not sure how today ends
an optimistic online journal about love, life, and parenting in a big city
J: O, what are you doing?
O: Watching TV and taking care of my baby, 'cause that's what grown-ups do.
So, yeah, kids notice. They watch, they listen, they learn. And I'm ok with the fact that O has observed my bouncing a crying baby to sleep while catching up on The Daily Show, or more embarrassingly, Hell's Kitchen.
It's just a reminder. You are being watched, and more importantly, your behavior will be emulated, both now and in the future.
P: DAAAAADDDAAAAAA! MOOOOOMMMMMAAAA! OOOOOOOOOOOO!
This is my happy place, right here, with these three. I try really hard to hold the feeling that this picture gives me in my heart all the time: when both of the girls are screaming, when the house is mess, when I am struggling.
I try to remember how easy it all can be, when I remember the important things. There really are only three important things, when you get right down to it. Okay, maybe four. I am trying to remember to put myself on that list too.
O: It's still my birthday, right? It's always my birthday, until it is daddy's?
I asked Jim what I should write about him for his birthday and he said, "This is Jim. He is great. Let's have cake." I tried, but I couldn't come up with anything better, so...
This is Jim. He is great. Let's have cake.
But, seriously. This is Jim.
The most loving, generous, compassionate person I know
He is great.
A great partner, a great friend, a great father
Let's eat cake.
Let's have cake together to celebrate this birthday, our daughters' weddings, our 50th wedding anniversary. Hell, let's have cake to celebrate tomorrow and the next day too.
This is Jim. I'm a big fan. Happy Birthday.
O: Momma, you promise you will come and kiss me softly when you get home and I am asleep? But very softly so you don't wake me up, ok?
K: I promise.
I'm going to brag. I survived last week. Not only did I survive last week, but Jim, O, P and Sam survived last week. The house remained livable. Everyone ate. Most of us slept, occasionally. Success!
See! She is totally alive!
Tech week is always hard. It is the final push before the audience joins us and becomes part of the process. It is where all of the technical elements come together and costumes and lights and sound and some semblance of acting collide. It is hard. It is usually a lot of late nights. It is often painful. It is always magic.
See! They are too!!!
There was a lot of magic this week: the talented tech crew and designers who had one only week and made everything in this complicated show work, the professional staff at the playhouse who are bravely pushing boundaries and getting butts in the seats, the phenomenal team of actors with whom I am privileged to share the stage, the fantastic babysitters who lovingly watched my girls while I worked, my incredible preschool community who would sign O out after school when I was running late, the neighbor who popped over to sit with P while she slept so I didn't have to wake her in the middle of her nap, the unbelievably supportive theatre family who filled the house during our previews and opening, the grandparents who pulled an all-nighter so Jim could be there for our first show, and Jim, who has always been there, and always will be there, encouraging me to push past my own beliefs of what I'm capable of, and who (maybe more impressive) did bedtime duty, alone, for the past two months.
Post opening: See! I made it too!
The show is up. We had a sold-out opening, a very positive review, and a lot of champagne to celebrate. It really could not have been better.
And tonight, I get to be home for bedtime snuggles, and that might be the most magical part of the whole thing.
Glad to be back. Still not sure how today ends.
O: Nooooooooooo! No more pictures.
The camera is clearly getting old to someone in our house.
Completely over it.
O: But mama, I miss my friends. How am I supposed to feel happy without people that are not you and dad?
Jim and I are loners. We really enjoy solitude. We are often overwhelmed by large groups. We are happiest at home. We will make plans, with people we genuinely like, then have to give each other pep talks in order to get out the door. One of the reasons I knew that he and I would be good partners, was that we figured out, very early on, how to be alone, together.
May she always know that love can be this beautiful.
Somehow, in spite of her parents, O is a social animal. She loves being around people. She thrives at school and in large groups. She can talk to and befriend anyone. I think she takes after my dad. After a few days at home without outside contact, she is climbing the walls, craving that interaction and stimulation from her peers. Honestly, I am in awe of her at times, her energy for people, her empathy, and her complete willingness to see everyone as a potential friend.
My best guess is that in the neighborhoods of yesteryear, or maybe even still, on the streets of small towns, this kind of thing works itself out. The introverted parents attend the requisite number of community functions and then retreat to their shag-carpeted dens to read science fiction, while their extroverted off-spring wander from house to house in a neighborhood of best friends, a full-social calendar achieved with very little effort. Los Angeles, however, is the land of the playdate, a culture where having parents with some mild social anxiety can seriously conflict with the filling of a tiny person's dance card.
O has forced me outside of my comfort zone more times than I can count, and in trying to act in her best interest and respond to her needs, I have found myself, inadvertently acting in my own best interest. Because I recognize in her a need for community, I found one for myself as well. That community of friends, of other parents, of other children, has become invaluable to me, and my sanity. It is yet another reminder that these tiny humans we are living with come with their own wants, needs, and passions that we might not be able to fully grasp or comprehend. Yet, if we can step back and try to learn about them, we might learn something about ourselves as well.
That is what joy looks like, in case you were wondering
A special thank you to all of those families who have endured my awkward behavior at playdates over the past three years, and I owe a debt of love and gratitude to O for helping me find my community that I didn't even know I needed.
O: We are in the porky pine needle forest. If you wake the porky pine, it will poke you.
Kate and I have spent late nights planning adventures to museums, aquariums, zoos, or [insert other culturally/historically/scientifically relevant places here] with the lofty hope of not only entertaining our little ones, but enriching their lives. These trips are fun, exhausting, and sometimes overwhelming for all involved. Today, however, I was reminded that to a nearly-four-year-old, a walk with the dog around the block can be a magical adventure all by itself.
Mending Wall?
Hungry ghosts live in this tree. To pass, you must stop so they can nibble on your hair.
Don't forget to stop to smell the flowers.
This is the porky pine needle forest. Shhhhh...you might wake the porky pine and get poked.
While we will keep planning and going on those far or at least farther flung adventures, to be honest, when viewed through the eyes of a nearly-four-year-old, this nearly-forty-year-old found that walk around the block pretty magical too.
O: Daddy, where you there when I was born?
J: Yep.
O: Was it gross? Mommy said it was gross.
J: Yep.
There has been a lot of noise on the internet about some sports ball player missing some sports ball games because his wife was birthing a person he helped make.
A father's role is important and it has been minimized and trivialized for generations. Taking paternity leave is stigmatized, not only when it comes to professional athletes, but in more traditional workplaces, as well. It is changing. It is getting better. More and more companies are offering generous paternity leaves for families, and more and more men are taking them, and all of the dirty diapers and sleepless nights that come with them.
I took two weeks with O and three weeks with P. With O, Kate kept insisting that she'd be up and running in a week, and while she probably could have been, I couldn't tear myself away from the tiny person we had just met. Sure there was work to do. The idea that paternity leave could ever be considered a vacation is ludicrous. There were diapers and night wakings and, somehow, we still had to eat.
tiny O
But the real work of those first few weeks was so much more important than the practicalities surrounding bringing home a newborn. I had to get to know her, find out what drastic changes this new person was bringing to our family. I had to stop and breathe in the new life that had joined us and form the very beginnings of the relationship that will have to see us through kindergarten, broken bones, driver's licenses, and heartbreak. I wouldn't have given up those five weeks of paternity leave for anything in the world.
not so tiny P
And Kate wanted me to include a special message to anyone out there in internet-land who suggested that this sports ball player's wife should have scheduled a C-section on a non-game day:
Only after you volunteer to get completely unnecessary and life-threatening surgery, that puts at risk not only your own well-being, but also the life of your child, only after that, could you ever presume to make such a suggestion. And please, go f**k yourself.
Sincerely, Kate Felton
a few hours old