final summer bravado: first romantic getaway as parents

On this last morning of work before we head off on vacation, I've finished up a few things I had to do this week for an erotic film festival I'm co-curating. I was also going to work on an abstract for an article on the speed limits of women's desire in Norway. Instead I've found myself googling fun and romantic things to do in Denver, Colorado where Leighton and I will be spending a few days and nights while Lilly gets to visit her grandma and grandpa in Wyoming. It'll be our first couple's only vacation after Lilly was born and we are all very excited. I'm hoping it stays that way, and that we won't get a phone call with a crying child on the other end begging us to come get her. She had her first sleepover at a friend's house a couple of weeks ago while we went out to celebrate our five-year wedding anniversary, and we all had a wonderful time that night, so I'm hopeful. 

I'm particularly excited about the romantic date nights we've got planned, getting hungry just looking at all the mouthwatering pictures from recommended restaurants, such as Le Central (French food, French wine, French desserts... nothing says romance like a French bistro... Call ahead to reserve a spot in the delightful garden room at the back of the eatery for a French countryside ambiance); Cuba Cuba (Cuba Cuba offers traditional Cuban fare in a cozy setting — plus they serve Denver's best Mojitos. Dine by candlelight on the patio for that perfect date ambiance); Highland's Garden (Soak in the quiet ambiance of the restaurant while savoring the fine dining. After a sumptuous meal, stroll hand-in-hand through the gardens and take in the sights of the lush gardens); Tamayo (A rooftop deck that affords gorgeous views of the Front Range... This sleek, contemporary Mexican restaurant is appreciated equally for its to-die-for margaritas and tequilas and its unexpected, delicious takes on old standards); and Sushi Den (Wonderful, high-quality dishes are sure to please, and fresh fish is flown in daily — a practice that makes for a slightly pricier, but more than worthy, menu. The modern decor encourages trendy crowds to visit over sake, sushi, and sashimi).

fighting the US resistance to taking a break

It started out slowly. The sigh-it-out feeling of relief; that things are coming together; my first book will soon be released (which I hope will free and inspire a lot of moms and women — and dads and men! — in general to claim, own, and explore their sexuality on their terms). Suddenly all the blogging and Facebooking and Tweeting just seemed less urgent. Plus, the days were getting longer, warmer, sunnier. And are still lovingly long, warm, and sunny, even if we've passed the solstice.

I grew up in Scandinavia, light and heat deprived and all: how could I not seize the moment to soak in pleasure and joy right now?

So I did. Like I've done many times before (though not last summer when I was crunching in work hours to get said book done).

Taking time off is definitely not an uncommon thing to do for me and most of my fellow Norwegians (who claim five weeks of paid vacation each summer), as well as numerous continental Europeans. On the contrary: we take pride in it. Which is so unlike most Americans who in the US take pride in their workaholocism though their production and achievement focused obsession shows no improvement is results from those of the Europeans.

french parenting is not for me

Pamela Druckerman: wannabe French

I got interested in Pamela Druckerman's memoir Bringing up Bébé: One American Mother Discovers the Wisdom of French Parenting based on a couple of reviews that suggested I had some things in common with French moms. As it turns out, we got just about nothing in common. Nor do I care much for their approach to parenting.

Druckerman, on the other hand, does. Druckerman is practically drooling in awe over French moms' approach to parenting, from how they get their kids to sleep, eat, and behave so well, to their attention to adult time and sassy looks.

Of course, all these things sound great. But then take a minute to pause as Druckerman learns to do the French way with her children and consider this: practicing the pause in terms of (not) checking on their babies when they are learning to "do their nights" when only a few days or weeks old (and at least by three months) is the same as Ferberizing or even crying it out at a very young age. It only has a different name and since "everyone" in France practices it, nobody worries about it either.

introducing babysitters and parents-only vacations

Just in time before Lilly turns four, Leighton and I had our first date last weekend while she was with a babysitter. This isn't to say we haven't had dates before, child swapping with friends, but not too many times; 10 times tops. And with family scattered across the US, we've had a total of 4 dates while either visiting or being visited by them, counting a yoga class and coffee too.

Needless to say, we would have liked more dates, but we are not martyrs for having opted out of them.

First, both Leighton and I have been opposed to any needless stress and crying, and for us, leaving our child anxious and possibly crying, even in the care of good friends or close relatives, has not been an option. Instead, we've waited till she was ready for separation.

mama gets to work

Work and Dates
used to look more like this.

I've been craving more time to pursue my work, so we've made some positive changes around here. Leighton has cut down on hours from his position, meaning I now have a total of at least 25 hours to work each week: 15 in the morning when Lilly's in preschool, and 10 spread out on three afternoons. Two days a week I have a full 7 hours, and I still get to pick up a hungry, tired, mama-needy Lilly from preschool and spend a couple of hours with her before I head back to the library to write.

It's a good thing for us. Now I get to be the coveted, fun parent at the end of the day at least a couple days a week. And I'm more patient when I'm around Lilly, in general just happier to see and be with her.

bad parenting: how much slack should we cut parents?

There's a post over at BlogHer that has provoked quite the storm of responses this past week, essentially for provoking moms who feel the author Issa Waters (of the blog Love Live Grow) isn't cutting them enough slack when she argues that "parenting isn't hard." But the claim is rhetorical, for Issa immediately states that, "okay, sometimes it is hard." Her point is that we cannot excuse abusive parenting with the dismissive "parenting is hard." Excerpt:

Sometimes I participate in a discussion about someone in public being mean to their child. By “being mean” I mean spanking, slapping, grabbing, yanking, dragging, yelling, name-calling, belittling, punishing and so forth. And there’s always someone in these discussions ready to declare that “parenting is hard” and we should therefore cut the parent some slack. And I just reject this wholeheartedly. It is not hard to not treat people like shit. Children are small, dependent people, and we should be doubly sure not to treat them like shit.

Parenting is the very act of caring for these smaller people. It should not be synonymous with treating them in abusive ways.

Say I’m in a McDonald’s. In a booth near me is what appears to be a romantically involved man and woman enjoying a meal together. Near the end of the meal, the woman accidentally knocks her soda over and it spills over the table and floor. The man leaps to his feet and yells, “Oh my god! I told you to be careful with that!” He grabs her by the arm and drags her out of the booth. “That’s the last time you get to have a medium drink!” He shoves her off to the side while he starts to clean up. “Go stand by the door, we’re going home right now!” After an initial little gasp at the spilled drink, the woman remains silent, body slack, eyes averted.

kids and eating disorders

We're still in recovery mode over here after our trip to Norway where we stayed with my parents. -- Like depressed people, we crave rest and seek comfort in food (especially chocolate), gorging at every meal, adding dessert when we didn't used to.

One of the things that saddened me the most on our visit overseas, was to see Lilly's appetite evaporate so completely. And all the more in response to my parents' constant pestering at its lack of presence. She just turned three, but even so my mother had the nerve to suggest to Lilly she was on a diet when she wouldn't eat.

Adding pressure on kids to eat is in my opinion a sure way to lead them down the path of eating disorders. I never had an appetite at my parents' house with the constant tension and frequent eruption of fights during meals. In elementary school, I was the skinny quiet girl with glasses who wouldn't eat her packed lunch. The memory of throwing up over the dinner table while trying to force down the required amount of spoonfuls will never leave me.

thunder: bad moms don't always turn into good grandmas

I never felt safe in my parents' home. As a child, I would instead seek shelter outside during stormy weather.

I thought of this as Lilly woke crying from her nap the other day when it started thundering, and she said it was skummelt (scary). Later on as I was making dinner, I asked her how she liked our vacation in Norway from where we just returned, having stayed with my parents who still live there. Again she replied; skummelt.

Though Lilly's appetite (and mine!) has returned after we got back home, we're both processing our stay with my parents. She whimpers more in her sleep at night and though she now will go down for a nap again, she wakes as soon as I try to leave her, crying despondently if I tell her that if she won't take a nap, she'll have to stay in bed for some quiet time, something she was fine with before our trip to Norway.

And I struggle with my own rehashing of things that were said; my mother's venom.

A recent longitudinal study found that children of depressed women were less likely to show behavioral problems later on in life when they were under someone else's care for at least half a day each week. Children who spent less than four hours each week in formal child care--e.g. with a nanny, another family member, institutional day care--were at a significantly increased risk for behavioral problems, relative to children of nondepressed mothers.

summertime means pool time

Photo: The Middle Bit

The pool opens this weekend, which means summer is officially here. And time to dig out that bikini again. The other day, a friend and fellow mama blogger at The Middle Bit asked for my permission to include a photo of me in her forthcoming book, describing it as "a photograph of a confident young mom in a fabulous red bikini." Of course I was flattered, but as I pointed out to her, whereas she saw me as a "good looking mom" in that bikini, I was in fact feeling like a bony and potbellied old monkey slogging my body around.

That said, I fondly remember last summer's Friday mornings at the pool  when it was reserved for young children, hanging out with my friends and our kids. Picnics and lazy afternoons pushing nap time back, savoring the sun, the conversation, and then home for a crash two-hour nap for Lilly and some time for me to read on the porch.



I am hopeful about this summer. The sun has always been a good competitor to work for me, tempting me outside. And I want summers to be different. To have time off for spontaneous outings, not to be on a schedule.

This summer is already looking so much better. I don't find myself worrying so much about her running away or into the street the way I did last year. On good days when she needs me less with her outside, she'll find her toys in the garage: her trike and chalk and bubbles. She'll play in the sandbox. Slide a little. Look at the growing plants and flowers. Hopefully without causing too much devastation. She loves playing with our neighbors' ten-year old daughters (I love that they will play with her). I've even been able to sit by myself in the sun this way (for a brief half hour, but still). Or get dinner ready while looking out on her playing. Or sneak type on my laptop by the kitchen counter.

I want to do less of that this summer. It's summer, which should be about fun and relaxing together. I am officially taking a break cutting back on my work time, at least when I'm with her. Next week, preschool begins for her, giving me those sacred dependable morning hours. So I'm not lowering my goals (on the contrary, but I'm not going to spell that out).

I envision super-productive morning hours writing at the house or the library, then picking her up for a picnic at the pool where we'll stay for a couple of hours or so. Or play in the park with friends, or at home in the backyard, maybe garden a little. And I look forward to outdoor concerts at the Walker Art Center, picnics by the lake, outdoor barbecues, lounging on the porch.



Summer's here. It's been a long time coming; let's bring it on.

you know how kids on airplanes kick their feet into the seat in front of them?

Leighton went to a Montessori workshop a couple of weeks ago where a presenter talked about the importance for children of having size appropriate furniture, such as chairs that allow their feet to reach the ground. To achieve this, the presenter recommended the child eating by a separate lower table next to the adults' dining table. I'm not crazy about that idea. Maybe if we had more than one child. For now I like to have Lilly "with" us at the table when we have dinner.

Feet grounded

However, this presenter's emphasis on children's need to have their feet reach the floor to feel grounded has caused some conversation around here. Might it explain her (very annoying) pushing of her feet into my driver's seat? Or her kicking at the table during meals? And the coffee table when we're on the couch, crunching the rug into an accordion? Or does she do that because she wants to have her feet on the table like I do?

But how about in bed? While she will sleep calmly and snuggly next to me, she has this thing of pushing her legs into my body when she wakes up in the morning. If we don't get up right away, that is.

Like yesterday morning. So it's Saturday and I'm down with a cold and I don't feel like getting up when she wakes up before 7. So I lie there, feigning sleep. As she squirmingly and relentlessly persists in kicking my body. What's up with that? While she has the decency not to "wake" me by speaking until I actually turn around and open my eyes, she just kept on like that for the entire hour and a half it took me to feel like I could "start" the day.

Of course, by then I was so frustrated that I poured all that crap out on Leighton. And I remain wondering, what's the deal with the kicking?

oh, the bachelorette ways of eating

Sometimes I get really nostalgic for mealtimes as a single. Not just the peace and quiet and being able to read the paper at breakfast, but with the quick ease meals could be prepared and cleaned up after. When heating up a tortilla, adding some rice, beans, cheese, and salsa was enough. When even a pita sandwich could constitute dinner.

As soon as Leighton and I moved in together, I wanted us to have real meals together. Now with Lilly it somehow feels like they've gotten to be even more of a thing. There's more thinking and planning going into what we have for dinner each day, and then all the preps and the onerous cleaning up after. I know I could ask Leighton, but at the end of the day, having been with Lilly all day, I somehow prefer the kitchen to more play.

That said, I do sometimes feel chained to the kitchen counter from four till eight at night.

And then there's the sense I should include her more and not just when she asks to help. But, you know, encourage her to help out, bake with me, cut veggies together, and so on.

Now, a lot of moms blog about all the baking and craft making they enjoy doing with their kids: Not going to be me. My baking consists of apple cake based on my mom's recipe or Betty Crocker assisted brownies. I did make that one kind of Christmas cookies for the holiday, the Hershey Kisses. And while it was absolutely endearing to see Lilly unwrap the kisses and sort the chocolate and wrapping paper into different bowls with such focused concentration, the part I thought would be really fun for her, putting the kisses on the half-baked cookies, was just really stressful, because of course the baking sheets were hot from the oven and Leighton and I were both terrified she'd get burned. But we survived, no burns, and the cookies were yummy and her favorite kind over the holidays, and since I didn't get around to baking them till Christmas eve (I know), they were really chewy and yummy the entire holiday season (see?!).

It's been a goal of mine to bake bread for about ten years now, and I still haven't gotten around to it, but I do make a delicious pizza. I've been thinking that would be a really fun thing for Lilly to help with, and when I finally got around to doing it with her last week, it was fun for her, but not so fun for me. Firstly, she was very impatient during the dough making, so instead of kneading it for the good amount of time it requires, I just added more flour, and so the crust didn't turn out as thin and crisp as we like it, though not too bad either. Second, in the name of speediness and lack of ingredients, it ended up really basic: tomato puree with basil and oregano, fried onion, cut up ham (leftovers from the very tasty spiral cut ham we had for Christmas) and shredded cheese with some capers drizzled on top. But she loved it and ate lots and it was, truly, very fun to see her try rolling out the dough, smearing the puree on, adding ham, and then cheese on to it.

It wasn't as yummy as the ones I made last summer with fresh veggies and herbs from the garden:

But we agreed it was worth it.

(Recipe below.)

mealtime

As a child, I was what's often referred to as a "poor eater." Not always, though. Whenever I'd visit my grandma's, I'd return to my parents' house with what my mom would call a popped belly (struttemage). Why? Because my grandma would make meals so much fun and cozy. She'd bake miniature bread for me which she sliced really thinly, spreading the butter generously, letting me spoon out mounds of her own homemade raspberry jam on top. She let me sleep in bed with her, and then in the morning, after stretching her feet up in the air, greeting each of her toes good morning, she'd talk about what she would like to have for breakfast that day, making a soft boiled egg, some anchovy and cheese sound just heavenly. She'd make hot chocolate for me, warming the milk to just the right temperature and we'd have breakfast by the fireplace.

Back at my parents' house, I'd lose my appetite. All that nagging to eat, the bickering between my parents; meals were the most stressful part of the day.

Over the years, I have regained my appetite for food and the comforts of shared meals with loved ones. I was so excited when it was time to introduce solids to Lilly, but, alas, she was not as excited. At 28 months, she still prefers the boob to bread, at least most of the time (more and more, the Brick Oven Bakery's sourdough bread takes first place, especially if it's freshly baked). But we stuck to our daily meals together, tried our best to make them pleasurable for all, from infancy through babyhood to toddlerhood. And more and more so, she enjoys our meals together. And of course, we're tickled when she downs the tilapia we have on Fridays or whenever she tries something new, like, most recently, mixed spring greens. But more than anything, I'm grateful that we haven't put pressure on her to eat. Rather, we've tried to make it fun and above all as non-stressful as possible (though you know, eating with her has often meant that either my husband or I have had her in our lap while we eat, or shared our chair with her, or played musical chairs around the table throughout the meal). Yet, more and more, she'll sit and eat longer with us before playing nearby on her own. At least on good days (the other days, she's impatiently squirming in one of our laps while we down our food and entertain her).

All this said, I've surprised myself lately by recycling some of my parents' tricks to encourage her to eat. Like, "does baby Millie [one of Lilly's baby dolls] want some oat meal?" [Spoken with baby voice]: "Yes." "Do you want Lilly to give it to you?" "Yes." Upon which Lilly does a little seated dance in her chair before she takes her spoon and pretends feed baby Millie before feeding herself. So cute. Bite after bite.

Just the other day, I said something that shocked me even more. "Can you eat one bite banana for your friend Anna?" Gleeful bite. "Another for Elias?" Another one. And on and on. The fact that it worked??!! Astounding.

So, I guess my parents' weren't completely off the track, had they just stuck to the fun parts and dropped the negativity, they might have nailed it.