The Good Enough Mom

Many parents out there will be familiar with the concept of the Good Enough Mom. (or Parent.) There's a lot of research to support the idea that kids who have little struggles of some kind now and then- whether it's being taken to day care, or not getting perfect nutrition every day, or playing alone while a parent is busy in another room- build character and strength, while children with "perfect" childhoods fall apart at the first sign of conflict in their lives.

I have to remind myself of this concept on days when Lily is building a lot of character and strength.

Lily and I had Pop-Tarts for breakfast this morning. She had never eaten a Pop-Tart, but she loved every minute of it. She loved the way it smelled, and the way it tasted. She even loved the way it looked- the sprinkles on top reminded her of a princess. We ate at the table, and she thanked me for her breakfast. When she was done, she said "All done, please," and then got down from her chair.

And I still feel guilty.

There is nothing of any nutritional value in a Pop-Tart. And I know this. She ran around from the sugar and then crashed in a grouchy nap-needing heap. I would rather give her oatmeal and peanut butter and fruit, like we sometimes have. But frankly, I didn't feel like making the oatmeal (even instant oatmeal) and cleaning the bowls and slicing the fruit. I woke up many hours late today and already had to postpone a play-date until tomorrow. It was just a Pop-Tart kind of morning.

And besides. Pop-Tarts were on sale.

Two boxes of Pop-Tarts and a box of Eggo waffles for $5. That's a lot of breakfasts for $5. And I couldn't ignore that.

I also couldn't ignore the sale on canned vegetables. They are approximately one-third the cost of fresh.

If I had my way, I would have the money to shop only at Whole Foods and make everything organic and fresh.

I would get enough sleep every night, and would never sleep through my alarm. And my apartment would be in the condition to have guests at any point, so even if I overslept a little it wouldn't matter. (and I would shower every day, so my hair would be in a similar condition.)

But that's just not my reality. In fact, I seriously doubt it's anyone's reality.

(OK, maybe there are a lot of people who only eat organic and have a clean apartment and take a shower every day. But I bet those people have things they would like to improve, too.)

My reality includes staying up late, and waking up late, and getting behind in the housework, and buying the food that's on sale sometimes. And Pop-Tarts for breakfast.

But it also includes meal-planning. And budgets. And the ability to feed my family, at the table, for a whole week for $60.

And it includes a little girl who sees sprinkles on a Pop-Tart and thinks of a princess. And communication skills between us that are strong enough that I know what the hell she's talking about. And a little girl who says "thank you, food, Amen." And "please," and "thank you" and "no, thank you."

And Family Dance Parties. Nightly.

And Family Sing-Alongs. All day, every day.

And a Mommy and Daddy who make being well-rounded people a priority over a quest for perfection.

And that's good enough.

Because Sometimes, a Mommy Needs Silly Nails

I'm not sure what possessed me to buy an "In Style" magazine the other night at the grocery store. Maybe it was the fact that I was at the store alone. (Mommies rejoice. Our Stop n Shop sells coffee by the cup. It's not particularly good. I don't care. I get some anyway when I'm there alone. Makes it count as "me" time.) Maybe it's because spring is near, and that always makes me feel like re-thinking my look. But whatever the reason, there was the magazine. I flipped through absentmindedly on my way to church. And there, among the advertisements, I saw them.

Sally Hansen Salon Effects.

Nail polish strips that have crazy designs. And they're supposed to go on really easily and be made of polish. They were so, so silly. And I knew I must have them.

I showed the magazine to my friend Janet the next day between our classes. She agreed that I needed them, and that now she needed them too. So tonight, I walked to CVS, and there they were. $11.95. Or something like that. I waited until Lily went to bed, and I made myself some coffee (I still have a lot to do tonight), I put "Ugly Betty" on Netflix, and I got to work.

And honestly, it's as easy as advertised, and it really does look like I had them airbrushed or something.

I'm fortunate enough to have a lifestyle that allows for crazy nails. (and crazy socks, while we're at it.) If I worked in a conservative office, my nails would be really inappropriate. But they're fun. And they look like they were professionally done. And there's no drying time, which is amazing for the Mommy of a toddler. It's why I so rarely do my nails lately- if she wakes up while they're wet, we're in for a big mess.

I know I usually dedicate my blog to more important things. But spending less than $12 to have my nails look really silly and fun makes me really happy. And that's pretty important.

(btw, they come in solid colors, for Mommies who aren't into having crazy patterns on their nails. And no, I'm not getting paid by Sally Hansen. I just like to pass along things that make me happy to other Mommies. And anyone else who likes silly nails.)

Stop Reading So Damn Many Books

I knew the title would get your attention.

Here’s the thing. I am a low-maintenance Mommy. This comes as a shock to anyone who knows me and sees my Mommyhood in action because let’s face it, I am not a low-maintenance gal. I read, and I study, and I think, and I write, and I analyze, and then I ask my therapist. I got two masters degrees because after the first one I decided I wanted to learn all about something else, too. But when it comes to being a Mommy, I wing it.

For example, I have never read “What to Expect When You’re Expecting.” This is largely because I was never “expecting,” traditionally speaking. But even in a broader sense. We weren’t “expecting” a baby. Sure, we were in the adoption process, it’s not like Lily was left on our doorstep in a little basket. But over-thinking and over-researching and over-reading had not served me well during our time of trying to conceive. So I made a very conscious effort to avoid it with adoption. And I guess the habit sort of stuck. We found out we were going to get a baby in ten days. So we got some diapers and some formula. And once we got her, we held her and kissed her and fed her and changed her. I distinctly remember the conversation Ryan and I had at the end of our first full day. He was holding her. And they both looked so comfortable.

“Isn’t it weird that we just sorta know what to do?” I asked him

“Yep,” he said.

And it’s been that way with most things ever since. Sure, I ask her doctor things at her check-ups. And I have a copy of “What to Expect in the First Year,” somewhere, but I referenced it very rarely, and we’ve now been out of the first year for ten months. I guess it didn’t occur to me to buy the next volume. And yes, I ask facebook friends for parenting tips. And I take the ones that make sense and don’t sweat the rest. I don't get worked up about germs. Or colds. Or little tiny bonks. Or how she's doing compared to other kids. Lily ate baby food pretty early, even though "some experts" say to wait. And she ate solid food early. She stopped formula at ten months and switched to whole milk. (I asked her doctor if she was ready. “Do you think she’s ready?” I told him I did. “You’re the Mommy. You know better than me.” This is why we still travel to Queens to keep seeing this doctor…) She had peanut butter at a year old, even though "some experts" say this should wait, too. And now, she’ll now eat pretty much anything. And she’s a great sleeper. And when we thought it might be time to potty train, we took her diapers off and bought a potty. Only time will tell whether that actually works, and who knows whether she’ll be a good sleeper and eater as an adult. Maybe she’ll grow up to be rotten. But that would surprise me. Because she’s happy. And loving. And she’s just… easy. You know. Relatively speaking.

Have you ever been in a car with someone who’s trying to use their GPS? It’s a great device and all. But I’m talking about the people who are so busy using their GPS that they actually get lost. They ignore all sense of direction and blindly follow a signal from a satellite. It makes me want to scream.

Now, I know that I’m lucky. Maybe God gave us such an easy kid because we had such a hard time getting her. Maybe she’s all He thinks we can handle.

And I read books. And hello- I’m writing one. And I write a blog. And obviously I hope I have readers for both. I sometimes have the desire to double-check. To get an expert opinion. To see what others have experienced and compare my own experiences with theirs. But people have been parents since long before the internet. Long before books even. They just knew what to do. And sailors got around just fine using stars.

No one asked for my advice. Not really. But Lily’s awesome, and I am unexpectedly low-maintenance. So if you ever did ask me? Here’s what I’d say. Don’t get so caught-up trying to follow your GPS that you forget to follow your nose.

I Can't Think of a Music Theatre Song about Goodbye? Really? Oh well.

My daughter is extremely loving. My daughter is extremely happy. My daughter will decide right away if she loves you- she probably will- and insist that you accept her hugs. She is extremely charismatic. Even as an infant, people couldn’t help but look at her and interact with her, and this is a trait that has only further developed with age. Her mission in life seems to be spreading joy, and even as a toddler, she wants to teach. If she is experiencing something she thinks you should experience she will take your hand so you, too, can feel. I would like to think that some of these characteristics come from me. I have been told that I am loving, and nurturing. That I am a natural leader and teacher.

But my daughter and I share another trait that I hope she will eventually outgrow. Neither one of us can handle goodbyes. I’m hoping this is not something she has learned from me. I don’t think it’s something I’ve demonstrated to her. But really. She. Cannot. Handle. Goodbyes.

Now let me be clear. It is absolutely typical for a toddler to have separation anxiety when a parent leaves. It’s also typical for a toddler to be afraid of strangers. But my daughter is special. She has anxiety separation from strangers. If we ride on the elevator with neighbors for two floors, and the new best friends get out at the first floor, but we’re taking the elevator to the basement, she screams and cries hysterically. Literal hysterics. And great big crocodile tears. It is heartbreaking. If a package comes for us, I sign, and it turns out the UPS man isn’t going to be her new brother, she pounds on the door and until she collapses in exhaustion. Dropping off our babysitter at the train station means at least twenty minutes of crying.

And it’s even worse when it’s Mommy or Daddy.

Ryan left for work today, and after a half-hour of banging on the ground, she looked at me and said “night night.” It wasn’t even close to naptime, but it was all more than she could handle, and she slept for nearly four hours.

For strangers or people who don’t know Lily as well, this whole thing is cute and endearing. “Oh, look how much she loves me!” Sure. If you want to feel special, go for it. But she has the same reaction to the pizza man.

To those of us who spend more time with her, it is sad, and a little funny sometimes, and I have to say, a little confusing. For the most part, she’s a tough chick. This is the only part of her life that seems to be difficult for her. She sleeps well, she eats well, she plays well- alone or with others. She just doesn’t like to say goodbye.

Interestingly enough, Lily only has trouble when other people are leaving her. If she’s the one leaving, it’s “bye-bye!” with a smile and a wave. She loves bye-bye. But if Daddy puts his coat on to go to the grocery store, you can bet she’s going to try to put her coat on too. It’s easy to be the one leaving. It’s hard to be the one left behind. And it makes me wonder. Is she that afraid people will never come back? Does she really connect to people that instantly?

But maybe she is. And maybe she does.

I am, unfortunately, in a world where people come and go. I don’t work in an office where people retire with a gold watch after forty years. I don’t live in a town where people are born and raised. Where they stay to raise their families. Where they’re buried next to their parents. (Well, OK. Technically I totally live in a town like that. But I am not yet fully-acclimated, and I don’t know that I’ll ever feel like I’m not a New Yorker in some sense.) I work in a field in which people do one show together. They spend all of their time together for six weeks. They share everything and feel like best friends. And then they go away. Maybe they’ll stay in touch, maybe they won’t. And that part of it just kills me. It’s part of why we started our theatre company- to provide a greater sense of community in a field that can be so cold. In a city where people live for months, or years, or a lifetime, but never know how long they‘ll be there, really. Not for sure.

So maybe it’s not that Lily is too young to understand people are probably coming back. Maybe she’s really got it all figured out, and she’s just too young to know she shouldn’t be so honest.

All I Really Need to Know...

... I learned from ignoring the chaos in everything but the kitchen sink.

Hmmm. That might not be how that saying goes.

But it's how I'm feeling today.

I've been keeping that sink shiny for a few days. And here's what I'm learning so far.

*Clean can spread just like dirty does. My clean has spread out across the counter, over the refrigerator (inside and out) and wrapped around to include the stove. But I keep going back to that sink as a home base. Which brings me to...

*It matters that it's the kitchen sink. This is not random. I didn't get that before. I can't do the dishes if the sink isn't clean. And if I'm going to clean the kitchen, I'm obviously going to do some dishes. And it feels silly to spend money on groceries and put them into a cluttered, dirty refrigerator. I won't be able to see what I have. And in order to clean out the refrigerator, I'll be... washing some dishes.

*Baby steps are smaller than I thought. I am an accomplished woman. I'm highly educated. I look at my CV, and I'm impressed with myself. I am often a leader among women, and sometimes among men if they can get over themselves for two seconds. But "jump in wherever you are" doesn't mean what I thought it meant. I always interpreted it as "start today doing the routines you've already established for yourself." Which is fine. If I am healthy. But when I'm not, those routines are far too overwhelming, and I just give up. It's not "jump in where the routines are." It's "jump in where YOU are." And where I am is, frankly, dealing with a chronic disease that happens to be flaring up right now. I can't look at a day's-worth of routines. But I can look at the top shelf of the refrigerator. And after that, I might be able to look at the next shelf. And if I can't, I'll do it tomorrow and celebrate that really clean top shelf.

*Baby steps lead to more baby steps. I'll probably be able to look at that next shelf. Because the one thing I need in dealing with depression is to feel good about myself. In the past few days, I've looked at a few career things that I've been ignoring for a while. (Obviously I am ready to take the performing arts education world by storm, as I have a clean sink. I'm thinking of adding THAT to my CV.) And of course, dealing with things in my career, a place where I've had success... makes me feel better about myself. And just like that, another refrigerator shelf is clean.

*Sometimes I need to put the blinders on. I'm writing all of this from a living room that is an absolute disaster. Anyone with a toddler knows that this can happen pretty quickly, but it's been like this for days. If I were at my healthiest, I would jump in and get it done. But that's not where I am this week. Instead, I need to remind myself that the clean has spread. And eventually, it will spread to the living room. And I need to be nice to myself, and celebrate the victories, no matter how small.

*I have learned these lessons over and over, and will have to learn them again in the future. That's why it's called chronic. It keeps happening. And I need to be patient about that.

Reminding you, once again, that these are Flylady's ideas. www.flylady.net :)

A New Year, a New Chance to Fly

I spend a lot of time not knowing what to do with myself. And please understand- when I say I don’t know what to do with myself, I mean this quite literally. I can be found spinning- yes spinning- around my living room, trying to decide whether I should clean or write or eat or sleep or change a diaper.

I work between four and ten hours a week. (work, as in outside the home, getting paid. I “work,” well… how many hours are there in a week?) This is an odd schedule for a Type-A such as myself. I enjoy structure. And schedules. And deadlines. And my most important job- being a Mom- demands flexibility. But there’s a difference between flexibility and lack of plan. And for a person who struggles with anxiety and depression, living in Lack of Plan Land is dangerous. So I sit around going crazy. And please understand, when I say going crazy, I mean THIS quite literally.

This is where I find myself today. A ridiculously messy home. Very little food in the cupboards. Mounds of laundry. Piles of paperwork. And no one to hold me accountable.

So I return, once again, to Flylady. I’ve spoken of her before. And as a reminder, these are HER ideas. NOT MINE. I would hate for their to be any confusion on this point, as this is a woman who has dedicated her life to helping people get out of chaos. Please visit her website and see what she has to say, in HER words.

But Flylady, in MY words, can be a lifesaver. She taught me how to organize my home, and my time, and my life. And she taught me how to do it in a way that worked for me. Usually. And she taught me that when I stray from the plan (as we’ll so often do, living with depression), I can jump back on board wherever I am.

And it’s not so easy. I’m a brat. I don’t wanna. No one is coming over anyway, we’re making it just fine. But I know that I am healthier when the apartment is clean and the cupboards are stocked and the laundry is clean and folded and put away and I know what we’re having for dinner. And it doesn’t make me less of an independent woman. And it doesn’t make me more of an independent woman. It just makes me happier and healthier.

I finished my Morning Routine around 1:15 today. Most of it, anyway, I’ll vacuum when Lily wakes up. And true, 1:15 is technically no longer the morning, but I am giving myself permission to be flexible. I am dressed to the shoes, and Lily and I have had breakfast, and we spent time together (she loves reading books, and I love that she loves reading books) and I spent some time on my own, and I wiped down the bathroom, and the living room is 15 minutes cleaner than it was when I woke up. And you know what? I feel better.

Remind me of that as I fight my afternoon routine with all my strongest inner brat?

And please check out the Flylady website. We’ll do this together.

Out of the Mouths of Babes

My daughter is learning to talk. As a voice teacher and writer, this is about the coolest thing I have ever witnessed in my life. I have outlined her current vocabulary below. To me, this is fascinating. If it’s not fascinating to you, go read something else. Damnyouautocorrect.com is pretty funny. Try that.

Words that you would recognize, that mean what you think they mean:

Mommy

Mamma

Daddy

Dadda

Yeah

No (or, N-n-n-n-n-n-n-n-no)

Hello

Hi

Bye-bye (used as the thing that is said when a person is departing, and the act of the departure itself)

Juice (not just something to drink, but juice, specifically. Always phrased as a question)

Shoe (used for shoes, but also socks and feet, always phrased as a question)

Baby

Button

Hot (almost always accompanied by blowing on something imaginary, even if the thing she’s describing as hot is not food)

Yucky (pronounced yuh-KEEEEEEEEE with a giant glottal stop between the syllables)

Ball

Key

Jump

Nose

Eye

Exclamations. This could go in the category above, but is fun enough that it gets it’s own category:

Oh no!

Uh-Oh! (these two are interchangeable)

Wow!

Whoa! (these two are NOT interchangeable. “Wow” is reserved for the impressive or exciting, or when she just feels like saying “wow.” Whoa, on the other hand is only for things like almost falling down but then catching ones’ self. As in, “Whoa, that was a close one.”)

Boo! (It is important to note an expectation here. “Boo” is always terrifying, and the listener must exclaim how terrifying Lily is for having said it.)

Questions:

Whassat? (What’s that?)

Whaaaaaaat? (always accompanied by hands held out, palms up.)
Note concerning these questions: they are generally completely out of context and do not refer to anything in particular. She just think it’s funny.

Words that are pretty close, and you’d get it if you really thought about it. Or if we were there to translate:

Nah-nah (night-night, or bedtime)

Bah (bath)

Daw (dog)

Da (dance)

Elwo (Elmo)

Dah (down. Yes, dog, dance, and down sound an awful lot alike. Context clues, people)

Peace (please)

Hep (help)

Buh (book)

Kee-kee or Kih-ee (kitty)

Bee-butt (belly button)

Num-num (food, or the way she feels about the food)

Words that sound sort of like one thing, and mean something else entirely:

Mooooooohhhhh? (more. This is her most common word for food, regardless of whether she has had any yet. Origin, I think: “Lily, do you want some more?” This word is starting to mean she just wants something. And it’s up to the listener to discover what that thing is. Always phrased as a question. Always.)

Bah (back. This is her word for containers. Origin, I think: “Lily, put that back.” Often she is explaining she wants not the thing, but the container that holds the thing. Or both.)

You’d never have any idea what she was saying, but it’s cute and she’s using it consistently and correctly so give her a break:

Kee-kew (Thank You)

Uh, *random syllable*, *LOUDER RANDOM SYLLABLE!!!!!* (One, two, three. That’s right, my kid can count. Uh, sort of.)

Onomatopoeia

Woof

Meow

Baaaaaaaaaah (complete with vibrato)

Moo

Beep- beep

Vvvvvvvvv (the sound an engine makes)

Shhhhhhhh (which means be quiet but is also the sound of running water)

Zzzzzzzzz (the sound of zippers and bees)

And our favorite Lily-ism:

Deedle-eedle-eedle-eedle-eedle! (Which doesn’t mean anything except that she’s really happy.)

I would suggest printing this guide and keeping it handy, but a translator will be provided when you visit if you are not yet fluent in Lily.

Can You Feel the Love Tonight?

I had heard that the first few minutes of Disney's "The Lion King" on Broadway are some of the most breathtaking moments people have seen on stage. Last Saturday, I sat in our secluded little area, (it's not where our seats were, but since we were with a Lion King employee and the area was empty, we got to sit in the middle of the six empty rows in the back. The best place to enjoy a show with a 17-month-old) and I felt the house lights go down, and I wondered. I am not easily impressed. Would I feel what others have felt?

Less than a minute later I was holding my breath and crying as I watched the beautiful events unfold. But I could not tell you what was happening onstage. Or what the elephants looked like. I could barely tell you what song they were singing. (OK, it was "Circle of Life," but come on. We've all seen the movie.) Because the sight that had me so swept up was not the show itself, but rather, my daughter watching the show.

She sat on a booster seat between Mommy and Daddy for the first minute. She laughed when the baboon came out. But when she saw the elephant pass by in the aisle, just inches away, she crawled onto Ryan's lap and wrapped her arms around his neck, facing the back of the house. She held on, but she never stopped watching. Once they had passed, she turned around to see the parade of animals make their way up to the stage. "Wassat?" she asked. (This version of the word highly preferable and much more developed than the former "What is it?" scrunched into one syllable. "Shi-iht?") And before we could answer her- "Oooooooh! Wow!" And she sat. And she watched. And she clapped. And she laughed. (including when Mufasa died. But we'll forgive her for not understanding the context.) And she saw nearly the entire full-length show at seventeen months old.

Our friend Lindsay, who got us the tickets, did take Lily out into the lobby for a few minutes during Act 1, and again for a few minutes in Act 2. But not for long, and only for the slower parts. She sat mesmerized through the rest, and by the time Scar was brought down, she was standing on my lap and clapping her hands and yelling "Yaaaayyyy!!!" (But again, she laughed when Mufasa died, so...)

Who knows how much she understood of the story. Very little, I'm sure. But she could feel it. She could feel the orchestra. And she could feel the energy in the room. She could see and hear the instruments ("Doot doot dooooooo!" and then looking for my reaction. Is that right, Mommy? Yes, baby girl. Those horns say "doot doot doo.") and the voices, and she could see the costumes and the sets. And she could go backstage after the show. And she got to meet the actors and even go trick-or-treating in their dressing rooms and have hot dogs with their families.

Being a Mommy is exhausting. And sometimes thankless. And being in theatre is exhausting. And often thankless. But last Saturday, Lily reminded me that things aren't so bad.

Crazy Straws, Nerf Balls, and Coffee Filters (Oh, My!)

I don't know why we can't just buy a costume. There are many lovely costumes available for purchase, and they are probably less expensive than what we end up spending on the parts needed to assemble something homemade. But we both feel the same way. We will make Lily's costumes. So there we were last night at Toys R Us, trying to find all the right pieces. Did it matter that there was a big silver heart on the front of the sweatshirt? How would we get the Nerf ball to stay on the crazy straw? And more importantly, how would the crazy straw stay upright on the headband? And did it matter that it would show? Should we cut holes in the hood so it could go underneath? No, she could wear this again.

We put Lily right to bed when we got home and got to work. Step one had Ryan over the stove melting plastic. Sewing the headband to the hood proved difficult and ineffective. Good thing we had nice strong tape. Then I realized the curling ribbon was in the spare closet in Lily's room. That's OK, we had twine. And in under and hour, voila! The costume was complete.

I had to wait until this morning to try it on her. (although I really wanted to wake her up. But I remained patient.) She tipped her head backwards in order to see what was on top of her head, and continued to try to see for long enough that I laughed so hard I snorted. I carried her into the bathroom, not sure that would work- did she even understand mirrors? Not really. But she took one look at her reflection with that silly hood and smiled, then giggled, and accepted the hood as appropriate attire. I changed her out of the costume immediately, of course. We need to keep it clean for the party at "The Lion King" tomorrow, (yes, the Broadway musical. We know people.) and trick-or-treat on Sunday.

But I know that it works, and it fits, and she likes it. And someday, she'll be the girl who just wants her parents to buy her a damn costume from the store. But until she's old enough to know better, she's the girl with a designer and a music theatre teacher for parents. And we don't buy costumes.

Standing on the Metro North Platform, Waiting for the 10:39 to Larchmont

There are many things I could have done to avoid this.

Better financial planning, for starters. We always think we have a plan, and then something comes up, or something falls through, or it's Columbus Day so class is cancelled and I need my paycheck today not tomorrow when it would come in the mail.

Or I could have asked about the car yesterday, while Ryan was still at work with access to his calendar, rather than waiting until this morning to call, discovering too late that he has appointments all morning.

Or I could have gotten up earlier, making it more likely, upon discovering that we had to walk to the train station, that I would arrive- baby and stroller and diaper bag with diapers and bottles and wipes and bottle and sippy cup and all- on time for the 9:02, rather than watching it go by.

Or I could have thought more rationally, realized there was no way I was going to make the 9:02, and waited peacefully at home for another 45 minutes, rather than rushing out in a panic, leaving me at the train station with a toddler and nothing to do for 45 minutes.

Or I could have kept up with the laundry, making it possible for me to pack an extra outfit, so that when we went to the park to wait for the 9:55, and Lily got soaked from head to toe on the playground equipment, still wet from last night's rain, I had dry clothes for her.

Or I could have brought the smaller stroller, so that when I arrived at the station and discovered that the elevator was broken, I could have carried Lily and stroller up the stairs myself, rather than needing to ask a young man who, in reality, is probably not as strong as I am, for help.

But I didn't do any of those things. 

So, here I stand, on the Metro North platform, Lily in her new outfit from the clearance rack at Gap kids, me in a sad thrown-on t-shirt with my hair in a sad thrown-back ponytail but finally wearing some make-up applied in a train station restroom, exhausted and a little defeated, waiting for the 10:39 to Larchmont.

You've Got To Know When to Hold 'Em...

According to my Mommy calendar, today is Grandparents Day. Who knew? So in honor of this holiday, a story about Miss Lily, who is apparently being influenced by Grandpa.

Last night around midnight, Lily started to fuss. We were on the balcony enjoying a glass of wine, so we assumed we woke her, and just let her fuss. But after an hour, she was still awake, and the fussing had grown to hysteria. We went in to check on her. She didn't want to be held, she didn't want a bottle, she most certainly did not want to be in her crib. So, in hopes that she would show me what the problem was, I put her down. She toddled in her little footy pajamas- down the hall, through the kitchen, into the living room- found the remote, and pointed it at the television. I laughed, told her we were not going to watch television at 1 AM, and took the remote. She walked up to the tv, pushed the button to turn it on, and sat on Ryan's lap to watch...

The World Series of Poker. Two men in, pocket aces versus pocket Queens. Bets were placed, and eventually the man with the pocket Queens was all in. We watched each card get dealt, and when it came to the river, pocket aces was the winner.

"Yay!" Lily squealed in delight, clapping her hands.

And we put her to bed, and she slept until morning.

I guess she just really needed to see how that hand was going to go...

My Life is Not a Sitcom- The Carol Brady Experiment Conlcuded

This conclusion is admittedly late. I've been thinking about it. A lot. And I wanted to go back to living my "regular" life (whatever that might possibly mean) in order to compare. And I've done that. I've thought, and I've lived, and I've compared, and here it is. My big conclusion.

My life is not a sitcom. And I don't want to be any of those women.

I can't not work. I have a whole week off this week, and it's making me crazy. Not just crazy. Depressed. I'm really struggling. My work- my music, and my theatre and my writing, OK I'll say it, my art- is just too important to me. Too big a part of who I am.

I can't JUST work. This weekend I had the good fortune to spend an entire weekend visiting a friend who was doing a show in DC. And for three days I got to see the show and talk about theatre and go to parties and hang out with the cast and I wrote an entire chapter. And while I didn't time it with a stopwatch, I'm guessing the longest I went without talking about my husband or my daughter was about ninety seconds. And when I got delayed on the bus going home I missed them so much it hurt. My life is very much about my art. But it's not just about my art.

I can't wear heels and chase a toddler. It's insanity.

I can't just wear whatever I grab first, and I can't just order pizza for dinner. Not on a regular basis, anyway. This, too, would be a one-way ticket to depression.

I can't get much work done when Lily is awake. I've tried. It is not effective.

So if I'm not any of those women, where does that leave me? It leaves me, as anticipated, with moderation. A woman who needs to find some self-worth and artistic fulfillment in work, and who needs to spend time with her family and provide a safe, healthy, happy home. A woman who often finds the balance between these two needs allusive. I'm a woman who cares what she wears and how she looks. But I'm also a woman who spends most of her time with a little person who is learning to run.

I am my own woman, finding my own way.

So then, why watch any of it? Why compare ourselves at all? I suppose we need to understand who we are not in order to understand who we are. And, quite frankly, they are sometimes all we have in the way of company. (See: On behalf of stay at home parents who get really really lonely.) And while we might not be exactly like any of these characters who find easy solutions in two short commercial breaks, they do represent a lot of truth. Maybe not universal truth, but truth for a lot of us. Like fighting over bills and burnt dinners and that darn Jones account. And that's gonna make us laugh. And sometimes, that's all you can do.

The Carol Brady Experiment: Elyse Keaton, Part 2

Did you ever notice how Andy grew up really fast? One season he was an infant, and the next season he was, like, 4. Watching the show, I understood this was because they needed a buddy for Alex. Something to give the show a little shot in the arm. But now, as I attempted to play the role of Elyse Keaton today, I understood it differently.

Because there is no way that woman worked from home with a toddler.

I tried. I did. But Lily is a busy girl. She's not at a stage right now where she can just play by herself. We haven't fully moved in (not by a long shot) and there are boxes everywhere and her room isn't really set up and she's still excited about walking and curious about everything and she has opinions that she can't express in words and things she wants to do but physically can't... And my job, when she is awake, is to supervise her.

I got a little bit done today. I answered some emails. And, that's all. And I realized that THIS is why I do most of my work at night. Because she's asleep, and I can.

But even with all of that being true, today felt the most like what our "normal" (???) life might be like here in Greenwich. Lily and I ate at the table for breakfast and dinner. And I got a lot of laundry done. And I unpacked some things. And the whole family spent time at the park after Ryan got home from work. But it's nearly midnight and I'm just now sitting down to do the work-related tasks I have. But they can wait until tomorrow. When Ryan is home. "What would we do baby, without us?"

Sit, Ubu, Sit.
Good dog.

The Carol Brady Experiment: Elyse Keaton, Part 1

"Family Ties" was my absolute favorite TV show in the 80's. But I didn't watch it to learn more about the portrayal of housewives on TV throughout history. No, I watched it for Michael J. Fox. My first TV crush. Ryan still calls him my boyfriend. So today, on my final day of the Carol Brady Experiment, I pay tribute to his TV Mom- Elyse Keaton- played by Meredith Baxter-Birney.

Personal Style: Casual, but always coordinated. It was, after all, the 80's. We did see her dress up when the occasion called for it, though.

Housekeeping Style: Her husband, Stephen, was helpful enough, and she had teenagers to help too, but for the most part, Elyse ran the household. Breakfast at the kitchen table, balanced dinners. And the laundry room was right behind the kitchen for all to see- a perfect place for her to hang out.

Work Life: This is our only working Mom this week. (Well, Shirley Partridge worked. But singing in a band with your kids is not exactly the same as being an architect.) Elyse worked from home- balancing her blueprints with her kids and husband.

Social Life: The Keatons had a lot of friends, and the kids were old enough to be left alone.

Notes: Family Ties took place in Columbus, Ohio. I always got a kick out of that when I was little- I grew up not forty-five minutes from there. So I certainly know the Midwestern culture. And I am a work-from-home-Mom. But finding the balance between work and home life has been one of my greatest challenges over the last fifteen months. Help me, Elyse Keaton!

The Carol Brady Experiment: June Cleaver, Part 2

Breakfast:
I had planned to make pancakes for breakfast. Oops. We have no milk. June never would have let that happen. (although June probably would have had milk delivered every morning, which, come to think of it, would come in pretty handy with a toddler…) I asked Ryan last night how he felt about no pancakes. He looked at me like I was crazy for even asking.

So, it was sausage and fruit salad instead. Served in a dress and heels with my hair curled and my make-up done. I got up around 6:15 to make sure this happened. And honestly, it wasn’t a big deal. And I got to hang out with my husband for awhile before he went to work. (he asked me where my pearls were. I pulled back my hair to show him my earrings. Because obviously I’m wearing pearls. This is mandatory.) And now it’s 8:30, and I’ve had breakfast, and the breakfast dishes are in the dishwasher, and the cats are fed, and the litter box is clean, and the bed is made, and Lily won’t be up for another hour or so. So far, it seems like maybe June had the right idea… (although I did kick my shoes off without thinking about it when I sat down to write. I feel like that may be an ongoing problem today. I should probably put them back on.)

Lunch:
By 10:30 AM my morning routine was complete. Lily and I were both dressed (I had been dressed since 7...) and the beds were made and the floor was vacuumed and the cats were fed and the dishwasher was empty and the litter box was clean and I just didn’t know what to do with myself. This is why 50’s housewives always had fresh flowers. Because they could. And that’s what we did. We walked to Whole Foods for milk (we could have pancakes tomorrow….) and fresh flowers. And we didn’t see a soul we knew.

By the time we got home Lily needed a nap. So she slept, and I made a pie. More on that later. Ryan came home for lunch and the three of us ate at the table together. This could not have happened a month ago. Ryan told me he had gotten more done that morning than he had in a long time. Score one for breakfast. We made plans to go to a church carnival after dinner, and he headed back to the office. How very husbandly of him.

And today, when that afternoon slump came, I was ready for it. I had already made my pie. I knew how long it would take me to make dinner. Lily and I had played for a long time and she was tired again. (Which, by the way, was ridiculous in my dress and heels. I do not give very fast piggy-back-rides like this. I am a roll around on the floor kind of mom.) So I put her down for a nap, and I took one myself, guilt free. Now I’ve started dinner, and I’m drinking my coffee. Slump defeated.

Dinner:
The three of us ate pot roast together at the table. The table where I had placed a vase full of flowers. I’ve made pot roast before, no big deal. But it felt more official. It’s what we were having for dinner. Together. And we’d been sitting there for a few minutes, and Lily looked at us, and she said- I swear- “One… two.. three… four… five!” We had just been watching Sesame Street, sure. But Ryan and I just looked at each other in shock. It was an amazing dinner table moment, and we celebrated by putting her in her little plaid dress and taking her to the carnival, where she road on the carousel and the elephants that go way up in the air. And she danced to the band. And she ate cotton candy. And then she ran around the apartment and crashed, falling fast asleep. I think the Cleavers must have had similar evenings.

Dessert:
I am good at a lot of things. Making pies is apparently not one of them. Ryan’s favorite dessert is raspberry pie. So I tried. I really did. I made the crust from scratch- I put in the flour and the shortening and the salt and the water. And what resulted looked a whole lot like two sad little sand castles on my kitchen counter. I thought I was going to cry. June could make pies. She made them all the time. I cannot make a pie. I have two masters degrees. Why can’t I make a pie?

I started to wonder what I could make instead. Then I remembered that the crust was just flour and shortening, and that I had plenty of both, and I could try again. I re-read the recipe. I had measured so carefully. And then when I went to add the shortening I had the distinct memory of adding 1/3 cup. The recipe calls for 2/3 cups. Oh.

Certain I would find success this time, as I had found my mistake, I tried again. The dough did at least stick together, but I couldn’t get it to roll out without tearing. I tried half of the dough. Twice. Then I set it aside, deciding I had obviously started with the more difficult half. So I tried the other little ball of dough. I’m not sure how many attempts it took, but I finally ended up with something that would at least cover the bottom of the pie pan. Sort of. And so I set it down in the bottom, and I made my raspberry filling which I added to the “pie.” And then I cut some strips from the rest of the dough and sort of made them look like a pie on the top. It works in art, it should work in baking, right?

Several hours later, after Lily had crashed into her sugar coma and Ryan and I were settling down (“I’m his December bride… he’s father, he knows best…”) for the night, I set out to serve the world‘s ugliest pie. Apologizing the whole way. I made Ryan stop at the grocery store so I could get ice cream. My plan was to put the ice cream on top of the pie, and then no one would know. Sadly, Ryan did not want ice cream. “Are you sure?” I asked. He was sure. I brought him his piece and a cup of coffee, then set out to serve my own. (He asked me if he had to eat it at the table, or if he could eat it in front of the TV. It was a genuine question, and fairly adorable. I told him he could eat in front of the TV.) I was in the bathroom when I heard “MMMMMMMM!!!!!!” I came out, thinking maybe he had cut into the cake instead, and the pie was gone. He told me I’d be sorry I’d ever made him that pie, because now I’d have to make it all the time. Huh.

I have a lot to say about being June. Unfortunately I am too tired to do so this evening.

The Carol Brady Experiment: June Cleaver, Part 1

Here she is, folks, the mother of all TV mothers. The matriarch of matriarchs. Representing the 1950's, Mrs. June Cleaver, of "Leave It To Beaver."

Personal Style: June was always in a dress and heels. Always.

Housekeeping Style: Perfect. It's what she did. It's what she lived for.

Work Life: June was a Stay At Home Mom. And, it's all she ever wanted to be. I watched an episode during which Beaver's had an assignment to write an essay about his Mom's life before she was a Mom. While Beaver did learn by the end of the episode that she had worked in a book store for five days while she was in high school, (she was fired for her inability to keep her receipts straight.) and that she volunteered serving cookies at the USO before she got married, he also learned that this is what she wanted to do. She chose it. His classmates' mothers had all sorts of interesting jobs before they were married. (not now, of course. Good God, no. BEFORE they were married.) But not June. She was a wife. And damn proud.

Social Life: In this same episode, June and Ward went out to play bridge with the Rutherfords. I'm not sure they did much bar-hopping, but they were certainly friendly with their neighbors.

Notes: June scares me a little. I've never made a pie crust, and I am not a morning person. But at least she's clear about what she wants. So the plan for today is to keep busy. If it needs to be done, do it. And there is plenty around here that needs to be done...

The Carol Brady Experiment: Roseanne Conner, Part 2

Greenwich, Connecticut is not Lanford, Illinois. We don't have any bowling alleys. (I looked. I did find one, but no one answered the phone when I called.) Our pizza is specialty, our beer is micro-brewed. I don't have teenagers. Nor do I have said teenagers' significant others to deal with. I am not overweight. My sister (regrettably) does not live near me.

But still. I was able to connect to Roseanne today in some surprising ways. And I have to say. There was some liberation in that.

Once I decided to switch gears and focus on Roseanne today, I didn't set an alarm. I didn't do much housework throughout the day. (Although I did get more laundry done than I have since we moved here. My problem had been getting the laundry basket and the baby to the basement. As Roseanne, it finally occurred to me. Put the baby IN the laundry basket WITH the laundry.) I ate whatever was handy when I was hungry. I wore black yoga pants and a black tank top. They were not the same shade of black. Then, after dinner, when we wanted cake but didn't have any plates clean, Ryan suggested we just get forks and eat the cake right from the platter. Any other day I would have refused. (why? There's probably several therapy sessions in there.) But today, a giant smile spread across my face. Did I want to eat right from the actual cake itself? With a fork? Yes. Yes I did.

Many would wonder what the big deal was in all of this. But I can be a bit of a perfectionist. OK, I can be downright rigid when I've decided something is important. But today, I just let it be. And I spent time talking to my friends. And I didn't get so worked up about all of our meals being perfectly square. And it felt pretty good.

I couldn't live like this every day. I went to Whole Foods in my yoga pants and tank top. And. For the first time since we moved here... I ran into someone I knew. Our Realtor. All I could think about was what Lily and I were wearing. Why today, of all days? When I haven't taken a shower, and I'm wearing my glasses... But then I looked around, and you know what? There were an awful lot of yoga pants.

If I lived like this every day, the dishes would get positively out of control. And eventually our health would suffer. I care what we eat. But. It was one day. And at the end of it, I'm in a pretty good mood.

The Carol Brady Experiment: Roseanne Conner Part 1

I was going to portray one of the more difficult housewives today. But I just wasn't up for it. I didn't sleep well last night, and when my alarm went off at 5:30 this morning, I decided to skip ahead. So welcome to my life, Roseanna Conner. Here's a glimpse of Roseanne in the late 80's and throughout the 90's.

Personal Style: An important part of Roseanne's character was that she didn't spend a lot of time on how she looked. (unless it was Halloween.) She was often in a work uniform of some kind. Otherwise, she seemed to grab whatever was clean. Especially in the earlier seasons. Episodes shot post-breast-reduction were a slightly different story.

Housekeeping Style: Laundry was done, dishes were done, meals were served. But it was all done in a time-and-cost-efficient manner.

Work Life: Roseanne did nearly everything at one point, from working in a plastics plant to owning a restaurant. There were also periods when she was unemployed.

Social Life: Active. Roseanne and her husband Dan had lots of friends. They went bowling. They played poker. They spent time with family.

Notes: My first thoughts of Roseanne were that this would be easy. Just don't take care of myself, and don't worry what I feed my kid. But she was busy. And she was an activist. And she was a caring wife, mother, sister, and friend. So today, while I'm not going to take a shower, and I'm not going to spend tons of time deciding what I wear, and I'll probably serve pizza for dinner, I have my work cut out for me. There are no plastics plants here in Greenwich, so I'll have to focus on being efficient. And standing up for women. (although, that's sort of part of my everyday life anyway...) And being a good friend. And spending time with my family.

I think I better go call my sister.

The Carol Brady Experiment: Shirly Partridge, Part 2

It's midnight, and I am once again eating cake. But this time it's not because I made dessert for my husband. No, tonight it's because today just didn't go as well, and I can't sleep.

The events of the day were pleasant enough. I played for music classes, and had a friend over for lunch. Not only was the company a lot of fun, but it was nice to open the refrigerator and have a variety of foods that were guest-worthy to offer. Lily and I cuddled up on the couch together and watched a movie, and I focused on the things I intended: making music and spending time with my daughter.

But there was something not quite right about it. My clothes, maybe? I was dressed comfortably in leggins and a tunic. Not exactly right for Shirley, but appropriate for working with babies and a throw-back to the seventies. But they fit kinda funny. And I just didn't feel like me. I know, I know, I was supposed to feel like someone else. But when I dressed like Laura I felt like me. This just... didn't fit. In so many ways.

Maybe it was the babysitter. She was fabulous. She should be, she made $5 more than I did today. She took Lily to the library and straightened the nursery and washed my coffee cup and some bottles. But Lily was off for the rest of the day. She just wanted me to hold her, and she didn't want to eat. It was probably because I woke her early so she didn't wake up to a stranger. Which made her nap schedule strange, which made her eating schedule strange. But also- we are not apart very often. So it might have been that.

And. I missed my husband. By the time Lily went to bed, I decided that as soon as Ryan got home I was leaving Shirley behind me.

I am a professional musician. Shirley and I have that in common. But I do not want to be a single mom. (I knew this already. But now it's further confirmed.) And I do not want to focus only on music, and I do not want to wear tunics and leggins every day. I didn't know what to do with myself. And I didn't like it.

It's funny. I said I wasn't going to be Carol Brady because I didn't have an Alice. Here it is, 70's day, and I had myself an Alice. And I hated it. And now I'm restless and can't sleep.

The Carol Brady Experiment: Shirley Partridge, Part 1

OK, facebook friends. You knew there had to be a reason why I was talking about "The Partridge Family" the other day. Here she is, my 1970's Mom. Shirley Partridge of "The Partridge Family," played by Shirley Jones. This is who we'll be studying tomorrow.

Personal Style: Shirley was a hip, conservative Mom. When she wasn't in costume with the family band, she was wearing trendy, yet comfortable and age-appropriate clothing. Often it was a pants suit.

Housekeeping Style: The family was on the road a lot, but Shirley always made sure her family was taken care of. Traditional housekeeping was not a huge part of her life, though. In fact, in one episode she goes into "retirement," and her kids tease her about her new found interest in cooking and cleaning. Shirley Partridge was no slob. It just wasn't the center of her life.

Work Life: Singing with the family band. She was a full-time musician.

Social Life: I may just need to watch more episodes, but she seems to spend most of her time with her kids.

Notes: Shirley Partridge is the only single mom I'll be studying this week. I am not a single mom. However, Ryan is spending the entire day in the city tomorrow. So this is as close as we'll get. I won't have any help, but I also won't have another person to feed. I'm teaching at Groove tomorrow, which means I'll be singing and playing the keyboard- an ideal day to play the role of a lead singer in a band. I haven't decided what I'm going to wear- I don't have any pantsuits, and I need to be dressed to teach babies. I may just have to nod at the seventies a little.

I learned while studying Laura Petrie that I needed to focus in on a few aspects of each TV Mom's life. So for Shirley Partridge, it will be about the music, being with my daughter, and doing it without Daddy. Groovy.