My bone marrow apparently didn't know it was my birthday.
Yesterday I went to Hopkins and got, by far, the worst blood counts report I have ever received in my life. My nurse is so sweet; I could tell she was stalling, so I just asked what my counts were. She told me. I was like, "are you sure?" She printed them out for me and gave them to me, saying, "I don't want to give this to you on your birthday!" I pretended to hand them back saying, "I'm sorry. You're going to need to go back and bring me better counts than this! This is unacceptable!"
So. Not precisely the birthday I was looking for. I started laughing as I recalled the puff piece on "don't ask why or how when bad things happen; look for the good in it" just that morning on this very blog. It also made me think of that book written by Julia Sweeney about her cancer called "And God Said, 'Ha!'" God was definitely saying something along those lines to me yesterday. Maybe something like, "Don't write something unless you're prepared to back it up, big mouth."
So here I am. Definitely bummed. Definitely scared. Wearing a mask 24-7. Washing my hands like my life depends on it. (oh wait! It does!) And hoping that my visit on Tuesday will see even a minor upswing in my white count. I'm still not asking how or why. But I'll have to get back to you on the "what is good about this" part.
I'll try to write some over the weekend, but my mind is kind of focused on only this at the moment, so I think any posts will become very boring hematologic treatises which I may, in my abundant mercy, spare you. :)
Saturday, March 31, 2007
Friday, March 30, 2007
The Only Way to Live a Long Life
Is to keep having birthdays.
toothpastefordinner.com
Today is my 35th birthday.
I like birthdays, no matter how big the number is.
In fact, these days I like birthdays precisely because of how big the number is!
So what have I gleaned from 35 years on the planet that is worthy of sharing?
Well, clearly I have NOT learned that "no one cares about your birthday-induced 'wisdom'." But let's chalk that up to youth and inexperience and move ahead with the original post, shall we? Supah.
1. When your life seems to have gone under a bus at 50 miles an hour, you figure out what is really important to you. Not because you are a super, good, insightful person, but because the human condition requires it. I can't tell you the last time I worried--really worried--about my weight, my cholesterol or my calf definition. I shudder to think of the number of years I obsessed/flipped out/freaked out/otherwise wasted time worrying about being fat, substituting my fear of being fat for other, larger feelings, and in general putting so much effort into my appearance to the detriment of my appearance. I credit Bambina and bone marrow for ridding me of this seemingly-societally important concern, on the theory that you cannot have body issues and successfully, honestly raise a confident child, and you cannot worry about consuming fewer than 1500 calories a day when you've got *-* this much bone marrow, *-* this much energy, and *-----------------* this much toddler on a daily basis. The human brain, I imagine, can only process so much worry or fear at one time. It's quite amazing how previous large "fears" are shunted aside when real ones actually arrive. (It also makes you wonder if it's human nature to invent worries and fears even where none need exist).
2. Always ask yourself, no matter how bad it gets, "What is good about this?" It sounds like the most ridiculous and intellectually dishonest thing to do, but it makes life much easier. The times in my life when I've been most hurt, most alone, most lost were the times I focused on the "How and Why" instead of the "What is good." When a guy cheated on me, I'd torture myself with "How could he do this to me? Why would he do this? I don't understand." When my blood counts started dropping and it became clear that life would not go according to my previously-strategized Five Year Plan, I spent a lot of time asking, "Why me? How can this be happening to ME?" When a boss would constantly downgrade me, tell me I wasn't qualified for something I knew I could do, make me doubt my (mad) skills, I spent a lot of time trying to figure out the how and the why of their blindness to my talent.
These days I make myself find one single thing that is good (which doesn't mean "happy") about a situation before I let myself wonder why or how. Sometimes it's hard. When my Dad died, the only thing (duh) I could say was that he was no longer sick and suffering. But that alone offered some comfort. With my health, it's also hard to find good things. Except for my discovery that friends are actually there to be counted upon when you need them and not just for social fun. That sometimes crappy things happening to you do indeed make you a gentler person to others. That you can meet the coolest and most interesting people in a cancer center infusion room. That sometimes your best work as a mother comes on days when you are acutely aware of the singular blessing of your child on the earth and in your life. And sometimes your best work as a mother comes on days when you are just barely getting by physically or emotionally; that sometimes digging deep to get through a day makes that day more valuable.
In any event, my point is that "how" and "why" questions generally have no real answers worth hearing. Because you're not looking for "because she was hotter than you" to find out why he cheated; you're looking for a bigger answer that you can't have. You're not looking for "my Dad died because his lungs blah blah blah...;" you're looking for a bigger answer that you can't have. You're not wondering why or how your bone marrow isn't working: "See, there are these things called stem cells...;" you're looking for a bigger answer that you can't have. So I've stopped asking the questions, and now I just ask myself no matter how bad it all may seem: "What is good about this?" And because I'm not a superhero, although I like to play one on a blog, some days I let myself have till the weekend to come up with an answer.
3. A writer should only be allowed two (2) pseudo-serious birthday remarks in one post or else risk looking like a self-important jackass who wouldn't know a HAPPY birthday if it blew candles out in her face. Therefore:
4. It is a tremendous honor to share my birthday with Superstar Chanteuse Quebecoise Miss Celine Dion. I don't ask the "comment ou pourquoi" of this honor; I simply enjoy the warm glow of bonheur it brings me.
5. M&M's make a great breakfast supplement.
6. You should try it sometime.
toothpastefordinner.com
Today is my 35th birthday.
I like birthdays, no matter how big the number is.
In fact, these days I like birthdays precisely because of how big the number is!
So what have I gleaned from 35 years on the planet that is worthy of sharing?
Well, clearly I have NOT learned that "no one cares about your birthday-induced 'wisdom'." But let's chalk that up to youth and inexperience and move ahead with the original post, shall we? Supah.
1. When your life seems to have gone under a bus at 50 miles an hour, you figure out what is really important to you. Not because you are a super, good, insightful person, but because the human condition requires it. I can't tell you the last time I worried--really worried--about my weight, my cholesterol or my calf definition. I shudder to think of the number of years I obsessed/flipped out/freaked out/otherwise wasted time worrying about being fat, substituting my fear of being fat for other, larger feelings, and in general putting so much effort into my appearance to the detriment of my appearance. I credit Bambina and bone marrow for ridding me of this seemingly-societally important concern, on the theory that you cannot have body issues and successfully, honestly raise a confident child, and you cannot worry about consuming fewer than 1500 calories a day when you've got *-* this much bone marrow, *-* this much energy, and *-----------------* this much toddler on a daily basis. The human brain, I imagine, can only process so much worry or fear at one time. It's quite amazing how previous large "fears" are shunted aside when real ones actually arrive. (It also makes you wonder if it's human nature to invent worries and fears even where none need exist).
2. Always ask yourself, no matter how bad it gets, "What is good about this?" It sounds like the most ridiculous and intellectually dishonest thing to do, but it makes life much easier. The times in my life when I've been most hurt, most alone, most lost were the times I focused on the "How and Why" instead of the "What is good." When a guy cheated on me, I'd torture myself with "How could he do this to me? Why would he do this? I don't understand." When my blood counts started dropping and it became clear that life would not go according to my previously-strategized Five Year Plan, I spent a lot of time asking, "Why me? How can this be happening to ME?" When a boss would constantly downgrade me, tell me I wasn't qualified for something I knew I could do, make me doubt my (mad) skills, I spent a lot of time trying to figure out the how and the why of their blindness to my talent.
These days I make myself find one single thing that is good (which doesn't mean "happy") about a situation before I let myself wonder why or how. Sometimes it's hard. When my Dad died, the only thing (duh) I could say was that he was no longer sick and suffering. But that alone offered some comfort. With my health, it's also hard to find good things. Except for my discovery that friends are actually there to be counted upon when you need them and not just for social fun. That sometimes crappy things happening to you do indeed make you a gentler person to others. That you can meet the coolest and most interesting people in a cancer center infusion room. That sometimes your best work as a mother comes on days when you are acutely aware of the singular blessing of your child on the earth and in your life. And sometimes your best work as a mother comes on days when you are just barely getting by physically or emotionally; that sometimes digging deep to get through a day makes that day more valuable.
In any event, my point is that "how" and "why" questions generally have no real answers worth hearing. Because you're not looking for "because she was hotter than you" to find out why he cheated; you're looking for a bigger answer that you can't have. You're not looking for "my Dad died because his lungs blah blah blah...;" you're looking for a bigger answer that you can't have. You're not wondering why or how your bone marrow isn't working: "See, there are these things called stem cells...;" you're looking for a bigger answer that you can't have. So I've stopped asking the questions, and now I just ask myself no matter how bad it all may seem: "What is good about this?" And because I'm not a superhero, although I like to play one on a blog, some days I let myself have till the weekend to come up with an answer.
3. A writer should only be allowed two (2) pseudo-serious birthday remarks in one post or else risk looking like a self-important jackass who wouldn't know a HAPPY birthday if it blew candles out in her face. Therefore:
4. It is a tremendous honor to share my birthday with Superstar Chanteuse Quebecoise Miss Celine Dion. I don't ask the "comment ou pourquoi" of this honor; I simply enjoy the warm glow of bonheur it brings me.
5. M&M's make a great breakfast supplement.
6. You should try it sometime.
Thursday, March 29, 2007
Is This Racist?
From Sky News. Am I racist for thinking this is funny--and very ingenious? I am usually all eyes and ears for anything racist, so somebody needs to school me hard if I'm turning a blind eye to this. :)
Scottish Firm In The Poo
Updated: 15:13, Wednesday March 28, 2007
A Scottish company has been slammed for inviting customers to "send a poo" to an Englishman on St George's Day.
Edinburgh-based firm PostaPoo.com is selling plastic "realistic poo" to send to "your favourite (or least favourite) Englishman" to mark April 23.
Customers are given the choice between human or dog-style excrement, wrapped in tissue paper along with a personal message set beside the English flag.
But members of the English Democrats Party, which is campaigning for an English Parliament, questioned the stunt's legality.
Robin Tilbrook, the party's national chairman, said: "The company's website says they will not send this so-called 'practical joke' if the message is deemed threatening, racist, homophobic, or displays religious bigotry.
"It appears to me to be threatening, possibly racist and without question bigoted. It's certainly offensive and possibly an offence."
The novelty firm offers the service, with prices starting at £4.99, all year round and claims to prove popular with disgruntled customers and ex-partners seeking revenge.
The firm's joint owner Niall Methven, who set up the company around 18 months ago, said it "never even crossed his mind" that the scheme could be perceived as racist.
He insisted he has not had any complaints from customers or recipients.
*credit to BBDD for sending this along!
Scottish Firm In The Poo
Updated: 15:13, Wednesday March 28, 2007
A Scottish company has been slammed for inviting customers to "send a poo" to an Englishman on St George's Day.
Edinburgh-based firm PostaPoo.com is selling plastic "realistic poo" to send to "your favourite (or least favourite) Englishman" to mark April 23.
Customers are given the choice between human or dog-style excrement, wrapped in tissue paper along with a personal message set beside the English flag.
But members of the English Democrats Party, which is campaigning for an English Parliament, questioned the stunt's legality.
Robin Tilbrook, the party's national chairman, said: "The company's website says they will not send this so-called 'practical joke' if the message is deemed threatening, racist, homophobic, or displays religious bigotry.
"It appears to me to be threatening, possibly racist and without question bigoted. It's certainly offensive and possibly an offence."
The novelty firm offers the service, with prices starting at £4.99, all year round and claims to prove popular with disgruntled customers and ex-partners seeking revenge.
The firm's joint owner Niall Methven, who set up the company around 18 months ago, said it "never even crossed his mind" that the scheme could be perceived as racist.
He insisted he has not had any complaints from customers or recipients.
*credit to BBDD for sending this along!
If at First You Don't Succeed...
Lie and Lie again.
Alberto Gonzalez, were he my brother, would be out in the woodshed with my Mom right now. My siblings and I would be in the house talking in hushed tones, wondering whether he'd return in one piece, whether he'd ever see the light of day again before college, whether he'd ever get to date a girl, talk on the phone or do anything but chores till he could move out at 18.
Such was the penalty for lying in my house. I don't even know what the penalty would have been for lying about lying. And my mind's wildest imagination can't even stretch to the place where I can envision the consequences of lying, lying about lying, and then joking about it to warm applause from friends.
Gonzalez has no shame. Then again, he's part of an administration that doesn't know the meaning of the word. Back when President Clinton was deep in the throes of the Lewinsky situation, conservatives crowed, "What about the children?! What am I supposed to tell my kids about the President's behavior?!" May I respectfully request that the same standard be used in this case? What DO we tell our kids about people in power with only a loose understanding of, perhaps, and certainly a firm disregard for, the tenets of our democratic republic? About people whose only defense, if they see fit to mount one rather than tell us all to eff off, is that "Clinton did it too"? About people who make the Clinton statement, knowing full well it's not even accurate, although it is excellent messaging designed to distract people from the facts of THIS situation?
Does Alberto Gonzalez want us all to believe that he delegated the decision to fire multiple US attorneys to his Chief of Staff? That's either a lie or it's an abdication of his AG responsibilities. Either way, Gonzalez should resign. Does Alberto Gonzalez really think we should all believe that the White House had no role in this situation, notwithstanding the emails back and forth mentioning Harriet Miers and Karl Rove? Does Alberto Gonzalez really think it's appropriate to go to an event in Houston and joke about "the bumpy road" he's on these days and bask in the warm glow of "friends"?
This whole situation is rotten from the top down, and it's time to stop the lies. You've been caught. The emails and the calls are on record. The political issues behind the firings are a matter of record. For your own dignity and, as my friends on the right would say, for the sake of America's children, it's time to stop lying. There is nothing more cringe-inducing than watching someone who is being shown all the evidence of his lying continuing to lie. In personal affairs, it's painful to witness the lying person's loss of dignity and to feel the sting of wondering why this person thinks you are stupid enough to believe obvious lies. You keep hammering the person with the evidence because you are so desperate to stop his or her descent toward zero credibility. I feel the same way about public lying, especially in our democracy. Yes, this is a "victory" for those of us who don't support Bush and his minions. But it's an ongoing defeat for both the letter and spirit of our country's democracy, and I want the bleeding to end.
Gonzalez, step down. Rove, admit your role. Bush, grow a conscience.
Or, as Alan Dershowitz (not my favorite guy, btw) said about choosing one action over another (and as my Mom would agree): "If you're not willing to defend it publicly, don't do it."
Seems like good advice for everyone, doesn't it?
Alberto Gonzalez, were he my brother, would be out in the woodshed with my Mom right now. My siblings and I would be in the house talking in hushed tones, wondering whether he'd return in one piece, whether he'd ever see the light of day again before college, whether he'd ever get to date a girl, talk on the phone or do anything but chores till he could move out at 18.
Such was the penalty for lying in my house. I don't even know what the penalty would have been for lying about lying. And my mind's wildest imagination can't even stretch to the place where I can envision the consequences of lying, lying about lying, and then joking about it to warm applause from friends.
Gonzalez has no shame. Then again, he's part of an administration that doesn't know the meaning of the word. Back when President Clinton was deep in the throes of the Lewinsky situation, conservatives crowed, "What about the children?! What am I supposed to tell my kids about the President's behavior?!" May I respectfully request that the same standard be used in this case? What DO we tell our kids about people in power with only a loose understanding of, perhaps, and certainly a firm disregard for, the tenets of our democratic republic? About people whose only defense, if they see fit to mount one rather than tell us all to eff off, is that "Clinton did it too"? About people who make the Clinton statement, knowing full well it's not even accurate, although it is excellent messaging designed to distract people from the facts of THIS situation?
Does Alberto Gonzalez want us all to believe that he delegated the decision to fire multiple US attorneys to his Chief of Staff? That's either a lie or it's an abdication of his AG responsibilities. Either way, Gonzalez should resign. Does Alberto Gonzalez really think we should all believe that the White House had no role in this situation, notwithstanding the emails back and forth mentioning Harriet Miers and Karl Rove? Does Alberto Gonzalez really think it's appropriate to go to an event in Houston and joke about "the bumpy road" he's on these days and bask in the warm glow of "friends"?
This whole situation is rotten from the top down, and it's time to stop the lies. You've been caught. The emails and the calls are on record. The political issues behind the firings are a matter of record. For your own dignity and, as my friends on the right would say, for the sake of America's children, it's time to stop lying. There is nothing more cringe-inducing than watching someone who is being shown all the evidence of his lying continuing to lie. In personal affairs, it's painful to witness the lying person's loss of dignity and to feel the sting of wondering why this person thinks you are stupid enough to believe obvious lies. You keep hammering the person with the evidence because you are so desperate to stop his or her descent toward zero credibility. I feel the same way about public lying, especially in our democracy. Yes, this is a "victory" for those of us who don't support Bush and his minions. But it's an ongoing defeat for both the letter and spirit of our country's democracy, and I want the bleeding to end.
Gonzalez, step down. Rove, admit your role. Bush, grow a conscience.
Or, as Alan Dershowitz (not my favorite guy, btw) said about choosing one action over another (and as my Mom would agree): "If you're not willing to defend it publicly, don't do it."
Seems like good advice for everyone, doesn't it?
Wednesday, March 28, 2007
Movie Review: Casino Royale
Due to my deplorable white counts, I've been watching a lot of Netflix these days from my bubble house rather than venturing out among the great unwashed (no offense, y'all).
I have most recently seen Casino Royale. My four word review?
Va-Va-Va...Feh.
It looks so good! Daniel Craig is the hotness! The Bond women are the hotness! His gritty realness is refreshing! The better writing is fantastic! The human--rather than technological--feats are fantastic!
The ending is LAME.
In one scene, (spoiler alert!) he's having his gonads tortured. In the very next, he's convalescing in some beautiful villa, apparently not healed enough to be sitting in a regular chair sans blanket, but "healed" enough to get it on with Eva Green. And the next 8 minutes are spent wondering what segue or transitional scene got edited out in between.
I know the movie was long, but when you're already up at 2 hours, keeping in two more minutes to explain such a jarring change in storyline and setting wouldn't be a bad decision.
In short: After this movie I was shaken but not stirred.
(Gene Shalit better watch his back, yo! I'm coming for him, with puns blazing!)
I have most recently seen Casino Royale. My four word review?
Va-Va-Va...Feh.
It looks so good! Daniel Craig is the hotness! The Bond women are the hotness! His gritty realness is refreshing! The better writing is fantastic! The human--rather than technological--feats are fantastic!
The ending is LAME.
In one scene, (spoiler alert!) he's having his gonads tortured. In the very next, he's convalescing in some beautiful villa, apparently not healed enough to be sitting in a regular chair sans blanket, but "healed" enough to get it on with Eva Green. And the next 8 minutes are spent wondering what segue or transitional scene got edited out in between.
I know the movie was long, but when you're already up at 2 hours, keeping in two more minutes to explain such a jarring change in storyline and setting wouldn't be a bad decision.
In short: After this movie I was shaken but not stirred.
(Gene Shalit better watch his back, yo! I'm coming for him, with puns blazing!)
Bambina's Career Day
Bambina loves to play dress-up these days. She has a small box that has lots of hats in it so she can be an astronaut or ballerina or construction worker when the feeling strikes her. So imagine my dismay the other day when I went upstairs to find her in my closet wearing only the following:
Her big-girl underwear
My knee-high, pointy-toed boots (that were thigh-high waders on her)
My bra
I stifled my alarm enough to say, "So! Tell me about your outfit!" (oh dear god...)
She replied, "I'm going to work." (oh dear god!)
"Where do you work? I hope it's up here because we're not going anywhere near stairs with those big boots on."
"Me work in town." (OH DEAR GOD!!)
"What do you do in town?"
"I'm a doctor." (Phew!!)
I then got to say something that I have never before been able to (and never will again): "Sweetie, my bra is a little bit big for you."
**********
She was shortly thereafter luckily persuaded into flat red shoes, a tutu, and a fabric belt as a necklace, an outfit I told her was far more medically-appropriate for a physician of her caliber.
Her big-girl underwear
My knee-high, pointy-toed boots (that were thigh-high waders on her)
My bra
I stifled my alarm enough to say, "So! Tell me about your outfit!" (oh dear god...)
She replied, "I'm going to work." (oh dear god!)
"Where do you work? I hope it's up here because we're not going anywhere near stairs with those big boots on."
"Me work in town." (OH DEAR GOD!!)
"What do you do in town?"
"I'm a doctor." (Phew!!)
I then got to say something that I have never before been able to (and never will again): "Sweetie, my bra is a little bit big for you."
**********
She was shortly thereafter luckily persuaded into flat red shoes, a tutu, and a fabric belt as a necklace, an outfit I told her was far more medically-appropriate for a physician of her caliber.
Beta-Testing My Alpha
Top o' the morning to you. I'm up crazy early trying to find one minute to post something before the Tasmanian Bambina wakes up and gets the day started.
She is going to be 3 in a couple of months. I have been putting together her "lifebook" for her and having all of those mama-moments of wondering how she was ever so small and is now so big and so grown-up. (A lifebook is a photo album that gives The Story of Bambina, to give her a sense of place in the world, to know where she came from, to give her a personal narrative that she can tell others should she want to. She won't have a footprint or baby bracelet from a hospital, but she'll have a couple of pages on the region of China where she was born, a picture of all of us with her nannies from the orphanage, photos of our first day as a family, etc. The intent is also to give her pride in her origins, in her birth country, and in her birthparents).
Anyway, I was reflecting on the past two-plus years yesterday, not because I was having such a great day with her, but because I was having such a NOT great day with her. We escaped a lot of the terrible two stuff. Minimal public outbursts, minimal tantrums, absolutely none of the behavioral stuff like biting or pushing that I see a lot in the playground. And Bambina has been great too! ;)
Yesterday, however, was one of those days where I was caught in a classic first-time parent dilemma, where you can see what's going on but you haven't figured out how you're going to handle it yet. You see, as my sweet little cherub now approaches the age of three, she is still that, to be sure. The issue is that she just kind of finds me irrelevant. And there's the rub. She's not openly defiant, not tantrummy, not emotionally unglued. She just says, "No thanks" when I tell her to do something. It has been going on for a couple of days but yesterday was the first day I figured it out.
Something had to be done. Because, as Margaret Thatcher said, "Being powerful is like being a lady; if you have to tell people you are, you aren't." So too with telling a toddler, "I'm relevant, you know!" So as another saying goes, "old age and treachery will always overcome youth and skill," and I put my plan into action. It was time to beta-test my previously-low key Alpha Mama skills.
When I said, "Bambina, it's lunchtime. Come to the table and eat, please." She said, "No thanks." I said, "Bambina, lunch time is now. Quiet time is after lunch. So if you don't eat now we won't be eating again till after quiet time." So I went and picked her up, brought her to the table and said, "We can play again as soon as we're done with lunch and before quiet time." She just got up and walked away and said, "No" in a completely blow-off manner as she went to go play.
Now, back in the day, I'd have brought the food to her, agonized over my child not eating her three squares, felt like a terrible mom or god knows what other kind of self-flagellation (and she'd also have responded positively to my usual statement of 'we don't say No to Mama,' which is now laughed at). This time I sat and ate my lunch (in total peace and quiet!) then cleared both of our plates away. When she arrived 20 minutes later looking for lunch I told her that lunch was over and that it was now quiet time.
You could have knocked her over with a feather. It was a fantastic moment because I saw her wee face go from, "Don't you know who I am?! This is an outrage!" to making the connection: "oh. This lady is serious. Apparently the world does not revolve around me." Score one for the Alpha Mama.
I used to be uncomfortable with the notion of being an Alpha Mama, afraid that it would set up a dynamic that she'd be desperate to rebel against as an adolescent, ie, "must kill maternal authority to assert my independence. Cue the drinking and hooking up..." But as she gets older (and I get wiser?), I'm realizing that every single child needs an Alpha Mama (the knowledge that someone is in charge and that all is as it should be as a result; the psychological comfort of having boundaries and discipline). But they also need an Alpha Mama who recognizes that authority alone isn't the path to success with any child.
I guess it's the balance of having your children know in all the ways that matter that your world absolutely revolves around their safety, their security in your love, but that it doesn't allow them to hijack it for their personal wants. Or, to take the long view, I like to think my Alpha Mama ways will help Bambina to become an Alpha Woman (and maybe an Alpha Mama) someday. Which makes days like yesterday bearable even as I hear myself mantra-ing under my breath, "I'm relevant. I'm relevant. I'm relevant..."
She is going to be 3 in a couple of months. I have been putting together her "lifebook" for her and having all of those mama-moments of wondering how she was ever so small and is now so big and so grown-up. (A lifebook is a photo album that gives The Story of Bambina, to give her a sense of place in the world, to know where she came from, to give her a personal narrative that she can tell others should she want to. She won't have a footprint or baby bracelet from a hospital, but she'll have a couple of pages on the region of China where she was born, a picture of all of us with her nannies from the orphanage, photos of our first day as a family, etc. The intent is also to give her pride in her origins, in her birth country, and in her birthparents).
Anyway, I was reflecting on the past two-plus years yesterday, not because I was having such a great day with her, but because I was having such a NOT great day with her. We escaped a lot of the terrible two stuff. Minimal public outbursts, minimal tantrums, absolutely none of the behavioral stuff like biting or pushing that I see a lot in the playground. And Bambina has been great too! ;)
Yesterday, however, was one of those days where I was caught in a classic first-time parent dilemma, where you can see what's going on but you haven't figured out how you're going to handle it yet. You see, as my sweet little cherub now approaches the age of three, she is still that, to be sure. The issue is that she just kind of finds me irrelevant. And there's the rub. She's not openly defiant, not tantrummy, not emotionally unglued. She just says, "No thanks" when I tell her to do something. It has been going on for a couple of days but yesterday was the first day I figured it out.
Something had to be done. Because, as Margaret Thatcher said, "Being powerful is like being a lady; if you have to tell people you are, you aren't." So too with telling a toddler, "I'm relevant, you know!" So as another saying goes, "old age and treachery will always overcome youth and skill," and I put my plan into action. It was time to beta-test my previously-low key Alpha Mama skills.
When I said, "Bambina, it's lunchtime. Come to the table and eat, please." She said, "No thanks." I said, "Bambina, lunch time is now. Quiet time is after lunch. So if you don't eat now we won't be eating again till after quiet time." So I went and picked her up, brought her to the table and said, "We can play again as soon as we're done with lunch and before quiet time." She just got up and walked away and said, "No" in a completely blow-off manner as she went to go play.
Now, back in the day, I'd have brought the food to her, agonized over my child not eating her three squares, felt like a terrible mom or god knows what other kind of self-flagellation (and she'd also have responded positively to my usual statement of 'we don't say No to Mama,' which is now laughed at). This time I sat and ate my lunch (in total peace and quiet!) then cleared both of our plates away. When she arrived 20 minutes later looking for lunch I told her that lunch was over and that it was now quiet time.
You could have knocked her over with a feather. It was a fantastic moment because I saw her wee face go from, "Don't you know who I am?! This is an outrage!" to making the connection: "oh. This lady is serious. Apparently the world does not revolve around me." Score one for the Alpha Mama.
I used to be uncomfortable with the notion of being an Alpha Mama, afraid that it would set up a dynamic that she'd be desperate to rebel against as an adolescent, ie, "must kill maternal authority to assert my independence. Cue the drinking and hooking up..." But as she gets older (and I get wiser?), I'm realizing that every single child needs an Alpha Mama (the knowledge that someone is in charge and that all is as it should be as a result; the psychological comfort of having boundaries and discipline). But they also need an Alpha Mama who recognizes that authority alone isn't the path to success with any child.
I guess it's the balance of having your children know in all the ways that matter that your world absolutely revolves around their safety, their security in your love, but that it doesn't allow them to hijack it for their personal wants. Or, to take the long view, I like to think my Alpha Mama ways will help Bambina to become an Alpha Woman (and maybe an Alpha Mama) someday. Which makes days like yesterday bearable even as I hear myself mantra-ing under my breath, "I'm relevant. I'm relevant. I'm relevant..."
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