Pebbles and Boulders

O: (sobbing) But mama, I need. I need. I need.

K: What do you need, my love?

O: I don't know.

The indignities of childhood are innumerable: scraped knees, hurt feelings, bullies, bragging, tattletales, and countless disappointments.  When your kids are little it is so tempting to swoop in, to cuddle, to soothe, to pacify, to clear every single pebble or boulder that they come across. They are ours for such a short time, why wouldn't we want to smooth their path while we still can?  

It is so tempting to be mommy-fix-it.  Taking away their hurt and being the hero can feel irresistible, but that is not about them. It is about me.  When I solve a problem or sweep away a stone, that is my victory, not theirs.  It shows them how much they need me, instead of how capable they are.  It robs them of an opportunity to learn a new skill, to think about a problem in a new way, or to discover something inherently powerful in themselves.  

I try to be mindful of what and when I fix.  Sometimes, it's ok to stumble on a pebble.  Sometimes, a boulder is there for a reason. It isn't always pretty. There is usually screaming and sometimes tears, real ones, wet and fat, running in rivers down their sweet, round faces. The worst is when there is no good solution, only that they have to learn to sit with their sadness.  That is when it is the hardest not to swoop in and fix. That's when I cry with them. 

As satisfying as it is to move the boulder for them, I try to imagine the pride and joy on their faces when they discover their own way around that boulder, or often, in O's case, straight through it.  I get the sense that P will be the type to burrow under her boulders, or vault over them, finding solutions none of us could have ever even envisioned.   

There is immediate relief in clearing that path, but there is true bliss in watching them move mountains.  It takes patience and self-restraint, but what part of parenting doesn't?  

(Insert Sound of Price is Right Sad Horns Here)

O: Mama, sometimes I have to try real hard to love you, but not daddy.  Loving daddy is easy.  

K: Truth.  You speak truth, and you and I are in the same boat on that one.  

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I'm exhausted.   I'm not capable of writing anything new today.  Please accept this ridiculously adorable photo of P with a Mickey Mouse bandaid on her head as my apology and peace offering.  

And to anyone else out there who finds they are hard to love, keep trying, and if you figure it out, let me or O know. 

Things I Have Said

K: P, stop mopping the dog! He doesn't need to be mopped.

A lot of people keep cute lists of all of the cute things that their cute kids say. I decided to keep a list of all of the crazy things cute kids have made me say. 

In the past 24 hours I have said:

1. All right guys, I am leaving, with or without you. (So clearly a bold-faced lie, even the baby didn't buy it)

2. When he said that thing about the spaceman, why did it make your heart hurt?

3. You can't have bread right now, because right now is not the bread-having time.

4. I can't put your shoes on my feet, because I am driving with my feet right now. In fact, I am driving with my hands and my eyes right now too. 

5. You are having a big feeling about that piece of trash, aren't you?

At this point, that bandaid is purely ornamental.

6. I'm sorry, but you can't have that knife right now.

7. Let's roll around on the floor and have a tickle party. No.  Just me.  I'm the only one who thinks that is a good idea?

8. Well, I think that, when brown bear and pink bear fight over the bouncy chair, you should remind brown bear that it is important to take turns, and that since she is older than pink bear, it might be nice and set a good example, if she let pink bear go first. 

9. The doors must all stay open, because all of the doors are my doors, and I am the decider about the openness of doors.

10. There is no Winnie the Pooh tonight! Pooh is off the table.

I must sound like a lunatic on a regular basis.  Anyone want to make me feel better and share the craziest thing they've said to their kids today? Anyone? Anyone? 

#thingsIhavesaid

Paternity Leave: A Sunday Guest Blog

O: Daddy, where you there when I was born?

J: Yep.

O: Was it gross? Mommy said it was gross.

J: Yep.

There has been a lot of noise on the internet about some sports ball player missing some sports ball games because his wife was birthing a person he helped make.  

A father's role is important and it has been minimized and trivialized for generations. Taking paternity leave is stigmatized, not only when it comes to professional athletes, but in more traditional workplaces, as well. It is changing. It is getting better. More and more companies are offering generous paternity leaves for families, and more and more men are taking them, and all of the dirty diapers and sleepless nights that come with them.

I took two weeks with O and three weeks with P.  With O, Kate kept insisting that she'd be up and running in a week, and while she probably could have been, I couldn't tear myself away from the tiny person we had just met.  Sure there was work to do.  The idea that paternity leave could ever be considered a vacation is ludicrous.  There were diapers and night wakings and, somehow, we still had to eat.  

tiny O

But the real work of those first few weeks was so much more important than the practicalities surrounding bringing home a newborn.  I had to get to know her, find out what drastic changes this new person was bringing to our family.  I had to stop and breathe in the new life that had joined us and form the very beginnings of the relationship that will have to see us through kindergarten, broken bones, driver's licenses, and heartbreak.  I wouldn't have given up those five weeks of paternity leave for anything in the world.  

not so tiny P

And Kate wanted me to include a special message to anyone out there in internet-land who suggested that this sports ball player's wife should have scheduled a C-section on a non-game day:

Only after you volunteer to get completely unnecessary and life-threatening surgery, that puts at risk not only your own well-being, but also the life of your child, only after that, could you ever presume to make such a suggestion.  And please, go f**k yourself. 

Sincerely, Kate Felton

a few hours old

I Made Dinner

O: The whole kitchen smells delicious, like real food. 

Please don't misunderstand.  My children have had dinner each and every night, but since I've been running back-to-back shows, it has generally been made by someone else. I'll leave instructions for the baby sitter regarding quesadilas or buttered noodles or some other sure-to-please-a-picky-tiny-person type of dish, but two nights ago, for the first time in weeks, I had the night off and I was in my own house, with my own kitchen.  

So I had a beer, made scrambled eggs for dinner, and went to bed at 8:30. 

There was beer and there was bacon, dinner of champions.

But the next night, I made dinner, nothing fancy, just some steamed broccoli and fish.  It felt good, to all be eating the same meal.  It was nice to spend some time in the kitchen.  It felt really good to make dinner, and even better to eat it.

Baked Halibut with Brown Rice and Steamed Broccoli

Serves 2 adults and 2 furiously hungry small people

(This recipe works beautifully with any mild white fish. I generally try to only buy wild caught and fresh, as in never frozen, which will drastically limit your choices most days if you are at a regular market.)

Ingredients 

Three 6 ounce fillets of halibut

One cup brown rice (the girls prefer short grained)

One crown of broccoli

For the marinade (full disclosure-I never measure, I eye-ball, pinch, and approximate so feel free to taste and adjust)

1/4 of a of cup soy sauce

1/8 of a cup of rice wine vinegar

1/2 tsp of honey

Two cloves of garlic, pressed

1/4 tsp of fish sauce-if you haven't cooked with this before, you should start, but know a little goes a long way

 1/4 of a cup of olive oil

1/2 tsp of dijon mustard 

Put the rice on.  I use a rice cooker, but there are great stove-top directions here. Pre-heat your oven to 300. We have a cool, funky, antique, gas oven that works great, but heats up the whole kitchen, so when I can, I use our toaster oven, which handles this dish perfectly.  

In a small bowl, combine all ingredients for the marinade.  Rinse and pat fish dry. Place in a small baking, dish skin side up, and pour the marinade over. You may want to reserve a small amount to drizzle over the dish for any adults you happen to be serving.  

Clean and prep broccoli, cutting into small florets.  

Breathe and pour yourself a glass of wine. You are almost done.

Put fish into oven, checking for doneness every five minutes or so. Fish is done when it appears nearly opaque and flakey.  These particular fillets took about 10 minutes at 300. Cooking time will depend on the thickness of your fish, but remember that they will continue to cook in the hot pan when you pull it out, and while you can alway stick it back in for a minute or two, you can't repair an over-cooked piece of fish.  

I usually cheat and throw the broccoli florets into the rice cooker, on top of the rice, when the rice is about 3/4th done, but you can also steam or sauté them the traditional way.  

Cheater cheater, broccoli eater

Serve the fish atop a bed of brown rice with the broccoli on the side, or on a segmented, plastic, zebra-themed plate. 

just like this

or this

Fierce

O:  I am going to scrub and scrub my skin until it is so beautiful, like a princess.

K: Why?

O: Because princesses have beautiful skin, because they are not real, not like the dinosaurs, who are real and have scaly skin with feathers and bumps. 

I am not raising princesses.  I am not raising tom boys. I am not raising girls.  I am raising two people, who happen to be female.  

Don't call them bossy. They are assertive and have excellent leadership qualities.  Don't call them dramatic. They have big feelings and are learning how to express them.  Don't help them on the playground or in the store.  What may look like laziness on my part is a studied choice. I am hanging back, purposely, working very hard to show them how to help themselves.

Don't make assumptions about who they will play with, how they will play, or what they will play with.  They don't. They just play.  Don't compliment them on their pretty dresses or tell them that they are cute.  Trust me, they hear that often enough.  

Ask them what their favorite books are, or how flowers grow, or to tell you a story.  Ask them what they are thinking about. They will tell you, or rather, O will tell you on P's behalf.  

I am raising two people, who happen to be female.  They are fierce.  They will have to be.  

There Are No More Babies in My House

O: I am not a tiny O anymore. I am a gigantic O who makes her own choices.

There are no more babies in my house.  O will be four at the end of the month and P is 20 months.  Somehow, last week, she stopped sleeping in the crib.  I'm still not sure how it happened.  I was cleaning their room and I started investigating what it would take to remove the one side of the crib railing. Next thing I knew, it was off and O, recognizing what a great fort this three sided crib/bed would make, quickly claimed it as her own.  I put the safety railings back on the toddler bed, and P climbed right in, like she'd never slept anywhere else.  We are realistically about 3 weeks away from being done with diapers all together, as P has been using the potty with more and more regularity since she was 6 months old. Yep, there are no more babies in my house.  

When did that happen?

Maybe we should get a puppy. 

Home

O: I just want to sleep in my own bed, or in your own bed.  

For a variety of reasons, we haven't been home for about five days, and even though the places we were are all places we like to be, as I pulled into the driveway, last night after rehearsal, a huge feeling of relief and peace rushed over me.  The people that I love are all safe under one roof.  After the earthquakes, urgent care trips, and the late nights of the past five days, I can't ask for anything more.  

Home is wherever these two tow heads are, but it sure is nice to sleep on my pillow again. 

Saying Yes: Another Sunday Guest Blog

O:  Daddy, will you dance in the rain with me?

J:  Yes.

I was already a half-hour late for work when O posed this question to me one morning.  Without hesitation, I said, "yes."

We danced and laughed together in the gentle rain for a few minutes, and then I left for work.  I didn't care that I was late anymore.  I didn't care that traffic was a little bit heavier now.  I didn't care that my dress shoes were a little (or maybe a lot) wet.

I had danced with my daughter in the rain.

Shooooooze

P: Shooooooooooze!

K: Do you want them off or on?

P: YEAH! Shoooooooooooze!

P has a thing for shoes. Shooooze is among her first words.  In the morning, when Jim is getting ready for work, P will follow him around carrying his size 13 dress shoes.  She brings my flip flops to me, when I am sitting barefoot at the computer and tries to put them on my feet. As for her own shoes, well...

Got to admire a girl who knows what she likes.