Chicago Moms Blog

Growing up is hard to do

Remember when you were little and you believed your parents could fix ANYTHING?   And then you got older and pretty much hated them because it seemed like they could barely function--they were imperfect humans like you were and you resented that A LOT?  And then you matured finally and realized that wisdom and experience were worth something and ok, you didn't turn out totally off (or maybe you did and its nice to blame someone), and you got over it and realized you were empowered to change your own life (or you aren't) .

 If you have been a parent, you get to see that narrative through the other set of eyes, because when they are first born you are terrified---they are so small and you need to take care of them and sometimes there are things you wish you could fix and you just can't.  I remember when we got the diagnosis of celiac disease and after about 5 minutes of gratefulness that it wasn't a deadly disease, I started wishing and praying I could cure it so that my kid could have french baguettes some day.  I felt powerless, really helpless. As the supposed to be omniscient parent you have the terrible responsibility of trying to make the world right. Of being someone's everything. 

Time passes

It's that time of year. The culminating events. The rites of passage. The final day of the grade, the graduation ceremony, the flying up. We mark these passages with picnics and pomp and circumstance.  My day planner looks like a convention meeting book--this weekend alone I have 2 barbecues, a brunch, three recitals, and two final soccer matches. The one thing I don't have is  time. Time to think.
Or feel. No way, not with dishes to prepare and bring, gifts and cards to procure. And we are in the middle of our own major rite of passage--my son will be called to the Torah this month and become, in the eyes of his faith, a man.

It has become a tradition in this part of the world, for these celebrations, to make a slide show/dvd/ video that shows the life of the guest of honor.  In our family this show has strict rules: it cannot last longer than the length of one song. It has to be chronological, and you have to find as many pictures of the celebrant with guests who are coming as you  possibly can, so the gathered friends and family can see themselves grow up (or in my case age!) alongside the celebrant.
We also have the tradition of never getting it done until the last minute, but I am trying to make a new tradition of working ahead, since its a collaborative project in our house, but it backfired on me, since every day my husband emails me a new photo that stops me dead in my tracks and lets those feelings bubble up to my too busy surface. Because every day, with a single image, I see how fast the time has gone.

Heading for the finish line

This time of year always feels like the final hill of the marathon, and I sure do hope the hug lady with the blanket and the medal is waiting for me, because this school year has been one hard road race with tough weather and lousy roads. 

This for us is the last Monday of the last full week of school. I did not mention it this morning because in our family transitions are always fraught with drama and I just wanted to get to my 8 am ballet class on time. It didn't happen, because for one last time we forgot something and had to go back, but maybe that is part of the charm of Monday mornings. 

Sandwich Generation

This is one of the those weeks where the juggling act just plain ol' turns into a train wreck. 

I truly joined the sandwich generation last week--trying to balance between a mother having a knee replaced, and opening
night for the youngest. Wedged in with all the soccer games, fencing practice, my job and 457 emails that needed replies, I reached a state that can only be described as The Sandwich Splatter Disaster.  I am the egg salad squishing on to the floor.

My Mother House

I just did something I never do.  I payed absolutely full price on the spot for something.  I was out doing shopping research for work, looking for the best price, and I stumbled across a new Patricia Polacco title, In Our Mother's House.  I should have known better. The first time I cracked open her Keeping Quilt book in, as I recall, a Toys Are Us store, I was found, full out sobbing, in the book aisle. 

See, I learned a long time ago that the best children's literature isn't really for children, and I had a full bookshelf of children's books long before I had kids. I go back to that source when I need ideas, or nurturing.

If the Velveteen Rabbit isn't the ultimate tome on relationships and aging, I don't know what is. And 20 years ago I knew what Spike Jonz just found out--Where the Wild Things Are is not a children's book.  I was a performance artist in Manhattan, living the club life, when that book spoke to me.  So while looking for the latest in outdoor toys, I stumbled upon In Our Mothers' House, about a non- traditional family and what it's like growing up loved.  And once again, Ms. Polacco, you have me in the aisles leaking tears.  This little book speaks to me not just because I know so many families with two mommies, or two daddies, or just one mommy or no mommies and its just Gram doing the parenting--this book is about what Home is, and about the memories I want my kids to have about growing up in Mildred the magic house. 

Force of Habit

We have started spring sports: at our house that would be soccer, and track.  We are eyeballing cycling as a new sport to add to the mix since we already have the equipment. And its a great compliment to our winter speedskating.  And its easy on our knees, which seem to be a hereditary soft spot here.

And I am now into regular walking to fight the pull of gravity and spiritual inertia. 

I would not say we are an athletic family, but we are believers that regular and lifelong participation in athletics or in my case, dance, is a non negotiable in our family.  Move it or lose it. It has to do with my belief in PRACTICE.  Bad Habits should not be the only ones in your life---you need to build in good habits too! And being good at sports, and at living, requires a level of concentration and practice.

Bully Bully

It has been the week about bullies and bullying for me.  First my sense of horror and shock over the Phoebe Prince suicide which we seriously discussed in our family.  I wanted my kids to know that I wanted them to come to me and count on me if EVER anyone made them feel small and awful.  They do not need to be alone.  

And then yesterday, a crazy day where both my husband and I had to be on film sets at the crack of dawn and it was also opening day of spring soccer.  I was so proud that as a family we worked out the schedule so that my teen and preteen could get to their activities and, I thought, look after one another.  The day progressed with me checking in, solving glitches, and then I left my tv gig and headed on to the Chicago Moms Blog event downtown, feeling like we had reached a new phase in our family. 

Fine Dining

I had been saving up for my husband and I to go out for a really nice meal.  But when I heard one of my favorite local chefs was doing an Easter Brunch with a prix fixe KIDS menu (and I read the adult menu--I go a long way for Lobster Bisque--especially after a week of matza sandwiches in our blended family), I decided it was time to expose my younger kids to the joys of  fine dining.  Of course right after I made the reservation, my husband booked a job, and I was flying solo on this teachable moment.

I made my kids dress up and you would have thought I was taking them to an execution given how unenthused they were about the whole thing.  It was a gorgeous sunny morning, flowers were blooming, and I still don't understand why it was such a total ordeal to go out for Easter Brunch with your mother.

But then we arrived in the beautiful subdued and quiet dining room and sat at the table with linens and multiple forks and our smartly attired waiter with the lovely accent and I ordered them Shirley Temples and my children fell in love.

Smells and tastes of holiday home

Everyone talks about the December Dilemma for Jewish/ Christian families, but in my house its always been the Spring Conundrum.  As a mostly Jewish family, we celebrate Passover.  I grew up in a Jewish neighborhood, so I am programmed right about now to crave gefilte fish and horseradish.  But as a lapsed Catholic (and given what is going on now with the Church, I am kinda glad I am not around) and a Chicagoan who has been buried in snow for the last 5 months, I am also craving a new frock (from a childhood of frilly Easter Dresses) and Cadbury chocolate eggs.

We vant to be alone

My children have had a unique experience of being minor celebrities of late, and they are completely and totally over it, and ready to move on. 

Better than any lecture I could give, they have learned what the price of fame, even fleeting fame, can be.  After weeks of disrupted schedules, having to do things they hate to do, having to skip things they loved, and having to say the same thing over and over again, they like Marlena Dietrich, are slipping back into obscurity.