Day #20: Babies vs. Older Kids

Today's topic:  "Which do you enjoy more, babies or older kids?"

Ten years ago, I wouldn't even have had to think.  Older kids all the way.  Babies, as I've mentioned, freaked me out with their myriad inexplicable needs.  Plus I thought they were sort of ugly--all red and squinched and flaily, and then all fat and stoned-looking.  And sometimes--like on the subway--they stared at me until I started to sweat, like "What does he WANT?"

Now I love staring at babies.  I love trying to find their tiny personhood in their eyes, that moment when they start getting all bashful or amazed or amused or just powerfully curious.  I think it's so cool.  I even sort of like holding babies now, though I prefer the ones without the flimsy necks, like Gerbera daisies with bent stems, their bright, heavy centers lolling to one side.  And--dare I admit it?--I even enjoy an endless game of putting the stacking cup on my head, letting it roll off and exclaiming "Uh-oh!" which is apparently the funniest thing on the planet.  Now there's an audience that truly appreciates my gifts.

Also, babies are uncomplicated.  Weirdly, 20 years ago I would have said the opposite, that who the hell knew what they were crying about when I'd just fed them and changed them and burped them and WHY THE HELL WON'T IT SHUT UP AND WILL I BE DOING THIS UNTIL HIS MOTHER COMES HOME???  But they're kind of ALL need, whereas the older kids keep throwing you curve balls, suddenly horrified by the offer of candy, or mad, sad or manic at times you couldn't predict.

But I really do like the idea of older kids.  I just think it would be so cool to hang out with an older kid who thinks I'M cool.  Now that idea is on the horizon in my very own home, so I'm getting a little nervous.  Will I be cool enough?

I thought about babies vs. older kids today while lounging by a lovely rock infinity pool about 30 minutes east of here, at the home of Mary's brother and his family.  Mary and I chatted and soaked in the jacuzzi and basically did our own thing for several hours while Jarrah and Joy whooped it up in the water.  What current Jarrah has in common with baby Jarrah is her love of the pool, but no longer am I gripping little hands and slippy little feet and keeping a hawkeye on that swim diaper.  Now she's up and down the rock slide, splashing with the pool noodles and beach ball, laughing and amusing HERSELF.  That part is both weird and wonderful.  When did she get so good at entertaining herself?  I don't know, but man, my life has changed a lot in five years.

Day #19: Banned

Today's topic is:  "How do you feel about kids being banned from such places as restaurants and airplanes?"

Am I missing something?  Last I checked, both those locales were fully stocked with children.  I suppose I'm to assume they're speaking hypothetically.  Well, okay.  I'll play.

I am not a banner.  There's something very oligarchical about the idea.  (Well, I take that back.  I am totally for San Francisco's decision to ban plastic bags, and I hope the ban spreads like wildfire.)  Anyway, I'm not for banning people from anywhere.

Also, my feelings about this have definitely changed.  I used to veer the host sharply away when I saw them leading us towards a table near children--"Oh no." I'd say.  "I want a quiet table."  And I sighed noisily when I saw families approaching me on a plane.

But now, I have been those people.  And it's hard to go back to innocence once you've bitten the apple.    I have been the people whose toddler is screeching bloody murder over something really important and eminently solvable like the buffet has the wrong flavor Jell-O, and who is spreading a tapestry of food around the perimeter, marking our territory.  I've been the people on the plane whose baby missed her nap during a three-hour layover in St. Louis and is now going to sob inconsolably for most of this leg simply because she's too tired to fall asleep.

Once you've been those people, your compassion mushrooms and flowers and spores all over the place.  It grows like the Grinch's heart, and busts the boundaries of whatever was there before.

On the other hand?  I still don't like it.  If David and I are on a date night and have sprung for a babysitter, I will still steer the host away from tables with food-flinging toddlers, because I'm paying for it and I (usually) can.  I still don't love listening to screaming babies on planes (I mean, who does?) though I can't stop myself from giving rueful, sympathetic smiles to the parents.  Ironically, now that Jarrah is a good (and quiet) flyer, she is over babies on planes herself.  A baby was screaming and kicking her seat on a short flight about a year ago, and she stage whispered "I didn't know it was possible for a baby to scream that loud.  Why won't it stop?"

Excellent question, young grasshopper.  One you'll be trying to answer all your life.

Day #18: Other People's Kids

Today's topic is "On the whole, do you like other people's kids?"  This seems like a loaded subject that's not easily addressed.  So I'll start with a little story.  When we had recently returned from China, I got an excited call from my friend and fellow new mom, Mary, who had an idea:  "I'll quit my teaching job, and you and I can open a home day care!  Then we can hang out with our babies and other babies all day long!"

"Oh, sweetie," I said sympathetically.  "You seem to be under the impression that I like children."

Now, it's not really true that I don't like children.  Sometimes I think they're the bee's knees.  But it's definitely taken me many years to get it through my head that children are small people.  Babies especially, but even young children, have historically seemed like aliens to me, or at least some other species.  I was never sure what they wanted or what they were going on about.  I feel like that's gotten better since I've been raising one.

A good example comes from my non-illustrious babysitting days.  I babysat, like most unpopular teenage girls, but I didn't like it.  From the awkward meeting with surly short people who seemed disgusted with me through the interminable games of Chutes and Ladders to the cringe-worthy drive home with some silent dad-like person, the whole experience made my skin crawl.  Well, there was one part I liked, and that's raiding the freezers for new kinds of ice cream and chatting on their phone to my boyfriend du jour for hours at a time, going "You hang up.  No, you.  No, really, I'm hanging up.  Oooh, I think I hear the parents.  No, false alarm.  You still there?"  The kids would often say things to me like, "You're not our regular babysitter.  But she's at prom tonight so my mom had to call you."

Before I go, I want to talk about an unrelated item, because I find it funny.  Jarrah is starting to remind me of Wednesday Addams, the deadpan, macabre daughter in The Addams Family.  She carries around books with "Ghost" or "Dead" in the title, and plays zombies until she has nightmares.  She often talks about visiting haunted houses, debating whether it would scare her or not.  When asked her favorite part of The Avengers, she smiled and said "the violence."  When her new babysitter asked her who her favorite Disney princess was, Jarrah said "the evil stepmothers."  No, she didn't really, but she did stare and blink uncomprehendingly, like "What kind of question is that?" 

Day #17: The Push and Pull of Parenting

Today's topic is:  "If you parent, what is the best part of parenting?  If you don't parent, what is the best part of not having kids?"

Well, I guess the second part doesn't apply to me.  But--in hindsight--the best part of not having kids was being able to go to a movie on a whim!  David and I both miss that terribly.  When we first met, and even into the early years of our marriage, it wasn't unusual for us to go to the movies every weekend, or even twice a week.  Now we have to decide "Well, is it worth the $60 it's going to cost to see this trending indie with the shaky, hand-held camera and the sepia flashbacks, or should we just wait for Netflix?"  It just goes to show, you gotta appreciate the little things.

The best part of parenting?  Hmmm.  That's a tough one.  Off the top of my head, I think it might be something similar to what David always said he was looking forward to (and which I then made fun of) and that's "teaching them things."  Not in an academic, didactic way.  More like how they have questions about every little detail of life that they need answered every day, and they think you are definitely the person with the answers.  It gives me an opportunity, every time I have one of these moments, to really think about my reality, my perspective, my values, even how I use language to create meaning.  All of that is so important, because they really hold on to those first few words, and they really, really tune out all the ones that come after.  I always figure I have about four sentences of pure, sweet attention before the young one's mind inevitably strays to the wonder of fruit leather and my chance is gone.

I love how complicated the questions have become.  (So of course now I'm blanking on examples.)  Well, she was really interested in WHY Michael Jackson died, and that was a challenge.  I really don't want to lie about anything, or sugarcoat things, but on the other hand, I don't want to be spewing a lot of US-Weekly-like sensationalism, either.  Hence, I'm trying to sound all nonchalant and off-the cuff while behind the scenes, the little brain elves are running around, shouting orders and searching files.  I love that.

I love, too, the absolute faith that we DO have the answers.  As a teacher, I've had years of experience saying "I don't know.  Good question!" and I have no shame about it.  But it doesn't quite work with Jarrah because she'll furrow her brow and just ask again, and continue asking, as if it doesn't quite compute that I might not know everything.  Which is why when I wrote my stand-up act, I opened with "I'm a mom.  My daughter is six, which means I still know everything.  To her, I'm Google."

This is kind of weird, but another thing I like about parenting is the ability to genuinely make my kid feel better.  Even she has started to notice how competent I am in this area.  A few months ago, I got a call that she had thrown up in her classroom, and I picked her up in the office.  I gave her a big hug, said a lot of soothing things, gave her a warm bath, some tea and got her settled in bed with a little bell in case she needed me.  She gave me a sweet little smile before her nap and said "Wow, Mom.  You're really good at taking care of sick people."  I was all a-glow.  It might sound sort of strange, but when she's sick, she really needs her mommy and can see that I'm there for her.  The rest of the time, she's so independent, she doesn't want me smoochin' on her or helping her do anything.  When she's sick, I get the opportunity to demonstrate that I've learned a thing or two about taking care of a small, helpless person.  Mind you, it wasn't instinctive.  I had to learn on the job, by trial and error, but six years in, I'd say that I have some credentials.

But maybe the best part of parenting is the part I'd have said--a few years ago--is also the worst.  Learning to meet the needs of a demanding little developing id is the biggest boundary-pusher on the planet.  Every possible deal-breaker I've ever had with other people and situations in my life, has been foisted on me and usually at the most inconvenient times possible.  And while I'm sometimes simply aghast that I'm having a screaming fight in a toy store while I'm getting a parking ticket outside, or the same stuffed animal I just lovingly purchased is being thrown at my head, or I'm having to negotiate a complicated argument about vampires vs. zombies while trying not to die in rush hour traffic, or missing an important event because my kid has a fever, or trying to quell a few choice words during a conference with her teacher, or cringing in embarrassment because she's acting like a friend's baby is poisonous, or on my hands and knees scrubbing up some sort of effluvia that previously would not have been there...whew!  I find it's really made me a more flexible person.

And since I was really, really NOT flexible before this whole parenting gig, this can only be considered a good thing.  Last summer in Australia, making plans with a friend who's known me 25 years, I hadn't noticed how much I'd been saying "That's fine!" or "Whatever works best for you!" or "You can just text us when you're ready and we'll find you!" until she fixed me with a slight, sardonic smile and said "What the hell happened to you?  When did you get so flexible?"  And without even knowing I would, I heard myself say "I guess when I became a mom."

Day 16: The Having of Children

Half-way mark!  This is the first NaBloPoMo I've done where it doesn't seem to have increased my traffic or comments.  Which was a bit unsettling at first, but I think I've gotten used to it.  I feel like the discipline in composing something every day is still good for me.

Today's topic is "When did you know you wanted or did not want to have kids?"  Oh, so we're getting serious now.  No more bubble wrap!

This is a weird question for me.  Because I don't remember WANTING kids.  Or NOT wanting kids.  I just assumed I'd have them, and probably a few.  I think this is because of my upbringing.  As the oldest of four, there was never a time I wasn't around kids, or around mothering, since my mom didn't work outside the home.  It just seemed the natural order of things.

Funny word: "natural."  For some reason, I could never picture myself actually HAVING a kid.  I've talked about this before, but the whole idea of getting and being pregnant seemed way too hocus-pocus-y to actually happen to me.  Of course, I also believed I wouldn't be subject to the same biological imperative that caused OTHER people to get pubic hair, either.  So you can see where I was coming from.  

And that's why when I actually did try to get pregnant, after a fairly long adult era of being totally horrified by the idea, it was only a couple months before I concluded, "Welp, just as I thought.  Doesn't work for me."  Which is why it's pretty spooky that this turned out to be true.  And that no one ever figured out why.  Of course they can't figure out why, myself concluded.  They're not freakin' magicians.  

Again and again, we were told we had all the raw materials and factory-standard parts to make people, but year after year, this did not happen.  And while it was devastating, it wasn't surprising.

When people asked why we decided to adopt from China after several years of the ordinary channels failed, they often said things like "You must want a baby so badly."  And truthfully?  Not so much.  There was never a time I saw other people's adorable, tiny attention-hogs and felt my body and soul cry out for this relationship.  My reasons for adopting were far more pragmatic.

When I pictured myself 65, and then tried to picture myself 65 and childless, I couldn't do it.  Or rather, I didn't want to.  I didn't like that picture.  And of course, I understood that in that picture, it would genuinely be too late.  I'd have sailed through my child-bearing (and child-rearing!) years with my fingers in my ears going "LA LA LA" and now I'd have no one to blame but myself if I regretted it.

And I didn't want to regret it.  That fear of regret--nay, that strong instinct that I WOULD regret--is what spurred me on.  It was time to get my ducks in a row so I could avoid the regret that would inevitably follow if I didn't.

Does this sound cold or calculating?  That's okay.  I often say that people who have biological children have the LUXURY OF AMBIVALENCE.  They can sit around all day going, "Uh, what have we done?" but a few seconds of romping and red wine is still going to yield them a family whether they're in the mood or not.  When you decide to adopt, you have to be cold and calculating.  After all, what's less natural and organic and beautiful than months and months of paperwork and interviews and fingerprinting?  You have to stay focused on the end result, but when it's midnight and you're making an hour's worth of copies at Kinko's because the notary is coming first thing in the morning, it's hard to feel all swoony and romantic about it.

But the beautiful and natural thing that does happen?  Is that some day, a baby arrives, and the circumstances may be strange, and you may be on the other side of the planet having just spent two hours on a bus with strangers and your baby may be wearing red leather boots and have a lollipop in her mouth and you may feel like you're in a dream with all the other babies bashing into your shins with their walkers while they scream and snot their lungs out, but someday, and probably someday really soon, you realize that you love this little person fiercely, terribly, swoonily, NATURALLY and that, whatever your reasons and methods that preceded this moment, you are now a PARENT in love with YOUR child, and you will lift schoolbuses if you must to make sure your child is safe and happy.

And that part?  Is just as spooky and mystifying as all the other crap.  And just as true.

Day #15: Skeptical

I can now tell you that David has been in Vegas for the past five days, and for once, not for work.  He was there voluntarily for a "skeptics conference," which I quote because I'm still not sure what that is.  It has a name, but since I'm not in the business of promoting it, I don't have to post it, so there.  Not that I begrudge David of his man-cation.  In all these years, he's only ever wanted to go on two, and they were both this year.  First, the race cars, and now this, whatever it is, that he claims is totally unrelated to hookers and blow.

So, since I've just fetched him from the airport and driven (with two breaks) for four hours, I'll limit tonight's post to the things I know so far about this conference.  Mind you, my perspective is limited to bullet-points.  Now that I have that advisory bulletin out of the way, here goes:

1.  It was around 114 in Vegas, but that's only hearsay, because David did not leave his hotel the entire time.

2.  The first day, he had lunch with Yau-Man from Survivor: Fiji, which weirdly, is like the only Survivor out of like 20 we haven't watched.

3.  He posted a photo to Instagram of two indeterminate young people dancing in the altogether to a band called No God.  I commented, "Are they nekked?  Is that what they're skeptical of?  Clothes?"

4.  One late-night event following the day's panels was called "The Bacon and Donuts Party," and was hosted by Penn of Penn & Teller.

5.  Another day, a man who claims to be my shy, self-effacing husband but may just be posing as him, flagged down, at a brisk trot, the very same Penn, saying he had a story to tell him (?) that he was going to find really funny. (??)  He never got to finish the story due to some interruption, which annoys him.  (???)

6.  I received a text from this same husband saying he'd just attended some panel that was life-changing because it presented a "new" way to understand something in physics.  Yes, please tell me more about that, but first:  Prop me up, will ya?  And then get me an espresso, stat.

7.  One of the panels was upsetting.  I don't know why yet.  Hopefully, it's not because it provided the exact date and time of the impending zombie apocalypse Jarrah keeps talking about.

8.  He didn't sleep much, and actually had to nap one of the days, foregoing some riveting panel in order to do so.

9.  I received the following text:  "Just saw the second guy under 30 in a kilt.  This was not a fashion I was aware of."  

10.  We're glad he's home, and he hasn't tried to talk us into joining anything...yet.

Day #14: Road Trip

Jarrah and I are visiting my sister, her husband and my gorgeous niece, Lilah, in LA tonight.  I know I keep making excuses for why these posts are getting in just under the wire, but there you have it. 

Lindsey has just moved to a fabulous new house in Redondo Beach and we needed to see it.  Jarrah's first review:  "Wow!  How can they afford this?" which is how you know how nice it is.  I'm especially excited by the giant rooms devoid of furniture so I can practice my dance moves.

Lilah just gets cuter all the time.  I love how she grins at you and says "hi!" in this very encouraging way when she likes what you're doing, and narrows her eyes and says "BYE" when she doesn't.  I also love how she covers only one eye like a pirate when she's playing peekaboo.  She's an all-around delightful baby who doesn't even require sleep, apparently, since she stays up around the clock whenever I see her.  Battery-free non-stop fun!

Jarrah gets a little cranky with all this baby-love.  After all, she's always been the baby.  She doesn't like me paying attention to anyone else.  At one point we couldn't find her for ages and finally located her in a tiny corner of the backyard.  When I asked her to come in, she said "But this is the place where I can be alone with my feelings!"  Man, that kid is my daughter.

She was sulky enough that I saw the wisdom in her staying home with her uncle and watching a movie while my sister and I had a girls night out.  We tried this amazing place, the Tin Roof Cafe, which was bursting with patrons and hot waiters, and was also delish.  It was fun and unusual for us to catch up over a glass of wine and a strawberry-rhubarb parfait without anyone interrupting us.

Now I'm about to turn in and everyone is already upstairs.  Jarrah's zipped into her sub-zero sleeping bag on the air mattress and I'll curl up in the inviting bed with the fluffy duvet next to it.  Tomorrow Thomas can go back to dealing with the four crazy women of various ages under his roof. 

Day 13: Save a Horse

Today's prompt is "Do you worry on Friday the 13th, or do you think the whole superstition is a joke?"  Well, I can think the whole superstition is a joke and still worry, right?  Because that's the option I choose.  I'm like Cassie in A Chorus Line, paraphrased:  "I'm a dancer--a dancer dances!"  Only substitute "worrier" and "worries."  It's my avocation.

Today, I worried that something horrible would befall my car while I was driving to and from Encinitas.  Indeed, it does make a sort of disconcerting "ker-chunking" sound in traffic, like it's kvetching about having to accelerate and decelerate for such piddling distances.  But I have no way of knowing if that's a genuine worry or just my car trying to say "eh, I'm old, give me a minute."

Anyway, we made it there and back and had a lovely time.  It was a good day, too.  Not only did I get Jarrah to camp on time with her lunch in hand (something I could not claim yesterday) but we swung through University Heights on the way to retrieve a red bellhop hat from the privet hedge of someone I don't know (ah, the unpredictable life of a theater geek.) Then, cappuccino outside at Con Pane (yum) my voice lesson and some brush-up work on my harmonies that I always enjoy, followed by a meeting at Azucar in OB so I could hand-off two big bags of props to Geoffrey.  Did I mention I somehow got backed into being Props Mistress for an upcoming show?  I probably did.  Anyway, my list is almost complete, making it feel like a successful treasure hunt.  I'm especially proud of the pistol with the barrel featuring tiny portraits of nudie women that is actually a lighter.  Score!

Having slogged through Friday afternoon slowdown on the way to Encinitas, Jarrah and I were rewarded with fun and company for our Friday evening.  She reveled in Barbie mayhem and pasta, and I introduced Mary to the wonder that is Cinepolis for a 21-and-over showing of Magic Mike with cocktail service and fully-reclining Laz-y-Boys.  The movie was great fun, though now more than ever I am deeply puzzled by the purported appeal of a dude in a leather thong. We followed that up with a lovely al fresco dinner at Tinleaf, my favorite place in North County, and the evening was as thick and balmy as beachside in Honolulu.

Hopefully, I can make it from here to the bed without incident.

Day 12: It's Late, So...

I can't decide if I'm the slowest person in the room to learn the choreography, or if I'm just the only one who admits when I don't know it.  I definitely ask the most questions.  And want to repeat the dance the most times.  Sometimes I wonder if everyone is struggling with the same stuff but they're just keeping their mouth shut.  But see, I don't see the valor in silence in this sort of enterprise.  If I learn it wrong, or fuzzily, then I'll have to unlearn or relearn it so I can do it right for an audience.  I'm not a vague performer.  I have to move in a definitive way or I won't feel like myself.

The last couple of nights, when we've been learning "War Is A Science" and "Morning Glow," I've felt the choreography getting easier.  Well, I mean, it actually is easier.  "War" is performed while perched on wooden stools, and while my feet certainly aren't still, at least my ass is.  It can stay in one place while I figure out where my hands and feet go.  That's a large portion of my body that's out of harm's way.

"Morning Glow" is mostly logistics.  We're holding "orbs" of light in one hand and have a flashlight tucked into our belts for later.  In one bit, I'm sinking to one knee while shutting off my orb in one hand and digging for the flashlight and turning it on with the other.  Apparently, other people are also singing during this part, but I'm like, do I look like an assembly line to you?  One thing at a time, people.  My super-cute little friend, Cody, who stands near me, reminded me to dig out the flashlight and have it in my hand during an earlier portion when I'm striding across the stage, keeping it under my hand so people can't see it.  That really helped.  Like I said:  logistics. 

It's all massive heaps of fun, though.  I come out of there really overheated, especially my feet in my new, professional "jazz" shoes, which feel like tiny Mt. Vesuviuses.  But they really do help with the spinning.  I couldn't make it all the way around without the shoes. 

Now if I can just remember to enter on cue, stay in sync, sing the top line of the four part harmony while I'm throwing my orbs around and not drop my flashlight with a great clatter on the wood stage, I'll be golden. 

Day #11: Trying

Sigh.  This was a bit of a hard day.  I mean, it could always be worse.  But I was close to tears a couple of times.

Last night, on my way home from rehearsal, my dashboard lights came on.  This did not seem promising after how much my car had been poked and prodded all day.  David was hopeful that it was just some kind of loose electrical connection.

This morning I went to get my hair colored, a visit that was long overdue.  I spent about 15 minutes lamenting to my hair gal that I might not be able to color my hair anymore because my scalp is SO FREAKIN' ITCHY ALL THE TIME.  Seriously, I don't know what to do about it.  There's no flakiness, no redness: just itchiness.  And it makes me want to crawl out of my skin sometimes.  She listened with Concerned Face but is obviously not a doctor and had no clue what I should do about this.  Not that a doctor would know, either (and I say this knowing that a dear dermatologist friend of mine would heartily agree.)

So I did my hair anyway, consequences be damned.  And it did cheer me to see how good it looks.  Then, not wanting to tempt Fate any further, I drove straight back to Midas.

And lucky I did, too.  Turns out that "re-manned" alternator from yesterday?  The one I've been using for less than 24 hours?  Had failed.  The battery was quickly going dead, and I'm lucky (see? something to celebrate about this day!) I didn't end up stranded somewhere.

Instead, I ended up stranded at Midas, where at least they were actively fixing my car at the time.  They made some noise about another re-manned alternator, and though I don't know a thing about cars, this time I had a strong opinion:  "I want a new alternator.  Where can one procure one of those?"  The Midas gal, perky and adorable, felt sheepish enough to make a run up to Miramar solely on my behalf, and was able to locate one within a couple hours.  And since the previous one was still under warranty (snort) I only had to pay the difference.

So I spent another four hours hanging out at Coco's.  I'm learning a lot about their menu.  Most items, even innocuous-sounding things like a turkey sandwich, are upwards of 1,000 calories.  But the cream of broccoli soup, which I've always loved, is 220 for a generous bowl.  So that's something new I learned.

While I was chillin' at Coco's, and later at Starbucks, I realized that I felt shaky and near tears.  Why?  I asked myself.  "Self, why don't you celebrate the thing you're always saying you want?  Several hours with nowhere to be when you can just read in peace?"  But somehow being forced to do it was stressful for me.  I also had to do some frantic texting to find someone to pick up Jarrah from camp.  My Midas friend had assured me they'd have my car ready in time for dismissal.  I believed that like I believed they didn't break my air conditioner, so I promptly started looking.  Guess who was right?

Tonight at rehearsal I started noticing that I'm standing in the back a lot.  I mean, it's okay.  Someone has to stand in the back.  But, me being me, I suddenly decided to take it personally today.  And maybe because I was already feeling shaky and teary I had to kind of buck myself up a couple of times to stay focused rather than dissolve into a spacey blob who couldn't follow anything that was happening.  And I think I managed that, mostly.  One of the cute teenagers in the show, who has been a dancer all her life, responded to my claim that learning choreography "is more difficult for me mentally than physically" with a cute whisper between cues:  "Dancing has been shown to ward off dementia."

Well, then.  I better do a whole lot more of it.