Operation Clean-Out, aka, the time when I systematically go through all of our things and sell off/give away/throw away as many as possible, begins today. As I noted in yesterday's post, both moms (mine and my hubby's) are coming to help me out today, and to load up stuff to sell at a rummage sale we are going to have later this summer at my folks' house.
I am not naturally inclined when it comes to cleaning and organizing my home, but I'm hoping this purge will help me to keep things more manageable in the future. Interestingly enough, as cluttered as my dining room table can become, I have always been meticulous when it comes to my school and work spaces---nothing out of place, everything stacked at a straight angle, every file named in a precise fashion with a particular folder awaiting it, everything easy to find, etc. Sadly, I haven't been able to transfer that somewhat fanatical organization to my house. Maybe it is a matter of scale? I'm not sure, although I certainly know that the advantage I have in keeping school and work areas tidy is that I do not have a husband and a three-year old's stuff mixed in to make it more complicated.
And speaking of complicated, today is the day that we are going to have EJ start boxing up toys/clothes to sell or give away. There has been a lot of talk about it---a lot of prepping and story-telling to get her ready---and I hope that it has helped. On the walk to camp this morning, when I reminded her that Grandma and Nana were going to help her sort her things, she seemed quite excited by the prospect of "putting tags on all of my stuff with numbers for money, then putting those things on tables at Nana's house." What she didn't like talking about were her toys, however. She kept insisting, "I don't wear my baby clothes anymore...THAT'S what we can sell, because I don't need those." I suppose I could take the tactic of simply boxing up toys that she hasn't used in ages without her seeing me do it, but honestly, my gut says that there is a lesson in this for her about not holding on too things to closely, so she can make way for new things to come her way. Aside from that, I think it might be more traumatic if, on the day of the sale, she saw toys stacked up that she had forgotten she had, only to be reacquainted with them as strangers were taking them away. Zoinks. That's a tantrum I don't want to be around.
Tuesday, June 30, 2009
Monday, June 29, 2009
Mommified
A few months ago, I read a great quote from Tina Fey*, one of my favorite writer/actresses, about how you know you are a mom. Here it is, reprinted from this source:
“There are so many things now that I do where I’ll be like, ‘Oh, now I’m a mom. Like when your kid hands you their boogers, and you take it. You’re like, ‘Okay, I’m a mom.’ Or when I find myself getting mad because I’m trying to put underpants on someone who is dancing.”
I certainly felt like I'd officially joined the "Okay, I'm a mom" club when, in May, EJ projectile vomited all over me in a restaurant.** In between the first and second rounds of spew (separated only by seconds, of course), I came to the realization that, yes, it was good that I was acting as a human shield, because I am the mom, that is what we do. Before she got sick, should I have been suspicious when she wanted to get on my lap, bury her head in my chest, and "cuddle" after her meal? Well, maybe. She's your typical squirrelly three-year old, and although she gives a great hug, a restaurant usually provides her with too much stimulation to want to hang out snuggling her parents. No, I wasn't quite up to snuff with my Mom instincts preceding the puke, but once it was flying, I gave it a full body block. Like I said...I'm a mom. That's what we do.
For what it is worth, now when we dine out, I am that mom asking her kid "are you feeling okay?" every time she sets her fork down. I know I'm annoying her, and I'm probably annoying patrons around us, too, but once bitten, twice shy. I may be a fully-initiated mom, but I'm not going to volunteer to wear vomit again soon if I can help it.
If appearance is everything, I had another "gosh, I'm really a mom" moment last night, a moment that nearly shocked me straight to Bloomingdale's at 1:30 in the morning. I had some trouble falling asleep, so I stayed up well past my husband. I didn't want to disturb him fumbling around for my pajamas, so I just slid into bed with my regular clothes on. Within seconds, I was having this dialogue in my head: "Did I put on my pajamas? I swear I didn't. These ARE my clothes, I'm sure of it. Wow, these are as comfortable as pajamas!"
ACK! I'm all for comfort---you won't see me in pointy-toed heels*** any time soon, I don't care what they say on, "What Not To Wear"---but that was ridiculous. I bolted out of bed, quietly scrambled around for jammies, and went to the bathroom to change. I have to draw the "comfortable mom clothes" line somewhere, for goodness sake. I cannot accept the fact that, even though I can dress them up with funky-cool jewelry and fancy accessories, I now walk around in modified pajamas.
The reality is, a lot of being a mom is about the outward stuff---the "mommification" experience. It's not nearly as dramatic (or terminal!) a process as mummification, but it will wrap you up, all the same. In my case, I have found that the layering of material around me---pajama material, mixed with vomit, apparently, not to mention the million assorted items EJ asks me to "hold for [her]" every day---has left me a gauzy shadow of what I used to look like. This may be particularly acute because I do not work in an office setting anymore, and rarely have occasion to dress in an outfit that won't easily allow me to get down on the floor to wipe up spills or play blocks. That said, even with the wrappings of motherhood completely covering me, I am preserved inside. That is the point of mummification, right? To leave the person intact and preserved for their journey to the next plane of existence? That seems about right for mommification, too---it may cover you up for a spell, but it also seems to preserve what is essential to you, so you can journey to the next adventure.
My goals for the summer are three-pronged: relax, organize, and beautify, in that order. My main focus has been on our condo, a home that is literally swimming in piles of clutter due to lack of focus on my part while finishing up graduate school. My mom and mother-in-law**** are coming tomorrow to help me start sorting things for a big rummage sale we hope to have in my hometown later this season. It feels great to have traction in this area of my plan, but until last night, I hadn't thought about taking the time to work that three-pronged attack on my own appearance. Sorting through old clothes to prep for the sale will help, but beyond that, looking for work again may provide a natural shift back to the 9-to-5 office garb I had become accustomed to during my pre-mommification days. I'm keeping some of the comfy clothes though---no one at the park cares if my pants have a drawstring waist, and besides, I need those giant, comfy pockets to house the sunscreen, sand toys, juice boxes, snacks (sometimes sticky and half-eaten), "cannot leave the house without" attachment objects of the moment, found treasures like leaves and rocks and general bramble....the list goes on and on.
--------
*Tina was also one of the writers, during her time at Saturday Night Live, of the "Mom Jeans" commercial. How apropos. I'm not quite there, but I'm retreating from mom-wear just in time, I think.
**We returned to the scene of EJ's vomiting episode rather sheepishly a few weeks later, suspecting they wouldn't be happy to see us. As it turns out, the whole episode helped the restaurant to get a good review on Yelp from Paul, the guy next to us whose jacket was caught up in some of the spray, despite my best efforts to keep all the puke to myself. We paid for his meal, and apparently became southside ambassadors, in the process!
***During my year abroad in Aix-en-Provence, I wore through a few pairs of shoes that I had brought from home. My parents let me splurge in the spring for some new pairs, and I chose a beautiful pair of cherry-brown Italian woven sandals (I still dream of those shoes) and an equally beautiful pair of honey-colored suede, pointy-toed heels. I felt so French in those heels, and they were quite comfortable in the store, but I wore them all of one time in real life. I walked across Aix one afternoon, to head to the Fac d'Economie's computer lab, where they (gasp!) had computers that (gasp!) could send messages to other computers back home (yes, this was my introduction to email back in spring 1994), and I proudly wore my heels for the first time. Fifteen minutes of cobblestone sidewalks later, the backs of my shoes were completely stained with blood---blood gushing from the lacerations at the backs of my ankles, where the cute shoes had done damage on my narrow heels as they clicked in and out of the footwear. I took the shoes off, only to see blood in the toes, as well---that was that warm feeling---with blisters to top it off. I typed my messages home shoeless, and when I went to put the shoes back on, I couldn't jam them onto my swollen, bloodied feet. I walked back barefoot---a terrifying prospect in a town where picking up after your dog is a mild suggestion---and despite many attempts, never got the blood off those shoes. I learned my lesson at twenty---these feet are not made for fashion. The sandals paid off, though---I had them resoled three times before having to let them go around age 27.
****My mom and mother-in-law get along well, and it is as awesome as you might imagine. I am a lucky gal. It should be a great day.
“There are so many things now that I do where I’ll be like, ‘Oh, now I’m a mom. Like when your kid hands you their boogers, and you take it. You’re like, ‘Okay, I’m a mom.’ Or when I find myself getting mad because I’m trying to put underpants on someone who is dancing.”
I certainly felt like I'd officially joined the "Okay, I'm a mom" club when, in May, EJ projectile vomited all over me in a restaurant.** In between the first and second rounds of spew (separated only by seconds, of course), I came to the realization that, yes, it was good that I was acting as a human shield, because I am the mom, that is what we do. Before she got sick, should I have been suspicious when she wanted to get on my lap, bury her head in my chest, and "cuddle" after her meal? Well, maybe. She's your typical squirrelly three-year old, and although she gives a great hug, a restaurant usually provides her with too much stimulation to want to hang out snuggling her parents. No, I wasn't quite up to snuff with my Mom instincts preceding the puke, but once it was flying, I gave it a full body block. Like I said...I'm a mom. That's what we do.
For what it is worth, now when we dine out, I am that mom asking her kid "are you feeling okay?" every time she sets her fork down. I know I'm annoying her, and I'm probably annoying patrons around us, too, but once bitten, twice shy. I may be a fully-initiated mom, but I'm not going to volunteer to wear vomit again soon if I can help it.
If appearance is everything, I had another "gosh, I'm really a mom" moment last night, a moment that nearly shocked me straight to Bloomingdale's at 1:30 in the morning. I had some trouble falling asleep, so I stayed up well past my husband. I didn't want to disturb him fumbling around for my pajamas, so I just slid into bed with my regular clothes on. Within seconds, I was having this dialogue in my head: "Did I put on my pajamas? I swear I didn't. These ARE my clothes, I'm sure of it. Wow, these are as comfortable as pajamas!"
ACK! I'm all for comfort---you won't see me in pointy-toed heels*** any time soon, I don't care what they say on, "What Not To Wear"---but that was ridiculous. I bolted out of bed, quietly scrambled around for jammies, and went to the bathroom to change. I have to draw the "comfortable mom clothes" line somewhere, for goodness sake. I cannot accept the fact that, even though I can dress them up with funky-cool jewelry and fancy accessories, I now walk around in modified pajamas.
The reality is, a lot of being a mom is about the outward stuff---the "mommification" experience. It's not nearly as dramatic (or terminal!) a process as mummification, but it will wrap you up, all the same. In my case, I have found that the layering of material around me---pajama material, mixed with vomit, apparently, not to mention the million assorted items EJ asks me to "hold for [her]" every day---has left me a gauzy shadow of what I used to look like. This may be particularly acute because I do not work in an office setting anymore, and rarely have occasion to dress in an outfit that won't easily allow me to get down on the floor to wipe up spills or play blocks. That said, even with the wrappings of motherhood completely covering me, I am preserved inside. That is the point of mummification, right? To leave the person intact and preserved for their journey to the next plane of existence? That seems about right for mommification, too---it may cover you up for a spell, but it also seems to preserve what is essential to you, so you can journey to the next adventure.
My goals for the summer are three-pronged: relax, organize, and beautify, in that order. My main focus has been on our condo, a home that is literally swimming in piles of clutter due to lack of focus on my part while finishing up graduate school. My mom and mother-in-law**** are coming tomorrow to help me start sorting things for a big rummage sale we hope to have in my hometown later this season. It feels great to have traction in this area of my plan, but until last night, I hadn't thought about taking the time to work that three-pronged attack on my own appearance. Sorting through old clothes to prep for the sale will help, but beyond that, looking for work again may provide a natural shift back to the 9-to-5 office garb I had become accustomed to during my pre-mommification days. I'm keeping some of the comfy clothes though---no one at the park cares if my pants have a drawstring waist, and besides, I need those giant, comfy pockets to house the sunscreen, sand toys, juice boxes, snacks (sometimes sticky and half-eaten), "cannot leave the house without" attachment objects of the moment, found treasures like leaves and rocks and general bramble....the list goes on and on.
--------
*Tina was also one of the writers, during her time at Saturday Night Live, of the "Mom Jeans" commercial. How apropos. I'm not quite there, but I'm retreating from mom-wear just in time, I think.
**We returned to the scene of EJ's vomiting episode rather sheepishly a few weeks later, suspecting they wouldn't be happy to see us. As it turns out, the whole episode helped the restaurant to get a good review on Yelp from Paul, the guy next to us whose jacket was caught up in some of the spray, despite my best efforts to keep all the puke to myself. We paid for his meal, and apparently became southside ambassadors, in the process!
***During my year abroad in Aix-en-Provence, I wore through a few pairs of shoes that I had brought from home. My parents let me splurge in the spring for some new pairs, and I chose a beautiful pair of cherry-brown Italian woven sandals (I still dream of those shoes) and an equally beautiful pair of honey-colored suede, pointy-toed heels. I felt so French in those heels, and they were quite comfortable in the store, but I wore them all of one time in real life. I walked across Aix one afternoon, to head to the Fac d'Economie's computer lab, where they (gasp!) had computers that (gasp!) could send messages to other computers back home (yes, this was my introduction to email back in spring 1994), and I proudly wore my heels for the first time. Fifteen minutes of cobblestone sidewalks later, the backs of my shoes were completely stained with blood---blood gushing from the lacerations at the backs of my ankles, where the cute shoes had done damage on my narrow heels as they clicked in and out of the footwear. I took the shoes off, only to see blood in the toes, as well---that was that warm feeling---with blisters to top it off. I typed my messages home shoeless, and when I went to put the shoes back on, I couldn't jam them onto my swollen, bloodied feet. I walked back barefoot---a terrifying prospect in a town where picking up after your dog is a mild suggestion---and despite many attempts, never got the blood off those shoes. I learned my lesson at twenty---these feet are not made for fashion. The sandals paid off, though---I had them resoled three times before having to let them go around age 27.
****My mom and mother-in-law get along well, and it is as awesome as you might imagine. I am a lucky gal. It should be a great day.
Thursday, June 25, 2009
Since Last We Spoke
Summer is here, with sweaty, sticky, sun-drenched days suddenly upon us, after what seemed like the dreariest start of June in a long time. Maybe it was the particularly hard winter this year that made the spring-like feeling of June such a bummer for so many Chicagoans. Whatever the case, that time is over---a switch has been flipped, and the heat is on.
I wasn't too disappointed in the rainy, cool weather, as I was working hard to finish my capstone project, and spending most of my time indoors. The weather seemed to match my mood, actually. On convocation day this Saturday, though, the rain had disappeared, and the warm sun had us sweating under our giant purple, polyester robes. No complaints, though---the day was simply fantastic, and I wouldn't have changed a thing, even with beads of sweat running down my back.
I actually had a sense-memory moment that morning, once I was all dressed up. The heat, the scratchy feel of the fabric, the hat...I had felt these things before. No, it wasn't for my undergraduate convocation at the UW-Madison, although I remember that day being warm, too. I wracked my brain for awhile, then it hit me---MARCHING BAND! Yes, the fabric was an unmistakable match, used not for comfort but for ease of washing and longevity. The hat was the icing on the cake, reminding me of the always-interesting hats (can you say, shako?) we had to wear---hats that, once removed after a parade, always revealed heads of fully-drenched hair. This was not a pretty sight in the eighties, with all our hairspray/mousse/styling gel coiffed heads put into what amounted to little plastic kilns while marching. Sure, our hair looked like we'd just stepped out of the shower when the hat was first taken off, but once dried (usually on the bus ride home), we all looked like we'd styled our hair with a hatchet and a jet-engine.
Yes, a graduation gown is a lot like a loose-fitting marching band outfit, and with the number of years I marched, I felt oddly at home. As we walked over from the library to the auditorium where convocation was to be held, two-by-two, I half-expected to be put into parade rest, then to have chaperones run up with bottles of water to spray on our faces and into our mouths.
It feels almost surreal to be finished with school. Finished. Completely, totally finished. Wow. Everyone keeps telling me that, once I'm done for awhile, I'll wonder how I ever did it in the first place. That hasn't hit me yet, but I wouldn't be surprised. So much has happened in a such a short time, I haven't had time to adjust.
Since we last spoke:
1) I graduated, as mentioned already. Here is some proof. Go, Team Lusignan!
Our Family
I couldn't have done it without my folks---thanks, Mom and Dad!
Me and my sweetie---next in line for the pomp and circumstance, and deserving of a medal for all the support he gave me.
EJ kept asking, "When are you taking pictures with the graduates AND A KID?" She got her wish.
Future Graduate
2) We got rid of the minivan, and replaced it with a blue Honda CR-V, thanks to my generous parents. I am SO MUCH HAPPIER tooling around the city in this smaller, more maneuverable, zippy little ride. I'm also happy to report that the car has four-wheel drive, which was hard to live without last winter. The final awesome feature---a remote starter! That's right, in the cold, nasty winter, I can step out onto my porch four stories above our parking lot (provided I snag a space, of course), turn on the car, and let the defrost work its magic. EJ has named the car for us: Bluebell Woodlawn Sally Lightning McQueen Lusignan. Bluebell = our idea. Woodlawn = a street near our house, which EJ likes to read off the road sign. Sally = Lightning McQueen's blue, female friend. Lightning McQueen = Need I say more? When I told EJ that our car wouldn't be red like our old CR-V, hence, she might not want to name it Lightning McQueen after a red car, she said, "Mom, Lightning McQueen is a name, it can be for any color car. It is JUST A NAME, MOM!" (Insert teenage-like look of disgust, plus three-year old exaggerated eye roll.)
3) EJ is going to camp every Tuesday, Wednesday, and Thursday morning. It is fantastic. She goes every day in a swimsuit, plays in the kiddie pools with her school friends, and returns home happy and tired. She also reminds me every day that she wants a SCHOOL party for her birthday, i.e., she wants me to bring cupcakes to camp. Deal.
4) For the first time in 15+ years of testing, I had a clearly elevated TSH (thyroid-stimulating hormone) level in a blood test taken last week. The interesting part: the tests were for a seemingly-unrelated problem, some numbness/cold feeling I've been having in my face. More tests were done following this result, and we'll see what happens. Since every single person on my mom's side of the family has hypothyroidism, and I have had symptoms since my late teens (with blood tests always showing my result to be normal or low-normal function---bad enough to be irritating, but not bad enough to be treatable), I was actually PLEASED to have this test come back with a red flag this time. I've asked for years, what makes this hormone range NORMAL for me, if I am exhibiting so many of the symptoms? Now, with what might be a swollen thyroid causing nerve problems in my neck/face, I may finally qualify for some help.
5) More on health---I have referrals all set up to visit an obesity clinic at Northwestern, as well as to see a GI specialist at U of C who apparently treats obesity for those not seeking bariatric surgery. I also have a referral for the sleep lab, if that ends up being a part of my disease make-up. On deck for next week: get appointments. I also started attending an exercise class last week that meets 3 times a week and has free childcare. Can't beat it. It nearly killed me, but it will get better every time. Thanks to all who have been inquiring about this journey since March. I tried to juggle appointments and follow-up while I was working on my master's project, and I just couldn't do it. I let myself off the hook until I was done, and now am on a mission. As I discovered in my capstone project, all the outside support I can get will help me to see success---it's statistically validated, so it must be true!
6) I discovered sparkling shiraz at our graduation party. Who knew? Is it worth drinking? Oh, yes...yes it is.
I wasn't too disappointed in the rainy, cool weather, as I was working hard to finish my capstone project, and spending most of my time indoors. The weather seemed to match my mood, actually. On convocation day this Saturday, though, the rain had disappeared, and the warm sun had us sweating under our giant purple, polyester robes. No complaints, though---the day was simply fantastic, and I wouldn't have changed a thing, even with beads of sweat running down my back.
I actually had a sense-memory moment that morning, once I was all dressed up. The heat, the scratchy feel of the fabric, the hat...I had felt these things before. No, it wasn't for my undergraduate convocation at the UW-Madison, although I remember that day being warm, too. I wracked my brain for awhile, then it hit me---MARCHING BAND! Yes, the fabric was an unmistakable match, used not for comfort but for ease of washing and longevity. The hat was the icing on the cake, reminding me of the always-interesting hats (can you say, shako?) we had to wear---hats that, once removed after a parade, always revealed heads of fully-drenched hair. This was not a pretty sight in the eighties, with all our hairspray/mousse/styling gel coiffed heads put into what amounted to little plastic kilns while marching. Sure, our hair looked like we'd just stepped out of the shower when the hat was first taken off, but once dried (usually on the bus ride home), we all looked like we'd styled our hair with a hatchet and a jet-engine.
Yes, a graduation gown is a lot like a loose-fitting marching band outfit, and with the number of years I marched, I felt oddly at home. As we walked over from the library to the auditorium where convocation was to be held, two-by-two, I half-expected to be put into parade rest, then to have chaperones run up with bottles of water to spray on our faces and into our mouths.
It feels almost surreal to be finished with school. Finished. Completely, totally finished. Wow. Everyone keeps telling me that, once I'm done for awhile, I'll wonder how I ever did it in the first place. That hasn't hit me yet, but I wouldn't be surprised. So much has happened in a such a short time, I haven't had time to adjust.
Since we last spoke:
1) I graduated, as mentioned already. Here is some proof. Go, Team Lusignan!
Our Family
I couldn't have done it without my folks---thanks, Mom and Dad!
Me and my sweetie---next in line for the pomp and circumstance, and deserving of a medal for all the support he gave me.
EJ kept asking, "When are you taking pictures with the graduates AND A KID?" She got her wish.
Future Graduate
2) We got rid of the minivan, and replaced it with a blue Honda CR-V, thanks to my generous parents. I am SO MUCH HAPPIER tooling around the city in this smaller, more maneuverable, zippy little ride. I'm also happy to report that the car has four-wheel drive, which was hard to live without last winter. The final awesome feature---a remote starter! That's right, in the cold, nasty winter, I can step out onto my porch four stories above our parking lot (provided I snag a space, of course), turn on the car, and let the defrost work its magic. EJ has named the car for us: Bluebell Woodlawn Sally Lightning McQueen Lusignan. Bluebell = our idea. Woodlawn = a street near our house, which EJ likes to read off the road sign. Sally = Lightning McQueen's blue, female friend. Lightning McQueen = Need I say more? When I told EJ that our car wouldn't be red like our old CR-V, hence, she might not want to name it Lightning McQueen after a red car, she said, "Mom, Lightning McQueen is a name, it can be for any color car. It is JUST A NAME, MOM!" (Insert teenage-like look of disgust, plus three-year old exaggerated eye roll.)
3) EJ is going to camp every Tuesday, Wednesday, and Thursday morning. It is fantastic. She goes every day in a swimsuit, plays in the kiddie pools with her school friends, and returns home happy and tired. She also reminds me every day that she wants a SCHOOL party for her birthday, i.e., she wants me to bring cupcakes to camp. Deal.
4) For the first time in 15+ years of testing, I had a clearly elevated TSH (thyroid-stimulating hormone) level in a blood test taken last week. The interesting part: the tests were for a seemingly-unrelated problem, some numbness/cold feeling I've been having in my face. More tests were done following this result, and we'll see what happens. Since every single person on my mom's side of the family has hypothyroidism, and I have had symptoms since my late teens (with blood tests always showing my result to be normal or low-normal function---bad enough to be irritating, but not bad enough to be treatable), I was actually PLEASED to have this test come back with a red flag this time. I've asked for years, what makes this hormone range NORMAL for me, if I am exhibiting so many of the symptoms? Now, with what might be a swollen thyroid causing nerve problems in my neck/face, I may finally qualify for some help.
5) More on health---I have referrals all set up to visit an obesity clinic at Northwestern, as well as to see a GI specialist at U of C who apparently treats obesity for those not seeking bariatric surgery. I also have a referral for the sleep lab, if that ends up being a part of my disease make-up. On deck for next week: get appointments. I also started attending an exercise class last week that meets 3 times a week and has free childcare. Can't beat it. It nearly killed me, but it will get better every time. Thanks to all who have been inquiring about this journey since March. I tried to juggle appointments and follow-up while I was working on my master's project, and I just couldn't do it. I let myself off the hook until I was done, and now am on a mission. As I discovered in my capstone project, all the outside support I can get will help me to see success---it's statistically validated, so it must be true!
6) I discovered sparkling shiraz at our graduation party. Who knew? Is it worth drinking? Oh, yes...yes it is.
Tuesday, June 09, 2009
Transition
It was a big week last week---EJ finished up her first year of preschool, I handed in my capstone, and the whole family took a collective sigh of relief as the beginning of a less stressful summer than we've had in years spread out in front of us.
That sense of relief was not instantaneous, though. Ending school was hard for EJ, who was very cognizant of the fact that she would soon be missing her friends. The whole week before the end, as her teachers talked to the class about kindergarten so the older kids would be more ready, EJ became more and more resolute that she, too, should go to kindergarten with them next year. She was not happy when we told her that she had to wait an entire year.
Then there was the tantrumming, about everything and nothing, both at home and at school. For example, after a few nice, sunny, warm days, we had a bit of a cold snap. Unfortunately, EJ had gotten attached to wearing sundresses to school, and did not like my insistence one morning that she wear a long-sleeved dress with matching leggings. She threw a really nice fit, which I ignored, so she escalated her tactics. When finally faced with the reality that wearing a long-sleeved dress=go to school, while not wearing long-sleeves=stay home, watch Mommy work, she relented. Of course, getting out the door dressed appropriately wasn't the end of the story. All the way to school, she scowled at me, saying things like, "I'm going to tell everyone that you hurted my feelings!" and "You like this dress but my friends WILL NOT like it and I will not talk to them about it AT ALL." The final charmer: "I am not going to smile ALL DAY." I told her that if she wasn't going to smile, I might as well drop her off at some boring queue, like at the bank or the cable company. I still have nightmares about having to wait in line for a new cable box with her as a toddler---shutter, shutter, no smiles there. Even in long sleeves, though, utility companies did not interest her. Her response: an eye roll and a loud, "I DO NOT WANT TO GO TO THE CABLE COMPANY! NO!" Good choice.
Her teachers told me that she was getting wrangled about all kinds of things, but that all the kids were wound up, so it was par for the course. They sent out a lovely note about how kids may act differently, sometimes horribly, during big changes, and that we should just watch for it and try to talk them through their feelings. We kept our eyes open for emotional flare-ups, and all made it through the week, which capped off with a party/"goodbye ceremony" at nursery school on Friday. My folks came down for the event, which made EJ so happy she could barely contain herself. She was sitting in the front row, and kept turning around to smile and explain things to Nana and Papa.
Interestingly enough, though, at the ceremony, the director of the program spoke about how hard change is, but how it is just part of life and we all have to just learn to go with it and smile/be happy/get over it/etc. Fair enough, I guess, although I really don't buy that.
Sure, change happens, and we have to accept it. Sometimes embracing it is the way to go right from the start. But change isn't what gets everyone upset, per se. According to William Bridges, it is transition, the psychological reaction to change, that takes time to work through. Grad school friends know how much I "heart" Bridges---all of us seem to have found models or concepts that resonated the most for us during school, and for me, Bridges' transition model is way at the top of the list. According to Bridges, while change may happen in a more finite way---you move, you finish a school year, you have a baby---transition evolves from that change---you learn your new neighborhood, you make a summer schedule, you get used to the daily work and identity shift of being a parent.
Transition always starts with an ending---a grieving period, a time to make note of what is now over, and to honor that past. So many people don't take time to feel these feelings when change comes, because they want to get on with it, deal with the change, etc. This is particularly true when change is positive---who would suspect that getting a promotion, for example, would come with some loss, but ask most people who have been moved up the ladder, and they'll tell you they miss things like coffee with colleagues, autonomy without responsibility for others, even details like the place that they used to sit in the office.
So, it is not surprising, the night before I go to defend my capstone, during the week between EJ's nursery school end and the beginning of her summer camp, when the days are long and unscheduled and ambiguous, that I feel like I'm in that ending stage. Of course, I am relieved about moving forward, and especially happy to be done with late-night homework and juggling of school and parenting. That said, I will miss the built-in intellectual stimulation to my day. I'll miss the feeling of expertise that comes with working on a project for this long---I'll still know my stuff, but I certainly won't be thinking about it often. Most of all, I'll miss the friends. This change has already been felt, as my last year of school, working on my capstone without many classes to attend, has been largely solitary. I miss having a built-in reason to see smart, funny, interesting people who care about many of the same things I care about. Sure, we'll keep in touch online, and some of us will get together socially on occasion, but it just isn't the same, there is no getting around it.
I'll miss the friends at preschool, too---the other moms and dads and caregivers and teachers I've gotten to know and enjoy so much. If I'm going to miss adults I see only a few minutes a day, I can't imagine how much EJ is going to miss her friends. Thankfully, with the extra time I'll have this summer, I can be more diligent about planning playdates, something I typically fail at, miserably. Also a plus: camp is at her school, and a handful of her favorite girls will be in it, too, so both of us will have more of our routine returned, at least for a few weeks.
With transition, not change, in mind, all of the three-year old acting out makes perfect sense. Without the conceptual understanding of an ending (i.e., she will not go to school with this group of kids ever again), the ending stage of transition must be particularly hard for EJ to work out. I'm privileged to get the opportunity to navigate through it with her, to help her put words to her feelings, and to figure out some activities that honor the happy memories she has from this year.
There are only two more stages of transition, according to Bridges---the neutral zone, and the new beginning. I'm not jumping ahead, though. I've learned from experience that, if I work on this ending, I'll be in the neutral zone before I know it, sorting out what our new patterns and routines will be, and testing out what works and what doesn't. Until then, we're just living in the moment, taking the feelings (and tantrums) as they come, and thoughtfully letting go of school to make way for new adventures.
That sense of relief was not instantaneous, though. Ending school was hard for EJ, who was very cognizant of the fact that she would soon be missing her friends. The whole week before the end, as her teachers talked to the class about kindergarten so the older kids would be more ready, EJ became more and more resolute that she, too, should go to kindergarten with them next year. She was not happy when we told her that she had to wait an entire year.
Then there was the tantrumming, about everything and nothing, both at home and at school. For example, after a few nice, sunny, warm days, we had a bit of a cold snap. Unfortunately, EJ had gotten attached to wearing sundresses to school, and did not like my insistence one morning that she wear a long-sleeved dress with matching leggings. She threw a really nice fit, which I ignored, so she escalated her tactics. When finally faced with the reality that wearing a long-sleeved dress=go to school, while not wearing long-sleeves=stay home, watch Mommy work, she relented. Of course, getting out the door dressed appropriately wasn't the end of the story. All the way to school, she scowled at me, saying things like, "I'm going to tell everyone that you hurted my feelings!" and "You like this dress but my friends WILL NOT like it and I will not talk to them about it AT ALL." The final charmer: "I am not going to smile ALL DAY." I told her that if she wasn't going to smile, I might as well drop her off at some boring queue, like at the bank or the cable company. I still have nightmares about having to wait in line for a new cable box with her as a toddler---shutter, shutter, no smiles there. Even in long sleeves, though, utility companies did not interest her. Her response: an eye roll and a loud, "I DO NOT WANT TO GO TO THE CABLE COMPANY! NO!" Good choice.
Her teachers told me that she was getting wrangled about all kinds of things, but that all the kids were wound up, so it was par for the course. They sent out a lovely note about how kids may act differently, sometimes horribly, during big changes, and that we should just watch for it and try to talk them through their feelings. We kept our eyes open for emotional flare-ups, and all made it through the week, which capped off with a party/"goodbye ceremony" at nursery school on Friday. My folks came down for the event, which made EJ so happy she could barely contain herself. She was sitting in the front row, and kept turning around to smile and explain things to Nana and Papa.
Interestingly enough, though, at the ceremony, the director of the program spoke about how hard change is, but how it is just part of life and we all have to just learn to go with it and smile/be happy/get over it/etc. Fair enough, I guess, although I really don't buy that.
Sure, change happens, and we have to accept it. Sometimes embracing it is the way to go right from the start. But change isn't what gets everyone upset, per se. According to William Bridges, it is transition, the psychological reaction to change, that takes time to work through. Grad school friends know how much I "heart" Bridges---all of us seem to have found models or concepts that resonated the most for us during school, and for me, Bridges' transition model is way at the top of the list. According to Bridges, while change may happen in a more finite way---you move, you finish a school year, you have a baby---transition evolves from that change---you learn your new neighborhood, you make a summer schedule, you get used to the daily work and identity shift of being a parent.
Transition always starts with an ending---a grieving period, a time to make note of what is now over, and to honor that past. So many people don't take time to feel these feelings when change comes, because they want to get on with it, deal with the change, etc. This is particularly true when change is positive---who would suspect that getting a promotion, for example, would come with some loss, but ask most people who have been moved up the ladder, and they'll tell you they miss things like coffee with colleagues, autonomy without responsibility for others, even details like the place that they used to sit in the office.
So, it is not surprising, the night before I go to defend my capstone, during the week between EJ's nursery school end and the beginning of her summer camp, when the days are long and unscheduled and ambiguous, that I feel like I'm in that ending stage. Of course, I am relieved about moving forward, and especially happy to be done with late-night homework and juggling of school and parenting. That said, I will miss the built-in intellectual stimulation to my day. I'll miss the feeling of expertise that comes with working on a project for this long---I'll still know my stuff, but I certainly won't be thinking about it often. Most of all, I'll miss the friends. This change has already been felt, as my last year of school, working on my capstone without many classes to attend, has been largely solitary. I miss having a built-in reason to see smart, funny, interesting people who care about many of the same things I care about. Sure, we'll keep in touch online, and some of us will get together socially on occasion, but it just isn't the same, there is no getting around it.
I'll miss the friends at preschool, too---the other moms and dads and caregivers and teachers I've gotten to know and enjoy so much. If I'm going to miss adults I see only a few minutes a day, I can't imagine how much EJ is going to miss her friends. Thankfully, with the extra time I'll have this summer, I can be more diligent about planning playdates, something I typically fail at, miserably. Also a plus: camp is at her school, and a handful of her favorite girls will be in it, too, so both of us will have more of our routine returned, at least for a few weeks.
With transition, not change, in mind, all of the three-year old acting out makes perfect sense. Without the conceptual understanding of an ending (i.e., she will not go to school with this group of kids ever again), the ending stage of transition must be particularly hard for EJ to work out. I'm privileged to get the opportunity to navigate through it with her, to help her put words to her feelings, and to figure out some activities that honor the happy memories she has from this year.
There are only two more stages of transition, according to Bridges---the neutral zone, and the new beginning. I'm not jumping ahead, though. I've learned from experience that, if I work on this ending, I'll be in the neutral zone before I know it, sorting out what our new patterns and routines will be, and testing out what works and what doesn't. Until then, we're just living in the moment, taking the feelings (and tantrums) as they come, and thoughtfully letting go of school to make way for new adventures.
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