Some thoughts on time of life, motherhood...you know, nothing big.

I am currently reading a book entitled Bad Mother -- mostly because I always criticize myself at being one and figured I had better get in the club with the rest of them... The book, a memoir of strung together chapters, really speaks to the point I am in my journey of motherhood - and as many of us know, it certainly is a bumpy ride. How is it that our society has created such a mystique about what it means to be a good mother? How cannot we celebrate the things that we are good at - and cherish that those elements make us the "good" mothers that we truly are? I have found myself criticizing my daily activities with Stella, because, well, mostly the activities that we do are things that need to get done around the house anyway. Are these things fun for her? Is it mentally stimulating? Is she learning? Why the hell am I being neurotic about it all? Somehow she all of a sudden knows a circle, square and star. Did I teach those to her? Probably not. (Thank god for preschool).

What she has learned from me is how to knead bread properly, how to dip chips in salsa (yes, my 26 month old eats salsa), scat identification (Mommy, dog poo! Mommy, horse poo!), and how to identify particular cars on the road. Seriously, she knows what other Vanagons, Jeeps, and Subaru Outback Wagons look like because those are all the cars either we have (said Van) or cars that our neighbors drive. Is she her daddy's daughter or what? Are these helpful things to know at 2? Probably not. But that is what we have passed along to her at this point.

And yet, beyond all my neurosis of making sure she gets what she needs at this point in her developing brain, Stella continues to astound and amaze us. This week, when asked idly by me what she'd like to wear to school (and not expecting really any answer), she announced that she would like to wear her owl shirt and jeans. Um, ok, I sputtered, practically spitting out my tea. Sure, we can do that. I got dirty looks from an older couple the other day at the beach, when on our way to the sand, Stella announced that we "Need Scuppy poo bag" and after I picked one from the holder, she replied, "Mommy, I hold it." They looked aghast. No, idiots, I'm not going to let my daughter pick up our dog's poo, but at least she knows what we're supposed to do as responsible dog owners. She has been going to a dog park since about 3 weeks old. Her speech therapist cracked up this week when Stella told her what all the neighbors were up to during the day. "Carl work. Drive truck. Truck loud. Mique home soon. Tom ride bike work."

All of these experiences are part of that whole "nurture" thing right? We can't obviously change her genes, but I hope to hell that the Germonski way of nurture works out ok. I was and never have been the type of person to "blame" my parents for the choices I have made or the way I grew up. If anything, maybe I wished they had been more strict in making sure I chose a more fiscally responsible career than theatre, but of course, I am more than blessed that they acquiesced when I wanted to follow the path that I did. I hope that Stella will come to appreciate the fact that we populate our world with bread dough, bicycles, tomato plants, books, and thrift store surprises. I guess only time will tell...

And speaking of where our kids will end up, I too have been assessing my own life and career, and in turn, how the choices we make affects our family. I was offered a teaching job on Monday, one at this moment, my gut is telling me to walk on by. This is hard for me to admit, as I have been desperately hoping to get back into my career, going crazy being at home only interacting with a toddler and dog all day long. And yet, when faced with a full-time offer, I am starting to balk. Have I settled into this life? This life of being labeled as "Mom" first and not "Professor?" Does that make the last 6 hard-won years of our life null and void? Or does it just make me honest? Certainly, it speaks to the precipice that I think all women face when offered career choices that conflict with the overall stability of the family, regardless of whether that family involves children or not.

As much as Steve does around the house (all the dishes, the laundry, all the car work, the lawn, share of dog and kid duties), I know that he still feels that he should be the one working to make the lion's share of our income. Society has conditioned him to believe that, regardless of how egalitarian our relationship has always been. And yet, although I do the all the cooking (because, let's face it, I do love it), the grocery shopping, and household budget/bill paying on time duties, I am indescribably torn between being home for my daughter and pursuing the career that I have been in school EIGHT EXTRA YEARS for (not to mention the $^@#!K in school loans that are going to come knocking soon). Why must I have to feel that career vs family care is a life or death choice? And either/or choice? Why cannot it be a both/and?

Of course, it can. Many women take their only allowable pittance of six week maternity leave and put their wee babe into childcare and go back to work. Because they have to. I am lucky. I know that. I work a part-time job from my home, but for the most part, my family is provided for by my husband's salary. But here I am aching to be back in the classroom with those wacky 18-21 year olds, and yet I question the choice because of a special 2 yr old who fills my heart with such joy and anguish and frustration and love that I tetter between giving it all up and yet knowing that I would lose myself if I did.

I remember thinking as a young girl - let's say 11 or 12, that I wanted a good, secure job when I grew up. You know, security. Comfort. Guess I was a bit of an eejit going into theater but let's pass that on by for the moment. Do we all secretly crave a bit of stasis? A bit of rest? A bit of "let me be in this moment for a bit longer without my whole life being in upheaval yet again and having to make another serious decision?"

Ramble, ramble. Thanks for reading. Any thoughts and/or advice are welcomed. I'm just waiting for banana bread to be done in the oven. You know. Cooking. Baking. Things I know how to do.

Snippets

A month in pictures and overheard statements, because sadly, Mama doesn't have the time for more...

Overheard:

Stella (pretending to talk on the phone): Hi Scuppy.
Mama: Stella? Are you talking to Scupper on the phone?
Stella: Yah.
Mama: Oh. Well, what is Scupper saying to you?
Stella: (listening) Arf Arf!

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Mama: Stella, please don't move your chair that way, you'll tip it over and fall.
Stella: and I would cry.
Mama: Yes, you would cry.
Stella: (fake crying) eh he he
Daddy: Stella, do you want another bite of dinner?
Stella: No, Daddy, I'm crying.

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Scupper: Bark Bark Bark (in the yard)
Stella: (from bedroom when I thought she was taking a nap) No Scuppy! I'm sleeping!

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 I love this photo - don't ask me why. It's just the phase that Stella is in.

 First haircut. She would only sit on Grammy's lap, not by herself, and she was very trepidacious about the whole thing. However, she really needed it - it was starting to look mullet-esque.

 Chilling with Daddy after hiking to the beach.

 Rockin' the beach fort Memorial Day Weekend.

 First face painting. She was a little confused afterwards because she thought the lady was going to GIVE her a butterfly, not put one on her face. Oh well. Maybe we'll wait until three for another one.

Checking to make sure Mama and Daddy are there, during the little performance her preschool gave.

 Now fully accepting the butterfly.

 Playing dress-up, looking very much like she was out of a Jane Austen film adaptation. Maybe she is looking for Mr. Darcy.

That's us - the wacky threesome who hang out during the day, trying to have fun until Daddy comes home from work. Notice the smears of little fingers on the mirror. Oh well. No one ever said I was a good housekeeper. ;)