family life

living life

Apr

This is one of my favorite photos I’ve ever taken. I should print it out because I’m frequently pulling it up to look at on my computer. The light was perfectly diffused into the bleak and cluttered church kitchen. All I did was straighten the image and make it b&w. And when I have to do so little to an image, it feels like progress. But that’s not actually why I like this image so much.

This, as some of you may know, is my mother-in-law. And we all feel lucky and blessed to know her. I like this image because it is saturated with life. Here she is arranging the zucchini muffins, batches and batches of muffins. There was no one else in the kitchen as she prepped the refreshments for this event, the baptism of one granddaughter and the baby blessing of the newest grandchild. There was no time for me to style this image – the industrial size dish soap and canola oil loom large. And the microwave is not my favorite back drop. Laminate counter tops, faux wood cabinets – it’s a room meant for utility and not making an impression. But I wouldn’t change it, even if I could. Unedited, captured in its essence, our lives are meant to be of use. We are bound to our families by blood and responsibility, but our love is what drives our simple actions. Our gatherings and family milestones play out in ordinary venues with ordinary people, doing what they can to be of use to the people they love.

And today after a week of awful nights, of feeling like I cannot do anything to be of use to my own family, I have to remind myself of these things. I’m trying to avoid the news for fear of being sucked into the awfulness, and I’m wishing we lived far away from big cities and crazy people. I really wanted to come back to the blog with a feel good family story, because I’ve been such a whiner. I cannot report that we’ve made progress, it was not a breakthrough. I am completely drained and out of ideas. I can’t even find sarcastic energy. I have to remind myself that the feel good is just that – moments, and not events or days, and wiping the slate clean is so hard today, but so necessary for our relationship.

Maybe what I really wish, is for life to be truly black and white.

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chocolate cake solves problems

Apr

I’m going to try writing a post as a distraction technique. I really want to bake a chocolate cake right now, with rich and gooey chocolate frosting. My baking has been curtailed. Because it makes us fat. And usually I can find a mini photo shoot lurking somewhere in my house, but that’s not presenting itself either. So. Here I am.

We had a a doozy of a weekend. It’s so disheartening when you work so hard to create a comfortable family environment and yet just one single person (or child as the case may be) can send the whole system into defcon 5. (Is that the right level? I need nerd support.) I’ve reached this state of hopeless parenting – like it will just take its own course and I will just hang on for the ride.

Our middle child has reached new levels of intensity. I did not expect a 7 year old to yell at me, “this is my life, and I need more freedom! You can’t tell me what to do!” while slamming her bedroom door. I was thinking that was 8 years or so down the road. This latest explosion was just the result of enforcing bedtime. I know, cray cray that we would ask her to go to bed. We are unreasonable parents, she assures us. You’ll be happy to know that her greatest defense to date is claiming religious persecution – we are taking away her right to choose. If she is not escalating, then she assumes mocking attention to your helpless parenting situation. I find myself staring at her often, absolutely angry to my core, and unable to think of anything to do. She also claims her life is miserable, without joy, that our family is terrible and that we should give her away. Gentle responses send her into tears and emotional talks that drag on until I have no idea what we are talking about anymore. Anger sends her to new hysterical heights. How can this small person control herself all day and then lose so much control? She has nary a problem at school, other than some reading difficulty. Her teachers often report she is quick to respond, pays attention, follows directions, works well with others.

How do you tell a kid that her life is sheltered and protected and privileged and she has NO idea about the atrocities that exist daily for children throughout the world?

The hardest of all is the strain it puts on our marriage. No two people parent the same. Our expectations differ, our methods vary, but most of the time we work through it. We had one of those gut-wrenching-we’ve got-problems-with-each-other talks. Highly unusual, and emotionally draining. I think we both felt hollowed out and judged and incapable of coming up with a solution that feels like it will work.

Do you see why I need cake?

I continue to emphasize that her actions affect all of us, that we each have a responsibility to make our family better. I resolve not to get angry, knowing that even if I don’t know what to do, I’m pretty sure rage isn’t going to solve anything.

After another PSFO (power struggle freak out) last night, I noticed how hard she is trying to get control. So I started asking about her anger and low and behold our conversation calmed as she cried and cried about mean girls at school. The level of manipulation these girls are using is highly disturbing, and effective. I don’t think I can figure out exactly what role she plays in the spider web of 2nd grade girls, but I see how difficult it is for her to extricate herself from the sticky web that entangles all of their interactions. She holds onto her feelings all day and then explodes at home. That’s how she’s coping. We talked and she cried and she seemed better. My hope is that we’ve made a break through, and even though I don’t have many answers about how to handle girls with cruel intentions, I think more than anything she just needed to be heard. I need to do more listening. And I probably shouldn’t march down to school, grab that one girl by her pony tail, and tell her what I’ll do to her the next time she messes with my kid. But I’ve definitely thought about it.

I do have a working title for my upcoming book, though. Parenting: exploring the depths of your selfishness, losing all control, and expecting your children to behave as adults.

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the unhappy easter

Apr

I should be working on my next vscocam tutorial, but I’m doing that thing I like to do to avoid my real life. Taking and editing pictures. Whether it’s with my phone or the big camera, it really puts the O in my CD.

So, those of you on instagram may have picked up on our less than stellar Easter. I thought I had learned the “managing your parental expectations” lesson. I could go into writing mode and give you the blow by blow, but I’m ready to be over it.

It was the easter egg hunt.

[click to continue…]

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good news: I’m engaged!

Feb

It all happened so fast. I knew there was some admiration, but I was not expecting a proposal. Meet my fiancé:

Yesterday, Dutch and I were enjoying our afternoon ritual. I get lunch ready, we exchange witty banter, I tell her to never grow up because I will not have anyone to eat lunch with, and she crawls under the table while I’m eating my food and pretends to be a foot-grabbing ghost. You know, the usual.

I was mid TJ’s chicken masala bite (and scrolling instagram if we’re being honest), when Dutch hops down on one knee right next to my chair.

“Excuse mwaah (moi), but would you marry me, Mom?” She’s even got one arm outstretched towards me.

I’ve been around the block a few times, and been proposed to by all of my kids. I’m sort of popular that way, everybody wants to marry me. I get it, I’m charming. Usually I decline, because I’m not into poly relationships. But throwing caution and tradition and taboo to the wind, I get down on my knees next to her, grab both of her tiny little hands in mine and overact my black heart out.

“Yes! Yes! I’ve been waiting for you to ask all of these years! Yes, I will marry you, Dutch!” My exuberance is mildly shocking to her, but she’s giggling and trying to get away from my powerful (read: smothering) grip of love. We both laugh and get back in our chairs. Way to be a good mom, Angry Baker. Shaking it up.

Then she gets her quiet serious face on, and says, “Um, I don’t want to offend you, Mom. But will you be the boy?”

I readily agree, “No problem!”

And then she tells me I have to get her a ring and some flowers, which I promise to do after she eats her cheddar cheese cubes.

Later in the evening, I figure dinner time is the right moment to announce our pending nuptials. I clear my throat and get everyone’s attention, “Dutch and I are tying the knot!” MB is the most excited of all (he’s such a supportive first husband), and asks about rings, dates, and cakes. The other kids are negative nellies – laws, social mores, blah, blah. Haters gonna hate. My fiancé seems a bit flustered. I think she might be having second thoughts.

This morning I knew it would all work out all right. She informed me on the way to preschool that she had decided on our wedding song: The Dead Sea, by the Lumineers. And it’s fitting and true, my little love. I will be your Dead Sea – you’ll never sink with me. I was born to be your Dead Sea.

*Please send all wedding gifts c/o Angry Baker

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a study in childhood: the blanket

Jan

The Fair-haired Warrior is prone to handing out nicknames for people and objects, like you or I would pass out candy on Halloween – often and indiscriminate. Some of them have staying power. She refers to her Oma as Big Lump, with love and a twinkle in her eye. I know, I don’t get it either, but I’ve learned to embrace her desire to love us in unusual and smothering ways. And so it is, that I blame her for Dutch’s vocabulary.

Nanny boop-boop.

That’s what she started calling her own personal blankie. It was only for a few days, but it was during the time Dutch was learning to talk. And Nanny b00p-boop stuck. It became the de facto name for Dutch’s blanket. Then it morphed to just plain Nanny boo-boo.

We are all guilty. All of us, even MB, refer to her beloved this way. And not as an object, as if it were a person.

“where is Nanny Boo-Boo?”

“I thought I saw her in the kitchen.”

Her. Nanny boo-boo is a her.

I don’t care. I think of their piles of blankets as my motherhood totem. I know that in 10 years I’ll have these three ragged little blankies hidden under my bed, and I’ll pull them out and run my hands over their frayed edges and worn seams and remember their tiny hands and their chubby cheeks.

And I’ll wonder how it all happened so fast.

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Happy Holidays

Dec

It’s too late to take back my bah humbug about cards, but know that as they’ve trickled in over the last few weeks I’ve loved seeing you all. (It’s like getting real life “likes.” We like you, have a card!) I was all set to jump on the year-in-review style bandwagon and as I looked at just the few things we had to fill out to personalize our family card, I was struck by how lackluster our year has been. 2012 has not been great, and I think that’s the real reason I couldn’t get it together. Plus, you know how I feel about the winter Olympic schedule I’ve worked so hard to keep.

Some of you may remember that last year’s Christmas greeting included a wish that you gain clarity and understanding of the life you have. This year has not been a year of clarity and I would pay top dollar for solid understanding. MB and I have spent significant time trying to change our life direction, and it’s been disappointing to see our prospects fizzle. We have tried for so many years to get overseas. We’ve longed for our kids to have the international experience, and in the fall we got so close. We could taste the frites and stroopwafels, and the kids were all signed up to attend MB’s old alma matter, the American School of the Hague. We were nothing short of thrilled. And then the plug got pulled on that. I mean really, how many times have I talked about moving? I am the poster child of the girl who cried, MOVE!

MB struggles to find satisfaction rather than obligation in his job. We’ve had countless discussions about what we want, what we value, and our disappointment that doing things according to “the plan” has left us somewhat disillusioned. We’ve wrestled our faith to the ground, but have been unable to pin it down. We feel defeated and bruised, but unsure of where our belief belongs. We are trying. Trying. Trying. Parenting has turned us into irrational people with poor self-discipline and an endless capacity for mistakes. My son suggested anger management this summer, we took our daughter to a behavioral therapist, and Dutch’s biggest problem in life is the amount of time it takes to comb the snarls out of her hair.

We didn’t run away to Paris, or sneak away to the beach, or visit our families.

Then there are the things we’ve learned this year. We learned an expensive lesson about income tax mistakes. I’ve spent a good part of the year learning the photography ropes and trying to start a small business. MB has been the model of support as I’ve slipped out on weekends and traveled to workshops. We spent 2 years jumping through deliberately vague hoops to get Legomaniac into the gifted program. He’s in! And we are proud of him, not because he has such a big brain, but because we love seeing him challenge himself, expand his knowledge, and take control of his learning. Our Fair Warrior has been working hard on learning to read. It does not come easily, and she is often frustrated. There are many stressful evenings spent talking her through her tasks and talking her down in general. We have seen her work hard, we’ve seen her disappointment and tried to convince her it doesn’t have to be perfect. She has made progress.

Dutch learned to wink

Early in the year we received the unexpected and anxiety-inducing news that MB’s mom was diagnosed with a brain tumor. Then brain surgery. We are thankful for facetime, for the immediacy of the internet, and for quick and easy access to resources. We are amazed that there are people that can fix our brains! We are thankful for medical knowledge and personnel that keep us all running. And we have been impressed with Grandma’s speedy recovery and ever-changing hair. This makes it sound easy for her – we know it was not. Grandma, we love you more than all the brain surgeons in the world!

We are grateful for the did-nots of this year. (I intentionally use grateful to avoid saying blessed, because often I find that word is used to denote that you’re deserving or chosen.) We did not lose our home in a hurricane. We did not lose our loved ones. We did not worry about how to get food. And my personal favorite, we did not ever watch Honey Boo Boo.

We are trying to craft a life of meaning and purpose. We haven’t figured it out yet, but when we do we’ll write a book and make millions. Really. For now, we are here with you in the trenches, hoping to some day switch out of first world survival mode. I have a sneaking suspicion that there is nothing beyond survival mode. We too, never feel like we are doing enough. We hope that the small victories dull the aches of personal growth.

We are lucky to call you friends and family, though sometimes it’s hard to tell which is which. And we hope you have people in your life that make your burdens feel lighter.

Merry Christmas.

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#momfail

Oct

I’d like to insert a real post here amongst the usual coming and goings, photos, and general blather I call blogging.

There was a point about five years ago when I read every book available about parenting; I read all the newest research and studies; and I had a slight addiction to car seat safety (one which I managed not to project onto other moms, but it was indeed, a great struggle with all of my, erm, knowledge). For a while it seemed to work, because young kids have very physical and concrete demands. Food. Sleep. Potty. Goldfish. You just had to master the juggling and pray to the napping gods. I thought I had found my stride. But well, my kids’ needs became more complex, and i became tired of defining myself as a mom, and tired of trying to accommodate the parents around me with their expectations of how my kids should interact with their kids.

And so, I kind of quit caring.

I find it all a bit distressing because I am an answer person. There must be an answer to solve the problem. And I will find it and make it work. It’s very Type A. This is all well and good if you want to be a student for the rest of your life, but the mom thing is grinding my control streak into the dust. I am the Mayor of Crazy Town.

There are so many things I’m getting wrong. Every day I promise I will be more present/ interact with them more …..tomorrow. And when the next day comes I find myself taking every opportunity to avoid them. Laundry, editing, bills, dishes, anything. I lose my temper way too much. I criticize. I expect them to be logical and act like adults. I constantly remind them just how much I do for them. I can be a real shrew. It’s so easy to be drug into the pointless power struggles. It’s so hard to realize that after all of the blood, sweat, and tears, I will probably end up being the butt of all their jokes and the cause of their therapy.

I’m just so depleted. And there aren’t any answers, there are just more situations I can’t prepare for or expect.

Who are these people that are having good meaningful quality time with their children? Who can live up to all of the expectations?

I’ve never thought I was any good at this mom thing. And I don’t know if I ever will be. Because well, if you think you know what you’re talking about, you might need to read this. MB always jokes (well not really) that he doesn’t like kids, and he can get away with it. But as a woman, it’s different to admit to yourself that you lack affection or a desire to nurture kids. We’re not supposed to be like that. Just typing it makes me feel like I just said I want to torture small animals.

It’s just hard. It’s the hardest thing I’ve ever done. And I am aghast at the people that say things like, “Oh I could never do what you do” as some sort of difficulty-acknowledging praise, but then expect that it can be done by just about anyone.

Lest I alarm you, I do love my kids. The Mayor of Crazy Town only gets paid in love (and maybe poop). The painful self evaluations are precisely because I love them and want to be the mom they need. It doesn’t mean I don’t want them, it means I realize my limitations and weaknesses. I am amazed by their distinct personality packages, their inherent inclination to whine, and the ease with which they start anew with me, despite my begrudging memory. They have real moments of awesomeness, cuteness, and likability.

I continue to learn unpleasant things about myself. I hope that is the stick by which I will be measured.

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Getting Started

Aug

There are many nights I can’t sleep. There is so much to think about, to worry about, to plan, and sometimes there are things to regret. I like to turn to my left and focus on the hazy outline of MB’s face. The curve of his round shaven head contrasts with the sharp point of his nose. He always falls asleep before me. I envy him. And then I’m glad for the things he does better than me. I try to quietly put my arm on his chest without disturbing him. The rise and fall of his breath is comforting to me. Like so many things in life, he does the sleeping for both of us. It is equally relieving and terrifying – to be so vulnerable and so connected. It’s only in the darkness and quiet that I realize the fragility of human relationships. I take him for granted in the daylight.

I’m sure my mind wanderings are a result of what he said, refusing to accept thanks for helping me for something that should just be. He called us partners. I finally figured out that MB sees me as a person, not a woman. Not someone to be handled, endured, or a burden to bear. I am the person he gets to talk to, to work with, to make plans with. I envy the pureness of MB’s intentions.

I’ve done a lot of confessing lately – telling MB how photographers are a dime a dozen, how I can’t believe how cliche it all is, and how I love, love, love getting behind my camera so I don’t give a damn.

It’s hard to get your start. It’s hard to learn new things and stretch yourself. I find myself comparing myself to so many others and wondering how there can be so much talent and skill. It’s hard to see people so young, so far ahead of you. It makes you wonder where you’d be if you’d figured it out 15 years ago. It can be discouraging. And I think this is true of anyone changing directions. I wonder why it takes some of us longer to find that sweet spot. It is easier to give up than to realize your limitations. Hear me when I say this – I feel you.

And while I find it hard to take it seriously, MB does not. He lights up when we talk business. He takes the kids so I can work. He pushes for the development and the investments. I’m gearing up for another trip to hang out with Blue Lily, and we’re trying to navigate the passing ship schedules. The give and take is exciting. Our life is ours and the nurture is ours – the responsibilities ebb and flow. It’s not easy, it’s shoulder to shoulder.

And I feel lucky, not because I don’t deserve a decent human being to share my life with, but lucky because everyone does deserve this and so few get it.

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The Capital

Apr

I left my last post sitting over the weekend to enjoy Spring Break. Specifically to focus on the fam and to spend some quality time with my Nikon. We decided we’d scale back this year and go to DC. Close, but far enough away to require a hotel. Hotels are important to small people. Today, let’s just get a visual. Tomorrow, let’s talk about how to survive family trips.

[click to continue…]

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Drive In, Through, Around

Mar

We took the kids to their very first drive-in movie this past weekend. I didn’t even know we had one, but a friend sent out an invite and a bunch of us piled in our mini-vans and family cars to try it out. It’s out by the airport, so if you get bored of the movie, you can just watch planes take off and land (also, if you enjoy horribly designed websites, the drive-in has a real gem).

I haven’t been to a drive-in since college, so I was more excited than a normal adult should be. I think I had a right to be eager – seeing as this is the first time we’ve had a vehicle with major trunk space worthy of being converted to a popcorn cave. I rearranged my day so I could outfit us for a successful experience. I scored a 4lb bucket of Red Vines at Target – a fresh batch, because you know the embarrassing lengths to which I will go to ensure freshness. I told MB (before he got home) to get himself in a good place, because this was going to be FUN if it killed me. No pressure or anything. [click to continue…]

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