If I told you that 95% of the "art work" my children bring home ends up in the trash within 48 hours (if not minutes), do you:
A. Gasp in horror
B. Nod in understanding
C. Air fist pump in solidarity
I cannot handle the amount of paper clutter that can fit in my children's 10" backpacks. It amazes me. Some of it is cool and goes of the fridge for a few weeks, but I don't like fridge clutter either so we only have one clip designated for art work. The way I see it, they learn early that only the best wins.
(Again, you're either: A. Gasping in horror at my insensitivity B. Nodding as you remember the scribbles you recently discarded or C. Air fist pumping with one hand and ditching the latest batch at my encouragement.)
There is a chance that this stems from my severe lack of artistic ability. I remember vividly the clay turtle I made in fifth grade whose shell was supposed to serve as some kind of miniature storage. The two-part shell did not align properly and it certainly wasn't deep enough to be used for anything more than paper clips.
Nonetheless, my clay turtle made moves with us. It survived my childhood and well into young adulthood. For all I know it's still on my mother's end table. (Some of my lifelong friends are like "oh yeah, I remember that turtle," because it was proudly displayed in our living room for years. Then they probably picture the actually functional, or at least pretty clay objects they also made in the same art class.)
To this day, I refuse nearly all crafts - just ask my MOPS group. I was the only one who indicated "too many crafts" on the year end survey. So imagine my horror as I get further into motherhood and realize that I am expected to craft with my child. Here I am thinking I left all clay turtle abominations in my past, only to be confronted by an art kit my child received for her birthday that involves fuzzy balls, glue, and googly eyes.
THE WORST.
Before you hang me out to dry for squelching my children's artistic expressions via the trash, in my own defense, I do ask my daughter (sometimes) if she'd like to keep things. Sometimes she says, "yes" and they go into her room and I throw them out when I clean her room a week later. Sometimes she self-admits that they're no good and trashes them herself. So really, I'm just speeding up the process or beating her to it.
All this to say, I hope I'm not the only parent who ditches their kids art work. Some of you probably have organized bins by age where you can see their letters progress and track their development from outside the lines to in. And let me just say, there will be a moment years from now when you will say with tears in your eyes, "Oh my gosh, look! I can't believe I kept this! This is so cute!" and my kids will be like "Why didn't you keep any of my art work, Mom?" with that teenage angst in their voice like I don't care about them at all and never have and don't understand anything, so... there's that.
Wednesday, December 19, 2018
Tuesday, December 11, 2018
Walruses and Motherhood
Have you ever seen Blue Planet? Or Planet Earth? Every time we watch them I'm amazed at our world. I marvel at the blue of the ocean (likely highlighted by HD, but nonetheless) and the intricacies of animal life - not to mention the vicious animal attacks that make their way on screen and always seem to shade my rose colored glasses.
We put Blue Planet II on the other day and the kids were oo-ing and ahh-ing over all the cool stuff they saw. My daughter never stopped asking questions long enough for us to hear any answers to them.
"What's that, Daddy? Is that alive? Why is that? Why is that there? Are they friends? Do they live there?" Etc. etc. etc.
In one scene there was a herd, or "huddle", if you will, of walruses. They were fighting for space on floating pieces of ice to protect their young. David Attenborough's voice slowed as he highlighted the lone walrus looking for a place to join her fellow walruses (walri? No, that's not right - walruses.) She couldn't find a place to go. She tried to get up, but no one would move over! They watched her floating around searching for a place to go to protect her cold little babe, and they did not move.
Of course, in perfect emotional timing, they pan to a view from under the water where you can see the baby walrus clinging to its mother. So, what does she do? She fights. She starts using her giant tusks to try and force her way onto a patch of ice. A fight ensues and there's a mess of walruses all fighting, falling, and flailing in the name of protecting their young. In the end, everybody loses and they're floating in the freezing water, together, but alone.
I couldn't stop thinking about what motherhood can feel like. That one mom who doesn't fit, feels alone, exiled, and like she doesn't have anywhere to go. Certainly no one seems to be making room for her. Instead, they just watch to see what she'll do. Under scrutiny she becomes defensive and takes up her torch to pave her own way.
Motherhood should never have to be that.
I hope the analogy is clear. When another mother is in need, it behooves all of us to do more than just watch her struggle. You may not be doing it in judgment, it may be completely passive, but to her it feels the same. So whenever possible, move over.
One day you will be the mom who needs a friend, an encouraging word, a hug, a home-cooked meal, a babysitter, a cup of coffee, or a play date. Heck, I'm that mom like every day. And for some reason when I was watching these mother walruses battle it out, all I could think was, just share the ice! We all need a place to help our babies thrive, just share the ice!
So to all of my mother friends out there: I hope you're not offended that I'm comparing us to walruses. I promise it has nothing to do with our child-bearing hips. But I would totally share my ice with you.
We put Blue Planet II on the other day and the kids were oo-ing and ahh-ing over all the cool stuff they saw. My daughter never stopped asking questions long enough for us to hear any answers to them.
"What's that, Daddy? Is that alive? Why is that? Why is that there? Are they friends? Do they live there?" Etc. etc. etc.
In one scene there was a herd, or "huddle", if you will, of walruses. They were fighting for space on floating pieces of ice to protect their young. David Attenborough's voice slowed as he highlighted the lone walrus looking for a place to join her fellow walruses (walri? No, that's not right - walruses.) She couldn't find a place to go. She tried to get up, but no one would move over! They watched her floating around searching for a place to go to protect her cold little babe, and they did not move.
Of course, in perfect emotional timing, they pan to a view from under the water where you can see the baby walrus clinging to its mother. So, what does she do? She fights. She starts using her giant tusks to try and force her way onto a patch of ice. A fight ensues and there's a mess of walruses all fighting, falling, and flailing in the name of protecting their young. In the end, everybody loses and they're floating in the freezing water, together, but alone.
I couldn't stop thinking about what motherhood can feel like. That one mom who doesn't fit, feels alone, exiled, and like she doesn't have anywhere to go. Certainly no one seems to be making room for her. Instead, they just watch to see what she'll do. Under scrutiny she becomes defensive and takes up her torch to pave her own way.
Motherhood should never have to be that.
I hope the analogy is clear. When another mother is in need, it behooves all of us to do more than just watch her struggle. You may not be doing it in judgment, it may be completely passive, but to her it feels the same. So whenever possible, move over.
One day you will be the mom who needs a friend, an encouraging word, a hug, a home-cooked meal, a babysitter, a cup of coffee, or a play date. Heck, I'm that mom like every day. And for some reason when I was watching these mother walruses battle it out, all I could think was, just share the ice! We all need a place to help our babies thrive, just share the ice!
So to all of my mother friends out there: I hope you're not offended that I'm comparing us to walruses. I promise it has nothing to do with our child-bearing hips. But I would totally share my ice with you.
Tuesday, December 4, 2018
Imaginary Friends
My daughter has an imaginary friend, er... family member is more accurate, I suppose. It's been a while now, so I think he's here to stay for a bit. He is my daughter's son. He lived in her belly, which I attribute to the close friends and aunts that are currently pregnant. Here's what I know about him:
He was born in the winter. How do I know? She said, "Can you believe when he came out of my belly it was winter?" But he doesn't really understand the season. "He's always wondering where winter is, like, where is that coming from?"
When he was a baby he "always got the hiccups."
He lives in the woods. He used to live alone, but his sister, Lala, came to join him. She asked me one day, gesturing to the empty space next to her, "Have you met Apron's sister, Lala? She's really nice."
Recently, they (Apron and Lala) went to the jungle together to look at animals and they found a puppy and took it home with them.
When he's not a good listener, he gets sent to his room.
He likes to be around his mom. "He just is always trying to be with me, so..."
He calls her a lot. When she's on her "cell phone" (i.e. the non-functional flip phone I didn't get my husband to give up until 2014) she is usually saying something like, "Apron, I told you, stop calling me!" ...He's very needy.
Apron seems to take on a lot of my daughter's traits.
When I tell her to eat her vegetables at dinner she usually comes back with something like, "Apron just didn't like to eat his vegetables, too, so I told him he has to go to his room."
I have been told active imaginations are a good thing, but thought I'd confirm before I continued to endorse this "Apron" for my own entertainment. A short google search led me to a title that said, "Creative Children Who Build Imaginary Worlds May Well Be Geniuses." Enough said. I didn't even click on the link, I just began her early application to the Ivy League. A wooded world where a mama's boy and his sister go on safaris together and get a puppy? Genius.
The best part is she's started roping her (real) brother into it, too. He acknowledges them and participates in their group activities, so at least they're inclusive.
I've also come to realize my daughter is not the only one with imaginary friends. When one of my (real) friends came over for a play date, she said her daughter told her she was going to bring her dragons in with her.
"Maybe don't lead with that..." she said.
When she told me the story, after appropriate laughter, I said, "I'll see your imaginary dragons and raise you an imaginary son who lives in the woods."
Cheers to friends, real and imaginary.
He was born in the winter. How do I know? She said, "Can you believe when he came out of my belly it was winter?" But he doesn't really understand the season. "He's always wondering where winter is, like, where is that coming from?"
When he was a baby he "always got the hiccups."
He lives in the woods. He used to live alone, but his sister, Lala, came to join him. She asked me one day, gesturing to the empty space next to her, "Have you met Apron's sister, Lala? She's really nice."
Recently, they (Apron and Lala) went to the jungle together to look at animals and they found a puppy and took it home with them.
When he's not a good listener, he gets sent to his room.
He likes to be around his mom. "He just is always trying to be with me, so..."
He calls her a lot. When she's on her "cell phone" (i.e. the non-functional flip phone I didn't get my husband to give up until 2014) she is usually saying something like, "Apron, I told you, stop calling me!" ...He's very needy.
Apron seems to take on a lot of my daughter's traits.
When I tell her to eat her vegetables at dinner she usually comes back with something like, "Apron just didn't like to eat his vegetables, too, so I told him he has to go to his room."
I have been told active imaginations are a good thing, but thought I'd confirm before I continued to endorse this "Apron" for my own entertainment. A short google search led me to a title that said, "Creative Children Who Build Imaginary Worlds May Well Be Geniuses." Enough said. I didn't even click on the link, I just began her early application to the Ivy League. A wooded world where a mama's boy and his sister go on safaris together and get a puppy? Genius.
The best part is she's started roping her (real) brother into it, too. He acknowledges them and participates in their group activities, so at least they're inclusive.
I've also come to realize my daughter is not the only one with imaginary friends. When one of my (real) friends came over for a play date, she said her daughter told her she was going to bring her dragons in with her.
"Maybe don't lead with that..." she said.
When she told me the story, after appropriate laughter, I said, "I'll see your imaginary dragons and raise you an imaginary son who lives in the woods."
Cheers to friends, real and imaginary.
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