Daughter, heal thyself

I’ve gotten several glimpses into what I’ve passed along to my beautiful daughters – hair color, mannerisms, temperaments. But last week I got a surprising glimpse into what I haven’t passed along.

My oldest daughter seems to have completely escaped my anxiety.

I know this because she had a doctor’s appointment where the possibility of shots hung in the air. She hadn’t been to the doctor for a while and her friends had endured shots at their recent visits.

My daughter and I rode in the car on the way to the visit. If it had been me zooming down the road toward a medical establishment, I would have been fighting my inner butterflies and my blood pressure would have been on the rise. (As I stated in a previous posting, I hate doctors and dentists because of their affiliation with needles – my arch enemy!).

I wanted to comfort my daughter, whom I assumed must be wracked by worry, but I took note of her nonchalant sitting position. She switched the radio station from my music to hers. All seemed normal.

She finally let me in on her thoughts. “I don’t want to get a shot,” she said.

“I know. I’m sorry you have to, but it’ll be over soon,” I said, trying to sound matter-of-fact. This was no big deal. This was nothing.

My daughter didn’t say anything for a minute. Here it comes, I thought, the despair, the panic. I must say something calming to alleviate her fears.

I was wrong. My daughter merely shrugged. “It won’t be bad,” she said. “I’m not worried.”

Her relaxed expression told me that she really wasn’t. For a moment, she’d pondered the yuckiness of her appointment. Then, she’d quickly put it all in perspective and remembered her friends, the mall, whatever else was planned for that day.

She’d self-soothed – the way books tell you that a baby should learn to self-soothe when she’s upset.

My daughter is already one step ahead of me. I can’t wait to see where she goes from here. If she can bypass the silly little worries that eat up so much brain power, she’s headed for great things.

I always knew she was.

Question for readers: Have you experienced a similar moment when you saw your child’s coping skills in action? In what ways have your children surpassed you?

Rules, schmools!!

Joy. What is it? We all want it. We breathe it and eat it, but most of us are severely undernourished.

That’s because the responsibilities of adulthood can suck the joy out of life, slowly, like a deflating tire.

We’re the heavies. We’re the ones who make the rules. We long ago forgot how to break them.

Adulthood is all about the individual melding with the group. The soul joining the pool of souls that makes up the greater good of society.

But I’m not ready to meld with the group just yet. I still have a little creativity left in me, even at the ripe old age of 35. I still search for, and often find, true joy.

What is joy? Like all feelings, you know it when you feel it and you know it when it’s gone.

Here’s a quick definition: anticipation, nervousness, uncertainty, passion, unencumbered existence, a sense of soaring, spontaneity, freedom, peace, safety, risk and hope.

How do we find that elusive joy in the everyday existence of responsible adulthood?

First, we have to realize the benefits we’re reaping from adulthood: love, family, community, commitment, knowledge, wisdom, choices, being heard, freedom from discipline, the ability to see beyond the small, staying up late, sex, love, no homework.

Adults play differently than children. We don’t get down in the mud. We don’t skip. We don’t giggle, at least not that often. We travel, go to the movies, visit a park with our kids.

Spontaneity is the challenge. Why is it so hard to be spontaneous? Because we believe that life is only held together by a series of rules.

We learned as children that rules are law.

Back then, there were punishments for not following the rules. Now, we’re like the dogs that won’t go into the living room because they still think there’s a safety gate on the door, even though the gate was removed long ago.

Our safety gates are only in our minds. In reality, we can do whatever we want.

So, what will we do?

For starters, we’ll laugh, run, explore. We’ll make spontaneous decisions, be sexy, be shocking, forget our manners, cling to impossible dreams. We’ll expect pampering, demand things, forget to come in for dinner, say something bold, make someone smile, make someone blush.

We’ll risk reprimand, ignore reprimand, forget to plan something. We’ll be lazy, irresponsible and rude, live life exactly how we want, yell, be completely humiliated and go back for more, be ourselves and let everyone reject us if they want, be ourselves loudly, let others be themselves loudly, too, be unapologetically perplexing.

Adulthood equals complete and total freedom. That’s pretty great. It can also produce joy. We just have to recognize it.

By the way, I think I found joy in a super duper sundae at Baskin Robbins last night.

Labor? That was so yesterday

There I was, the cornered prey of a dental hygienist scolding me that I needed a “deep cleaning” on my teeth.

Despite nightly scrubbing, my mouth had “deep pockets,” plaque, scary deposits certain to rot my teeth down to nubs. I sunk into the guilt that always overtakes me before the receptionist bills me excessively for the visit.

I shifted in my chair. Who was this lady, anyway? She acted as if I had personally injured her and her entire family by failing to properly clean my teeth. These were my teeth, after all.

I pictured myself with a beautiful, nubby smile.

I looked up from my plastic recliner. “Do you have to (gulp) numb me for that?” I said.

“We like to,” came the cheerful reply from the hygienist, who scraped a metal object across my tooth.

I stared into the interrogation light aimed directly into my mouth. Scrape, scrape. I struggled to ignore the grating against my enamel that penetrated all the way to my soul.

I formulated an escape plan. You see, I’m extremely “needle-phobic.” Needles have haunted me ever since my mother took me to the mall for a vaccination clinic and I fainted right there in front of the Cookie Company. No way could I let this woman anywhere near me with one of those barbaric instruments.

I really wasn’t trying to rebel. It’s just that phrases like “deep cleaning,” “wisdom teeth removal,” “blood test” and “vaccinations” make me feel like a mouse in a science lab. It’s always been that way.

But wait. That’s not entirely true. I haven’t always been a coward.
I have a membership to an exclusive, brave club – one for which the initiation is brutal, the work is difficult, but the benefits are phenomenal. It’s called Motherhood.

This card proves that twice in my life I have risen above my childish fear to perform acts of great heroism. I have given birth to two daughters. I pushed human beings out of my body in Herculean acts of strength. In fact, the doctors praised my performance.

I was good! I let people hook me up to machines, exposed my tushy in those horrible hospital gowns and endured probing, prodding and poking in order to create life. I am invincible. I am brave. I am mother.

Deep cleaning? Bring it on. Needles? I laugh in the face of needles. During labor, I actually begged the anesthesiologist to stick a needle in my spine.

Every woman who has given birth is a hero. She has faced a seemingly impossible task with faith and determination. She has performed a miracle in the name of her children. How many times in the course of our mundane lives are we called upon to be brave?

Wow!

Yet, somehow I have now forgotten my own capabilities. I quiver under the stare of a dental hygienist with a superiority complex. Why have I sunk so low after soaring so high on the wings of hospital Demerol?

I suppose I’m resisting my “deep cleaning” because there’s nothing in it for me. Where’s the payoff? My only reward is good teeth. Big deal. I can’t cuddle with good teeth. Good teeth won’t draw me cute pictures or call me “mommy.” This hygienist can offer me nothing in return for my suffering. NOTHING!

I guess I’ll have to summon my inner Hercules when I sit down in that dental chair for my deep cleaning. I’ll remember the two shining examples of prowess in my wimpy history. After all, I haven’t only survived two bouts of labor. I am now living with a toddler and a teenager. Wow, am I brave.

I am mother. I am invincible. I just might schedule that deep cleaning, someday.

Profession: mommy

In the age of multi-tasking, I enjoy one single, all-consuming task – being a “mommy.”

There. I said it. You can go ahead and judge me. I’m not ambitious. I’m not bright enough to have a career. I’m taking women back to 40 years ago when they were deprived of their drive and ambition.

Say it. I won’t listen. I’m too busy watching “The Wiggles” and wiping up applesauce off the floor.

I’m one of the lucky few who is in a position to stay home and devote myself entirely – and, as all parents know, it is entirely – to being mommy to my pre-teen and toddler daughters.

What does it say about me that I find complete fulfillment in this? I don’t have time to think about that. I have a diaper to change, a bath to administer, a tantrum to squash. I have a beautiful day ahead of me. A beautiful, simple day.

Some may question my use of the term “simple” when it comes to childrearing. There’s nothing simple about it. It’s sloppy, loud, exhausting, joyous, precious, constant and sticky. It’s hard work. So let me clarify my definition of “simple” in this context.

I focus on the same thing all day long.

I’m not tugged and twisted in a thousand conflicting directions. It’s focused concentration on a single roller coaster of a task. That’s really all I want. Not because I don’t have skills, ambition and some whopping good ideas, but because it’s what my heart craves. It’s that simple. I don’t need a palm pilot to tell me that.

It’s a tricky time for women. We have choices. Career tracks, fast tracks, promotions. Marriage? Travel? Children? Feminism took us from limited to limitless. That’s fantastic.

So here’s my choice: SIMPLICITY. Can I choose that? Is that still on my list of options?

Many a career woman friend has told me of their longing to simply take their children to the park in the middle of the day. Without asking permission from anyone. Without rushing home to make a conference call. I know few people who ever feel justified in demanding this right.

Maybe we need a new revolution for that.

That isn’t to say that all women should stay home with their children. This is a personal choice. But at what point in this great struggle for women’s rights did women lose the right to singular vision? When did personal power become about fitting into the corporate agenda?

Before feminism came along, the world boxed women into the house. It’s amazing to think of the end result of the feminist struggle. The front door opened and we stormed out, ready to prove ourselves as bright, strong and worthy.

Now, if a woman chooses to return to the house, some see that as retreating. Simplicity is seen as laziness. If we aren’t multi-tasking, it’s because we’re too simple-minded to do so.

Well, I’m here to say that happiness comes from the total immersion in one very special thing. For me, right now, that’s motherhood. What does that say about me? Quite simply, it means I’m part of the great feminist tradition of self-fulfillment.

There. I said it.

Channel that inner toddler

Pat yourself on the back. You’ve already accomplished something today. You may not have finished the dishes, written a novel or mowed the backyard, but at least you didn’t bite anyone.

You didn’t throw yourself on the floor screaming when you had to get up for work. You didn’t hurl anything across the room in frustration. You fought your natural instincts. Congratulations.

When I say that it’s our natural instinct to fight with those around us for total domination of the world, I have concrete evidence to back it up.

Ever watch two toddlers interact? Let’s just say, tact doesn’t factor into the equation. You get a lot of yelling, stomping, swatting, biting and dramatic fits. It’s a battle for control. Constant feuds break out. Word play turns to hitting within seconds. Everybody wants what he wants immediately, unconditionally.

With toddlers, it takes hours to get through the normal decision-making process – who will play with the stuffed bear, who gets to ride the rocking horse. When a toddler wants something, they stop the world to get it.

That’s our natural inclination – the one we’re born with. Selflessness is a learned skill. No one’s born with the desire to “play nice” and share.

Admit it, when you let someone cut in front of you in traffic, what you really want to do is shout, “No, this is my road!” and push your way in front of them so you can get to your appointment on time. That isn’t, however, what you do. You act like a grown-up and curse them under your breath.

This attests to the enormous willpower of the human race. Imagine if we never developed that inner censor that allows us to interact with others.

Consider the following scenario:

Jim hovers over the coffee machine, his cup already full. He sees Laura approaching from the supply room. She gets closer. Jim positions his body in front of the coffeemaker.

“No!” he yells.

Laura lunges for the machine, responding with an even louder, “No!”

Jim’s lower lip quivers. He swats at Laura’s face. She quickly swats back. Jim stomps his feet. Laura throws down the coffee pot and falls to the ground, shouting, “It’s mines!”

Jim breaks out in tears.

The fact that you rarely see this scene played out at your workplace proves that adults have come a long way from their young roots. Even the dumbest, densest and rudest people seem to have their inner toddler at least partly in check.

Luckily, somewhere along the way, we learn to suck it up and take the short end of the stick.

So, regardless of all the things we beat ourselves up about on a daily basis, each one of us deserves a big pat on the back. Good job. A+ effort. That’s some good suppressing going on. We as adults work very hard today just to function as productive members of society.

But have you ever considered that your inner toddler could actually work to your advantage? Sometimes wouldn’t you love to channel it – sippy cups, naptime, Sesame Street. You remember. The joy of a clean diaper.

Now, you’ve got it.

The next time your boss denies you a raise after another year of back-breaking work, don’t just sulk out of the office muttering under your breath. No, hold your ground.

“But I want a raise!” you can say.

To which your boss will inevitably reply, “I’m sorry, but the company has had a bad year financially. We’re not in a position to … the state of the economy … blah, blah, blah.”

“But I want a raise!” you’ll shout, stomping your feet for emphasis.

Close your eyes, clench your fists, summon your deepest anger and yell, “I … want … a … raise! I … want … a … raise!”

This technique will undoubtedly result in one of the following: a raise, an escort out of the building, or a much-needed “time out.” Regardless, you’ll be better off.

Hurricane Katrina

We're all thinking about the terrible loss and sadness of the people who suffered through Hurricane Katrina.

I'll post any links I can find that give information about how to help victims. For now, check my Links section for the web addresses of the American Red Cross, the Salvation Army and the United Way.

A warm and cozy baby

Many of us have used swaddling to make our babies happy and calm. Check my Links section under "Swaddling" for an article about the benefits of wrapping your baby "like a burrito," as they told us at the hospital.

Question for readers: Did you swaddle your newborn? What was your experience with it?