Booster Seats and Boosting Yourself

First published May 25, 2008

Thursday's life lesson took place in the unlikely location of a Babies R Us in a strip mall off the exit just past the Asheville Mall, second-rate real estate where the stores squat sadly as if aware they have been banished.

Letting My Child's Inner Beauty Shine Past the Tests

At Jake's school this morning one of his teachers showed me the developmental evaluation they had filled out for him. It was a standardized list of questions -- a la "Can the child pick up a Cheerio between his thumb and forefinger?" -- in such categories as Communication, Gross Motor Skills, Fine Motor Skills, and I don't know what else because I'm still stuck on the Communication part.

I'm trying to figure out how to say this without sounding like the crazy, pushy, competitive mom I became this morning. But, frankly, they WAY underscored him on Communication.

My Child Broke My Japa Mala

What does it mean when your child breaks your japa mala?

Breathing My Way into Feeling Good About Who I Am

We went to a party yesterday! A real, live, social, people-who-speak-adult block party.

Granted, I spent the majority of the festivities chasing an increasingly bold and energized Jake down the hill, into the yard where he found the prize of a whiffle ball half-buried in rotting leaves, in front of the band to whose rendition of "Psycho Killer" he performed an impressive, hand-waving dance, across the street to Daddy to show him what fun we were having, and back down the hill to begin the circuit again. But we were out, having fun, acting like our lives are more than time snatched for ourselves while Jake is at school (also known as "work"), exhausted evenings seeing what Jon Stewart has to say about the election, and rushing to bed so we can spend a few precious hours sleeping next to each other before Jake ousts one of us (almost always Mike) with a coughing fit.

A Sick Boy and a Lesson About Intentions

I really didn't mind too much when I got the not-unanticipated Please Pick Him Up call on Wednesday from Jake's school.

True, I had picked him up early on Monday and kept him home all day Tuesday, which I really thought ought to have scored me a few points with the teachers. And he had seemed perfectly fine when I dropped him off two hours before the call; he had practically sprinted for the climbing toy, even looking a little bit disappointed that none of his friends were pushing him off of it. Plus, it was more than a little bit annoying to find they had taken his temperature a second time before I arrived, managing to get that magic number of 100 that means he can't return for 24 hours. And, sure, they were closed for a conference on Friday, so I might have let a touch of bitterness creep into my voice when I said, "Have a good weekend," as we left.

Geez, I Haven't Had the Hip Replacement Yet, or Thoughts on Age and Youth

Something occurred to me yesterday in yoga class as I observed the places where I feel just a tad tighter and achier than I did before my pregnancy.

"Maybe," I thought with a rush of horror threaded through with an unsettling warmth of acceptance, "I'm just getting older."

Trust with a Capital T: How's That for a Mother's Day Gift?

"Think of what you'd like to do tomorrow," Mike said Saturday night. "I want to do something special for you for Mother's Day."

A perfectly reasonable request. But I am not, as it turns out, a perfectly reasonable person when it comes to being feted on Mother's Day.

Happy Mother's Day

I don't know about you, but I'm not feeling too comfortable with the idea of this day where I'm supposed to be suddenly special for being a mother.

There's Something Bigger Than Forgetting to Buy Antibiotic Ointment

It was plainly my fault. Because, I feel deeply, anything that distresses my boy is.

Bath time, these balmy spring evenings, has been a tad more fraught than usual. Mike has been arriving home right around when Jake and I sit down for his dinner. So we all head out for the deck, where Mike and I share some of our cheese and crackers with Jake and Jake excitedly drops things, like my cell phone, between the deck railings. This is so much fun that whenever I choose to start running the bath, it is sure to be way too early by his reckoning.

Fixing Everything, Even When You Can't, or How I Learned to Diffuse My Energy

Today my acupuncturist spent a lot of time diffusing my energy. And it got me thinking.

I was probably not thinking what you are -- Acupuncture! Therapy! Yoga! This gal spends an inordinate amount of energy searching for the mindfulness in motherhood! And is maybe a little bit crazy to boot. But, see, it's what I do now -- search and share my results with you.

At any rate, what I was thinking, beyond how lucky I am to be able to do a little acupuncture sometimes, is how overly concentrated energy is probably a key component of motherhood. With so many competing tasks facing me every day, I wish I came equipped with a laser-like focus, a sort of Mama Ray Gun that I can blast at whatever needs doing NOW -- quality park time going down the slide with Jake; intricately researched, detailed, brilliant legal memos packed into the time between yoga class and the end of Jake's school day; prepping the veggies I bought last week before they are too wilted to eat in an effort to distract Mike from once again preparing his favorite meal of sticky rice and Chinese hot sauce while I'm putting Jake to bed.

Jake and My Heart Free Me From a Scary Rat's Maze

I had one of those moments yesterday, the kind where suddenly everything feels completely wrong.

It begins with a weird sense of displacement -- in my case, sitting on the floor of my yoga room/office in the middle of my asana practice. "What am I doing here?" or something like it started the internal conversation. "Who made me a mother who doesn't have time for real friends? How did I end up on a quiet street full of kids in Asheville? Since when did I look at buying groceries as a social event?"

When You Absolutely Have No Choice But to Let Go

I was walking under a dogwood tree on the way out of my therapist's office this morning when I noticed the blanket of pink flowers it had dropped on the brick sidewalk. The tree, I thought, was telling me to let go.