As the title suggests, I overslept today. Perhaps it was a reaction to being "back to school" after vacation. Perhaps I stayed up too late (and was so tired I forgot to set the alarm?). Or perhaps there was just something in the air--as the day went on, I found out that several of my friends had overslept too. Whatever the reason, I woke up to find it light--oh, no! Light!! (It is always pitch dark when I get up, shower, make school lunches, wake children).
Within 20 minutes of my flying out of bed, one child made it out the door, dressed, fed, and with a lunch. Shortly after, the other two also made it out. So, with the exception of the time it took me to recover from the shock of it all, everything basically worked out.
Some people might say this whole experience means that I don't need to get myself or my kids up nearly as early as I normally have been. Hey, it worked, didn't it?
Others might argue that we are all going to bed too late. Which would be true. But mostly unavoidable.
Yet others might believe that this was my warning about simplifying my 14-course school lunches.
I choose to believe that it is a little bit of all of it. We can aim to fix our problems so they don't result in crises. But, in the end, since we can rarely fix ALL our problems, it really comes down to how we react when the crisis DOES come. Today, we all, each in his/her own way, reacted. Everyone got to the right place, and less than 24 hours later, we have all moved on to the next challenge.
Which, for me, is making sure to set the alarm. Because I'm already up too late!
Thursday, February 21, 2013
Wednesday, February 20, 2013
The Day After
When I was a kid, I cried every year at the end of my birthday because after months of anticipation, the big day was over, not to be repeated for a whole 'nother year.
Now, President's Day is by no means the only school holiday of the year. And, thanks to Hurricane Sandy, it was just an extended weekend rather than a full week off this year. We didn't even go on some big, fancy vacation. (We barely WENT anywhere--the farthest was Westchester to go grocery shopping). And, yet, I woke up today with that "end of birthday" feeling. Despite the short vacation being not particularly earth-shattering, I was here for it. Not the first time over the last year that I have been, but perhaps the last. As each vacation passes, I realize that by the next, I might be working, no longer able to share the sleeping late and figuring out what to do and playing hours of video games with my kids. I can't believe I'm saying this, but I miss the sound of the video games already. (I'm sure the kids would be happy to fill that void for me this weekend!). For that very brief time, I allowed myself to be "on vacation" with them. Not completely free of responsibility or digital connection, but free of running constantly, free of guilt about scheduling every minute of my time. And it was great.
As time goes on, there won't necessarily be vacations we can share. It's not easy matching up the schedules of so many people, and, work being work, I won't necessarily be able to choose my schedule. So, I'm glad we had these few days, video games and all. Perhaps they will inspire me to make parts of our weekends little mini-vacations, complete with a little sleeping late, a little shirking responsibility, a little just stopping and spending some time together. Because even if you cry when the weekend is over, you don't have to wait a whole year for one to come again.
Now, President's Day is by no means the only school holiday of the year. And, thanks to Hurricane Sandy, it was just an extended weekend rather than a full week off this year. We didn't even go on some big, fancy vacation. (We barely WENT anywhere--the farthest was Westchester to go grocery shopping). And, yet, I woke up today with that "end of birthday" feeling. Despite the short vacation being not particularly earth-shattering, I was here for it. Not the first time over the last year that I have been, but perhaps the last. As each vacation passes, I realize that by the next, I might be working, no longer able to share the sleeping late and figuring out what to do and playing hours of video games with my kids. I can't believe I'm saying this, but I miss the sound of the video games already. (I'm sure the kids would be happy to fill that void for me this weekend!). For that very brief time, I allowed myself to be "on vacation" with them. Not completely free of responsibility or digital connection, but free of running constantly, free of guilt about scheduling every minute of my time. And it was great.
As time goes on, there won't necessarily be vacations we can share. It's not easy matching up the schedules of so many people, and, work being work, I won't necessarily be able to choose my schedule. So, I'm glad we had these few days, video games and all. Perhaps they will inspire me to make parts of our weekends little mini-vacations, complete with a little sleeping late, a little shirking responsibility, a little just stopping and spending some time together. Because even if you cry when the weekend is over, you don't have to wait a whole year for one to come again.
Tuesday, February 19, 2013
A Good Day
How do you define a "good day"? Depends on the day, I guess, and on the "you" involved.
Midday today, my son told me it had been a very good day. We'd played video games at the Sony Wonder Lab and had a strawberry smoothie while we were waiting to go in. We'd had a rare fast food lunch. He'd been able to deposit money in his newly created bank account, and even got free stuff from the bank teller. From his point of view, a great day. Even if we'd had to do more walking than he'd like and had needed to get up and out early on a day off. Even if we had to drop off and pick up his sister and even if I said "no" to several requests for toys. Even if he came home and fell asleep at 5:30, likely coming down with the virus his sister had last week. For him, at least in that moment, it was a very good day.
As for me, in that same moment, I called it a good day too. Never mind that I got up and out early to make the day work. Never mind that I came home exhausted. Never mind that tomorrow I will be playing catch-up on all the life errands that I ignored today. In that moment, it was a good day.
I've heard "good days" talked about in so many ways. A production company that shoots everything it's supposed to calls it "a good day." A person who's sick but feels better than normal has had a "good day."
As far as I can tell, the sheer urgency with which my son called it "a good day" when the day was just halfway done is probably the way to go--to find the good before giving way to the bad, the ugly, and the exhausted. Let's face it, particularly as adults, we don't often have days that we consider good from beginning to end. But if we can focus on the good--highlight it as it is happening--I would venture to say we'd be defining many more of our days as good.
By the end of today, there was enough tiredness to make me think that it was just fine that the kids would go back to school tomorrow. The exuberance about a good day can't always last forever. But if tomorrow turns out to be just an ordinary day, I will be particularly glad to have the memory of my son exclaiming that it was a very good day. We should all do that a lot more often.
Midday today, my son told me it had been a very good day. We'd played video games at the Sony Wonder Lab and had a strawberry smoothie while we were waiting to go in. We'd had a rare fast food lunch. He'd been able to deposit money in his newly created bank account, and even got free stuff from the bank teller. From his point of view, a great day. Even if we'd had to do more walking than he'd like and had needed to get up and out early on a day off. Even if we had to drop off and pick up his sister and even if I said "no" to several requests for toys. Even if he came home and fell asleep at 5:30, likely coming down with the virus his sister had last week. For him, at least in that moment, it was a very good day.
As for me, in that same moment, I called it a good day too. Never mind that I got up and out early to make the day work. Never mind that I came home exhausted. Never mind that tomorrow I will be playing catch-up on all the life errands that I ignored today. In that moment, it was a good day.
I've heard "good days" talked about in so many ways. A production company that shoots everything it's supposed to calls it "a good day." A person who's sick but feels better than normal has had a "good day."
As far as I can tell, the sheer urgency with which my son called it "a good day" when the day was just halfway done is probably the way to go--to find the good before giving way to the bad, the ugly, and the exhausted. Let's face it, particularly as adults, we don't often have days that we consider good from beginning to end. But if we can focus on the good--highlight it as it is happening--I would venture to say we'd be defining many more of our days as good.
By the end of today, there was enough tiredness to make me think that it was just fine that the kids would go back to school tomorrow. The exuberance about a good day can't always last forever. But if tomorrow turns out to be just an ordinary day, I will be particularly glad to have the memory of my son exclaiming that it was a very good day. We should all do that a lot more often.
Monday, February 18, 2013
Product/Process
When I sat in the coffee shop yesterday and successfully wrote my blog, I
was actually intending to write several. I mean, hey, how many times
do you get a few quiet, sit still hours at a time of day when you
don't just want to sleep? And you never know when things will get crazy
and I will be grateful to have "banked" a few posts.
Turns out, a few was harder than I thought. It's not that I can't write that many words in one sitting. But, as attractive as the thought of "banking" might be, and as integral as it has become to soaps over the past decade, part of what I love about doing this blog is the writing every day. Sure, it's nice to see my little creations in virtual print, no matter when they were written. But the process of writing something each day is so much a part of it, that it somehow feels wrong to have a whole slew of written pieces that just get "plugged in." For me, the process is almost as important (if not more so) than the product.
I suppose that I have always been a process over product person. This is not to say that I'm looking to put a shoddy product out in the world. There is, however, a particular satisfaction to the "thick of things" feeling as something is being put together. Watching a cameraperson scramble to get a beautiful shot despite the obstacles. Making cupcakes with a child, even if the result doesn't look as though it came from a bakeshop. Writing each day, even if it means struggling for the creative when the work of the day has wiped you out. It's all in the process.
So, while I do keep careful track of ideas--story starters, as it were--that come to mind, the text of what you see each day will almost certainly have been generated that day. For me, it's just part of the process.
Turns out, a few was harder than I thought. It's not that I can't write that many words in one sitting. But, as attractive as the thought of "banking" might be, and as integral as it has become to soaps over the past decade, part of what I love about doing this blog is the writing every day. Sure, it's nice to see my little creations in virtual print, no matter when they were written. But the process of writing something each day is so much a part of it, that it somehow feels wrong to have a whole slew of written pieces that just get "plugged in." For me, the process is almost as important (if not more so) than the product.
I suppose that I have always been a process over product person. This is not to say that I'm looking to put a shoddy product out in the world. There is, however, a particular satisfaction to the "thick of things" feeling as something is being put together. Watching a cameraperson scramble to get a beautiful shot despite the obstacles. Making cupcakes with a child, even if the result doesn't look as though it came from a bakeshop. Writing each day, even if it means struggling for the creative when the work of the day has wiped you out. It's all in the process.
So, while I do keep careful track of ideas--story starters, as it were--that come to mind, the text of what you see each day will almost certainly have been generated that day. For me, it's just part of the process.
Sunday, February 17, 2013
Coffee?Shop?Work.
Having dropped my daughters at play rehearsal, I now have two hours to
kill. Too schleppy to go home, too long to wait in the rehearsal lobby.
So, what to do?
I could wander the neighborhood. After all, I am unencumbered by children complaining about walking. It's not raining, and this particular neighborhood is incredibly populated with places to see. Places to see and spend money. I mean, I'll walk through a store anytime, but if I shop my way through every two-hour rehearsal, my daughters' performing arts careers could become quite expensive--even aside from the lessons and costumes and tickets. So, no store-hopping. And, while it's not raining, it's a bit cold for a "good exercise" walk--I can see people literally being blown down the sidewalk.
It's times like this when a $2-4 cup of coffee starts to look pretty cheap. On the $2 end, cheaper than a subway ride to go somewhere. And even on the $4 end, cheaper than being able to go AND get back. A table, some people watching (and people-listening--a particular privilege when you're both in New York AND close enough to Penn Station to hear out-of-towners too). And, the opportunity to write a blog before 9pm, virtually without interruption (except for my own checking of email and Facebook every so often--did I mention that the coffee comes with free Wifi?). Now I begin to understand all the people I used to see typing and drinking coffee when I was hurrying to get coffee before work. It may be a reasonably relaxing atmosphere, complete with caffeinated treats, but with a keyboard and clear head, it's a cost-effective office that works. Even at 5pm on a Sunday. And, considering that I will be full of caffeine at 5pm on a Sunday, by 9, I might even be able to write 3 more blogs!
I could wander the neighborhood. After all, I am unencumbered by children complaining about walking. It's not raining, and this particular neighborhood is incredibly populated with places to see. Places to see and spend money. I mean, I'll walk through a store anytime, but if I shop my way through every two-hour rehearsal, my daughters' performing arts careers could become quite expensive--even aside from the lessons and costumes and tickets. So, no store-hopping. And, while it's not raining, it's a bit cold for a "good exercise" walk--I can see people literally being blown down the sidewalk.
It's times like this when a $2-4 cup of coffee starts to look pretty cheap. On the $2 end, cheaper than a subway ride to go somewhere. And even on the $4 end, cheaper than being able to go AND get back. A table, some people watching (and people-listening--a particular privilege when you're both in New York AND close enough to Penn Station to hear out-of-towners too). And, the opportunity to write a blog before 9pm, virtually without interruption (except for my own checking of email and Facebook every so often--did I mention that the coffee comes with free Wifi?). Now I begin to understand all the people I used to see typing and drinking coffee when I was hurrying to get coffee before work. It may be a reasonably relaxing atmosphere, complete with caffeinated treats, but with a keyboard and clear head, it's a cost-effective office that works. Even at 5pm on a Sunday. And, considering that I will be full of caffeine at 5pm on a Sunday, by 9, I might even be able to write 3 more blogs!
Saturday, February 16, 2013
The Want Hierarchy
There is something very profound about children, and yet, something very
simple. On the one hand, they are these little beings who reflect a
little bit of you and a little bit of how you raise them, and a whole
lot of things that you don't recognize from anywhere. On the other
hand, they just want what they want and spend every waking moment (and
probably some sleeping ones) basically just trying to get whatever it is
that they want.
Take my son. He loves screens. TV, computer, video games--you name it. But since he is also highly motivated by medals, he puts aside all screens, at least for 25 minutes a day, during the piano practice marathon, because those who practice for 114 days straight get a medal. So all it takes is a small reminder of the medal, and he's sitting at the piano in no time.
Then there's my daughter, the pasta lover, who would happily eat pasta at every meal if we let her. So much so that, when she heard I might not be able to make pasta school lunches when I went back to work, she suddenly became highly motivated to learn to cook. Well, at least to cook pasta. And get up earlier to do it. She wants what she wants, and she's willing to get up early to get it.
I find that the trickiest part is figuring out each child's "want hierarchy." While kids will never be completely predictable (and that wouldn't be much fun anyway!), knowing which wants trump the others tends to give you a pretty good idea about what they'll do. Medals trump screens, pasta trumps sleep. All in the hierarchy.
My own "want hierarchy" is much less simple and much more variable. Probably like most parents, I want more sleep. But only some days do I let this want take over. Oh, and there's chocolate. And marshmallows. And eggplant. Other than that, I am much harder to pin down, actually hard to buy gifts for, since my list of wants tends to be full of abstracts, hard to wrap up with a bow on my birthday.
When is it that our wants stop being the semi-transparent ones of children? Or is it simply that the "want hierarchy" dynamic is so specific to parents and their kids that it's just not an issue for us as grownups?
For me, the good news is that, at least in several areas, my kids' "wants" will lead to very good things. Maybe my daughter will become such a good cook that she'll make not just pasta for her lunch but dinner for tired, post-work me as well. And hey, with 114 days of practice under his belt, her brother can serenade me while I eat.
Take my son. He loves screens. TV, computer, video games--you name it. But since he is also highly motivated by medals, he puts aside all screens, at least for 25 minutes a day, during the piano practice marathon, because those who practice for 114 days straight get a medal. So all it takes is a small reminder of the medal, and he's sitting at the piano in no time.
Then there's my daughter, the pasta lover, who would happily eat pasta at every meal if we let her. So much so that, when she heard I might not be able to make pasta school lunches when I went back to work, she suddenly became highly motivated to learn to cook. Well, at least to cook pasta. And get up earlier to do it. She wants what she wants, and she's willing to get up early to get it.
I find that the trickiest part is figuring out each child's "want hierarchy." While kids will never be completely predictable (and that wouldn't be much fun anyway!), knowing which wants trump the others tends to give you a pretty good idea about what they'll do. Medals trump screens, pasta trumps sleep. All in the hierarchy.
My own "want hierarchy" is much less simple and much more variable. Probably like most parents, I want more sleep. But only some days do I let this want take over. Oh, and there's chocolate. And marshmallows. And eggplant. Other than that, I am much harder to pin down, actually hard to buy gifts for, since my list of wants tends to be full of abstracts, hard to wrap up with a bow on my birthday.
When is it that our wants stop being the semi-transparent ones of children? Or is it simply that the "want hierarchy" dynamic is so specific to parents and their kids that it's just not an issue for us as grownups?
For me, the good news is that, at least in several areas, my kids' "wants" will lead to very good things. Maybe my daughter will become such a good cook that she'll make not just pasta for her lunch but dinner for tired, post-work me as well. And hey, with 114 days of practice under his belt, her brother can serenade me while I eat.
Friday, February 15, 2013
Drama and Duct Tape
We have just completed repairing my kids' karate chest protectors with
an enormous amount of duct tape. You know, the silver kind that makes a
lot of noise when you pull it. They will once again be able to
withstand the punches and kicks of sparring, all thanks to a roll of
silver tape.
Would that every blow we had to take in life be lessened by a roll of duct tape. I mean, it's tough stuff. Why can't it fix the times we hurt our kids' feelings while trying to protect them? Why can't a little duct tape fix the gap between the money coming in and the money that needs to go out, or tape up the hole in us when we feel as though we just can't do it all?
Many years ago, my kids and I learned how to make things like wallets out of duct tape. We probably still have some of the ones we made. So clearly, duct tape is not just for lessening the blows. It is capable of so much more, and so are we. And perhaps, we are pretty strong without it. We fix the holes, the insecure spots, ourselves, because, as well as duct tape works on chest protectors, it just wouldn't look right on us. Much as we like how effective the duct tape is, it is up to us to find our own strength for facing the blows of life.
So, while I watched my kids tape up their karate gear, I realized that I had actually gotten through a drama-filled day without the assistance of the big silver roll. It's good stuff. But it's okay--let there be some drama and a few blows once in a while. Duct tape or no, I can take it.
Would that every blow we had to take in life be lessened by a roll of duct tape. I mean, it's tough stuff. Why can't it fix the times we hurt our kids' feelings while trying to protect them? Why can't a little duct tape fix the gap between the money coming in and the money that needs to go out, or tape up the hole in us when we feel as though we just can't do it all?
Many years ago, my kids and I learned how to make things like wallets out of duct tape. We probably still have some of the ones we made. So clearly, duct tape is not just for lessening the blows. It is capable of so much more, and so are we. And perhaps, we are pretty strong without it. We fix the holes, the insecure spots, ourselves, because, as well as duct tape works on chest protectors, it just wouldn't look right on us. Much as we like how effective the duct tape is, it is up to us to find our own strength for facing the blows of life.
So, while I watched my kids tape up their karate gear, I realized that I had actually gotten through a drama-filled day without the assistance of the big silver roll. It's good stuff. But it's okay--let there be some drama and a few blows once in a while. Duct tape or no, I can take it.
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