How not to suck in 2012

I’ll admit it, I’m a follower of quite a few mommy/crafty blogs. And many of them have either posted new year’s resolutions, goals (even non-goals), or as one blogger put it “how not to suck in 2012.” Or as she realized, making a list of things that she actually DIDN’T suck at in 2011 and how she can keep those improvements coming.
I thought a lot about this today, considering I’m always harping on myself for things not accomplished, things I wish I had time to do, things I always wish I could do differently. I think making a list of non-suckable things from 2011 might be a good thing. And frankly, since I’m sharing mine, I urge you to come up with your own. Being positive is always better than being cranky, right? (although ooooh, I am so good at self-flagellation and being cranky.)
- I cooked (relatively) healthy meals for my family. This does not mean I stopped buying box mac and cheese, because yes, I still have a space in my foodie-heart for that stuff, as foreign from mac or cheese it is. But most nights, when Steve gets home from work at 5:30, we sit down as a family to eat together soon after. This does not mean my daughter eats carrots now. She will not. But I can get her to eat a spinach and cheese omelet or spanakopita, oatmeal with raisins for breakfast (most days), or lentil and quinoa salad. We still go out for the occasional burger and fries (and she eats way too much fruit), but everything in moderation, right?
- I went to 3 major job interviews this year, and tried to be as honest as possible about who I am, and what I want. While I may have not got the job I wanted, I still was true to myself and my family. It felt good t be honest in an interview for the first time in my life. Basically, if you don’t like me for what I can offer and who I am, then I don’t want to work for you.
- I admitted early last year that I couldn’t handle things emotionally, put my daughter in preschool 3 mornings a week and saw a therapist. Admitting that I couldn’t do it all helped me immensely. Seeing Stella thrive at preschool even more than I feel she could at home made it worth it. Talking to someone once a month about myself, uninterrupted for 60 minutes was sublime.
- I canned 14 jars of vanilla plum jam, 5 jars of homemade salsa with tomatoes I grew myself, and froze tons of homemade tomato sauce and roasted cherry tomatoes. I have 8 pounds of blood oranges waiting for me to make marmalade this weekend. I had never canned before and while it’s time consuming, it’s really gives you the awesome feeling of “I made this!”
- I took my daughter to the library about every 2-3 weeks and filled her up with new books, and even had time to read fiction again myself. I am making up for lost time with fiction and it feels good.
- I wrote a book chapter, a book review, a performance review, two journal articles, and a newsletter article. I hate the stress of publishing, cry when I get edits from editors that make me feel like my writing sucks, and hate the rejection of articles. But these I did anyway, and I’m proud of myself for forging ahead. I still hate it, but I’m trying to do judge myself less.
- I survived going on an 8 day camping trip with my husband, a toddler, a dog and 6 weeks pregnant with morning sickness. I loved every minute. Well, maybe not the nausea.
- I tried as best I could to be a loving, caring wife. We need to go on more dates, but the ones we did have (aka date night at home with a fancy meal) were positive.
- I also tried as best I could to be a loving and caring mother. I may not make the most interesting art projects or enrichment activities for my daughter, but she knows how to knead bread, make salsa, and give a big hugs, a kiss and a nose kiss (in that order) with loving abandon.

This post has felt incredible selfish and bombastic. Self-congratulatory and prideful. But there it is. We all need a little pride now and then. So I put it to you – make your list. What did you do this year that didn’t suck? I bet if you thought about it, you didn’t suck as much as you thought.
And now a photo of Stella, at 6:45 am, who asked to have her picture taken opening up her English muffins with her monkey. (I have no clue why, but I did it anyway). She’s a girl who always seems to know what she wants, is proud of who she is, knows she doesn’t suck, and dammit, I’m going to work my hardest to keep her staying that way.

Rock n roll!

I have Christmas pictures to share.
I also have New Year's camping pictures to share.
But THIS, I had to share first. Because it cracks me up.

A little back story: on a particular testy part of our driving home from New Year's camping, I asked Steve to turn up the music in the van, hoping it might help Stella calm down from the incessant "I want to get out" refrain that had just started. Bruce Springsteen's "Live in New York City" album came on... and Stella started rocking out in her car seat. "More drums!" she shouted with glee. It was pretty awesome.

When we got home from the trip, as Steve and I were in a flurry of unpacking the van and simultaneously getting dinner ready, Stella asked for "more drums." So I explained to her what we had listened to in the car was a musician named Bruce Springsteen and the music was called "rock and roll." "More rock and roll!" she yelled. So I put it on. And this is what she did.

Her last sentence is to Steve, who was bringing in another load of stuff. "Daddy! Look a me, I'm dancing!"

For my mom and dad, this might have more connotations that the rest of you will get. See, my brother got a plastic red guitar when he was 4. He loved to put on my mom's walkman and play a tape of Springsteen's "Born in the USA" over and over again. He would sing at the top of his lungs, "Bawn in the USA, I was, Bawn...." I think the image I most remember is him wearing neon footie pajamas, a crazy wig, and the guitar singing this over and over again.

Uncle Mike, this one is for you.

Season’s Greetings

In straddling the divide between being GREEN and being old-fashioned, I mailed 50+ cards out to family and friends, and directed everyone here to this blog to read our annual letter. In a way, the cards were actually green, because they were recycled. (No, not recycled paper, but in fact, lovingly chosen from stacks of unopened holiday card packs at our local thrift store!) Should I even admit that? Well, I guess I just did. Nothing like being thrifty to save the planet, eh? Each of you also should have received a random picture from our year – no two cards alike! Compare! Share with friends! Swap and trade!

Those of you (the mighty few!) that follow the blog might not need a recap of this year’s events, and then again, those of you reading this holiday letter probably don’t want a detailed account of what we’ve been doing. Then again, looking back over the year, do I even want to re-hash it? It wasn’t a bad year, and yet not a banner year for the Germonskis, but we do have much to be thankful for, and we continue to relish in the small moments in our day that make us smile. Or snort water through our noses in laughter, you know, whatever comes first.

Charting the year through a young child seems full of firsts, of changes, and of new developments, too many to recount. Stella began 2011 with only 5 words coming out of her mouth, and ends 2011 talking a blue streak, so much so that some days I really wish she would stop talking. She has grown into a precocious, fearless, and loving little girl, and watching her joy at experiencing the newness and the wonder of the world makes Steve and I happy for life all over again. She thrives in the weather and the outdoor-ness (is that even a word?) of Santa Barbara and if we ever move from Southern California, will curse us until she is old that we ever did. We can’t keep shoes on her (neither can her preschool), she is a terrific garden helper (our prolific tomato plants this summer may owe much of their fruit bearing to her constant watering), and she loves climbing boulders on hikes, swinging on swings, and of course, playing in whatever water is available: puddles, dog bowls, hoses, tidepools, creeks, etc. She is obsessed with our neighborhood horses and even dressed up as our neighbor’s horse for Halloween. Oh, did I mention she’s also obsessed with her stuffed “friends?” There is always a menagerie in bed with her each night, and all of them get lovingly tucked into blankets, sung lullabies, and rocked throughout the day. She loves reading books with us and remembers the storylines so well that she then “reads” them to her animals. She says hi to everyone (on a walk the other day she kept waving to all the cyclists that passed by on their commute home. I overheard one guy say, “hey, that little girl said hi to us?!”) and joyfully announces to the public when she goes pee-pee in the big girl potty when we’re out. (She loves uses public restrooms. Go figure). She’s a spitfire, but I guess we wouldn’t want it any other way.  

Scupper continues to vie for our attentions and sneak up on the couch to sleep any chance he can get. He too has become obsessed with things here in Santa Barbara – the gophers that tunnel throughout the yard and the UPS man who gives his biscuits anytime he drops off a package. He has been benefitting from our amazing weather, our front and back yards, the wonderful smells of neighborhood livestock, and the miles and miles of front-country trails and off-leash parks.

Steve and I don’t have as many exciting milestones to report. Guess that happens when you get old. Steve continues to exude daily patience at his job and looks forward to his commute on his bicycle at the start and close of the day. He puts in a full day at the University and then comes home to “Chase me Daddy!” and “I want ride on your shoulders – now!” Who needs a gym membership when you have a toddler? I continue to exude patience with the crappy academic job market and being thankful for the part-time work I do have that affords me the luxury of working from home while my daughter naps. There was a trip to Tacoma, WA that yielded no fruit, and a trip to Denver, CO that offered a job that was less than ideal. So back at square one, we’ll see what this year’s 13 applications hold. However, I’m up for suggests on a new line of work. The time at home this year has offered me the opportunities to bake and cook to my heart’s content, usually with a little helper at my side. Stella has become very proficient at shaking in the spices, sorting diced vegetables, and kneading bread dough. She even knows the difference between the “on” and the “pulse” buttons on the food processor. Maybe we can start teaching mother and daughter cooking classes?

Our biggest thrill this year came from a week long camping trip up the California coast in August. We (and I mean the dog too) piled in the VW Vanagon for week of beach walks, forest hikes, tasty campfire meals, and giant redwoods. In short, it was awesome. And even if we were a bit tired when we came home, the fact that Stella exclaimed “we go camping some more?” a day after we returned, we knew the trip was a success.

Our last bit of news – but certainly not least… no certainly not least, is that we’ll be figuring out what the “new normal” is, oh, come around April 11, give or take 10 days when we welcome Bittle into the world. Stella will have had 3 years of only child bliss… and will soon learn what it really means to share. Steve and I are also currently wondering what it’s going to be like to have two daughters. (He promptly informed me after the 20-week, “what sex is your baby?” ultrasound – um, honey, I think wherever we end up, I’m really going to need a real man room.) We are excited and scared at the same time, but I know will relish in the watching of the development of them both.

May your holiday season be filled with surprise and wonder, happiness and joy, and may the New Year bring stability, goodness, and light. At least that’s what I’m hoping for.

~ Steve, Stella, Scupper, Bittle, and Aimee

Hindsight

If I had only known that a $1.50 pack of “toddler wipes” with a giraffe on the packaging would spur my daughter to finally go poopy on the big girl potty, I would have bought them MONTHS ago. Seriously, better motivator than cookies or french fries. Toddler wipes. Who knew? Now we’re down to a naptime diaper and a bedtime diaper. Diaper free before Bittle comes? Bring it!!

Really?

Stella helped us hang ornaments on the Christmas tree last night. Okay, we helped Stella hang up the ornaments (which mostly are all centered about a foot off the ground in the middle. Fine by me). Our ornaments consist of some glass balls that I got at the thrift store last year and mostly all my ornaments my mother gave me throughout the years (one a year so I’d have some for when I moved out. Thanks Mom, it worked!)

She found a unicorn and a rocking horse, and they immediately had to be hung up together – you know, b/c the baby needs her mama. (??) and then she found a little cloth mouse in a little dress and hat, no bigger than the size of a small apple. My mousie! she exclaims.

Mousie has a blanket too. You know, the crumpled 10 year old white tissue that protects all the ornaments year after year? Yep. Sacred now.

Mousie went to bed with her last night. Mousie rode in the car to school. Mousie is now taking a nap with her.

My daughter’s fascination and attachment to little soft toys has gotten a little out of hand… and coupled with the fact that mousie is so small, gosh knows where she’ll end up and be lost and then someone won’t be able to go to bed without her mousie… ACK! Let’s just hope that excitement over a certain bicycle that a certain craigslist gave her Santa Claus is bringing her will trump some of these soft friends. ‘Cause my friends, I can’t keep track of them all. Seriously, we have a

puppy, bunny, bunny’s blanket, rabbit, horsie, little monkey, big monkey, monkey’s momma (changes from day to day), and now mousie. Most of these friends have to be found before she goes to bed. Let’s just say that is one tight crib.

Celebrating the season

I’m not sure if I’m totally ready to get into this whole Santa thing. Does that make me a Scrooge? Trying to start the tale of this big man, that comes down the chimney, bringing presents with flying reindeer, all in one night? I guess I’m so rational it just seems so silly. And yet, I’ve been trying to explain it to Stella as we read all the Christmas books that my mom handed down from her classroom to us this year. I’m not sure if she gets it or not. She recognizes the image, as she points out “Santas” and “snowmen” on people’s flags, porches, etc on our neighborhood walks. (Although I’m still sure the concept of snow is completely foreign to her. We really need to go camping, at least for one night, where there is snow this holiday).

She is, however, all about the ideas of the Christmas season – or well, more specifically, the stuff. Like our Christmas tree – which we picked up this weekend at the local farm and the Christmas lights, which she insists on turning on each evening. The tree has also become a spot where she likes to hide her stuffed animals. There is now a permanent hole in the needles about a foot up from the floor where bunny and puppy get put each evening to “take a nap in the forest.” Go figure. Steve reminded me last night that I should get “all precious” about the Christmas tree anymore. “It’s not for you,” he instructed wisely. And he’s right.

Yesterday, we made sugar cookies, because I figured that’s what we’re also supposed to do, even though I knew that the sugar dough, the red/green sprinkles and the icing would jack her up on a sugar high like she has never seen. (It’s not that we don’t eat sugar around here – we made lemon ice all summer, we occasionally go out for burgers, fries and milkshakes – but her weekly sugar intake consists of fruit and that’s about it. Nonetheless, Stella had a FABULOUS time making the dough, which I smartly planned right before nap time so that she understood it had to chill in the fridge while she was sleeping, and then cutting out shapes. My biologist neighbor passed along some cookie cutters last year and we made lots of Christmas frogs and fish, because you know, there of course have to be Christmas frogs, right? And we used some gingerbread boy/girl cutters that my mom passed on to us.

Quote of the night? “Mommy? Is that the little girl’s vagina?” Um no Stella, that’s the end of her dress and those are the tops of her shoes.

Green

So I just found out that my long distance writing partner has an on-campus interview scheduled. I’m really happy for her. I am. In a way, I hope that means it bodes well for me and this year’s once-again nerve-wracking job market. We both graduated from the same MFA program, ended up in PhD programs, and ended up researching black theater (hers from a historical perspective and mine contemporary). We were even up for the same job last year, both going to campus for the final round of interviews.

And, yet, let’s be honest. I’m insanely jealous and little depressed. It’s year three on the academic job market for me, and five on-campus interviews later, I’m still here working part-time, and trying desperately to carve out time to write. Admittedly, some days when I should be writing, I stare at the computer blankly wondering what the hell to say. or how to start, or even why I’m doing all of this.

But then I look at my beautiful, loony, energetic daughter reach once again on the shelf where we keep the band-aids, opening the box herself, pulling off the wrapper, wanting to “dood it herself” and then plaintively asking me, Mommy? Can you put on my thumb? My heart melts, I swallow the jealousy and think, you know, my writing partner might have a job interview at a prestigious university theater program, but I have an awesome husband, a wonderful daughter, and another one on the way. She has a dog and no recent leads in the long term partner/boyfriend/husband department. There are certainly trade offs. But why does it feel like we career-minded women must choose?

I love being mommy. I do. Don’t get me wrong. But there are days when I wonder if that is all I might ever be. A mommy with two graduate degrees and years of paying back the US government. Running a household that has one steady income for 7 years, but desperate for two. And yet, we’re fine. We’re ok. I’m a savvy thrift store shopper (I found brand new Pedipeds for $7! A bike for Stella for Christmas on Craigslist! Maternity pants for $2!) and frankly, I like the thrill of the hunt. The ability at the end of the month to make a week’s worth of healthy and flavorful dinners without once going to the grocery store. I want more time to craft, to knit, to sew things for my girls.

But I also want to hold deep academic conversation about the nature of race in society, about how art can intervene on social systems, how ideologies are constructed and destroyed through theatrical practice. But after this year, if the 10-12 job applications that I have just completed do not yield fruit, I think I might have to find a new path. It’s a hard thing to think about, giving up. And yet, maybe it’s not giving up, but giving over to something new.