Category: life

Easier

I have been told by a friend that things get easier. As the kids get older, things will be easier. Time will be easier, days will be easier. I have awaited this foretold lore with bated breath. I believe I am on the cusp.

I have always relied on the method of corralling when it comes to being the parent of two toddlers. When the kids start acting like a couple of feral cats. When they are running around with reckless abandon. That will, 100% of the time, end in someone needing an ice pack. When they pervade our main level living quarters with the tactical presence of Seal Team 6. Well, that’s when I have no other option. The corralling requires my direct and active participation to tamper the situation.

A table strewn with brand new play doh their little eyes have never seen. The allure of markers is also captivating (some) of the time. A bath, a game, tablets (don’t judge me), cooking, playing in their room, magnatiles, exploring buckets of toys we haven’t looked at in awhile and literally anything else I can think up when we are in the absolute thick of it.

These times of chaos are shifting. In the slightest of ways I see it. It is bittersweet. The need for less and less corralling. I first noticed it a few months ago. My kids were in a room playing, quietly, and I wasn’t in there with them. I wasn’t in the doorway watching. I wasn’t on the floor helping. I was in the other room, sitting on the edge of my seat, eyes wide, mouthing the words “are they playing?!?” to my husband. I didn’t move. Scared that any sound made would elicit a request from the other room. I took it all in.

I’ve been told that I am a “helicopter parent.” I’d be lying if I said it wasn’t hurtful. But these kids we have, are only kids for so long. And even though some days are hard. So hard that at the end of the day, when they’ve finally exhausted themselves into a near comatose state; you exhale. And that exhale is so deep with so many levels that you wonder if perhaps you’ve gone the entire day without exhaling all the way out.

Their quiet playing only lasted a few minutes but there it was. The “easier” that I was told about. They didn’t need corralling. They didn’t need me. Right then, in that moment. They had themselves and each other and it was enough. There is going to come a day when they don’t say “momma, come play with me.” When they say instead “I’m going to play with friends.” or *gasps* “I don’t need you right now.” And it seems like I’ll need to start preparing for it now.

Reminders

Every day it’s something. Old Easter candy on a shelf or Facebooks thoughtful, yet careless “memories”. Everywhere you look, there is something that reminds us of moments passed.

Those moments, at one time, were plans. They were a holiday or a special occasion that we looked forward to. Something we were mentally preparing for. Getting excited about. All marked on our calendars with anticipation for its inevitable arrival.

And then it passes. We barely have time to clean up the wrapping paper or go through the photographs before we are on to the next.

And I think that’s what parenting is in a way. Not all the time, but seemingly most. We are present for all the things, and in a single breath, our minds go to the future. Sometimes only returning to the past when given a reminder to do so.

We have had a very special day marked on our calendar since February. This Friday, my four year old will be attending a Pre-K Screening. With an incredibly limited allotment of slots (I believe 16!) and several dozen 4 year olds applying, the odds aren’t in our favor. He desperately wants to go “to school.” He goes to preschool now at a daycare but he knows there is something different about Pre-K. I think it’s the bus ride.

I imagine this feeling of anxiety and anticipation will be the same when it’s time for college. Perhaps this Pre-K thing will prepare me for those feelings. And while the college days are far in our future, maybe this blog post will be my reminder. A reminder that if I can emotionally make it through this time of transition. This time of acknowledging that my oldest, is in fact, growing up. That big things are happening, and in turn, passing. Well then, maybe I’ll be able to remember that everything will be ok.

Anti-Anxiety

I have known for a while now that I have high anxiety. A couple of years ago I mentioned it to my doctor. She prescribed some medicine and we scheduled a follow up appointment for a couple weeks later to check in on how it was working. I never took the medicine. I convinced myself that the timing wasn’t right. And that the side effects would make me tired, and perhaps hinder my work performance. When the follow up appointment came, I (somewhat) jokingly asked if there was an anti-anxiety medicine for people who were too anxious to take anti-anxiety medicines. The joke didn’t land and we sat in silence for a couple of seconds.

Lately, I’ve been a bit more observant of the anxiety triggers. And there are many. Something as mundane as getting gas. Insert your card, keep card inserted, REMOVE CARD RAPIDLY!!! Gets me every time. And if I happen to pull up to a pump which has both gas and diesel….My god. What a roller coaster that is.

My oldest son is also anxious. I worry that I have projected that onto him. He’s only 4 and seems to carry the weight of the world on his shoulders at times. A few weeks ago we went to a party with other families. We were all playing outside and a little girl asked my son to get in a wagon. I, needlessly frantic, spoke up and said “oh no! Hold on, Hold on! Let me make sure its not wet in there first!” I approached the wagon and this 6 year old girl, looked up at me, and with the most unrestrained, rational and impulsive voice said “it’s ok…”

And it was ok. Even if it was wet. It was ok. Even if he got covered in mud. It was ok. All of it, whatever happened with that wagon, everything would’ve been ok.

A six year old inadvertently changed my thought process. She put my parenting into perspective. She made me pause, breath, evaluate. And I haven’t stopped thinking about it since. I’m going to buy her a pony.

Milestones

Nikola brought his first rock home. I feel like this is a stage every kid goes through. Right? At some point, children just become little geologists for an unspecified amount of time.

There’s no warning, it just happens one day. And their cups runneth over with pride at their procured find. While nothing distinctive to the adult eye sets it apart from the others that liter the yard, a child sees something special. It’s theirs.

As a parent, you may get weighed down from carrying a mini gravel pit in your pocket. And stupidly, selfishly, you may off-load some of these rocks. But make no mistake – if you pick up another to replace one of “theirs” they will know. Undoubtedly, somehow they will know that there’s an imposter amongst the group. Which more often than not causes them to cascade into fits of despair.

Their rock; their thing that they found and chose all on their own – is gone. And when you put it that way, it actually is quite sad.

Nikola is about to turn 3. And these milestones keep coming. They are bittersweet. He’s growing up, and doing all the typical growing up things that children do. Collecting rocks is just one of them.

And so for now, I promise that whatever he choses to collect; whatever items he wants to amass, I will let it be his. Perhaps one day we’ll have enough to start our own Hardscaping business. Who knows.

In the meantime, I just have to remember to start checking his pockets before doing the laundry.

The Will and the Weigh

Tenacity is something I lack. Thankfully, that disadvantageous trait didn’t pass down to my children.

I will watch Nikola try to tie my shoe for minutes on end. We haven’t even begun to teach him how to tie shoes. His current footwear trends are more of the Velcro persuasion. Efficient. But he doesn’t let his naivety stop him. No Siree. He will weave and wind the strings unceremoniously until he concludes that the task is complete. The shoes are tied to his satisfaction. I then spend minutes on end untangling a mess. This makes us very late for most things.

Soon after my initial feeling of pride, the slightest tinge of envy creeps in. To have an unwavering sense of resilience in the face of the unknown is admirable to say the least.

Other than this blog I don’t keep up on most of my endeavors. And even with this, the consistency and dedication comes in waves. While the desire is there, the motivation is increasingly lacking.

This past December I started something I was unsure of. I didn’t tell anyone other than those in my immediate circle. I wanted to lose weight first and foremost, but the overall goal is to be healthier and make better choices. The timing coincided with the new year unfortunately. I didn’t want to have this perceived as a “New Years Resolution.” The stigma that comes along with losing weight on January 1st is too much. I almost felt it I’d be jinxing it if I told anyone. So I didn’t.

I diligently used the Noom app. Which I fell in love with from the moment I downloaded it. I ordered a scale. I logged my meals. I weighed myself every day as directed. I got an incredible stationary bike. I did all of the things I was supposed to do. And as of today, I’ve lost 25 pounds.

My back pain has subsided. I feel better, overall. And I’m only half way to my goal. I’m looking forward to the continued work and my newfound tenacity to accomplish what I set out to over 4 months ago. And I will look to my children as continued muses. I will embody their resiliency the best I can.

It’s really amazing what a child can teach you.

The trials and tribulations of a toddler

I don’t like the phrase “terrible twos.” He’s not really terrible per se. But he can be a bit of tyrant.

He rules as a totalitarian. In the moments of utter despair; not to be tempted with reason or chocolate chips.

Tempers flare and all tactics have been exhausted. The cusp passed so quickly, you didn’t even know you were at it.

Talking past the point of no return. The tailspin cometh. Tears inevitably start with a trickle, and then comes a bellow reministint, I imagine, of someone being tarred and feathered

There is no turning back. The tantrum is upon us. We are in the thick of it now. Taming it takes time. And sometimes, nothing else.

It’s up to him.

The taboos that come along with punishment of children are many. Time-outs being the most widely talked about. Mostly identified by an older generation. When you a have a baby, many gifts are given. But the most consistent are advice and subsequent judgement when said advice goes unfollowed.

The implementation of a time out is tricky. While removing a child from an environment may be helpful in tampening the theatrics; leaving them alone to deal with “big emotions” may be counter productive in the long run. Thats what “they” say anyway.

Who knows?

Not me. I have said many times that parenting is just trial and error. Try something, if it doesn’t go well, then try something else. That’s all any of us can do.

This post was brought to you by the letter T and the number 2

These times, they do try us.

When my office started working remotely, a colleague started sending us weekly emails to keep us connected. Usually asking us an engaging question that conjures a quick response. Last weeks was a doozy. She asked us to send in a brief summary of a situation that’s been made difficult by the pandemic. No sugar coating. No filters. She called it “Truth telling Tuesday”. Below was my response.

To: Sarah

Subject: Your timing is impeccable

When I saw this come across my email yesterday, I wasn’t sure what truth to tell.  The Petrov household has had its fair share of trials and tribulations during the pandemic, but once the moment passes, they all seem a bit insignificant.  We move on.  Checking for scars, collecting our new “triggers.” And we as parents start mentally preparing for the next, inevitable, $hit show.  

My dear, sweet Nikola, sensing my dilemma of not knowing what to write about, wanted to help.  So, at 7pm, during our first reading of “Don’t let the pigeon drive the bus”, he looked at me, and I swear, it was like a telepathic exchange. With his eyes, he employed the widely Meme’d idiom “hold my beer”.  And that’s when things went South. Which, in turn, forced us North – To Maine Med ER.

The scream crying came fast and strong.  An ear ache was the instigator.  The medicinal properties of children’s Tylenol were no match for the ailment. And thus, a trip to urgent care was required.  Looking at the clock and knowing that time was not on our side, I scooped up Nikola, and ran as fast as an out of shape woman carrying a 35-pound wailing toddler can.  No time to change out of slippers.  A sacrifice was made.  

A frantic phone call to the urgent care imploring them to please wait for us was to no avail.  We arrived at 8:02 to a dark and locked building.  An additional phone call to his pediatrician and a turn of the heal.  We were off for the 45-minute ride to Portland.  The ER nurses and doctors made quick work of our visit.  For which I am eternally grateful.  

A prescription for an antibiotic would be the cure.  And all I’d need to do, because of the hospital pandemic rules, would be to exit the building, go back to the garage, get myself and cranky toddler back in my car, drive to the main entrance, find parking, get out, get my child out, walk in that entrance, sign in, a left and then a right, and alas our pharmaceutical refuge awaits. 

We purchased the healing, bubblegum smelling concoction, without insurance.  My new insurance card wouldn’t work.   Because, well, Its 2020.  A quick late evening jaunt in a foggy, super shady Portland neighborhood to return to our car. And an end to the adventure was in sight.  I could smell it.  But first, I thought it best to give Nikola his first dose of medicine before we started home.  He looked at me and said “I feel good, mama” I assured him we should take it anyway.  Just to be safe. And then he puked everywhere…. And then that was what I smelled.

Enough is as good as a feast

What is enough? It’s an age old question that seems to be having a revival these days. These times of pandemic pandemonium have sent parents and people alike careening towards self-reflection and perhaps more aptly, uncertainty.

While I certainly considered myself to have been wading in those worried waters. I have come out of it on the other side. Because of my good friend Mary Poppins.

Nikola loves Mary Poppins. Watching it no less than 3 times a day while his daycare was closed. Mostly just during the song and dance numbers. During the the toughest weeks of isolation, it was on a constant loop in our house. We have all made deviations from the “plan.” The grandiose visions of healthy daily meal plans, perfectly structured socially distant outings, vision boards of pristine schedules adhered to down to the minute. The invariable feast of almost constant stimulation. All of the things that social media projects that inevitably makes you feel less than when the plan collapses around you. As it almost always does. It doesn’t matter if you have children or not: The above was just an example. This is most everyone these days.

Everyone is dealing with some form of a question in which the repercussions of their answer or choice is unknowable. And while life itself tends to trend similarly – The questions seem bigger now. The impact of our choices seems larger. Looming over us like an ominous storm cloud. A storm we’re not sure we’ll survive.

The question I’m hearing the most from all around me is “is it enough?”

“It” is so many things. To different people. “It” can be:

  • My abilities
  • My patience
  • My concern
  • My time
  • My adaptibily
  • My skill
  • My moral compass
  • My beliefs
  • My faith

I could go on for days, as I’m sure most of you could too.

During this time of isolation, we as humans have gone through periods of trying to provide those around us and ourselves with a feast when “enough” will do. At times draining ourselves dry of energy, clarity, motivation. All of the things we need in order to feel fulfilled. We can’t do that to ourselves. We need to feel good about our day. What we did or chose not to do. Being comfortable with decisions we’ve made, because it was enough. I think we owe it to ourselves to at least try.

And speaking from a parenting perspective: I am absolutely certain that there is no such thing as an “expert” in the realm of parenting. I don’t believe it for a second. All I am sure of is that if you are an active parent who has their child’s well-being at heart than I have no doubt what you’re doing is enough. And I’d be willing to bet that more often than not, it more closely resembles a feast. I hope some people can find comfort in that.

A call to action lends itself to tough conversations

I don’t usually comment on issues such as the ones plaguing our country lately. However, the above image called to me so furiously, I simply have to.

When I watched the video of George Floyd being murdered, my eyes filled with tears. I shook my head, and silently begged for the cop to take his knee of Mr. Floyds neck. Even though I knew the outcome. The headline said it all. But when he cried out “Mama,” my heart imploded. The tears came and didn’t stop. It was my call to action.

I am a white woman from Calais, Maine. The second whitest state in our nation and the 9th whitest city in that state. When I say, I know not of what I speak, that is an understatement. I have no idea how Black people feel right now. I couldn’t begin to fathom. But I do know how I feel. And that feeling compels something in me that I have never experienced with such urgency. I must start speaking up.

I did yesterday. For the first time, with someone I love very much. Someone who I don’t talk about things like this with. Our views differ greatly on most hot button issues. When I called, this person was upset. While it wasn’t about George Floyds death; somehow, the conversation digressed. I remained calm and quiet for a long time. I listened to them go on a diatribe filled with ignorance and hate. And while they were unraveling, I took a moment to plot. Plot the absolute best way to rebuke their sentiments.

Throughout my life I’ve always taken great pride in my ability to connect with people. I don’t know a lot about many things, but I know enough about enough things that I’m able to talk with just about anyone. I’ve always found that speaking to a subject that resonates with someone creates a bond. A lasting connection that will carry through to whatever type of relationship becomes of it. I’ve also found that it may be the best way to have people hear what you’re saying when differences in opinion occur.

So, when they were finished, I told this person that they were one of the most compassionate people I knew. Something I knew they are proud of. But the feelings that they had just expressed didn’t reflect that. I reminded them of the conversation we had the other day about how lucky we were to be born in such a beautiful state. And then I brought them into the present. I said that that when god was handing out straws the day we were born, we drew the long one. We were born white Americans. And if it hadn’t gone in our favor. If we had drawn the short straw. Been born a minority, or in a war-torn country; that I knew they would’ve done whatever it takes for their family to feel safe. To know that they were equal. To not have to live in fear. Things got quiet after that. I don’t know if what I said had an impact. I suspect it did a little. But I do know that I will continue to speak up. To whomever may be challenging me.

With all that being said; the most difficult conversation I had, was the one with myself. Telling myself that it was time to start talking. That being silent and not standing up for what was right was just as bad as the racist population. As I mentioned at the beginning, I don’t talk about these sorts of things often. And that is simply because of ignorance on my part. I worry that the words I use to articulate these thoughts and feelings may not be right or respectful. I do not know any black people well. And I am ashamed of that. If you are a POC and are reading this; I truly welcome any and all feedback. More than anything these events have taught me that I need to educate myself better. Please feel free to reach out to me in any way.

Toddlers are the ultimate influencers

While their audience is small it is a captivated one. Parents, day care providers, immediate family. “He loves trucks” I’ll say, and without hesitation, a new truck will promptly find its way into our home.

We are left hanging on their every like and more often than not, dislike. Their trends tend to be fleeting and impulsive. Sometimes lasting no more than a week. We are held captive by their giggles of delight or their screams of displeasure.

My husband and I are lucky though. We have yet to hit the stage where a trip to the store results in a meltdown over an unpurchased toy. Currently his most passionate trends tend to be of the edible nature. He is food motivated. Consistently in the 97th percentile for height and weight. He just wants a banana when we go to the grocery store. But we know it’s coming. We catch glimpses of it from time to time. Usually when a nap is missed.

Its inevitable. The LEGO trend, or Minecraft, or whatever the commercials are hocking. Whatever the other kids have (see? Influencers…) We’ll cross that miserable bridge when we get to it. Like so many before us. And with just as much grace. Absolutely none.