by advicefrommarta | Oct 22, 2019 | Family Life, Random Stories
On Sunday, my husband, teenage daughter and I took the El downtown to the ballet. When we got on a friend I don’t see often was unexpectedly on board and I was excited to chat with her.
A few stops later a family came on. Three gorgeous kids, between the ages of 2-5 and their father, between the ages of 20-25. The sister, a middle child, sat in the farthest right seat and immediately turned around and looked out the window. She did not turn around again until it was time to get off the train and when she did she was smiling from ear to ear. The older brother grabbed the middle seat and his younger brother cried. He had wanted the middle seat. The father sat across the aisle and told the young boy to stop crying. In a move that will surprise no parent ever, the boy kept crying.
A few minutes later, the father offered the younger brother his headphones. The boy, still devastated by the injustice of not getting the middle seat, rejected the offer. The older brother accepted them, causing his little brother to realize that he did in fact want the headphones and now he had been denied the middle seat and the headphones. There were more tears, sniffles and huge, tragic tears running down his beautiful face. The boys both had small top knots and the little boy’s bounced rhythmically with his crying.
The father did his best to ignore the crying, occasionally looking up and saying such helpful things as “I didn’t ask you to stop crying, I told you to stop crying.” Eventually, he stretched his hand across the aisle and the little boy grabbed it and climbed into his father’s lap. With his head on his father’s shoulder, he let out a few short hiccups and relaxed.
I think most of us would like to be the sister, keeping her own counsel, enjoying the view, unbothered by the drama around her. Occasionally, we may be the older brother, winning at everything. But usually we are the younger brother. An initial disappointment upsets us. We are offered a way out of the upset, but it’s too early or not exactly what we want and we can’t accept it. From there, the downward spiral seems unending, until finally, if we are lucky, a hand we can accept is offered. Sometimes we are the father, overwhelmed by the number of things that can possibly go wrong in such an easy transaction, desperately trying to hold back the grief and the chaos, finally offering a hand across the chasm and having that hand accepted.
If we are lucky, we learn to reach out our hands. If we are lucky, we learn to accept the hands we are offered.
by advicefrommarta | Aug 17, 2017 | Random Stories
It happens at every camp, every year. With tools stolen from woodworking or arts and crafts children scratch and scribble their names on bunks, shelves, cabin walls, anywhere they can. The camps try and prevent it, they threaten that any and all graffiti will be photographed and sent to parents with a bill for damages. They make camp-sanctioned plaques that everyone in the cabin signs. The plaques have inside jokes and decorations and the camp hopes it will keep the children from trying to make their mark, but children will always try and make their mark. They scribble and scratch through very camp session, looking for the hidden spot that will let their name stand the test of time.
Some imagine that one day a future camper will come along and wonder about them. The future camper will feel a close connection to this mysterious name. One boy carves his name imagining himself 30 years in the future showing his son the hidden relic. He hopes that by leaving his mark, and showing his child how he did it, where he lived, he will have provided the guidance his own father has not. A girl practices her autograph, confident that one day a young girl will sleep here and be amazed that she is in the same spot that once housed the famous actress/model/champion horseback rider/wife of the rock star.
Others scribble furiously, desperate to mark and maim the place that has marked them. If their name stands that means they will have survived the stolen underwear thrown on the rafters, the mysteriously-always-wet bathroom floor, the endless bug bites, the slight shift to the right at circle time that forces the scribbler to push just a little too hard to break into the group. One day in a performance review her well-meaning boss will bring up her tendency to push too hard, to lecture when simply asking would have sufficed, to always make her presence felt. Neither of them will know where this tendency came from, never guessing it started here, under a scratchy wool blanket, stolen awl in hand.
Some write their names to kill time, waiting for their roommates to sleep. Only in the quiet can they safely bring the image of the waterfront counselor, still dressed in a damp swimsuit with a white t-shirt and the barest of shorts thrown over it, sneaking a cigarette behind the mess hall, to the forefront of their mind. They have held the precious image in the background all day. It would be too much to think of the tall blonde shivering slightly and jingling her anklet with every exhale with the creaking mattress noises of others’ fantasies, and so they write and wait for others to drift off to their satisfied sleep.
Some doodle without purpose. They have already developed a casual, cheerful indifference to the world around them. They will continue to carelessly mark the world letting their dirty socks and half-formed opinions litter other people’s pristine floors, leaving their names scrawled carelessly on hearts and walls.
And then summer is over. The scribblers, happy, furious, sad, and indifferent go home. Some go home to happier lives full of friends who have never seen them naked, friends who do not find it funny to try and spill their bug juice at every meal. Some go home to fighting parents and vindictive teachers, to bullies who are not impressed by their ability with a canoe. They dare not scribble on walls at school, instead during math class they silently finger the lanyard hidden in their pocket. The maintenance crew will come and seek out the names, scrubbing and spackling them away wherever possible. Early next summer a new group will come, looking to see if their name survived, wondering if they will ever make a mark.
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by advicefrommarta | Jan 19, 2017 | Family Life, Work Life
Yesterday was a bad day to be a work from home freelancer. I have two projects due at the end of the week. But, before I knew that I’d have two projects with the same deadline, I made an appointment to go see a caterer about my daughter’s bat mitzvah brunch. This was the time that worked with my husband’s schedule, and he is heading out of town today, and so we kept the appointment.
It was lovely to sit in the restaurant and eat breakfast with my husband and talk to the owner about the event, but oh I had stuff to do.
I came home to do a conference call, and while others were talking I put myself on mute and wrapped my son’s birthday presents for that night. Then, I had to go back out to pick up hostess and new baby presents for my husband to bring on his business trip, because he is also going to have dinner with family while he’s there. Oh, and by the way, his business trip is actually a job interview, out of town, which is something we are forced to consider because my job is oh so flexible and oh so transportable. (Also, friends, don’t get too distracted by that and start texting me asking if we’re moving, as of now, we aren’t.)
On the way out to pick up the presents I noticed that someone had mysteriously left a bag of dog poop on my back porch. When I came back from the errands, I spent 30 minutes talking to the police about why someone might have walked in to my backyard and up my steps in order to leave me dog poop.
Then, I had to put in laundry, because someone is leaving town. Then I wrote one fifth of the project before my son came home. There was homework to deal with, and that turned in to tears, because it was his birthday, and no one should have to do math on their birthday. Then there was hockey to take him to, and by the time I was home from that, my daughter was home, more homework and more nudging, and more laundry, walking the dog, and approximately one fifth more of one project. Sushi was finally decided on as the birthday dinner, and I went and picked it up. At 10:30 I went to bed, having accomplished almost nothing.
Today was a good day to be a freelancer working from home. Today I had an appointment downtown, across the street from the Art Institute. So after my appointment I wandered in to the museum just as they were opening. I went to the Thorne Miniature rooms and stood in front of my favorite rooms, imagining myself appropriately dressed to live in them. I went to the paperweights and stared. I went to see Renoir’s Two Sisters on the Terrace, known in my family as “my painting,” because as a child I had a Madame Alexander doll of the younger sister (in my world, her name is Lynn Jane, and yes, I still have her). My kids each also have a painting, but I did not visit theirs. Instead, I went to a gallery I have never been to, then I went to see the Chagall windows. I went to the member’s lounge and had a cup of not-very-good coffee, but I had a cup of coffee and THEN I went and ate lunch at the cafe. On the way out, I went to visit Ganesh and Buddha.
I came home and there was no dog poop on my porch. I finished part of a project, I walked the dog, and my son came home. We did homework and I worked some more. I wrote something as a favor to a friend, I called another caterer about the evening party. I’m writing this, and then I will work a little more. My doorbell keeps ringing as children from the block come in for something my daughter has planned. Eventually, I will need to go find out what it is. When I go to bed tonight I probably will not have accomplished any more than I did yesterday.
Some days, this always at work, always at home, always doing everything feels like an unfair burden. Some days it feels like an unfair privilege. You never know what will happen in a day.
by advicefrommarta | Jul 18, 2016 | Family Life
The number of children I parent has been changing a lot lately.
Normally, I have two – a ten year old and a twelve year old.
For a few days recently I had five – my two, a six year old, an eleven year old, and a thirteen year old – all cousins.
Then, I had my two and a friend each for a weekend trip, so that’s two ten year olds and two twelve year olds.
Then I had a different combination of the cousins, my two plus the six year old and his sixteen year old sister.
Then, everyone left and my daughter went to camp and I just had one child, my ten year old son.
It’s not that it’s easier or harder to parent five kids or one kid, it’s just different. With five kids I felt the need to be super-organized and efficient. I planned a week’s worth of meals that all used some of the same ingredients. I even made some meals before we went out. But that efficiency was relaxing in a way. I didn’t have to worry or argue about what was for dinner, dinner was dinner, it was planned and ready. I was so proud of my meal plan, I put it on the refrigerator next to my ten year old’s 100% quizzes.
With five or four kids there was a constant scanning, do I have everyone? Where is the six year old? But also, with that many kids everyone was always occupied. No one was bored, no one was lonely. Plus, the scanning was sort of unnecessary since they were all looking for each other anyway.
With four or five kids it was easier to set rules, to say “no,” to deny whims. Obviously, if you are trying to get five kids through downtown Chicago you can not stop to look at everything that everyone wants to see. With one kid it’s hard to rationalize saying “no,” to restaurant or activity choices, but also, there’s less reason to do so. It’s wonderful to have a child say, “I’d kind of like to do that” and to say “Well, it’s just the two of us, let’s try it.” With one kid it’s easier to convince him to try something, because you only have to convince one child, not two.
During one of his days as an only child I picked my son up from camp and he said, “I’m really craving a cheeseburger, can we go to Culver’s?” So, we did, and on the way he started asking me a question that led to a conversation about sex, including consent and condoms. It’s hard to imagine that conversation happening with four other kids in the car. It’s hard to imagine me agreeing to buying a 3:00 meal for four or five kids.
I love having two children. I don’t have the necessary attention span to only have one child and I am not young enough or rich enough to have more than two. Having two kids gives me the space and time to invite more kids in to my life from time to time. But it’s nice sometimes to try out the other alternatives.
by advicefrommarta | May 31, 2016 | Family Life
Our Memorial Day weekend was filled with all the things a summer weekend is supposed to have. We had visits from friends and family, we went to a Cubs game, we went downtown to site see with tourists, we went to the pool, we sat on the porch and drank with friends, we had a last minute slumber party, we went to a parade and used the grill.
There were so many good things, cousins and cute kids but my favorite moment came early in the weekend. On Friday, we went to the Cubs game with our visiting family. My first cousin, his wife, and their two kids, ages four and two. My 10-year-old was over the moon about the idea of missing school for a Cubs game. My 12-year-old was happy to miss school and eat nachos for lunch. She brought a book to read at the game.
I had forgotten that baseball games are not as much fun with small kids. They need to walk around. My cousins walked their kids up and down and around. But around the fourth inning it became clear that the little ones needed to go. My cousin and his wife also had plans that evening, and she wanted to try and rest a little first. I’m happy with half a ball game and my daughter was more than happy to leave early. So, the women and small children headed out leaving my husband, son, and cousin at the game.
In between El stations, we got caught in the one major rain storm of the day. Already soaking wet, we ducked inside to wait out the worst of the horizontal rain. When the rain went back to a drizzle, we made our way up the El stairs. My cousin-in-law carrying stuff, me carrying the stroller and my drenched 12-year-old, a small, wet, tired, and sniffly child in each hand, making her way up the stairs.
All the way up she said little things “That’s right Owen, we’re almost there. You can do it Isabelle, just keep going.”
She sounded so natural, I almost didn’t notice at first. When I did it took my breath away, “Look at you, you’re a star Madeline,” I said to my baby girl.
An older woman had been walking patiently behind us, “That’s right, that is a responsible young lady. She IS a star!” She said as much to me as to my daughter.
We got to the platform and I turned to catch the older woman’s eye. She nodded at me, “That’s right. That’s how we do it,” she murmured as much to herself as to me.
That’s right, that is how we do it.
