Identical twinning is a true marvel of science.
It really is.
Sometimes I find myself staring at them in wonderment at the completely random things about them that are exactly the same, or opposite since they are known as Mirror Twins.
The list can be almost daunting to reflect on, seriously.
Even though their shared genetic makeup is always and ever at the back of my mind, there are still times when some little quirk, multiplied from one to the other, will throw me for a loop.
Like, sleepwalking, for example.
I can honestly never say I thought we'd have to deal with times two. But apparently...I was mistaken in my ignorance.
Last week Caedance had fitful nights of sleepwalking. Her first ever. The first time she ran out of her bedroom at midnight, heading for the stairwell and towards the stairs.
For what? To where? Who knows.
The second time she was in a sleeping bag, sound asleep. At 2am she bolted up, grabbed her sleeping bag, pillow, and blanket, and headed off upstairs.
Each time, I gently shepherded my sleeping lamb back to her correct coral, tucking her back in once more.
When she slept fully through the third night, I thought the cycle had been broken and we could rest well at last.
Until the fifth night, when Ashlyn started to sleepwalk.
Her foray into the world of nocturnal travelling also began with a midnight trip to the top of the stairs. Where she sat, for no apparent reason, and with little desire to be led back into her own bed.
Her second journey brought her downstairs while Dan and I were finishing up a Prime Time show. (I'm only slightly ashamed to say that it was Pretty Little Liars; a guilty pleasure for us.) I heard a noise, looked over, and there she came, skipping (literally) into the family room. And towards the door leading to the garage. And outside. Alone.
Another two nights spent gently ushering a sleeping child back into the safety of her bedroom and tucked back into her bed. Safe.
Another two nights of what cannot be called restful sleep for the mama in our little family. How am I supposed to sleep when I know that one of them may be off exploring somewhere, completely unaware that she's even doing it? I challenge any parent to really sleep through that questionable thought.
We've been Sleepwalk Free for several nights now, and I'm cautiously hopeful that their strange little cycle was just a short phase, and is over now. Passed through. Done.
I hope.
The inner workings of their minds remain very unknown to me, but this was one episode that I can most certainly do without. Adventures In Twin Parenting needs to take a rest at night, you know? Our days are filled with enough adventure; let's keep night-time a little more calm.
Wednesday, September 11, 2013
Friday, August 23, 2013
Grandpa Bill
Early this morning Dan's grandfather, Grandpa Bill, passed away. It was around this time last year that we lost his other grandfather, Grandpa Joe. Now I find myself sitting here, another turn around the sun and an August later, thinking once again of just how precious the people in our lives truly are. If we are lucky, we can be utterly blessed by them.
The roles they play;
The example they offer;
The leadership they show;
The virtues and qualities they fill our lives with;
These are the gifts that they can bestow on those they leave behind.
Grandpa Bill was without any doubt, the kindest and most gentle man I've ever had the privilege of knowing. I remember my first few meetings with him. I had been dating Dan for a little while and our relationship was deemed permanent enough to take it to the next level of appearing at Family Gatherings. From our first introduction, Grandpa Bill showed grace and kindness in welcoming into the family. That was his way: welcoming. Since the day Dan and I were married, 15 years ago, I always felt like I was Grandpa Bill's granddaughter. Not by the title of "in law", but just truly a member of his family.
Whether the gathering was big or small, I knew that if I wanted, there was a chair next to him for me. We would sit and talk. About nothing, or everything. He was one of those rare people who was genuinely interested in whatever you had to say, and he listened attentively, and participated in the conversation eagerly. In his presence, you knew you were the center of his attention. I cannot tell you what a golden gift that is, his focus and consideration, and I will carry that memory in my heart forever. I will remember him recounting stories from his youth, his time serving our country, and the trips he and Grandma took over the years.
Like many, his life traversed both good times and bad; adventures and misadventures; times of ease and times of burden. Yet no matter where the journey of his life had taken him, he remained steadfast and humble; his heart focused securely on the truth to life's happiness: family.
He loved being surrounded by his family. Just last year we had the joy of spending time together as one large group. He and Grandma were surrounded by their children, grandchildren, and great-grandchildren. It was loud. It was busy. It was (at times) chaotic with kids and an assortment of toys ever underfoot. And he adored every single minute of it. I observed him at one point just sitting in a chair and watching; taking in everything around him, and smiling. True to himself, he was completely in that moment, enjoying the precious gift of family.
His absence leaves a hole, but in the space of that gap there is an abundance of memories--gifts--that he's left us. His gentle spirit, his kind words and humble attitude, his gracious demeanor, and his open and loving heart. He was more than words on any screen could ever encompass and will be missed more than any words could accurately convey. But I'm grateful for the legacy he leaves behind for his family; thankful for the millions of ways he touched and blessed us all.
Thank you, Grandpa Bill, for being a shining example of family, love, kindness, gentleness, compassion, humility, and grace. Till we meet again.
The roles they play;
The example they offer;
The leadership they show;
The virtues and qualities they fill our lives with;
These are the gifts that they can bestow on those they leave behind.
Grandpa Bill was without any doubt, the kindest and most gentle man I've ever had the privilege of knowing. I remember my first few meetings with him. I had been dating Dan for a little while and our relationship was deemed permanent enough to take it to the next level of appearing at Family Gatherings. From our first introduction, Grandpa Bill showed grace and kindness in welcoming into the family. That was his way: welcoming. Since the day Dan and I were married, 15 years ago, I always felt like I was Grandpa Bill's granddaughter. Not by the title of "in law", but just truly a member of his family.
Whether the gathering was big or small, I knew that if I wanted, there was a chair next to him for me. We would sit and talk. About nothing, or everything. He was one of those rare people who was genuinely interested in whatever you had to say, and he listened attentively, and participated in the conversation eagerly. In his presence, you knew you were the center of his attention. I cannot tell you what a golden gift that is, his focus and consideration, and I will carry that memory in my heart forever. I will remember him recounting stories from his youth, his time serving our country, and the trips he and Grandma took over the years.
Like many, his life traversed both good times and bad; adventures and misadventures; times of ease and times of burden. Yet no matter where the journey of his life had taken him, he remained steadfast and humble; his heart focused securely on the truth to life's happiness: family.
He loved being surrounded by his family. Just last year we had the joy of spending time together as one large group. He and Grandma were surrounded by their children, grandchildren, and great-grandchildren. It was loud. It was busy. It was (at times) chaotic with kids and an assortment of toys ever underfoot. And he adored every single minute of it. I observed him at one point just sitting in a chair and watching; taking in everything around him, and smiling. True to himself, he was completely in that moment, enjoying the precious gift of family.
His absence leaves a hole, but in the space of that gap there is an abundance of memories--gifts--that he's left us. His gentle spirit, his kind words and humble attitude, his gracious demeanor, and his open and loving heart. He was more than words on any screen could ever encompass and will be missed more than any words could accurately convey. But I'm grateful for the legacy he leaves behind for his family; thankful for the millions of ways he touched and blessed us all.
Thank you, Grandpa Bill, for being a shining example of family, love, kindness, gentleness, compassion, humility, and grace. Till we meet again.
Wednesday, July 10, 2013
Little Women
Maybe I missed something somewhere along the way, but when did it become okay for kids to be so downright rude and disrespectful to their parents and other adults? It seems like every time I go into a store I will see at least one example of this new Parent=Pal trend that seems so fashionable right now.
Little kids, cute as buttons, calling their parents "Stupid" or responding to questions with "Duh" and "Whatever". One mother was discouraging her daughter's choice in shirts in what seemed like a reasonable manner, only to have the pre-teen answer back with, "Please. Like you know anything." Another time, a little boy was playing a video game in a waiting room. The mother asked him to please turn the video game's volume down. The little boy looked at her and said, "Be quiet. Can't you see I'm working here?"
When did that become okay?
I know many times, the parent is equally to blame, modeling the snarky attitude prominently at home. Children are mirrors that reflect some of our most blaring faults.
Sometimes it's the older siblings who teach the bad habits. And of course every Little wants to be just exactly like the Big in their life.
We can also point the long finger of blame at schools, and media, and video games, television.
But I wonder if it really helps to blame anyone or put the burden of fault on anything. Can't we just agree that it's wrong. Is it erroneous to assume that disrespectful children run the very high risk of becoming a very dangerous thing: disrespectful and possibly un-empathetic adults?
I am the first to admit that my parenting style has flaws. I'm not perfect. But I will absolutely say that I speak to my daughters with respect and expect them to speak respectfully back to me. I expect them to. As in, I have expectations for them. In my opinion, encouraging children to reach expectations is a learning experience. Teaching. (As many of you know, I like teaching). When they hear a new phrase or learn a new behavior and want to try it out on me at home, we will discuss it if it doesn't meet our Expectations. There was a time, not so long ago, when it seemed every request I made of them was answered with a slightly sassy, "Oh, I Don't Think So"...complete with the eye rolling. I could have let that slide. Sure. But if it bothers me to have that said when they are 8, I really don't want to hear it when they're teenagers, full of raging hormones and battling every single thing I say. How tiring would that be? So we sat down and talked about it. How it made me feel. How it made them feel. What it meant. We talked about our Family Pact to keep our words respectful towards one another, and considered if that phrase fit into that plan; we decided that it really didn't mesh too well. And you know what? That was the end of it. Case closed. There was no yelling. No aggressive behaviors or stomping of feet. It wasn't needed.
I consider it my daughters' job to "push the buttons"; that's how they grow and learn. The trial and error is how they become the unique individuals they are destined to be one day. My job, as a parent, is to give them the opportunities to thrive and learn from their mistakes, and to help them find their own voice in whether something fits in with our Family Expectations or not. It's also my job to model the behavior I expect from them to them. They are with me every day, seeing my own trials and triumphs on a daily basis. I'd like to hope my actions cast a glowing reflection. Like I said, I'm not perfect by any means, so it's as much an on-going lesson for me as it is for them.
Maybe this seeming trend in kids being disrespectful will fade away. There is always that hope, after all. But in the mean time, I am aspiring to rear two respectful daughters who will be (I hope) tomorrow's respectful and empathetic women. It may seem that the morals and ethics of the world are spiraling out of control, but what I can do is be watchful of my own actions and attitudes, knowing that the two blessings entrusted to me are present, ever watchful, and (hopefully) picking up on them.
Little kids, cute as buttons, calling their parents "Stupid" or responding to questions with "Duh" and "Whatever". One mother was discouraging her daughter's choice in shirts in what seemed like a reasonable manner, only to have the pre-teen answer back with, "Please. Like you know anything." Another time, a little boy was playing a video game in a waiting room. The mother asked him to please turn the video game's volume down. The little boy looked at her and said, "Be quiet. Can't you see I'm working here?"
When did that become okay?
I know many times, the parent is equally to blame, modeling the snarky attitude prominently at home. Children are mirrors that reflect some of our most blaring faults.
Sometimes it's the older siblings who teach the bad habits. And of course every Little wants to be just exactly like the Big in their life.
We can also point the long finger of blame at schools, and media, and video games, television.
But I wonder if it really helps to blame anyone or put the burden of fault on anything. Can't we just agree that it's wrong. Is it erroneous to assume that disrespectful children run the very high risk of becoming a very dangerous thing: disrespectful and possibly un-empathetic adults?
I am the first to admit that my parenting style has flaws. I'm not perfect. But I will absolutely say that I speak to my daughters with respect and expect them to speak respectfully back to me. I expect them to. As in, I have expectations for them. In my opinion, encouraging children to reach expectations is a learning experience. Teaching. (As many of you know, I like teaching). When they hear a new phrase or learn a new behavior and want to try it out on me at home, we will discuss it if it doesn't meet our Expectations. There was a time, not so long ago, when it seemed every request I made of them was answered with a slightly sassy, "Oh, I Don't Think So"...complete with the eye rolling. I could have let that slide. Sure. But if it bothers me to have that said when they are 8, I really don't want to hear it when they're teenagers, full of raging hormones and battling every single thing I say. How tiring would that be? So we sat down and talked about it. How it made me feel. How it made them feel. What it meant. We talked about our Family Pact to keep our words respectful towards one another, and considered if that phrase fit into that plan; we decided that it really didn't mesh too well. And you know what? That was the end of it. Case closed. There was no yelling. No aggressive behaviors or stomping of feet. It wasn't needed.
I consider it my daughters' job to "push the buttons"; that's how they grow and learn. The trial and error is how they become the unique individuals they are destined to be one day. My job, as a parent, is to give them the opportunities to thrive and learn from their mistakes, and to help them find their own voice in whether something fits in with our Family Expectations or not. It's also my job to model the behavior I expect from them to them. They are with me every day, seeing my own trials and triumphs on a daily basis. I'd like to hope my actions cast a glowing reflection. Like I said, I'm not perfect by any means, so it's as much an on-going lesson for me as it is for them.
Maybe this seeming trend in kids being disrespectful will fade away. There is always that hope, after all. But in the mean time, I am aspiring to rear two respectful daughters who will be (I hope) tomorrow's respectful and empathetic women. It may seem that the morals and ethics of the world are spiraling out of control, but what I can do is be watchful of my own actions and attitudes, knowing that the two blessings entrusted to me are present, ever watchful, and (hopefully) picking up on them.
Friday, June 7, 2013
Dance Recital
The girls have their ballet recital this weekend. Probably one of the most advertised, reminder-filled events in their young lives right now.
And naturally, I'm completely off the mark on all of it.
Yesterday evening, I was checking out my camera, making sure I was good to go on the settings I would need for the darkened theater where we'd be attending the rehearsal. Did you know that dropping a camera, even on accident, and even the night before you really-really-really need it, will still (absolutely) break the camera? It sure will. Okay, so it's not totally broken. Just the LCD screen. Picture a little TV screen in a 4-square layout. Now take 3 of those 4 squares and color them white, leaving just one little old square properly showing the picture. That's my screen right now. I can center everything on the right brilliantly; sorry for the poor subjects on the left or in the middle though.
After what seemed like hours of despair over this bit of unluckiness, and woeing our pitiful lack of finances to deal with the stupid camera with the blocked out LCD screen, it occurred to us that we had 2 working cameras from our daughters. The girls have their own cameras, so it shall be one of theirs that captures all the magic moments this weekend.
Camera catastrophes solved, it was on to the rehearsal. And getting ourselves in costume.
We've had their costumes since before Spring Break. Sent home in carefully packaged plastic zip-bags, we were instructed to remove the costume and hang them upside down. Our bags made it as far as the entry way closet and they have hung ever since. Right side up. (Sigh)
Today was the rehearsal for this grand event. Naturally, it took a moment for me to even remember where the bags had been stored, and another to allow for the momentary Freak Out I had whilst searching frantically for the bag of "essential" accessories that was included. That I lost. But then found again. And then quickly dumped all over the floor. (Sigh)
Putting each young lady into her lovely costume,(and already running late), I came across a great many safety pins lining the outer sides of each. It was at this prestigious moment that I very vaguely recalled being told that I would need to do some hand stitching along the sides where each costume was just "this" much too big. Right. Yes. That. Lovely.
I am very pleased to reassure you that neither child was in anyway injured (or needle-jabbed) as I so elegantly hand stitched her costume. As she wore it. Standing extremely still. And looking more nervous than I felt was warranted. Maybe.
We pulled our act together and marched into the rehearsal a mere 10 minutes late, thank you very much. We sat down in our assigned seats, waiting for the girls' dance class to be called up to rehearse. And then I wondered......and then I knew.
My little ballerinas had arrived at their rehearsal without their ballet slippers. Seriously, could I get any more "together" here? Was it even possible? We were saved by the other classes' rehearsals running over, and the fact that my Hero of a Hubby was at home (just 2 blocks away) and able to speed said footwear down to me, tossing the bag out the van's window as he cruised by the theater, thus extinguishing the need to park.
Sitting in the darkened theater, watching all the dancers do their thing, I couldn't help but wonder at my own escapades of the last hour. I used to be more on top of things. Now I feel like I'm getting run over nearly every single day. I was the Planner. The Get-It-Done Gal who always got things done. Most days I feel like a winner if I manage to actually make it through the day without forgetting something or another. (Though it's hard to know when I should celebrate because I'm not entirely sure if I'd remember that I forgot something).
There was a time when this new me would have sent the creepy crawlies up my spine. But now I just go with it. Eh, it's all good. Today for example, sure I broke my camera, but now I get to borrow my daughter's. That's okay. And yes, I may have momentarily lost their costumes and accessories, but I found them. Eventually. And had a jolly good time on the hunt, mind you. And so what we were 10 minutes late with no shoes; someone else is always later. And I got to play catch with my husband as he threw a bag out of a moving vehicle. AND I caught it! On the first try.
The ability to achieve or to fail is absolutely in your perception.
And they look entirely too cute to think of today as anything other than a complete success.
And naturally, I'm completely off the mark on all of it.
Yesterday evening, I was checking out my camera, making sure I was good to go on the settings I would need for the darkened theater where we'd be attending the rehearsal. Did you know that dropping a camera, even on accident, and even the night before you really-really-really need it, will still (absolutely) break the camera? It sure will. Okay, so it's not totally broken. Just the LCD screen. Picture a little TV screen in a 4-square layout. Now take 3 of those 4 squares and color them white, leaving just one little old square properly showing the picture. That's my screen right now. I can center everything on the right brilliantly; sorry for the poor subjects on the left or in the middle though.
After what seemed like hours of despair over this bit of unluckiness, and woeing our pitiful lack of finances to deal with the stupid camera with the blocked out LCD screen, it occurred to us that we had 2 working cameras from our daughters. The girls have their own cameras, so it shall be one of theirs that captures all the magic moments this weekend.
Camera catastrophes solved, it was on to the rehearsal. And getting ourselves in costume.
We've had their costumes since before Spring Break. Sent home in carefully packaged plastic zip-bags, we were instructed to remove the costume and hang them upside down. Our bags made it as far as the entry way closet and they have hung ever since. Right side up. (Sigh)
Today was the rehearsal for this grand event. Naturally, it took a moment for me to even remember where the bags had been stored, and another to allow for the momentary Freak Out I had whilst searching frantically for the bag of "essential" accessories that was included. That I lost. But then found again. And then quickly dumped all over the floor. (Sigh)
Putting each young lady into her lovely costume,(and already running late), I came across a great many safety pins lining the outer sides of each. It was at this prestigious moment that I very vaguely recalled being told that I would need to do some hand stitching along the sides where each costume was just "this" much too big. Right. Yes. That. Lovely.
I am very pleased to reassure you that neither child was in anyway injured (or needle-jabbed) as I so elegantly hand stitched her costume. As she wore it. Standing extremely still. And looking more nervous than I felt was warranted. Maybe.
We pulled our act together and marched into the rehearsal a mere 10 minutes late, thank you very much. We sat down in our assigned seats, waiting for the girls' dance class to be called up to rehearse. And then I wondered......and then I knew.
My little ballerinas had arrived at their rehearsal without their ballet slippers. Seriously, could I get any more "together" here? Was it even possible? We were saved by the other classes' rehearsals running over, and the fact that my Hero of a Hubby was at home (just 2 blocks away) and able to speed said footwear down to me, tossing the bag out the van's window as he cruised by the theater, thus extinguishing the need to park.
Sitting in the darkened theater, watching all the dancers do their thing, I couldn't help but wonder at my own escapades of the last hour. I used to be more on top of things. Now I feel like I'm getting run over nearly every single day. I was the Planner. The Get-It-Done Gal who always got things done. Most days I feel like a winner if I manage to actually make it through the day without forgetting something or another. (Though it's hard to know when I should celebrate because I'm not entirely sure if I'd remember that I forgot something).
There was a time when this new me would have sent the creepy crawlies up my spine. But now I just go with it. Eh, it's all good. Today for example, sure I broke my camera, but now I get to borrow my daughter's. That's okay. And yes, I may have momentarily lost their costumes and accessories, but I found them. Eventually. And had a jolly good time on the hunt, mind you. And so what we were 10 minutes late with no shoes; someone else is always later. And I got to play catch with my husband as he threw a bag out of a moving vehicle. AND I caught it! On the first try.
The ability to achieve or to fail is absolutely in your perception.
Monday, June 3, 2013
The Stay At Home Parent.
You know, sometimes Stay At Home Moms are treated like second class citizens. Whether or not you personally agree with that, it's true. It really is.
If I am told one more time that "I don't actually work", or "Imagine how hard your life would be if you had a real job!" I might have to pop someone in the nose. I just might.
People, the time has come to stop thinking that just because a parent chooses to be at home raising their family, they are not, in fact, waving the white flag of surrender and retiring from the working class world. Note that I am saying Parent here because I know there are a lot of Stay At Home Fathers now too. And good for them, I might add.
In a perfect world, when people find out that I have chosen to be at home with my kids they would say, "My goodness, you are wonderful. What a hard, thankless, tiresome task that is. You should be commended on your ability to sacrifice that extra money for what you feel is best for your family." In a perfect world, there would be a national Stay At Home Parent Celebratory Day wherein all Stay At Home Parents would get a day off. Completely to themselves. And free ice cream. All day.
Yes dear nay-sayers, the Stay At Home Parent works. Very hard. Everyday. When my dear husband leaves for his job in the morning--away from chattering children and in a controlled, quiet environment (I might add), my day is only just picking up from yesterday. The To Do list from the day before never seems to be fully completed and my mornings are spent trying to magically merge that list with the list for the new day.
I have kids to get up and get ready. I know what you're thinking. I do. You're thinking, "But Amanda, the girls are older now. They take care of themselves. You have no work here. Stop whining." I will concede that their getting older has certainly lessened some of the load. Now if only children would magically jump out of bed ready to bound into the bathroom and get ready for the day. And if only they managed to do this without getting half a tube of toothpaste all over the sink. And the counter soaking wet from their noble attempts at washing their face. And without leaving piles of clothing (more than I knew they were even wearing, apparently) all over the floor. It would be like absolutely no work at all.
After feeding them breakfast (and I'll skip over the mess that is everyday; suffice it to say we go through multiple choices which they completely veto before landing on Pop Tarts), it's on to a day of school. Now here's where my day differs slightly from other Stay At Home Parents; I have elected to school my girls at home using an online e-academy. Having taught in an actual brick and mortar school in the past, I can say that the amount of work I put into my daily lessons for this e-school is very similar. There is daily planning to be done, and then prepping for lessons, and then preparing each lesson before teaching it, and then evaluating if they understood it or if I need to switch gears to try again. Looking at the week in advance and asking myself, "How can I make this better? What can I pull in to bring it off the page and make it more interactive? Library books? Experiments? Activities? Crafts? All the while looking ahead in the curriculum to find ways to link certain subjects to one another or to activities we happen to be doing. In short: I'm teaching. And teaching without the benefit of knowing next year will be "better" in that my lesson plans are set. Nope, next year will be a new grade level with new lessons. Back to square one. Again.
After my time directly teaching the girls wraps up, I pull free to do that most pressing of all Stay At Home tasks: Clean. People who think you can't possibly need to clean everyday are very, very wrong. Either that or they haven't seen my house. When you are in your house all day everyday, messes are made. Lots of them. Everyday. So you do the best you can to keep things in check and caught up. But dang it, that laundry things throws a complete wrench in the plans. I have figured out (finally) that if I do two loads everyday, I will keep just ahead of the week. Now as soon as I put that sage advice into practice, we'll be golden. (And maybe it will be a lot like having "No Work" everyday).
Of course, in between loads of laundry, picking up, cleaning, dusting, vacuuming, sweeping, and checking in from time to time with the girls on their independent school work, I have to plan meals. Apparently, no matter how busy the day gets, the family still has to eat. Sometimes I feel like there is pressure on me to make grand and amazing lunches and dinners every single day. You know, because I'm home and I "don't work". Surely I must have time, right? Meals around here have to be fully planned in advance, so I can shop for the stuff and make sure it's in my house before I get stuck in the middle of a recipe without it. (That happens often.) And since we're on a budget (my non-paying, non-working job doesn't add much to the old bank account), what I make needs to be economical. In short, I am tasked with the daily challenge to prepare meals that are fabulously amazing and completely and utterly cheap. No last minute pizza runs here. Or Chinese.
After dinner is in the books and a memory, I have to close up the day. What still needs done that can't wait until tomorrow? What does tomorrow look like? Can I even add to that list? Meanwhile, naturally, there are two girls to pull together for bed: baths and nightly reading first. Finally, an hour or two for just me and the dear husband. Day over. Sort of---there is that on-going list from today that rolls over into tomorrow.
Don't get me wrong, I love what I do. And like most Stay At Home Parents, I have chosen to do this. But I feel like society should stop making me (making US) feel bad about it. Staying at home is not a cop out, people. It's a hard choice that means you're on the front line every single day. Rain or shine. Sick or healthy. It's you. All you. Only you.
So please, when I say that I stay home with my kids, don't respond with, "So you don't work then?" Because I do work, thank you. It's also not comforting to hear, "My gosh, I would LOVE to stay home all day. But some of us have to work, you know." Again, I work. At home. For no pay. My day is not filled with bon-bons and books read on the couch, or catching up on My Stories on television. And even though you think it makes it better, asking "Do you work outside the home" isn't especially helpful either. I get it, you're implying I work...just not "outside" the house. But honestly, that makes me feel like I'm in a cage.
It is, however, okay to say, "Thank you for your hard work." That's always nice to hear (and I've heard it a few times). It's also nice to hear, "I hope you're able to get time for yourself sometimes." It's pleasant when people keep in mind that some days are real sanity-busters. And it's always okay to say, "I wish I could have done that." I know what a privilege my being home is. It's a sacrifice on our family finances, but it's a blessing. I know many people who would love to stay home but can't.
Staying at home isn't for everyone. And just like any job, there are lots of 'Bad Examples' out there that give it a bad name. But there are also the diligent among us. The daily laborers who toil tirelessly, (often thanklessly) away, for a greater good. So when I say "I'm a stay at home Mom", please try something encouraging rather than the cut downs. Thank you muchly.
If I am told one more time that "I don't actually work", or "Imagine how hard your life would be if you had a real job!" I might have to pop someone in the nose. I just might.
People, the time has come to stop thinking that just because a parent chooses to be at home raising their family, they are not, in fact, waving the white flag of surrender and retiring from the working class world. Note that I am saying Parent here because I know there are a lot of Stay At Home Fathers now too. And good for them, I might add.
In a perfect world, when people find out that I have chosen to be at home with my kids they would say, "My goodness, you are wonderful. What a hard, thankless, tiresome task that is. You should be commended on your ability to sacrifice that extra money for what you feel is best for your family." In a perfect world, there would be a national Stay At Home Parent Celebratory Day wherein all Stay At Home Parents would get a day off. Completely to themselves. And free ice cream. All day.
Yes dear nay-sayers, the Stay At Home Parent works. Very hard. Everyday. When my dear husband leaves for his job in the morning--away from chattering children and in a controlled, quiet environment (I might add), my day is only just picking up from yesterday. The To Do list from the day before never seems to be fully completed and my mornings are spent trying to magically merge that list with the list for the new day.
I have kids to get up and get ready. I know what you're thinking. I do. You're thinking, "But Amanda, the girls are older now. They take care of themselves. You have no work here. Stop whining." I will concede that their getting older has certainly lessened some of the load. Now if only children would magically jump out of bed ready to bound into the bathroom and get ready for the day. And if only they managed to do this without getting half a tube of toothpaste all over the sink. And the counter soaking wet from their noble attempts at washing their face. And without leaving piles of clothing (more than I knew they were even wearing, apparently) all over the floor. It would be like absolutely no work at all.
After feeding them breakfast (and I'll skip over the mess that is everyday; suffice it to say we go through multiple choices which they completely veto before landing on Pop Tarts), it's on to a day of school. Now here's where my day differs slightly from other Stay At Home Parents; I have elected to school my girls at home using an online e-academy. Having taught in an actual brick and mortar school in the past, I can say that the amount of work I put into my daily lessons for this e-school is very similar. There is daily planning to be done, and then prepping for lessons, and then preparing each lesson before teaching it, and then evaluating if they understood it or if I need to switch gears to try again. Looking at the week in advance and asking myself, "How can I make this better? What can I pull in to bring it off the page and make it more interactive? Library books? Experiments? Activities? Crafts? All the while looking ahead in the curriculum to find ways to link certain subjects to one another or to activities we happen to be doing. In short: I'm teaching. And teaching without the benefit of knowing next year will be "better" in that my lesson plans are set. Nope, next year will be a new grade level with new lessons. Back to square one. Again.
After my time directly teaching the girls wraps up, I pull free to do that most pressing of all Stay At Home tasks: Clean. People who think you can't possibly need to clean everyday are very, very wrong. Either that or they haven't seen my house. When you are in your house all day everyday, messes are made. Lots of them. Everyday. So you do the best you can to keep things in check and caught up. But dang it, that laundry things throws a complete wrench in the plans. I have figured out (finally) that if I do two loads everyday, I will keep just ahead of the week. Now as soon as I put that sage advice into practice, we'll be golden. (And maybe it will be a lot like having "No Work" everyday).
Of course, in between loads of laundry, picking up, cleaning, dusting, vacuuming, sweeping, and checking in from time to time with the girls on their independent school work, I have to plan meals. Apparently, no matter how busy the day gets, the family still has to eat. Sometimes I feel like there is pressure on me to make grand and amazing lunches and dinners every single day. You know, because I'm home and I "don't work". Surely I must have time, right? Meals around here have to be fully planned in advance, so I can shop for the stuff and make sure it's in my house before I get stuck in the middle of a recipe without it. (That happens often.) And since we're on a budget (my non-paying, non-working job doesn't add much to the old bank account), what I make needs to be economical. In short, I am tasked with the daily challenge to prepare meals that are fabulously amazing and completely and utterly cheap. No last minute pizza runs here. Or Chinese.
After dinner is in the books and a memory, I have to close up the day. What still needs done that can't wait until tomorrow? What does tomorrow look like? Can I even add to that list? Meanwhile, naturally, there are two girls to pull together for bed: baths and nightly reading first. Finally, an hour or two for just me and the dear husband. Day over. Sort of---there is that on-going list from today that rolls over into tomorrow.
Don't get me wrong, I love what I do. And like most Stay At Home Parents, I have chosen to do this. But I feel like society should stop making me (making US) feel bad about it. Staying at home is not a cop out, people. It's a hard choice that means you're on the front line every single day. Rain or shine. Sick or healthy. It's you. All you. Only you.
So please, when I say that I stay home with my kids, don't respond with, "So you don't work then?" Because I do work, thank you. It's also not comforting to hear, "My gosh, I would LOVE to stay home all day. But some of us have to work, you know." Again, I work. At home. For no pay. My day is not filled with bon-bons and books read on the couch, or catching up on My Stories on television. And even though you think it makes it better, asking "Do you work outside the home" isn't especially helpful either. I get it, you're implying I work...just not "outside" the house. But honestly, that makes me feel like I'm in a cage.
It is, however, okay to say, "Thank you for your hard work." That's always nice to hear (and I've heard it a few times). It's also nice to hear, "I hope you're able to get time for yourself sometimes." It's pleasant when people keep in mind that some days are real sanity-busters. And it's always okay to say, "I wish I could have done that." I know what a privilege my being home is. It's a sacrifice on our family finances, but it's a blessing. I know many people who would love to stay home but can't.
Staying at home isn't for everyone. And just like any job, there are lots of 'Bad Examples' out there that give it a bad name. But there are also the diligent among us. The daily laborers who toil tirelessly, (often thanklessly) away, for a greater good. So when I say "I'm a stay at home Mom", please try something encouraging rather than the cut downs. Thank you muchly.
Monday, May 27, 2013
It's Music Time. For now.
The truth known to all parents is simple: every child comes complete with his or her own set of unique quirks. Each child is simply their own little self, just waiting to be fully discovered and realized.
The really fun part of having identical twins is seeing where those quirks line up together.
Our ladies are 8 years old, slowly beginning the turn into the big N-I-N-E. Their biggest shared "quirk" is that in all their years, they've never been fully committed to any particular hobby or interest. They'll love something for a brief time and then change suddenly into a new love. With little or no notice. Honestly, I was hoping that after a certain age, they'd cool it with that and start getting into some interest or another. But, alas.
Ashlyn described it to me as an invisible Wheel inside their heads. The wheel turns, as most circular things are want to do. And much like the wheel on The Price Is Right, this one spins and then slowly clicks to a stop; each area marked out with a Interest or an Idea. Sometimes it's My Little Pony. Sometimes it's Littlest Pet Shop. It could be raccoons and squirrels. It may even be Coloring. One time, it was Running. Apparently the wheel is very large and split into very small wedges. Lots and lots of them. Specific and vague, alike.
After several years, I confess, it was getting difficult to conceal my annoyance. Why can't they just pick something to work with. Let us nurture a growing interest and help become the leaders and talents of tomorrow. Right??
Recently the "Wheel" has spun around to a new wedge. (Apparently new ones get added, it would seem). Music.
Now this one I can deal with. Yes, indeed. Being a music teacher in my former (pre-parent) life, my heart sang a little tune of joyous contentment. Digging through my Music Teacher gear, I resurrected my recorder and several score books. Thanks to the wonder of online buying, I was able to find 2 inexpensive recorders to begin with. The past week has been spent learning beginning notes and working on reading music.
They've done well. They've been happy. I've been happy. Music will do that, you know. Today, as a matter of fact, they even "allowed" me to move their craft table up to their bedroom so that the full-size Casio keyboard can grace our family room. They're poking at the keys. "What note is this?" "Where is the A? The B?"
And best of all: "Can you teach me?"
Yes. Yes. Yes. I can. I will.
I don't know how long the Wheel will stay on this particular interest, but I hope it's enough to at least spark some sort of hobby for them. Maybe.
When I really think about it though, really look at how it all plays out, I'm glad they've got that mental Wheel thing going on. Because of that unique quirk, they've gotten an in depth look at astronomy, writing, history, cooking, nature, physics, and dance. All their interests have been built and studied on their own terms, in their own ways. Little Renaissance Ladies; bundles of talents that extend beyond the boundaries of "now" and "later".
Yes, I think I can be proud of that. Indeed.
The really fun part of having identical twins is seeing where those quirks line up together.
Our ladies are 8 years old, slowly beginning the turn into the big N-I-N-E. Their biggest shared "quirk" is that in all their years, they've never been fully committed to any particular hobby or interest. They'll love something for a brief time and then change suddenly into a new love. With little or no notice. Honestly, I was hoping that after a certain age, they'd cool it with that and start getting into some interest or another. But, alas.
Ashlyn described it to me as an invisible Wheel inside their heads. The wheel turns, as most circular things are want to do. And much like the wheel on The Price Is Right, this one spins and then slowly clicks to a stop; each area marked out with a Interest or an Idea. Sometimes it's My Little Pony. Sometimes it's Littlest Pet Shop. It could be raccoons and squirrels. It may even be Coloring. One time, it was Running. Apparently the wheel is very large and split into very small wedges. Lots and lots of them. Specific and vague, alike.
After several years, I confess, it was getting difficult to conceal my annoyance. Why can't they just pick something to work with. Let us nurture a growing interest and help become the leaders and talents of tomorrow. Right??
Recently the "Wheel" has spun around to a new wedge. (Apparently new ones get added, it would seem). Music.
Now this one I can deal with. Yes, indeed. Being a music teacher in my former (pre-parent) life, my heart sang a little tune of joyous contentment. Digging through my Music Teacher gear, I resurrected my recorder and several score books. Thanks to the wonder of online buying, I was able to find 2 inexpensive recorders to begin with. The past week has been spent learning beginning notes and working on reading music.
They've done well. They've been happy. I've been happy. Music will do that, you know. Today, as a matter of fact, they even "allowed" me to move their craft table up to their bedroom so that the full-size Casio keyboard can grace our family room. They're poking at the keys. "What note is this?" "Where is the A? The B?"
And best of all: "Can you teach me?"
Yes. Yes. Yes. I can. I will.
I don't know how long the Wheel will stay on this particular interest, but I hope it's enough to at least spark some sort of hobby for them. Maybe.
When I really think about it though, really look at how it all plays out, I'm glad they've got that mental Wheel thing going on. Because of that unique quirk, they've gotten an in depth look at astronomy, writing, history, cooking, nature, physics, and dance. All their interests have been built and studied on their own terms, in their own ways. Little Renaissance Ladies; bundles of talents that extend beyond the boundaries of "now" and "later".
Yes, I think I can be proud of that. Indeed.
Tuesday, March 12, 2013
Not Just A Cat
It's been almost nearly forever since my last post. But I'm writing one tonight. Tonight I needed to put words to screen. To think.
Today we said goodbye to our oldest cat, Anna. I know, I know. It's "just a cat". I know.
Only, see..she wasn't. Not completely. Not really. Not to me. She was the first cat that my husband and I got together. She was really our first "child" in those early years when we didn't have any actual babies to fulfill that role.
She did a splendid job, I might add. She was just the right amount "Lap Cat" and "Playful Cat"; she always knew when you needed to cuddle something soft and and purring, or when you were up to a round or two of "Throw The Mouse" or "Play With The Tinsel Ball". She knew. She was good like that.
She had some annoying habits that my husband and I are realizing we're going to miss. She licked plastic constantly. We could never leave a bag on the floor, or line our bedroom trashcans with bags; she'd lick them. All night long. She was also disinclined to appreciate what she considered being ignored. If, say at 2:30am, she was ready for some attention and we were (annoyingly) sound asleep, she knew that pawing up our bedroom door, which then knocked loudly against the wall, would absolutely get the job done. Tonight, out of sheer habit, Dan put the 2 throw pillows on the floor, one behind the door, one in front. To stop the pawing. She also loved to climb into the bottom shelves of our armoire, dig through MY side, tossing out many of my folded pairs of pants so that she could make a nest and fall fast asleep. (She never bothered Dan's side. Just mine.) And we always had to double check our bottom cupboards in the kitchen. She was fond of spying an open one and sneaking right in. She would have a blast running back and forth behind the closed cabinet doors, and then fall asleep.
She was also an absolute slob, I don't mind telling you; and she knew it. She insisted on chewing up her kibble to break it up into small pieces, which she then spit all over the floor around her bowl, and then proceed to eat some of those. We had to keep a stick vac near her bowl. She also had an army of "Babies" that she carried around nightly, making a mothering call. All through the night that call would echo. Upstairs and downstairs. And you knew, Anna was out and about somewhere with one of her babies. Some nights it was one of the absurdly large Rat-Babies (gray or white, she would pick one); other times it was Yanni (the small pound puppy she'd had since she was a kitten and stole it from me); or perhaps it would be one or both of the beanie-baby cats that she had (again) stolen from me. In any case, every morning we'd find her collection of babies in various locations around the house; here and there, wherever she'd put them during the night before wondering off to find another one. Anywhere and everywhere. These items too were evidence of her messiness. We used to have a toy basket for her, with everything gathered up and put away every evening. But by morning the basket would be tipped over and ransacked, whether she played with the toys or not. So we eventually gave up on the basket and just let her make her toy piles throughout the house. When our daughters grew old enough to think that pound puppies and bean-bag cats might be fun for them to play with too....Anna took to hiding them in more out-of-direct-sight sorts of places.
I knew she couldn't be here forever. I knew it. And when she started to decline last fall, I began gearing myself up for the inevitable outcome to the long, slow crawl. I cherished every day with her, even through moving the litter box and her food and water bowls into my Neat Freak kitchen, so she wouldn't need to deal with steps. And when she could no longer double check that she was all the way inside the box before letting it all loose, I put training pads under the box. I gave up part of my laundry room to make a large, pillowed bed with soft blankets when it became clear that her arthritis made moving painful and, for whatever reason, she felt safest in that room.
I spent the better part of today with her. She had sequestered herself in the basement, despite not being able to get down there for weeks. She wanted to be alone. But I had things to tell her. I wanted her to know what she was to me. I wanted to thank her for everything. She was our alpha cat every time a new kitten came into the family. She showed the newbie the ropes, keeping the newcomer in line and being mothering at the same time. She watched two of her closest feline siblings get very sick and leave us way too soon. But she was our constant. Our dear Anna.
Perhaps this all amounts to "Just A Cat" to some. And I get that. But for me...she was oh-so-much more. And this night...this first night...when I'm surrounded by all those "Babies" she loved and cared for....I'm finding her absence to be almost its own physical presence.
And so I have done what I always do in moments like these: I write. A written piece about an important (and furry) member of our family who has left us to join her cat family. Reading these words over is a sigh of relief for me; a statement that says "She was here. She was important. She still is important."
Don't worry, my sweet Anna, your "Babies" have all been placed for tonight. We'll watch over for them for you, my sweet furry heart.
Rest well. Rest easy. My dear.
Rest well. Loved and never forgotten.
Today we said goodbye to our oldest cat, Anna. I know, I know. It's "just a cat". I know.
Only, see..she wasn't. Not completely. Not really. Not to me. She was the first cat that my husband and I got together. She was really our first "child" in those early years when we didn't have any actual babies to fulfill that role.
She did a splendid job, I might add. She was just the right amount "Lap Cat" and "Playful Cat"; she always knew when you needed to cuddle something soft and and purring, or when you were up to a round or two of "Throw The Mouse" or "Play With The Tinsel Ball". She knew. She was good like that.
She had some annoying habits that my husband and I are realizing we're going to miss. She licked plastic constantly. We could never leave a bag on the floor, or line our bedroom trashcans with bags; she'd lick them. All night long. She was also disinclined to appreciate what she considered being ignored. If, say at 2:30am, she was ready for some attention and we were (annoyingly) sound asleep, she knew that pawing up our bedroom door, which then knocked loudly against the wall, would absolutely get the job done. Tonight, out of sheer habit, Dan put the 2 throw pillows on the floor, one behind the door, one in front. To stop the pawing. She also loved to climb into the bottom shelves of our armoire, dig through MY side, tossing out many of my folded pairs of pants so that she could make a nest and fall fast asleep. (She never bothered Dan's side. Just mine.) And we always had to double check our bottom cupboards in the kitchen. She was fond of spying an open one and sneaking right in. She would have a blast running back and forth behind the closed cabinet doors, and then fall asleep.
She was also an absolute slob, I don't mind telling you; and she knew it. She insisted on chewing up her kibble to break it up into small pieces, which she then spit all over the floor around her bowl, and then proceed to eat some of those. We had to keep a stick vac near her bowl. She also had an army of "Babies" that she carried around nightly, making a mothering call. All through the night that call would echo. Upstairs and downstairs. And you knew, Anna was out and about somewhere with one of her babies. Some nights it was one of the absurdly large Rat-Babies (gray or white, she would pick one); other times it was Yanni (the small pound puppy she'd had since she was a kitten and stole it from me); or perhaps it would be one or both of the beanie-baby cats that she had (again) stolen from me. In any case, every morning we'd find her collection of babies in various locations around the house; here and there, wherever she'd put them during the night before wondering off to find another one. Anywhere and everywhere. These items too were evidence of her messiness. We used to have a toy basket for her, with everything gathered up and put away every evening. But by morning the basket would be tipped over and ransacked, whether she played with the toys or not. So we eventually gave up on the basket and just let her make her toy piles throughout the house. When our daughters grew old enough to think that pound puppies and bean-bag cats might be fun for them to play with too....Anna took to hiding them in more out-of-direct-sight sorts of places.
I knew she couldn't be here forever. I knew it. And when she started to decline last fall, I began gearing myself up for the inevitable outcome to the long, slow crawl. I cherished every day with her, even through moving the litter box and her food and water bowls into my Neat Freak kitchen, so she wouldn't need to deal with steps. And when she could no longer double check that she was all the way inside the box before letting it all loose, I put training pads under the box. I gave up part of my laundry room to make a large, pillowed bed with soft blankets when it became clear that her arthritis made moving painful and, for whatever reason, she felt safest in that room.
I spent the better part of today with her. She had sequestered herself in the basement, despite not being able to get down there for weeks. She wanted to be alone. But I had things to tell her. I wanted her to know what she was to me. I wanted to thank her for everything. She was our alpha cat every time a new kitten came into the family. She showed the newbie the ropes, keeping the newcomer in line and being mothering at the same time. She watched two of her closest feline siblings get very sick and leave us way too soon. But she was our constant. Our dear Anna.
Perhaps this all amounts to "Just A Cat" to some. And I get that. But for me...she was oh-so-much more. And this night...this first night...when I'm surrounded by all those "Babies" she loved and cared for....I'm finding her absence to be almost its own physical presence.
And so I have done what I always do in moments like these: I write. A written piece about an important (and furry) member of our family who has left us to join her cat family. Reading these words over is a sigh of relief for me; a statement that says "She was here. She was important. She still is important."
Don't worry, my sweet Anna, your "Babies" have all been placed for tonight. We'll watch over for them for you, my sweet furry heart.
Rest well. Rest easy. My dear.
Rest well. Loved and never forgotten.
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