"Who Are You Wearing?"

We all know “Who are you wearing?” is reserved for the red carpet. I doubt anyone would come up to a mom like me on the street and ask that question. If they did, well, that would just be creepy.

Yet, for a year and a half, I had a very fine answer to this question. I wore a person of distinction almost daily. I wasn’t wearing Cavalli or Chanel...

I was wearing Claire.

Clearly, my daughter and I aren't red-carpet ready. But if we had the opportunity and Ryan Seacrest were to use his astute journalistic skills to query further about my extraordinary baby outfit, I would reply with great enthusiasm and pride. I would say that she's made entirely by hand. I would tell him that I worked on my creation for over nine months, and that she required intensive labor. I would say that I count my daily accessory as priceless and unique -- couture in the best sense of the word.

But he's probably not going to ask, and I probably won't walk the red carpet in my one-of-a kind creation. That's okay. I did get to do this:

And, now that Claire is older, I get to do this:

Clothes aren't really the point here, are they? Really, you barely noticed what I'm wearing in these photos, did you?

When I look at each picture, I do see a "who". I see my daughter. I notice myself in relation to another. I notice a connection between two people, between mama and child.

Sure, you can really, really like a dress on the red carpet. But love doesn't come from fancy clothes or make-up or big parties.

Love grows in the fertile soil of everyday, uncelebrated gestures.

No, I won't be walking the red carpet anytime soon. That's okay. My designer creation is a true labor of love.

And I didn't have to squeeze my toesies into Louboutin's either!

Moms and friends! Some of my lovely blogger buddies and I thought we would have fun combining the #365FeministSelfie with Award Season in this post and in a link-up. The #365FeministSelfie is all about showing women as they are, no filter, no primping, no perfection, and perhaps no makeup. Pretty much the complete opposite of the Award Season Red Carpet drama-rama. So we’re asking you...

Who are YOU wearing? Link up a post with a picture and/or some text below. And, remember, COME AS YOU ARE!





Exercise, Motherhood and Depression

I just came back from the gym. I feel good.

There are the obvious reasons for feeling good. I've crossed something off my to-do list. I have an overall sense of accomplishment. I've worked off the chocolates that my lovely husband got for me the other day.

But when I say, "I feel good", I mean so much more. My head feels good. I feel lighter, more optimistic and relaxed. Love abounds in my heart for family,  neighbors and mankind. Picture me with a skip in my step, humming the song, I Can See Clearly Now, as the serotonin balances in my brain.

I need to workout. When I don't exercise, the stress in my life turns into dark thoughts, irritability, and a struggle to accomplish daily tasks.

It's workout, go on Prozac or be depressed. I've done all three. I prefer the first option, and have
chosen exercise for many years. I haven't always wanted to get to the gym. There have been times that it was hard to fit it into my schedule.

But working out is a commitment that I have made to myself and my mental health. I'm grateful that exercise has worked for me as well as any pill.

Now, I have Claire. I'm finding it harder to honor that commitment. Frankly, it's easier to find time to blog. I can sit at home while she's sleeping and write. I've never been an exercise tape kind of girl. I'm tired. I don't have a ton of free time. The list goes on.

I don't easily recognize the slow slide into depression either. Remember the frog sitting in a pot of water on the stove? She's slowly boiled, because she doesn't feel the rising temperature. I'm like her. I notice the dark side of myself only in contrast, when I feel differently than dark. 

In general, we moms have a hard time taking care of ourselves. It's ironic, though, that at a time when we need to be our best selves for our children, we find it challenging to attend to our needs. So many other priorities seem to trump us and our pesky needs.

I do notice I'm not taking care of myself, though. I notice when I return from a workout and feel differently than dark.

Like today. That's when I remember that my daughter deserves a mom who feels this good. I am a better mom when I feel this good. I deserve to say, "I feel good" and really mean it.

We all do.

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Photo Source: Mike Baird, Flickr, this photo has been altered and does not suggest that the licensor endorses me or its use
License

Welcome to The Sunday Parenting Party, hosted by Dirt and Boogers, Play Activities, Crayon Freckles, Taming the Goblin, The Golden Gleam, Prickly Mom, and The Tao of Poop. The SPP is place for readers to find ideas on nurturing, educating, and caring for children, as well as honest posts about the stresses of being a parent or caregiver. Links to reviews and giveaways are welcome as long as they are relevant to the topic. All parenting philosophies are welcome with one exception: please do not link to posts promoting physical discipline, as this is something we would feel uncomfortable having on our blogs. (P.S. By linking up you agree that your post and photos are Pinterest, Sulia, G+ and FB friendly. We will be showcasing ideas on The Sunday Parenting Party Pinterest board.)

 

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Check out this week's fab features:

Finding Ninee, Dear Special Needs Mama
MamaSchmama, Theater of the Absurd

Opposites Attract

“Vee cole, vee cole,” Claire said repeatedly.

Translation: "Feet cold".

My poor little baby had cold feet for the first time in her life. Actually, I think it was her first experience with cold, in general. It isn't hyperbole to say that it took me an hour to warm up those little piggies. I rubbed and rubbed each tiny, icy foot over and over again -- like I thought a genie would come out of one of them, if I kept at it long enough.

I don't know who was more traumatized, her or me. Actually, I take that back. It was me. You see my husband, George, had taken her for an impromptu THREE hour trip to the zoo in FORTY degree weather wearing ONLY canvas sneakers!

Really, I was mortified.

I considered being mad along with mortified. But I’m trying to be more philosophical since having a kid. I can definitely cut him some slack this time too. First of all, how great is it that Claire and her papa went to the zoo together? Second, George doesn't mean to be reckless. He’s barely used to being married, let alone having a child. There's a learning curve to fatherhood, just like anything else.

Same goes for motherhood. While I'm a stickler for schedules and routines, George would probably say I'm an old stick in the mud. He puts up with my neurotic need to make sure she eats on time, always has a nap at the appointed hour and that she's never, ever cold.

In other words, that Claire has a boring mommy, who doesn't know the meaning of the word "spontaneous" and never does anything fun with her daughter.

I'm the yin to George's yang, the traditional to his non-traditional. We compliment each other nicely. So Claire can go on adventures and explore with her papa, and, then, come home to the warmth and security of her mama.

(In the future, I will just have to be more careful that I supervise my husband's sartorial choices for our daughter more closely. In truth, I could learn to lighten up a bit too. But don't let my husband in on this confession, please.)

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Reblog from Claire's baby days for Finish The Sentence Friday, "We can either be traditional or non-traditional..."

I Had a Pin Fail

That's what they call it, right?

This:

Was supposed to yield this:

Really, I just have to laugh.

I am a perfectionist in certain areas of my life. DIY is not one of them. I know my limitations. The bar is set very low. I expect to have a fail of the pin variety. I’m shocked, pleasantly surprised, when my endeavors come even close to the bright and shiny picture.

You may be expecting a post hating on Pinterest right about now. Something along the lines of: Pinterest makes mamas like me feel inadequate or pressured to be perfect.

Or, maybe, something like: Pinterest is reactionary, a throw back to the days when a mom’s worth was measured by her ability to make an apple pie (or play-doh).

I've read posts that say as much, and know that Pinterest has become another great divide between mamas. I find myself resting somewhere in the middle -- a craft-impaired mother who loves Pinterest. You might say I'm looking to become a Pinterest peacemaker, so to speak.

I love Pinterest despite the fact that my DIY adventures are more likely to be pin fails than pin-worthy. I’m glad there are women other than me -- the ones who actually possess the crafting gene -- who come up with ingenuous ideas and recipes that wouldn’t occur to me in a million years.

They’ve given me the know-how to actually make stuff with my daughter, which is the definition of quality time for me. When play-doh is made at home, it is somehow infused with the good vibes of having your hand in it and of being together. And, just to clarify, our homemade experiments don't mean that I am obligated to always make play-doh every time. We have the store-bought kind too, but I digress.

I do believe that there is power in making things by hand, though. Yes, I am incredibly grateful that Amazon Prime opens up a whole world of consumer goods, which appear at my door, as if by magic. I am likewise glad that making play-doh is the perfect tonic to an Amazon shopping experience. I want Claire to learn that clicking a button on her computer doesn't count as agency or effort.

And that agency and effort count for something -- I want Claire to value process as much as product. Actually, when I really think about it, I'm even more of a fan of Pinterest because of the Pin fail. I am trying to teach Claire to embrace the fact that things don’t always turn out the way that you expect (which is often the case with a craft-impaired mama like me. She will be well schooled in this lesson). I want her to see that mistakes can yield surprising results too.

No, we did not create finger paint like the lovely picture above. The result of our toil together was much, much more like slime (what’s ironic is that I put in the green dye BEFORE it went the way of pin fail). But, guess what, Claire loved it!

No, I will never be Martha Stewart. I don’t need to be. My daughter needs a mama not a Martha anyway.

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Photo Source: Aaron Gilson, Flickr

Welcome to The Sunday Parenting Party, hosted by Dirt and Boogers, Play Activities, Crayon Freckles, Taming the Goblin, The Golden Gleam, Prickly Mom, and The Tao of Poop. The SPP is place for readers to find ideas on nurturing, educating, and caring for children, as well as honest posts about the stresses of being a parent or caregiver. Links to reviews and giveaways are welcome as long as they are relevant to the topic. All parenting philosophies are welcome with one exception: please do not link to posts promoting physical discipline, as this is something we would feel uncomfortable having on our blogs. (P.S. By linking up you agree that your post and photos are Pinterest, Sulia, G+ and FB friendly. We will be showcasing ideas on The Sunday Parenting Party Pinterest board.)

 

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Check out this week's fab features:

Finding Ninee: The Best Special Needs School in the World

Mommy is for Real: Raising Feminist Daughters

Left Brain Buddha, Rite of Passage: Ready for Air; Ready for Motherhood

Babes in Toyland

Christmas has a way of reverberating into the New Year and beyond. Much to my dismay, I will surely be confronting pine needles in the nooks and crannies of my home long after the red, red robin comes bob, bob, bobbing along. Much to my dismay, I will continue to relive the moment during this holiday season when a beloved childhood memory of mine was crushed.

It all began as innocently as childhood itself. George and Claire were ripping the paper off a Christmas gift with great anticipation. My daughter excitedly pulls a box from its wrapping and George says, “Oh, cool! Candy Land!”

I’m flooded -- not with distinct memories, but with the intense but inchoate images and feelings of a young child. I don’t remember the game’s specifics or its characters. I feel happiness about winding along a path of friendly colors through a swirling world of sweet fancy.

I lean in to look at the box with Claire…

Candy Land's gotten a sexy makeover.

I'm flooded again. This time with rage, helplessness and disappointment along with a barrage of thoughts:

“Ah, not my Candy Land! Is nothing sacred? My Candy Land didn't have creepy bimbettes posing around the board! This game’s supposed to be for little kids! Can’t we just wait a few years?... Oh, shit, get over yourself, Rachel. You are such a control freak. You can’t shield Claire from everything in this world. There are so many other things to worry about than the sexualization of a dumb board game. She can still enjoy the game… Maybe, I’m just pissed I can't recreate my own past through my daughter. Or, maybe, I’m becoming one of those ‘things aren’t the way they used to be’ kind of cliches.”

As the wheels in my head spin, Claire and George open the box and look at the pieces. Another newly-opened game sits on the table next to Candy Land. Claire points to Chutes and Ladders, the green and blue board filled with children of diverse racial backgrounds playing actively, absorbed and engaged -- how I would like Claire to imagine herself in her world. She looks at Candyland…

“Mama, Candy Land is for girls and Chutes and Ladders is for boys,” she says.

The screaming in my head comes to a screeching halt. Claire cuts through my bullshit every time. Out of the mouths of babes is how the saying goes.


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Welcome to The Sunday Parenting Party, hosted by Dirt and Boogers, Play Activities, Crayon Freckles, Taming the Goblin, The Golden Gleam, Prickly Mom, and The Tao of Poop. The SPP is place for readers to find ideas on nurturing, educating, and caring for children, as well as honest posts about the stresses of being a parent or caregiver. Links to reviews and giveaways are welcome as long as they are relevant to the topic. All parenting philosophies are welcome with one exception: please do not link to posts promoting physical discipline, as this is something we would feel uncomfortable having on our blogs. (P.S. By linking up you agree that your post and photos are Pinterest, Sulia, G+ and FB friendly. We will be showcasing ideas on The Sunday Parenting Party Pinterest board.)

CHECK OUT THIS WEEK'S FAB FEATURES: 

MY SKEWED VIEW, HE SAID WHAT?

DIRT AND BOOGERS, MY SON SAID HE DOESN'T LOVE ME

 

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"Don't Cry Over Spilt Milk"

is the mantra that runs through my head, when I'm trying to find a Zen place in the face of a day’s worth of toddler chaos. Unfortunately, a few hours into said day, I start talking back to the voices in my head.

“But this is the THIRD time she’s literally spilled her milk! You said I can’t cry. What about screaming? PLEASE let me scream, please! I’ll feel so much better,” I say plaintively.

Some days, I do scream….but I don’t feel better.

Other days, I remember that I actually subscribe to the philosophy that making messes is part of the process of learning. On good days, I teach my daughter a spirit of experimentation and a love of discovery, unencumbered by the fear of the outcome of her endeavors. I remember that I really love this quote from Roald Dahl.

(Dahl was referring to stuff like climbing trees, but giving a toddler a glass of milk qualifies as “risk” in my book.)

On good days, I give her the space to make messes, so she can learn to clean them up. I show her that mistakes can be opportunities and that mistakes can be fixed.

I am a believer.

What no one told me was how much tension would exist between my tolerance level for chaos and my philosophy about how to grow a healthy child and learner. 

How about when motherhood seems a feat of endurance? Bad days where the disaster around me seems to be keeping pace with my internal state of mind. Days when I feel less of an idealistic teacher and more like Sisyphus.

That's when it's best to let go the mantle of both idealist and Sisyphus. I need to strip away my beliefs about how things should go.

Nothing stands between Claire and me -- our relationship is at its most essential.

I see a child just being. I see a mom loving her child and her child's beingness very, very much.

At the heart of the matter, that's all we need to remember.

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Welcome to The Sunday Parenting Party, hosted by Dirt and Boogers, Play Activities, Crayon Freckles, Taming the Goblin, The Golden Gleam, Prickly Mom, and The Tao of Poop. The SPP is place for readers to find ideas on nurturing, educating, and caring for children, as well as honest posts about the stresses of being a parent or caregiver. Links to reviews and giveaways are welcome as long as they are relevant to the topic. All parenting philosophies are welcome with one exception: please do not link to posts promoting physical discipline, as this is something we would feel uncomfortable having on our blogs. (P.S. By linking up you agree that your post and photos are Pinterest, Sulia, G+ and FB friendly. We will be showcasing ideas on The Sunday Parenting Party Pinterest board.)

 

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Eleven Ways Toddlers are like Drunks

I asked a friend of mine about his New Year’s Eve, and he responded candidly: “I don’t drink

anymore, so I find my drunk friends annoying. They either can't hold a conversation or they act crazy.”

In return, I joked that his night sounded like daily life with a toddler. My friend has a teenager, so he
commiserated about not missing those times. We started talking about how much toddlers remind us of drunk people in many uncanny ways. They both:

1) Can’t walk a straight line

2) Are loud and unruly in social situations

3) Spill their drink

4) Fall randomly

5) Cry 

6) Slur their words

7) Are prone to taking their clothes off in public

8) Have no sense of personal space

9) Spare no one the ugly truth

10) Suffer from memory loss

11) Shouldn’t operate heavy machinery

Toddlers and drunks are opposite in one important way though. When you are sober around a toddler, you really want a drink. When you are sober around drunks, you never want to drink again.

HAPPY NEW YEAR, FRIENDS! May 2014 be a year of health, happiness, love and prosperity for you and yours.

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