I play in the snow please, Mother?" Hello? Christmas spirit anyone?
Law school was awesome--it really was, but Christmas is Christmas, not study-like-crazy time. I gave up seven Christmas seasons to test preparation. I missed every festivity, I did no shopping, I did no decorating, I made no baked goods, and I didn't look out any frosted window panes until the last day of finals on December 22 or so. That meant I had all of three days to get into the Christmas spirit. And I wondered why I was such a Grinch. It wasn't until last Christmas that I realized what I was missing.
Besides being just generally awesome, Christmas with a baby is a whole new holiday. For example, yesterday I dressed my baby in red pajamas that said "HO HO HO" across the bum. He has a little finger puppet nativity set that he plays with every day. I'm trying really hard to get him to say "Hey!" after I sing, "One horse open sleigh." He looks out the window every morning and says "'No?" meaning "May I play in the snow please, Mother?" Hello? Christmas spirit anyone?
Sunday, November 18, 2007
Learning Playgroup Etiquette
Maggie, a character from the book "Breathing Lessons," thinks that the reason she wasn't a very good disciplinarian for her children was that she always felt pity for them. Anne Tyler, the author of "Breating Lessons," says that she rarely writes from children's points of view because she doesn't want her readers to have to relive the horrible period that is childhood. I wouldn't classify every childhood as horrible, but lately, I've been feeling a lot of pity for children in general, especially one- to three-year-olds who are learning how to be nice to each other.
Baby's been spending a lot of time on play dates and in nurseries, and, as I watch these kids, it's fairly obvious to me that kids don't naturally get warm fuzzies from being nice to each other. The only reasons they will share toys are 1) because they are modeling other, more dominant people, or 2) they expect some kind of reward for being good or punishment for being naughty.
It takes an enormous amount of self control for them to behave, and playgroup social rules are kind of complicated. You are encouraged to play with toys, but you may not take the toys from other kids, no matter how appealing the other kid makes the toy look. If a grown-up offers a toy to you, you should take it. You should not cry if you are sad, only if you are pushed on purpose, and then you must cry loudly if you want the wrong to be righted. If you are pushed, you must permit the offender to give you a hug and a kiss, even though the hug is just as likely to knock you down as the push. You may not push the hugger or run away. Snacks from Mom's diaper bag may be eaten, but you may not take snacks from other diaper bags or from other kids. You must share your snacks with other kids if they show an interest. Snacks may not be eaten once they fall in the sandbox, and sand may not be eaten either. You must clap after other kids successfully go down the slide or after someone sings a song, and you may expect other kids to clap for you, but you may not force them to clap for you. You must show interest in new babies in infant carriers, but you may only touch softly. The infants do not have to touch you softly.
Maybe I should use my legal training to draft a more formal statutory code for playgroup rules, complete with suggested criminal sentencing and civil penalties for the rule breakers and their caregivers. Hmm.
Anyway, Baby is learning these yet-to-be-codified rules surprisingly fast, but it breaks my heart to see Baby wrestling with his consuming desire to break them. When I snatch the truck away to give it back to Playgroup Buddy, he looks up at me with despair in his eyes, especially since, just as often, I'm taking the truck away from PB and giving it to him. Poor guy. I used to always be on his team, and now he can't count on my anymore. It's tempting to just stick up for him every time: take all the toys and pile them in front of him, steal snacks for him out of the other mom's diaper bags, etc. Hey, as long as the rules aren't written down, what are they going to do to us?
Baby's been spending a lot of time on play dates and in nurseries, and, as I watch these kids, it's fairly obvious to me that kids don't naturally get warm fuzzies from being nice to each other. The only reasons they will share toys are 1) because they are modeling other, more dominant people, or 2) they expect some kind of reward for being good or punishment for being naughty.
It takes an enormous amount of self control for them to behave, and playgroup social rules are kind of complicated. You are encouraged to play with toys, but you may not take the toys from other kids, no matter how appealing the other kid makes the toy look. If a grown-up offers a toy to you, you should take it. You should not cry if you are sad, only if you are pushed on purpose, and then you must cry loudly if you want the wrong to be righted. If you are pushed, you must permit the offender to give you a hug and a kiss, even though the hug is just as likely to knock you down as the push. You may not push the hugger or run away. Snacks from Mom's diaper bag may be eaten, but you may not take snacks from other diaper bags or from other kids. You must share your snacks with other kids if they show an interest. Snacks may not be eaten once they fall in the sandbox, and sand may not be eaten either. You must clap after other kids successfully go down the slide or after someone sings a song, and you may expect other kids to clap for you, but you may not force them to clap for you. You must show interest in new babies in infant carriers, but you may only touch softly. The infants do not have to touch you softly.
Maybe I should use my legal training to draft a more formal statutory code for playgroup rules, complete with suggested criminal sentencing and civil penalties for the rule breakers and their caregivers. Hmm.
Anyway, Baby is learning these yet-to-be-codified rules surprisingly fast, but it breaks my heart to see Baby wrestling with his consuming desire to break them. When I snatch the truck away to give it back to Playgroup Buddy, he looks up at me with despair in his eyes, especially since, just as often, I'm taking the truck away from PB and giving it to him. Poor guy. I used to always be on his team, and now he can't count on my anymore. It's tempting to just stick up for him every time: take all the toys and pile them in front of him, steal snacks for him out of the other mom's diaper bags, etc. Hey, as long as the rules aren't written down, what are they going to do to us?
Instead of attending today's Activities Committee meeting . . .
Baby likes ramps. He likes to run down handicap acessibility ramps at a high speed toddle. If I squat at the bottom of the ramp with my arms out, he will hurl himself into my arms. This makes us both very happy, and we could probably repeat this process for hours without getting bored.
Thursday, November 15, 2007
Kozy Shack
Today I ate an entire tub of rice pudding. I wouldn't consider myself a binge eater, but if there is a tub of Kozy Shack rice pudding in my fridge, I will eat it all.
I never plan on eating it all at once. In fact, I try not to eat it all at once. I get out a tiny bowl and a tiny spoon, I put a tiny serving into the bowl, I replace the lid, I put it in the back of the fridge, and I eat it my little dessert. Then I immediately wash my bowl and spoon and leave the kitchen to do something else. Ten minutes later I'm back in there, repeating the process. After I've had three bowls, the tub is more than halfway gone anyway, so I just give up and eat it straight out of the container, hoping Husband won't notice that it's missing from the fridge.
I guess I feel a little piggish after the whole process is over and I'm staring into the empty container ("Serves 6. Huh."). But, actually, I don't really feel too bad. I do this, I don't know, maybe four times a year. Other than this, my eating habits are pretty good: whole grains, lean proteins, and all that. I don't turn to the Kozy Shack to cope with depression or anything. Any guilt I feel about consuming six servings of dairy fat and simple sugars is overwhelmed by the reeling pleasure I get from this fabulous food. This afternoon is a beautiful memory for me, it really is.
Gluttony is sexy when it is restricted to only one food item.
Wednesday, November 14, 2007
Lurking Variables
Sometimes it's hard to distinguish motherhood from getting old. Most of the friends I talk to on a regular basis are moms of toddlers, but they are also all between 25 and 30. So there's this age variable lurking in the changes we notice in ourselves and one another. For example, I used to be a night person. Now I am a morning person. I didn't go from being a nighttime party animal to a 5 am aerobiciser, but I'm pretty sure I'm crankier at night than I used to be, and I'm less snarly in the morning than I used to be. This change roughly coincided with the birth of my child, and a lot of my other mommy friends feel like they've changed the same way.
Is there something about Baby that makes me less of a night person? Maybe his infant 2-hour feeding schedule beat out my tendency to burn the midnight oil. Maybe his constant toddling during the day wears me out faster than anything else I've ever done.
Or maybe I'm just getting old and I need my sleepies.
Another thing: I can't deal with scary anymore. I never really liked scary movies, but ever since Baby came along, even the DVD covers of scary movies disturb me. I feel about a hundred times more vulnerable than I used to. To offer a little perspective, I will tell you all the movie I watched on Halloween when I wanted to give myself a spooky zing: Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban. Seriously, it's embarrassing. Baby? Age? Heightened exposure to television media?
And one more thing. My dentures need cleaning twice as often as they used to.
Just kidding. I don't wear dentures. I'm gumming along without them.
Is there something about Baby that makes me less of a night person? Maybe his infant 2-hour feeding schedule beat out my tendency to burn the midnight oil. Maybe his constant toddling during the day wears me out faster than anything else I've ever done.
Or maybe I'm just getting old and I need my sleepies.
Another thing: I can't deal with scary anymore. I never really liked scary movies, but ever since Baby came along, even the DVD covers of scary movies disturb me. I feel about a hundred times more vulnerable than I used to. To offer a little perspective, I will tell you all the movie I watched on Halloween when I wanted to give myself a spooky zing: Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban. Seriously, it's embarrassing. Baby? Age? Heightened exposure to television media?
And one more thing. My dentures need cleaning twice as often as they used to.
Just kidding. I don't wear dentures. I'm gumming along without them.
Monday, November 05, 2007
The Happiest Lady in the World
Here's the amazing thing about being a new-ish mom: Tons of Bad Things happen to you, things that no one can prepare you for because there are so many, and there's really no way of knowing which particular one will rock you the most. I thought I was tough as nails, but I surprised myself with how tooth-grindingly difficult it was for me to let my baby cry until he fell asleep in hiccuping exhaustion. I have never yet met a mom who wasn't totally blind-sided about some aspect of motherhood.
This morning as I was contemplating my saggy belly, I was thinking about when a woman is truly ready to have a baby. When I stopped taking my little packs of pills, I'm pretty sure I didn't think, "yes, I'm ready to say goodbye to my body, my peace of mind, my clear-headedness, my traditional career, my social life, and my independence."
I'm pleased to report, however, that I would have Baby again in a heartbeat. Right now he is padding around and around the kitchen table in his little mocassins, wagging his head from side to side and singing "ma ma ma ma." It is heart-breakingly cute. It's easy to say it's all worth it right now. Yesterday, Baby reached his hand into his poopy pants smeared his findings across his face, his clothes, and the carpet. I'd prefer to believe that he didn't get any in his mouth, but just between us, I'm not totally sure. Was it worth it even then, while Baby screamed and hung on my sweatpants and I scrubbed poop off of my carpet with a fistful of wet wipes? I have to admit, I had a brief picture of myself striding up the steps off a pillared courthouse in a tailored dry-clean only suit, carrying a tiny purse and a legal pad in manicured hands. No loans, new car, clean house, hot body . . .
Nope, still not worth it. That's how delirious with happiness this Baby makes me. I want to be completely clear about this. When I am confronted with dozens of Bad Things that I've never confronted before, I will tend to emphasize them. I think they are funnier/more interesting/humbler(?) than an uninterrupt stream of bliss. But the truth is that I am happy, so happy.
This morning as I was contemplating my saggy belly, I was thinking about when a woman is truly ready to have a baby. When I stopped taking my little packs of pills, I'm pretty sure I didn't think, "yes, I'm ready to say goodbye to my body, my peace of mind, my clear-headedness, my traditional career, my social life, and my independence."
I'm pleased to report, however, that I would have Baby again in a heartbeat. Right now he is padding around and around the kitchen table in his little mocassins, wagging his head from side to side and singing "ma ma ma ma." It is heart-breakingly cute. It's easy to say it's all worth it right now. Yesterday, Baby reached his hand into his poopy pants smeared his findings across his face, his clothes, and the carpet. I'd prefer to believe that he didn't get any in his mouth, but just between us, I'm not totally sure. Was it worth it even then, while Baby screamed and hung on my sweatpants and I scrubbed poop off of my carpet with a fistful of wet wipes? I have to admit, I had a brief picture of myself striding up the steps off a pillared courthouse in a tailored dry-clean only suit, carrying a tiny purse and a legal pad in manicured hands. No loans, new car, clean house, hot body . . .
Nope, still not worth it. That's how delirious with happiness this Baby makes me. I want to be completely clear about this. When I am confronted with dozens of Bad Things that I've never confronted before, I will tend to emphasize them. I think they are funnier/more interesting/humbler(?) than an uninterrupt stream of bliss. But the truth is that I am happy, so happy.
Tuesday, October 16, 2007
Family Vacation
Even without the groovy city of Seattle, the overdue visits with family and friends, and the unspeakably beautiful Northwestern fall scenery, our recent week-long vacation was an unqualified success: Baby learned the following things:
When he sees fish, he says "fshshshsh"
When he sees anything else impressive he says "o-o-o-o-oh!"
When he hears his Raffi CD, he responds to the "Brush Your Teeth" song with the appropriate actions and sound effects.
When he is allowed out of his stroller, he holds onto the side of it and pushes it along. This is a slow way to move down a sidewalk, but it gives him exercise, keeps him close, quells tantrums, and it's cute.
When other toddlers try to hug him to say they're sorry for knocking him down, he tolerates it.
When he asks for a cracker ("caw-caw?") he gives Mom adequate time to dig through the diaper bag to find one--or, if a cracker cannot be located, to change the subject to something equally enthralling.
When he doesn't like the food he is given, rather than howl, he rubs it into his hair, knowing that Mom will remove the offending food item just as quickly.
He feeds animals at petting zoos.
He sleeps for extended periods of time in locations other than his Provo bedroom: ten hours at his aunt's house and six hours in his car seat with no interruptions.
When he sees fish, he says "fshshshsh"
When he sees anything else impressive he says "o-o-o-o-oh!"
When he hears his Raffi CD, he responds to the "Brush Your Teeth" song with the appropriate actions and sound effects.
When he is allowed out of his stroller, he holds onto the side of it and pushes it along. This is a slow way to move down a sidewalk, but it gives him exercise, keeps him close, quells tantrums, and it's cute.
When other toddlers try to hug him to say they're sorry for knocking him down, he tolerates it.
When he asks for a cracker ("caw-caw?") he gives Mom adequate time to dig through the diaper bag to find one--or, if a cracker cannot be located, to change the subject to something equally enthralling.
When he doesn't like the food he is given, rather than howl, he rubs it into his hair, knowing that Mom will remove the offending food item just as quickly.
He feeds animals at petting zoos.
He sleeps for extended periods of time in locations other than his Provo bedroom: ten hours at his aunt's house and six hours in his car seat with no interruptions.
Friday, October 05, 2007
Dishwashing thoughts on a law school regret
One of the lectures in my international law class was about multi-party negotiations. The professor decided to illustrate the point of how multi-party negotiations were virtually impossible by giving the class a negotiation where a decision could not be reached without unanimity. At first she tried doing something with dividing money among the people in the class, but she only used ten one-dollar bills, and we quickly decided as a class to send someone across the street to the creamery to buy us all root beer floats.
Obviously the stakes weren't high enough. Law students care deeply about money--can we say student loans?--but ten dollars wasn't enough to really start a negotiation. We needed higher stakes. This professor knew that another thing (the only other thing?) law students care deeply about is law school grades. She told us that if we could unanimously decide our grades for the class as long as we used a 3.3 median. There were thirteen people in the class. If seven would agree to get 3.3's for the course, then the rest of the class could get 4.0's.
Most professors adhere to the 3.3 median rule by grading on a simple bell curve. Many people get 3.3's, one gets a 4.0, and a couple of students fail with a 2.6 or lower. I'd guess that no one in that class had ever gotten a 4.0 in a law school course.
This professor was a gutsy lady. She taught the feminism and the race relations class at Brigham Young University, after all (loved them!).
What followed was a nail biter of a negotiation. There was only one issue, and there was no range of values. Either you agreed to take the 3.3 or you held out for the 4.0. One by one, students agreed to take a 3.3. One student was a transfer student, and she just needed to pass anyway. Another student admitted that even a 3.3 could only improve his GPA. Another student was a lawyer seeking continuing legal education credit who just needed to pass. Another student said she'd be willing to do it just to see if the professor would really hold to her promise to skip the final exam. One student did it just to be nice.
After five students had agreed to take 3.3's in the course, the discussion turned personal. The students were actively seeking out those who shouldn't care whether or not they got a 4.0 in the course. A girl turned to me and said, "What are your plans after graduation, Ms. Portia?" She looked pointedly at my six months' worth of pregnant belly.
"Having my baby," I said confidently. Why didn't I just stop there? Why didn't I actually make the girl try to convince me that a woman who has a baby immediately after law school has less of a reason to deserve good grades in law school than a woman who graduated single and virginal like her taut-bellied self? Instead I continued, "But, um, that doesn't mean that I don't need good grades because, you know, someday, I might need to get a job, and I need a good transcript from law school, right?" That was it: My one fleeting chance in law school to publicly defend my decision to attend law school, succeed in law school, and work full-time for my husband and my baby and not for the American justice system. And I pretty much flubbed it.
I was thinking today about why I regret my missed opportunity to take a stand for educated motherhood, but I don't regret my missed opportunity to take a stand for fair and accurate grading of knowledge and ability in a law school course. We were basically assigning grades based on who was kind enough or apathetic enough to accept an undeserved 3.3. I don't think anyone mentioned any qualms about how ridiculous this was.
Frankly, this didn't bother me in the least. After two and a half years of law school, one thing I'd absolutely learned was that grades, while not exactly arbitrary, weren't fair. Why not base grades on students' kindness, apathy, or stubbornness? Was that really all that different from exams based on attendance? Exams based on your tolerance for sleep deprivation? Your typing speed? The accuracy of your bootlegged lecture transcript? (Sidenote: I had excellent attendance, a high tolerance for sleep deprivation, a zippy typing speed, a famously accurate lecture transcript).
Also, I secretly suspected that there was no way this professor would let us get away with it. Things like that didn't happen in law school. There were rules against antics like these. In the end, one of the deans reread the 3.3 median rule, and determined that our method of assigning grades was against law school rules, and we would have to take a final comprehensive exam. On which I got a 3.8, thank you very much.
And really, isn't that how lawyers roll? They don't really worry too much about the higher moral implications of their arguments because (1) the world of the law is pretty immoral and unfair to begin with, and (2) in the end, if you get too crazy, someone always steps in to keep things predictable, if not necessarily fair.
Obviously the stakes weren't high enough. Law students care deeply about money--can we say student loans?--but ten dollars wasn't enough to really start a negotiation. We needed higher stakes. This professor knew that another thing (the only other thing?) law students care deeply about is law school grades. She told us that if we could unanimously decide our grades for the class as long as we used a 3.3 median. There were thirteen people in the class. If seven would agree to get 3.3's for the course, then the rest of the class could get 4.0's.
Most professors adhere to the 3.3 median rule by grading on a simple bell curve. Many people get 3.3's, one gets a 4.0, and a couple of students fail with a 2.6 or lower. I'd guess that no one in that class had ever gotten a 4.0 in a law school course.
This professor was a gutsy lady. She taught the feminism and the race relations class at Brigham Young University, after all (loved them!).
What followed was a nail biter of a negotiation. There was only one issue, and there was no range of values. Either you agreed to take the 3.3 or you held out for the 4.0. One by one, students agreed to take a 3.3. One student was a transfer student, and she just needed to pass anyway. Another student admitted that even a 3.3 could only improve his GPA. Another student was a lawyer seeking continuing legal education credit who just needed to pass. Another student said she'd be willing to do it just to see if the professor would really hold to her promise to skip the final exam. One student did it just to be nice.
After five students had agreed to take 3.3's in the course, the discussion turned personal. The students were actively seeking out those who shouldn't care whether or not they got a 4.0 in the course. A girl turned to me and said, "What are your plans after graduation, Ms. Portia?" She looked pointedly at my six months' worth of pregnant belly.
"Having my baby," I said confidently. Why didn't I just stop there? Why didn't I actually make the girl try to convince me that a woman who has a baby immediately after law school has less of a reason to deserve good grades in law school than a woman who graduated single and virginal like her taut-bellied self? Instead I continued, "But, um, that doesn't mean that I don't need good grades because, you know, someday, I might need to get a job, and I need a good transcript from law school, right?" That was it: My one fleeting chance in law school to publicly defend my decision to attend law school, succeed in law school, and work full-time for my husband and my baby and not for the American justice system. And I pretty much flubbed it.
I was thinking today about why I regret my missed opportunity to take a stand for educated motherhood, but I don't regret my missed opportunity to take a stand for fair and accurate grading of knowledge and ability in a law school course. We were basically assigning grades based on who was kind enough or apathetic enough to accept an undeserved 3.3. I don't think anyone mentioned any qualms about how ridiculous this was.
Frankly, this didn't bother me in the least. After two and a half years of law school, one thing I'd absolutely learned was that grades, while not exactly arbitrary, weren't fair. Why not base grades on students' kindness, apathy, or stubbornness? Was that really all that different from exams based on attendance? Exams based on your tolerance for sleep deprivation? Your typing speed? The accuracy of your bootlegged lecture transcript? (Sidenote: I had excellent attendance, a high tolerance for sleep deprivation, a zippy typing speed, a famously accurate lecture transcript).
Also, I secretly suspected that there was no way this professor would let us get away with it. Things like that didn't happen in law school. There were rules against antics like these. In the end, one of the deans reread the 3.3 median rule, and determined that our method of assigning grades was against law school rules, and we would have to take a final comprehensive exam. On which I got a 3.8, thank you very much.
And really, isn't that how lawyers roll? They don't really worry too much about the higher moral implications of their arguments because (1) the world of the law is pretty immoral and unfair to begin with, and (2) in the end, if you get too crazy, someone always steps in to keep things predictable, if not necessarily fair.
Some thoughts on changing seasons
Fall in Provo is pretty darn terrific. The weather is almost always perfect, and when it's not, it's never that bad. Yep. I'm sure enjoying the fall.
I'm getting ready for winter food. I love late summer food: zucchini, garden tomatoes, corn on the cob, etc. But when you have a lot of friends and family with Provo backyard gardens, you get your fill of it really fast. There are only so many ways to consume 20 pounds of fresh tomatoes. On to winter food: pot roast, mashed potatoes, hot chocolate, etc.
I used to also like fall for the clothes. I love wool pants and cashmere twin sets. I think it's a preference I picked up in law school when I realized I didn't have to continue wearing my Provo High sweatshirt anymore and I could start dressing like a grown up. The problem is that those clothes are dry-clean only. My baby is an average baby as far as tidiness is concerned, but that still means that dry-clean only clothes are not gonna happen. Even if I steer clear of Baby's high chair, he's still going to find a way to use my sweater as a Kleenex, napkin, towel, barf bag, or wet wipe. So the wool pants and twin sets stay in the box that they've lived in ever since I got pregnant. I wear sweatshirts and jeans.
I'm pleased to announce that the Provo High sweatshirt still fits just fine.
I'm getting ready for winter food. I love late summer food: zucchini, garden tomatoes, corn on the cob, etc. But when you have a lot of friends and family with Provo backyard gardens, you get your fill of it really fast. There are only so many ways to consume 20 pounds of fresh tomatoes. On to winter food: pot roast, mashed potatoes, hot chocolate, etc.
I used to also like fall for the clothes. I love wool pants and cashmere twin sets. I think it's a preference I picked up in law school when I realized I didn't have to continue wearing my Provo High sweatshirt anymore and I could start dressing like a grown up. The problem is that those clothes are dry-clean only. My baby is an average baby as far as tidiness is concerned, but that still means that dry-clean only clothes are not gonna happen. Even if I steer clear of Baby's high chair, he's still going to find a way to use my sweater as a Kleenex, napkin, towel, barf bag, or wet wipe. So the wool pants and twin sets stay in the box that they've lived in ever since I got pregnant. I wear sweatshirts and jeans.
I'm pleased to announce that the Provo High sweatshirt still fits just fine.
Wednesday, September 26, 2007
A Fish Out of Water
I've been over a month without internet access in our house. Every stolen minute on the ancient family desktop at Grandma's house is like a gulp of cool water.
Actually, yesterday I took a couple of minutes while Baby was preoccupied at Grandma's house to finally update this blog. After writing two frenzied paragraphs, of course, Baby came toddling over and slowly, deliberately pushed the glowing green power button. Oh well, it was just a blog entry. I suppose I should be glad I'm out of law school and my term papers are behind me and safe from Charlie's remarkable intuition with technology. Today, I accepted sweet Husband's offer to take Baby for the afternoon while I put in some quality time with public computers in the law library.
No internet, no TV, no newspaper. I am almost totally unconnected wtih the outside world. I actually checked a paper map of Utah county the other day to figure out where something was. And a phone book. What, there's a Mormon running for president?
In this temporarily primitive state, Baby and I have resorted to primitive forms of entertainment to pass the time: storytelling, circle stomp dancing, VHS tapes, etc. Instead of parking in front of my laptop, I've started showering and cleaning my house during naptime. Needless to say, my hair and my house haven't been this clean in over a year.
But it's so not worth it. I'm losing my mind. I feel like I'm living on a different planet, missing everything that's going on with my friends on Earth. Well don't worry, friends, I'll be back soon.
Actually, yesterday I took a couple of minutes while Baby was preoccupied at Grandma's house to finally update this blog. After writing two frenzied paragraphs, of course, Baby came toddling over and slowly, deliberately pushed the glowing green power button. Oh well, it was just a blog entry. I suppose I should be glad I'm out of law school and my term papers are behind me and safe from Charlie's remarkable intuition with technology. Today, I accepted sweet Husband's offer to take Baby for the afternoon while I put in some quality time with public computers in the law library.
No internet, no TV, no newspaper. I am almost totally unconnected wtih the outside world. I actually checked a paper map of Utah county the other day to figure out where something was. And a phone book. What, there's a Mormon running for president?
In this temporarily primitive state, Baby and I have resorted to primitive forms of entertainment to pass the time: storytelling, circle stomp dancing, VHS tapes, etc. Instead of parking in front of my laptop, I've started showering and cleaning my house during naptime. Needless to say, my hair and my house haven't been this clean in over a year.
But it's so not worth it. I'm losing my mind. I feel like I'm living on a different planet, missing everything that's going on with my friends on Earth. Well don't worry, friends, I'll be back soon.
Sunday, September 02, 2007
Sleepless in Provo
I've been awake since 3:30 am. I have a feeling today will be a cranky-pants day.
This is one of the less appealing life changes that came with motherhood: Nighttime feedings were not bad, but after a year of never getting more than 5 consecutive hours of sleep, I've been trained into an insomniac. The piddlingest little thing on my mind will keep me blinking at the ceiling, twitching my ankle, listening to Baby and Husband snore through the early morning hours. And I'm so tired.
And what's on my mind? What's so desperately pressing that it can't wait until I've had a teensy bit more sleep? Let me share just a sampling: what happened to that one pair of shoes during the move from New York, where will I keep the jogging stroller in our new apartment, how will I make Baby sit still while I clip his toenails before church this morning, remember to e-mail sister in Missouri, remember to find a babysitter for next Wednesday night, etc.
I remember hearing new moms complain about this problem before I got pregnant. I'm pretty sure I thought they needed more exercise or maybe a good snoozy book. I hope I didn't say anything to them. If someone told me today that I needed more exercise, it would probably be the last thing they ever said. Unless they could still talk with a chewed-off head.
This is one of the less appealing life changes that came with motherhood: Nighttime feedings were not bad, but after a year of never getting more than 5 consecutive hours of sleep, I've been trained into an insomniac. The piddlingest little thing on my mind will keep me blinking at the ceiling, twitching my ankle, listening to Baby and Husband snore through the early morning hours. And I'm so tired.
And what's on my mind? What's so desperately pressing that it can't wait until I've had a teensy bit more sleep? Let me share just a sampling: what happened to that one pair of shoes during the move from New York, where will I keep the jogging stroller in our new apartment, how will I make Baby sit still while I clip his toenails before church this morning, remember to e-mail sister in Missouri, remember to find a babysitter for next Wednesday night, etc.
I remember hearing new moms complain about this problem before I got pregnant. I'm pretty sure I thought they needed more exercise or maybe a good snoozy book. I hope I didn't say anything to them. If someone told me today that I needed more exercise, it would probably be the last thing they ever said. Unless they could still talk with a chewed-off head.
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