Is This What They Call a Midlife Crisis

There is a girl that lives inside my head who I really admire. She's compassionate, talented, gracious, witty, confident and capable. She looks a lot like me, but she towers over me in strength of character. She's one of those people you'd like to hate, but who is so charming you can't help but love her. I spend a lot of my time and energy trying to mold myself into some reasonable representation of her.

Perhaps that is why I love making New Year's resolutions. I feel inspired and excited about the changes I plan to make in my life. I like to pretend that this year will be the year when I get a little closer to the mirage of my perfect self.

As I pondered what items to add to my to-do list this year, a strange thing happened. Instead of bringing the of the happy buzz of encouragement I expected, the thought of adding one more unrealized expectation to my seemingly unending catalogue of failures weighed heavily on me. And more keenly, I felt the investment of time was one that I could not afford as I am already operating on a severe deficit.

This time shortage is really an enigma to me. I don't feel like I do anything terribly important or productive during a typical day. I don't have a high-powered job. I'm not really what one would call a Super-Mom (you know, the type that has fun, enriching activities for their children all day long while somehow managing to keep a perfectly neat home, make a 3 course dinner, volunteer at the local homeless shelter, and read the NY Times from cover to cover each day). Mostly, I (hardly) manage to maintain a steady baseline of quasi-productivity.

I decided to spell out all the amorphous expectations I have for myself. I won't bore you with the banality of the items on the list, but to give you an idea, after reviewing the list my husband asked me if I had inadvertently omitted restroom trips. Were these mundane tasks really causing so much stress in my life? Could so much boredom really cause my stomach to churn by its incompletion?

I considered the list. Not much could be excised with out great sacrifice on the part of family members (grocery shopping really is essential, they all assure me), and some of the listed items are deceivingly time-consuming (i.e. physically caring for the children: one must also consider this includes providing an impromptu bathing when yogurt mysteriously splatters across the dining room). But most alarmingly, the few things on the list that I actually like doing were at the bottom of the priority list and often are the first casualties when time gets tight.

I finally came up with a few ideas that hint at making things better...you know: enhance efficiency on the most boring and routine tasks so as to free up more time for the more enjoyable options, wasting less time procrastinating undesirable activities (read: not signing into facebook or searching craiglist just "one more time" in case someone listed the serger of my dreams during the past 10 minutes), etc. But really, those strategies just seem like a diversion from the real problem: my life is dull. So dull I couldn't even bring myself to write Christmas cards this year.

It's true. I've become a typical boring thirty-something looking for a little pizzazz in life. (And not the type of pizzazz that comes from your two-year-old pooping on the kitchen floor. Side note: Jimmy-John wanted me to blog that story and entitle it: "Goose didn't lay THIS golden egg!" I laughed so hard, I almost regressed on my own potty-training.) I need something to get my heart racing. I need an interesting response to the question "So, what have you been up to lately?"

So, this leads me to my big question: Does any have a motorcycle for sale?

Two outta Three Ain't Bad

Three public experiences this week with my kids. We’re finally getting to the place where the good outweighs the bad. (You can read about a typical past excursion here.)

Number 1: Lunch at Ikea

As a reward for going to sleep without me in the bed with them, I took my kids to lunch at Ikea. Ikea is always a big excursion for us; it’s just far enough away to be a troublesome outing. The long drive plus the intense stimulation it provides the kiddos tends to provoke at least one meltdown.

This trip had all the earmarks of disaster. It was occurring after preschool (read: kids already overstimulated) and would delve deep into prime nap time. We were also taking friends, Tarheel and Charlie. Or rather, the friends were taking us in their souped up minivan complete with built-in DVD player. The kids were bursting with excitement.

The 4 year old girls, having known each other since birth, were fighting like sisters: Tarheel was bossing Goose, and Goosie was either yelling back or passive-aggressively ignoring any attempt Tarheel made at conversation. Little E and Charlie just wanted to sleep.

Once in Ikea, the kids perked up and nothing of note occurred during lunch. (We did have two spills and a little bit of refusal to keep shoes on, but nothing out of the ordinary.) As we were cleaning up and letting the kids go off to play in the toy area an older man came up to my friend and me and proceed to compliment us on our “patience and good humor” with the kids and that watching us had been enjoyable.

Woah. What? Did that really just happen? I mean, I’ve had people stare. I’ve had people look away in embarrassment. I’ve even had people angrily call my children unruly monkeys. But, I have NEVER had someone compliment me with regard to my children in a public setting. I’m still floating. Now, I realize that the man was not really complimenting my children’s behavior, rather our reactions to it, but at this point I’ll take what I can get.

Number 2: Cows at the Grocery

At 3:30 pm, I realized that I was missing the last few ingredients for dinner. Unwilling to change the menu, I loaded the kids up and headed to the grocery. Little E, freshly napped and still a little grumpy, insisted on wearing a large Christmas bell around his neck. Goose, who had taken a mid-afternoon bath, had selected strawberry jammies and rainboots for her attire. I’ve learned to just go with the flow.

My kids rank pretty high on the curiosity scale and everything in the grocery store apparently begs to be investigated. Staying in or near the cart is a constant challenge for my children, so I alternately use bribes, threats and time-outs. Honestly, I’ll use anything that works. I even regularly open grocery items for my children to consume before checking-out. (It shocks me how often I do this when I think how opposed I was to it just 18 months ago.)

This particular trip I was trying to get trough with frequent reminders of appropriate behavior: “Stay by Mommy”, “Don’t touch that”, “Don’t climb on that cart, it’s not ours”, you know, the typical stuff. Goose has figured out that it is easier to just load things into the cart than to ask permission for it and was shopping accordingly. I put the non-dairy creamer back. I put the chocolate soy milk back. But when the mini Nillas landed in the cart it was as if the heavens opened and angels sang.

I opened up the box and told the children they could have them if they stayed close. I doled them out one at a time while the kids jingled behind. The individual cookies were so quickly consumed that a child could not wander far between bites. And if Little E did stray, his ringing bell (and his accompanying moos) betrayed him before any “fun” could be had.

I made it out in record time.

Number 3: Park Play Date

This one still perplexes me. Goose was rested, fed, getting exercise and outside time, and playing well with friends. The friends started leaving, nap time was nearing and I gave Goose and Little E the standard 5 minute warning. 3 minutes. 2 minutes. No friends left. (One stranger still enjoyed the swings.) 1 minute. Blast off.

Goose was still defiantly playing. I tried the patient method. I picked up Little E and started walking. “Good-bye, we’re leaving.” Oh ,why did I park so far away from the playground? I hid behind a tree; Goose hid inside the slide. She won the stand-off. I stomped onto the mulch, fuming. “GOOSE! We’re Leaving!” She chose her best weapon – speed. This 4 year old can almost outrun me. She screamed as the chase closed. I picked her up. She flailed her arms and legs, she smacked me in the face. She wailed like she was enduring some medieval torture.

I cannot say I keep my cool. I blew my lid. I yelled back; I ranted; I flipped her over my shoulder and carried her sack-of-potato style. In the end she endured a time-out and was grounded from the park for a week (it’s up to two weeks now because she snuck out of time-out).

Sigh. So, we’re not there yet. But, two outta three ain’t bad.