birthday, the second

Bump turned a whopping two on Sunday. We moved into our new house two days prior to that (and stayed in a hotel the first night), so needless to say this wasn’t the most eventful birthday. A colleague of mine, whose son was born five hours before Bump, agreed to host a joint birthday bash for the two boys. Now that I think about it, we did the very same thing for Bump’s first birthday, only then we celebrated his birthday with an old friend of mine from graduate school. Maybe next year we’ll host a Barack/Bump Birthday Bash?

I chose the picture below because frankly the fuzziness best symbolizes my life right now: everything’s unclear, moving quickly, and yet cause for celebration as I make my way into homeownership.

Happy Birthday Bump!   (He’s the fuzzy one on the right)

I don’t want to be difficult, but…

Bump goes to a licensed in-home daycare four days per week so that Mr. G can teach and I, of course, can blog. His provider, a young postgraduate (MS in some child-centered “ology”) is great. She’s just getting started, and we were the first family she met for the pre-care screening deal. We love her: she feeds em’ organics, has lots of great books, and lets Bump nap in the crib still (he’s just about to turn 2).

Then today happened. Here’s how it went:
Me upon arriving for the drop of at noon: “[Bump] had his nap really early today, so he’s not tired. He was up for a lot of the night (teething) and crashed around 10:00AM”

Provider (with slight grimace): “Oh. No. Because Finn (baby in her arms) has to sleep at noon. So, um, even if [Bump's] not tired, he’ll still have to sit in his crib (with a doubtful expression on her face).

Me (wanting to be conciliatory and perhaps a bit duplicitous because of that): “Oh, yeah, I understand. He didn’t get a good night’s sleep so I’m sure he’ll eventually nod off.”

P: “Yeah. Because, well…I mean I can push nap-time back a bit. You see, [Bump's] young. Unlike Ellis (four year old toddler), who can play quietly, I just don’t see [Bump] being able to be quiet while awake.”

Me: “Well, um, I would take [Bump] with me [even though I've already PAID for this month], but I have meetings on campus.” [OK, so this wasn't true. But somehow saying "I have to write" seemed too risky that moment.]

We ended things carefully amicable: she reiterated pushing nap-time back, and I said “call me if you find yourself totally stressed out,” which in retrospect I find somewhat too conciliatory.

Question: if I’ve already paid the monthly tuition and if I cannot find anything on her contract stating “children must be dropped off after designated nap-time if it is parent’s opinion that they will not fall asleep by noon,” am I right to assume that I was not being at all difficult or unfair? In other words, who’s right here? As a mother who has occasionally watched more than one kid at a time, I wholeheartedly sympathize with Provider. It’s noon, she’s been watching kids since 7:30AM, and nothing sounds nicer than the 2-hour break she gets after Bump, who naps there like clockwork, arrives. But she’s charging us for the convenience of having somebody care for our tots while we work (or blog). I have a hunch this might happen again tomorrow because Bump isn’t sleeping well (molars) and has napped early all week so far. What is a sympathetic working mom to do????

on idiots

Lately (i.e. the past year) I’ve been thinking that Mr. G and I watch too much television. We rarely turn it on before 5PM, and when we do watch it we don’t watch for very long (far less than two hours, unless we’re watching a Netflix, but critically-acclaimed movies don’t count as “bad TV” right?).  While I’m all for indulging in pure entertainment — I, frankly, wouldn’t dare rob Bump of his precious Sesame Street hour — I do think that when it comes to me and mine the idiot box is just that: generally a waste of time that could be spent on:

a) more reading

b) familial interaction (we both work full-time)

c) physical movement (after two years, I still sometimes use the whole “well, I did just have a baby” excuse)

Before the Internets, the television wasn’t as problematic. But now, thanks to the convenience of things like laptops and wireless technologies, I find my precious intellectual/interaction/active time increasingly sucked into the vortex of television and cyberspace, or The Idiot Box and the Portable Idiot Box.

So a few weeks ago we canceled cable. We still get PBS (Sesame Street) and a few other channels, but we don’t have a very impressive menu of options anymore. At first Mr. G resisted — and I almost caved and called to upgrade — but after less than a week he reported not minding at all. So we’re actually watching less TV. And I’m working out more.  And we suddenly have more time to prepare real, non-nuked meals.
Here’s what Adrienne Rich had to say on the matter (excerpt courtesy of very good friend S):

The television screen has throughout the world replaced, or is fast replacing: oral poetry; old wives’ tales; children’s story-acting games and verbal lore; lullabies; “playing the sevens”; political argument; the reading of books too difficult for the reader, yet somehow read; tales of “when-I-was-your-age” told by parents and grandparents to children, linking them to their own past; singing in parts; memorization of poetry; the oral transmitting of skills and remedies; reading aloud; recitation; both community and solitude. People grow up who not only don’t know how to read, a late-acquired skill among the world’s majority; they don’t know how to talk, to tell stories, to sing, to listen and remember, to argue, to pierce an opponent’s argument, to use metaphor and imagery and inspired exaggeration in speech; people are growing up in the slack flicker of a pale light which lacks the concentrated burn of a candle flame or oil wick or the bulb of a gooseneck desk lamp: a pale, wavering, oblong shimmer, emitting incessant noise, which is to real knowledge or discourse what the manic or weepy protestations of a drunk are to responsible speech. Drunks do have a way of holding an audience, though, and so does the shimmery ill-focused oblong screen. (12-13)

–Rich, Adrienne. On Lies, Secrets, and Silence: Selected Prose 1966-1978. New York: W.W. Norton, 1979.

RBOC (again)

On the treadmill this morning it occurred to me that I currently lead a very unrealistic life, and that if I don’t address this issue I will soon hit the proverbial wall and crumble. All to pieces. Just like that dude called Humpty freakin’ Dumpty. Here’s the problem: my “to do” list is insane:

1. Run the Rain City Marathon (it’s in November)
2. Get in shape again. (A year of postpartum depression = lots of empty calories)
3. Complete a book proposal by the end of this summer (this is to be considered related to the next goal, but for some reason I feel the need to keep them separate).
4. Write a book, either one that comes out of the proposal above or one that comes out of an entirely new project (in which case, I’d have to add another goal: devise a new book project).
5. Publish two peer-reviewed articles in less than three years. (This, I hear, is next to impossible, but I try).
6. Be the best mom in the world (the fact that I instinctively entered this after the previous five suggests I’m not doing so well with this goal, right?).
7. Develop life-long new friendships with a few good women in Crunchyville. I moved here about four months ago and have yet to make any substantial steps towards this goal. But, again, I try
8. Plant a vegetable garden. (This relates to goal #2: I want to eat a wider variety of vegetables to help me lose weight, but also goal #6: I want to encourage in my son a reverence for nature and sustainable living. Shit, I should add a new goal.
9. Go Green so that by the time my son is old enough to understand what that means, he’ll be there right with me. He’ll have a natural aversion to things like fast-food; processed foods; consumerism; materialism

So these are my goals at the moment. And this morning, high on an endorphin rush, I realized that nobody in their right mind would have goals like these. But I do and I can’t imagine not having them, because these things mean very much to me. (OK, I lie. The vegetable garden…not so much…but it would be so nice, and I keep saying that one day I’ll get around to that, but I guess I could live without a vegetable garden. But not without the others, especially the stuff about the kid and the book).

I am truly concerned that these goals will not materialize. And maybe that’s my problem. Goals don’t materialize. The Wonder Twins do. Goals come about through perseverance, steady attention, unwavering commitment. I hear you’re supposed to think big while taking small steps. But something tells me that all the steps in the world will never be enough. Maybe it’s because just the small stuff exhausts me: what to healthy thing can I make for dinner tonight; what to talk about in class tomorrow; when to catch up on personal emails; when to get through the piles of essays. You get the point. This is just me freaking out. It’s my blog, tis my right!

my son, the short-stop

I often joke about how Bump was born for The Majors. How we was born ready to bat. The boy takes after his father, who excelled as a ballplayer in a nationally competitive high-school, a not-so-competitive college, and even now in a local Crunchyville league (they have paid umpires). Like his father was before him, Bump has always been physically strong, precociously coordinated, and (sometimes annoyingly too) confident. He is, as one of my colleagues recently put it, kinetic.

In fact, people are generally quick to remark that Bump’s “such the athlete” whenever they spend time with him. Sometimes Mr. G and I chuckle over the thought of turning our little Bump into a cash machine by cultivating this athletic potential. One can imagine how happy I was to find this article about August Birthdays and Baseball Players. Bump, of course, was born in August (as was I) and this, dear reader, bodes well:

“Since 1950, a baby born in the United States in August has had a 50 percent to 60 percent better chance of making the big leagues than a baby born in July. The lesson: If you want your child to be a professional baseball player, you should start planning early. Very early. As in before conception.”

Bump was one month premature on August 3rd — for more on that nightmare, see this — and his original due-date was actually in September.   If he does make it to the Big Leagues, do I have the right to say: you owe it to me and my incompetent cervix?

Pity the fools born in June and July:

Batter up, Bump!!