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!

****************
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.

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

*****************

 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. ;)

We are THAT family...

or maybe not "that" family, but definitely one of those families that you probably shake your head going, huh? really?

Case in point:

Our neighbors in the back, with whom we have a good relationship (and I have a tendency to think merely "put" up with us sometimes) are in the process of buying a second car. "Mique" has a new job that requires a 20 mile commute (instead of a bike ride) and her husband Tom will be away this summer doing research in the Sierras (he studies frogs) and usually takes the car all summer. So, after they found out that Steve is a regular "Car Talk" kind of guy, they have been occasionally stopping by to ask a question here and there about cars. She practically made Steve's month last night when they stopped by and she asked if he would go test drive one with her. But tonight, they stopped by to say that they may have put a deposit on one this morning and was that the right decision?

Enter the Germonskis - at 5:30pm on a weekend - which involves dinner prep as well as the tettering-tottering point of Stella between totally pleasant and utter meltdown because she needs to eat. They knock at the door, the dog goes crazy, I'm up to my ears in prep, so I ask them to come towards the kitchen so we can chat and continue cooking.

Me: I have chunks of chicken in a bowl and I'm smearing bacon paste on the chicken and then putting it on kabobs. (new recipe-- the bacon paste keeps the chicken skewers moist)
Steve: Scraping a vanilla bean over a pot of cream and milk, in the process of making homemade ice cream
Scupper: alternately begging between the raw chicken on the counter and asking Tom to scratch his butt
Stella: running around screaming "Mique! Mique" at the top of her lungs, and then in a lull in conversation, running from her bedroom with a pile of Hello Kitty underwear to show them, screaming "Cat!" (we started slowly entering into the world of potty-training this weekend)

What did they think of us?? The kitchen was a cooking explosion - i'm up to my elbow in bacon paste, Steve's trying to figure out how to scrape a vanilla bean, Scupper is shameless in asking for affection, and Stella is parading her underwear screaming "Cat."

So yah, when you put it that way, we ARE that family. Go figure. God only knows what's going to happen when Stella may start to have friends over to play...

I'm the keymaster, are you the gatekeeper?

We're a nosy lot, we Germonski's. No wonder that Stella and Scup have "inherited" this trait from their parents. Is it because we're in theatre that we have to understand the stories of everyone around us? (or, if you're not careful, we'll make one up!) As I may have mentioned before, our house sits on a large property that also includes a couple renting the converted stable house in the back and a single guy in a studio behind our garage. However, our house is in the front and we share the driveway, so we observe the comings and goings of our neighbors, and in turn, they must (we can only assume) suffer through dealing with us when they go to work or come home. Because Stella and Scupper love love love to be outside, the neighbors are usually bombarded with our family when they come home from work. Scupper of course, barks at anything that moves (even himself) but luckily after 7 months, they all have started to realize the difference between the "who the hell are you?" bark and the "oh people are home! i know those people! i like these people! people are home!" bark.
                    Stella has become quite fascinated with the woman (of the couple) that lives in the back - Dominique, or "Mique" as Stella calls her. Stella jumps up and down for joy when her car pulls into the driveway and if we're outside, accosts her for a hug, a hello, anything she can get (while, of course Scupper barks until he is pet). Her husband Tom has, of late, enjoyed such status as well, when before he would drive their car and appear in the driveway, Stella would go, "Mique! oh, no. Tom" and walk away. (Poor Tom!) Lately, Stella has also been fascinated with the single guy Carl who does a lot of coming and going in his Jeep. "Truck. Car-aul. Loud truck."  A few weeks ago, Carl pet Scupper a nice goodbye and said he was headed for the weekend to Los Angeles to visit his girlfriend. Later that night, Stella asked where "Car-aul" was. "LA," I replied. "Oh... L ... A." Stella said back. And that was that. Flash forward to this past weekend when my mom was here (more on the wonderfulness of a two week Grammy visit in another post), and my mom heard Scupper barking outside. "Who is Scupper barking at?" Grammy asked. "Is Carl home?"

"No," Stella replied. "L.A."

No flies on this one, as my mom would say.

Be careful what you ask for...

you might just get a 2 year old that doesn't stop talking...like really, doesn't stop talking from the moment she wakes up and sings to herself until we come in and get her in the morning until she's ready for bed and (thankfully) has her fingers in her mouth and will be quiet during books. However, I am totally loving pretend play.

Overheard this week:

on our walk past a spot where we had collected pinecones a few days before:

"No pinecones?"
No Stella, I guess they are all gone. We have more at home.
"Bunny, no pinecones. It's ok. Pinecones home. No Bunny, it's ok."

to her cloth baby doll, sitting in the stroller:
"Baby! You poop?" Sniffs. Pulls back the doll's diaper. "No, no poop. It's ok."

to her bear, at her little table in the dining room:
"Oh Bear... bear. Bear's cute. Tea, bear? Tea. Yah. Tea. It's good." (Lip smacking sounds). "All gone? Wow Bear. More tea??"

as she pulls down her bowl of lentil stew off the counter for dinner:
(looking the bowl) Oh no... beans! no....no... no... beans again! (Puts the bowl back on the counter in disgust)

I'm really digging two right now. I'm not digging the fact that she has started not to listen, continually tries to stand up in her chair during dinner and pulls the dog's tail, but other than that, I like two. I feel like we're having conversations now, and overhearing the conversations she has with her animals and doll are just too funny. Bunny is not just Bunny, but Bun-NEEEEE. (emphasis on the NEE). She also seems to be obsessed with clean and dirty right now, although I kind of feel that's weird because I don't remember saying it a whole lot, but I guess i do? I mean, I'm the one who lets her traipse all over the yard without shoes, get into the gardens and mud, etc. Every time we get into her car seat, she feels the cover and goes, "It's clean." Um, well, it's probably not, I tell her. "Oh, dirty. Pup clean?" well, i guess so. "Pup soft..." definitely. She could care less about washing her hands, but she is concerned if her animals are clean or dirty and whether they are soft (luckily, they all are both soft and mostly clean). Good thing she hasn't started on me about my kitchen floors.

To a little one who's two...

Dear Stella:

I'm pretty sure I said this last year, but your daddy and I are really amazed you are two. However, I have a feeling each birthday milestone, we will continue to be baffled that we have a girl and she keeps getting bigger and changing every day.

I think I realized this about 2 weeks ago when you were at the playground and started climbing up a part of the play structure that you've not been able to do before. You did it with ease (and of course, with me standing there wondering whether I was 1) a bad mother for letting you crawl up something that was obviously intended for older kids or 2) should be holding on to you so you didn't fall splat on your face.

Four months ago, you didn't say Mama, and now we can't get you to keep quiet. 5 words has turned into over 100 and you keep adding more each day, talking incessantly from morning until night, causing us to wonder why we wanted you to talk in the first place! My two favorite exchanges lately are "I poop. Mama poop? Dada poop? Scup poop?" and "Lela cute. Baby cute. Mama.... cute." Last night you stunned your father and I when you said "Chopstick?" asking if you could have a set as well while we ate our stir-fry with them. Seriously? When did you learn that word? I think everything has been up there for awhile, and now you have discovered the tools in which to unlock the torrent of words stored in your brain.

Your ability to accessorize makes us laugh to no end... hats, tutus.. .and then sometimes your refusal to wear anything at all. I guess you are still allowed at this age to go streaking across the front lawn. You also are quite addicted to soft friends - whether it's your baby, which now is a usual part of your day (in the swing, at the dinner table, in the stroller), the ever-present "Pup," or the assorted monkey friends that your great aunt and uncle have given you. I have to take out at least 3-4 friends out of your crib at night when you go to sleep just so you have room yourself.

You love being outside, so much so in fact that you're ready to go out there with nothing but at diaper at 7am. You are fascinated with water, still, as always, and I think I'm just going to have to be okay with the fact that about every pair of your pants are stained with our deep rich Santa Barbara mud. You love visiting our neighborhood horses, chickens and goats, and the tide pools at the beach fascinate you for hours, much to the chagrin of your dog who only wants to run and chase tennis balls.

I won't say that every day with you right now is blissful - you are certainly pushing boundaries, say the word "NO!" quite emphatically, and melt into a puddle of tears and kicking if you don't like what we have in store for you. Luckily, you are also easily distracted and I've gotten pretty good at figuring out how to snap you out of these fits. I appreciate your fearlessness and independence, but it doesn't mean that some days, it's not a struggle. I have also learned let go a little and realize that I can just have you do what I want when I want it, and likewise, sometimes you  just have to be strapped in your car seat, taken away from the temptation of eating Scupper's dog food, and taken out of the swing after endless pushing.

That being said, you make your daddy and I laugh out loud at your spirit, your laughter, and the joy in which you experience the world.

Happy birthday little girl. May our memories of you being two live on always in our heart.

Accessories...

Does a new found love of accessories solidify the fact that your child is a girl? Or (gasp) is it because her parents are in theater? You be the judge...

 "genie" pants from thailand and a scarf from vietnam - compliments of uncle Mike

 my friend Ali picked up a few skirts at the thrift store after Halloween this year... she said Stella needed a dress up box. How right she was...

as my mom said of this picture, "nothing like going topless in a tutu at 7:30am" yep. wish we all could be so free, eh?