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M & H before work this morning

Today was my first day back to work after a nice, long, heavenly maternity leave. It is unusual, and I feel grateful, for such a long time off. Because of some intricacies of academe, the timing of Meera’s birth, and a progressive FMLA policy at Lehigh, I was able to be “off” from May 28 (the day Meera was born) until now. It has been 7 months of bliss. Sincerely. Some women probably say that sarcastically. I do not. It has been bliss for me. Which has made going back to work even harder than it might otherwise be. Yesterday, at just the right moment, I said to the boys, “Kyle and Owen, tomorrow I have to go to work. Do you remember what my job is?” Owen said, “No, I don’t remember.” Kyle thought about it a second and then he said, “I do remember!” I said, “What is it Ky Ky? What is my job?” He said, “Your job is to take care of us and keep us safe.” It took me by surprise. And it was so perfect. “Yes!!!” I said, trying to hide my surprise (this was not the answer I had been looking for). “Yes, you’re exactly right, that’s my most important job! Do you remember my other job — my job when I go to work?” “Yes,” he said, proudly, “my mommy is a professor!” Owen jumped in, “Yes! Oh! That’s right! My mommy is a professor!!!” When I explained that I wouldn’t be picking them up from school because I’d be “working at my Lehigh office,” they acted totally unfazed about the change in routine. If anything they were excited. I figured that’s how they’d be. That’s just how they are. But me, well, I’m another story. I feel a deep sense of ambivalence about going back to work. Never before in my life have I felt so profoundly ambivalent about anything.

ambivalent (ām-bĭv’-ə-lənt) –noun 1.) uncertainty or fluctuation, esp. when caused by inability to make a choice or by a simultaneous desire to say or do two opposite or conflicting things. 2.) the coexistence within an individual of positive and negative feelings toward the same person, object, or action, simultaneously drawing him or her in opposite directions.

K, H, M this morning, before work

On one hand, I know for certain that I do not want to be home full-time; that I want to work beyond my family. On the other hand, I am not thrilled (at all) about returning to work and being away from home. I am committed to the work I do. I am committed to the family that I’ve made. I want to contribute to the world in a meaningful way, using my gifts and privileges as best I can, maximizing upon the opportunities I have. But still, I can’t help but want to be with my babies while they are still young and wanting to be with me. Like many people, I imagine, I want it both ways, but am all too well aware that it doesn’t work that way. You can’t have it all. You can have part of each, but you can’t have all of both. What I always come back to is this: I believe that every person has the right to have their personal potential unconstrained. What does that mean for me, as an individual, at this point in my life? How do we balance all we can be with what we want to be? How can we be mothers with empowered careers and not feel like we’re short-changing ourselves, our kids, our work? How can we be good mothers without feeling like we’re short-changing the rest? I could go on and on and on. But I won’t. Whole volumes have been written on it. Many others have already gone on and on. I’ve thought so much about it that I bore even myself with it at this point. Plus, the truth is, it is all too complex to do it any justice in a blog post. So, I’m left… with the internal personal private ambivalence. And I’m left… feeling judged by everyone out there — the high-powered-career-working-moms and the working-because-they-have-no-other-choice-moms and the stay-at-home-moms and everyone else in between. I dread even posting this because of the reaction I’m sure to get. And it is hard to take. But the personal ambivalence, deep within me, is even harder than the judgements that I feel swirling around me. Regardless of all of it — the personal and the public, the intimate and the overt — here I am. Back to work. After seven months off. The day has come. The boys are back to seeing Mommy dressed for work in the morning (“Why does my mommy look so beautiful?” Owen asked this morning as we sat together at the breakfast table), and they are back to being two of only a handful in their classes who don’t have mommy there every single day to pick them up at 1:00 when school’s done. It is familiar for them, I’m sure. And familiar isn’t necessarily bad. But my baby girl… she is, for the first time, facing the reality that she didn’t even know was hers: the reality of having a working mother. A mother with a pretty demanding career. Over the next couple of weeks she’ll have to adjust to what she didn’t even know was coming. That, to me, feels like a loss of innocence. I have known it was coming, but she didn’t. And it feels painful for me. The thing is, though, that ultimately I do know that my three kids will be great. I’m absolutely sure of it. I know because I can see it in them. They all three love life. They are fully engaged with life. They are happy, self-confident, grounded children. And I’m fortunate to have a husband who is just as deeply committed to me working as I am. I’m not worried about the four of them. But what is left is me. And down at the core of all of my ambivalence lies the simple truth that actually, mostly, I’m just sad to have to miss out. I’m sad to have to miss out on a whole day’s worth of slubberly sloppy drooly kisses all over my baby’s face. I’m sad to have someone else pick up my bambinos at school. I’m sad that I won’t hear every one of the boys’ stories first, that I won’t put Meera down for every nap, that I won’t get to laugh at every single one of K & O’s antics, that I won’t hear every coo and babble from my girl, that I won’t make every afternoon snack, that I won’t change every diaper, that I won’t give every time-out. It isn’t so much that I’m worried about my three sweethearts. I’m more just selfishly sad for me. And jealous of whoever gets to do all those things with them. At the same time, I have a career that I’ve been building for over 15 years. I have a PhD, I do work I believe to be important for the world, I have tenure. I have things to do. Things that are larger than what lies within my self, my children, my family, or my home. In my heart I know that I cannot quit. I know that I need to do. So here I am. And here we are.

Meera this afternoon, taken by Braydon

M, H, O this evening, after work

Every once in a while if my dad is on a business trip that takes him to our area, he’ll go out of his way to come for a visit. These times are very special because we get MorFar all to ourselves and vice-versa. I love these visits!!! He arrived last night after the 3 bambinos were asleep. We had an awesome just-us-three-adults dinner with lamb chops that he brought. Then, this morning, it was a huge surprise to K & O when they woke up to find MorFar here. We hung out at home all morning then went out to Cosi for lunch before he left. We love MorFar.

P.S. click on the photo above to enlarge — check out the top teeth coming in on Little Miss!!!

One of the big happenings around here this week, as I prepare to go back to work next week, is that I’ve been ‘weaning’ Meera from nursing during the day. Slowly but surely I’ve been working on getting her to bottle feed (with formula) from the hours of 8:30am-5:30pm, while still nursing at night. For anyone who has experience with breastfeeding, you can imagine what a challenge this is for both baby and Mama!!! The week has gone really well, though (much better than I would have imagined), and as the week ends, both baby and Mama are doing very well with it all — all things considered. It has meant, however, that there have been lots more bottles around here. Bottles being prepared, bottles being fed, bottles sitting around the house, bottles in the sink, bottles in the dishwasher. For the past six months Kyle and Owen have been absolutely enthralled with all-things-breast-feeding…. and now, just as quickly as that whole thing started it has more-or-less ended (since basically I’m only nursing during the hours that they are asleep– so they don’t actually witness it much anymore). They have quickly moved on. And they are now enthralled with bottle-feeding. They have both determined quite concisely that they do not like formula (or, as they pronounce it, “foam-u-la”) — not one bit. But… they do like bottles. I’ve been letting them take a sip from Meera’s from time to time over the past few days. But today they requested their own. We poured “cow’s milk” into their bottles (they have taken to calling their regular milk “cow’s milk”; making the clear distinction between not only “breastmilk” but also “goat’s milk”… ???… what strange little boys they are?!?!!!!). Meera had formula. And the three of them sat on the couch together drinking their bottles. Quite the sight.

Owen, to Heather, late this afternoon:

“Mommy, I’ve got some bad news and some good news. The good news is there’s a new airplane that is so fast it is super big, super wide, you sleep on it, and it is no noise– it is only loud when it lands, and it is the absolutely fastest airplane in the whole wide world. The bad news is, grown-ups can’t fit in it.”

The other day the boys were playing outside while I was in with Meera. I got her down for her nap, then headed out to check on them. This is what I found.

Driving home from Philadelphia on Sunday the 28th we had one of the most gorgeous sunsets imaginable surrounding us on the highway. It was spectacular. During the 10 days before/after Christmas the five of us had spent well over 30 hours in the car together. That is a lot for two very active four year olds and a six month old (not to mention their parents). I turned around to look at my kids — Meera was sound asleep in her carseat and the boys were quietly watching a video. The scene was so sweet and everyone was so contented. All the Christmas craze was done for another year. All of us were exhausted. All of us were happy. The beauty of the sunset was so intense. I snapped this photo as we rode off into the sunset, headed for home.

We are 5 billion spinning tops careening into each other around the world.

We all feel it, we all know it; the horizon is moving perceptibly and more quickly everyday. The oceans are wild. We point to the things indicating that it is: global economic meltdown, decline of American prominence in the world, rise “of the rest”, a brand new Black president who is heralding in an era of hope for redemption and global recovery.

Deaths of loved ones, weddings of friends and holidays connect us in good and bad ways. Jobs lost, jobs started, the daily drop off at school and the car needing to be repaired remind of us stability and instability at all levels of our lives. The bounty of food on our table in winter, and the knowledge of our profound privilege just to eat is awakened by peering into eyes of our loved children.

Right now, at this time in this historic moment, our boat feels small; pummeled by the forces around us, afraid and powered only by our own will at the oars. We are impossibly charted to cross the sea-changes in a sea of small boats. All of us captains searching for lit beacons in the storm; looking for direction to a safe harbor. For a seamark buoy in the fog.

But revealed in the storm is the good work in the world to be done. Some are called to do it, some avoid it. Some are called simply to work, some by necessity, some by understanding the deep need of the world around them. Everyone knows that humanity is not perfect, yet some are compelled to make a difference. The work will never be done, but there are those who persevere.

Shortly now, after 7 months on-leave, Heather goes back to work. The good work she is compelled to do. But even in being compelled, being someone who works, and excels at making a difference, she faces fears.

The racing, the frantic paddling to keep ahead of the current. Not being able to do it all and do it all effortlessly perfect. Not being enough at any one thing. And now more than even that, the fear of leaving her baby and boys. The fear of loss, that some how she is abandoning them, the deep fear that she will miss out.

But as I sit across from her after dinner, and listen to her fears, I am unafraid. Unafraid for our family, for her or for our children.

I feel the rocking of our boat. I hear the storm howling outside and the fog closing in. I feel our sleeping children on the floors above us; we are spinning tops on the face of the earth.

Yet, at the quiet center there is the peaceful intimacy of our family. The imperfections, the confident love. The loss of innocence, the waking consciousness, the squeal of delight of a four-year-old making a 7-month old belly laugh. Macaroni and cheese after a long day, a warm bottle at 2 AM.

And in the intimacy of our family, there is the bittersweet realization that while things always, and inevitably change, our foundation is strong. And our connection, which we work so hard to nurture and maintain, is real. That while we will certainly miss things, and we will mourn what we miss, we are all richer when we grow with change then when we resist it.

That by embracing change, reveling in it, we are giving our children a tremendous gift; the gift of how to locate a buoy in the storm and how to get home.

I’ve finally, after delay upon delay (a whole variety of delays), sorted through all 600+ photos from our Christmas trip. If you’re really curious, and you want to see the “top 200” photos, click here. And, as always, click on any of the photos posted on our blog to enlarge them.

By posting about this Christmas trip I run the risk of our Christmas coming across as bizarrely idyllic-Norman-Rockwell-ish. The truth is that our family and my extended family has all the normal disfunctions of any ‘typical’ relatively-healthy American family. We have our little dynamics and our long histories and problems and pathologies just like everyone else. But the truth also is that we’ve got it good. Really, really good. And as far as idyllic Christmases go… we’ve got it about as idyllic as it can get (at least from my perspective). This was Braydon’s 14th Christmas in New Hampshire with my family. His first Christmas with us he spent the majority of the time seriously questioning me as to whether this was “real” or not. Like we were somehow putting on some sort of elaborate show for him. He truly could not comprehend a Family Christmas this ridiculously postcard-perfect. The snow, the New England winter treats (skiing, icy bonfires, etc.), the mom who bakes a trillion cookies, the quintessential family Christmas traditions, the whole nine yards… the whole entire thing is kind of over-the-top. But I would be misrepresenting it to not call it like it is: it is unbelievably quintessential. Yes, there are moments when we’re all about to lose our minds (like this year with two bass drums booming throughout my parents’ sort of smallish house), and moments –at any given time– when any one of us are about to lose our minds (like this year when I almost had a nervous breakdown on Christmas Eve trying to get a decent photo of my three kids under the Christmas tree), and there are times when we feel like we want to crawl under a rock (like this year when, on our last day there, Kyle admitted to my mother that he had peed in the hot tub multiple times since we had arrived), and there are times when we’re overwhelmed with it all (like this year, on Christmas Day, when all I wanted to do was lie down and take a nap after getting almost no sleep the night before –nursing a needy Meera who had some sort of reaction to the smorgasbord dinner I had eaten). Yes, there are those moments. But these pictures that I’m posting here evoke the vast majority of moments. And yes, it is all-too-picture-perfect and strangely idyllic. But Braydon reminds me never to poke fun of the Norman-Rockwell-ish of it all. And he’s right: we’re all too lucky to poke fun — that would imply that we’re taking it for granted. Despite having some pretty intensely depressing stuff happening in my family these past several months, we truly did have a wonderful, wonderful 7 night/8 day Christmas in New Hampshire.

The planning and prepping and packing for this trip is always crazy, but even crazier this year with the baby in tow. The night before we left, looking at all that needed to somehow get into the car, and facing the 10 hour drive we were about to embark on, we found ourselves blurry-eyed and exhausted with Christmas still almost a full week away. We swore to ourselves that this would probably be the last year we did this crazy thing. Of course, as always, we came back home vowing that if at all possible — and as long as my parents are still willing to put up with us — we’d be back up there again next year.
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Our first morning the boys — all three of them — were in the hot tub with snow falling down. The first of lots (lots, lots, lots) of time spent in the hot tub.
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In the midst of a serious Nor’easter we crazy people drove to Portland, Maine for our annual pilgrimage to Merrill Auditorium to see the Portland Symphony Orchestra’s “Magic of Christmas” concert. It was truly insane of us to drive there during this intense of a storm. But seriously, it was the best concert ever… I mean it… and I’ve been going since I was K & O’s age. This was Meera’s first year, and she could not have been a better orchestra-going-baby. We were able to keep her inside the concert hall for the entire thing because she never once made a peep!
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My mother continued her tradition of making hundreds and hundreds of Christmas cookies.
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Icicles hanging off my parents roof.

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An afternoon in North Conway — picture perfect white mountains New England town. Meera loved the cold snuggled up in her backpack. Inside this coffee house we got treats and I had my first “gingerbread latte” — which I loved and can still taste in my mouth if I think hard enough about it.
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The boys with MorMor on the sidewalk in North Conway. So excited about these candy canes she got for them in a shop down the street.
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Ready to board The Polar Express — from left to right, back: Heather, Auntie Stina, Meera, Braydon, MorFar, MorMor. front: cousin Sadie, Sadie’s friend, Owen, Kyle.
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Polar Express ~ drinking hot cocoa “as thick and rich as melted chocolate bars.”
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Polar Express ~ K & O got to carry elves’ lanterns in the snowy North Pole.
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For 2of4 click here 
3of4 click here
4of4 click here

We’re officially declaring 2009 the “Year of the Airplane” here in the J-M household. The boys (led by Kyle, the leader of the dynamic duo, as usual) are officially completely obsessed with all-things-airplanes. Santa (and some others — you know who you are!!!) made a significant augmentation to their Toy Airplane Collection. Which has only fueled the fire. They play with their airplanes daily (airplanes and their musical instruments are the two things they consistently play with every.-single.-day.). Airplanes airplanes airplanes. New Year’s Eve Day was no different. K & O spent the bulk of the day playing with airplanes (photo above taken 12/31/08). Meera spent the bulk of her day watching them play with airplanes. Braydon and I spent the bulk of the day doing damage control. Par for the course. When we talked about New Year’s Resolutions Kyle announced that his is to “do a good job sitting next to Mommy on airplanes” (???!?). Anyhoo…

I still haven’t posted about Christmas. Because I still haven’t had even an hour to sort through all the photos. Granted, there are 642 of them. (Yes, yes, we’re ridiculously snap happy, but to our defense: we were on our NH Christmas trip for a full 8 days and we did do a lot of camera-worthy things while we were up there). I will try to get to the Christmas post ASAP. In the meantime…

HAPPY NEW YEAR!
We celebrated alone this year. Beth was supposed to come for New Year’s Eve and New Year’s Day, but had to cancel due to the weather (understandably not wanting to drive in snow and wind all the way from Connecticut). Once we accepted our fate (Braydon kept repeating: “First and foremost we need to accept that we are not in our twenties anymore and we have three young children.”), it really wasn’t all that bad being totally alone with no plans.

This past fall, in one of many tiny but very memorable moments with Owen’s current teacher (who I believe to be an absolutely brilliant woman), she said this one thing thing that has stuck with me ever since. I was saying to her that I cannot imagine how hard it must be to teach 4 year olds (they’re so infuriating!). She was saying to me that she cannot imagine how hard it must be to teach college students (they’re so infuriating!). Then she told me that she has this perspective on teaching that is about focusing on good moments (as opposed to trying to achieve whole good days or even portions of days). She talked about how groups of four year olds can’t possibly be expected to all be even-keeled and well-behaved for whole days at a time, but if she has a moment or two in her classroom during each day that are good — truly good moments — then she considers her work day a smashing success. I loved this idea and explained right away that it is basically the same with college-age kids. Ever since our conversation I’ve been thinking a lot more about noticing (and celebrating) good moments, and — most importantly — not even expecting whole good days (or even portions of them). This has really helped me in my approach to time spent with our three kiddos.

Our New Year’s Eve 2008 and New Year’s Day 2009 were held together –loosely– by a thin string of good (actually, great) moments. With lots of regular-to-be-expected-infuriating-and-frustrating-and-about-to-make-us-go-off-the-deep-end other moments. In between the good moments we had some meltdowns and some time-outs and we each lost it at least once (keep in mind: we’ve now been together as a family, with no school and very little work and with virtually no routine whatsoever, for almost two solid weeks —- this is waaaay tooooo long for us). But the moments, the good moments, were GOOD. And ultimately, that is what we look forward to most in 2009: more good moments. All the other stuff… well, we’ll do what we gotta do: we’ll deal with it.

We had a little family New Year’s Eve Celebration (at the pathetically early hour of around 5pm) and did lots of CHEERS! to the new year. Ever since Braydon and I went to France in the spring of 2003 (and were served — much to our surprise — BBQ potato chips with a fantastic bottle of champagne in an exquisite chateau in Burgundy [they explained in very sophisticated terms how BBQ chips were the best compliment to the champagne]), we have BBQ potato chips whenever we have a good bottle of champagne. The boys had their own bottle (and grapes, since they aren’t big fans of chips). Meera had her little chewy-toy-thing with an ice cube in it (no champagne for her — not even the fake stuff). And it was a very good moment. Standing in our kitchen, music blaring, toasts rolling off each other one after another… for a moment — no matter how fleeting — the excitement of it was truly as perfect as any New Year’s Eve celebration I’ve participated in. Very soon after Meera came unglued and was too exhausted to even attempt to eat her baby-food dinner.

But everyone woke up cheery on this first morning of 2009. Our plans for going on a long walk were quickly dashed when we realized how cold the day was turning out to be (it never got above 15 degrees). But our other plans were — for the most part — realized. Today four of us never got out of our pajamas (Meera was changed, but only out of necessity due to a diaper situation). Braydon and the boys made fresh orange juice and fresh bread this morning. We had a “picnic lunch” on the floor of the family room while watching the Rose Bowl Parade. Little Miss was in bed at 6:00 and the bambinos were in bed by 6:30. Tonight Braydon and I are having take-out and watching a movie… continuing a long tradition of doing *nothing* (or at least, not much) on New Year’s Day (two years ago I posted this about our New Year’s Day tradition).

Amidst the mayhem and the madness there are moments to savor. We’re hoping for lots of little moments in 2009 —– for us and for all of you J-M Blog readers out there. Happy 2009!

Meera turns 7 months old today! This past month she’s started to sit up pretty well — she can sit on her own but still plops over after a minute or so (and then laughs at herself when she does). She’s started chewing on teething biscuits (which she loves). She experienced her first big party in her own house (the Haiti Christmas Party). And she took her fourth trip to New Hampshire… this time for her first Christmas (a beautiful white Christmas to remember). She survived the 10 hour car ride (10 hours each way) and did really well (especially for a 6 month old!) during this 7 night Christmas trip. Meera continues to be a happy, happy, happy baby who rarely fusses and rarely cries. She laughs easily and often (especially when tickled!). She’s smiling more than she’s not. And she still sleeps like a champ. Her favorite foods are “rice and beans” (! –rice cereal mixed with pureed green beans); sweet potatoes; and Yo Baby Simple Plain Yogurt. This month she spent lots of time in the baby backpack on Braydon’s back. She’s had her first taste of winter weather and tends to squeal and screech with delight when the cold winds blow on her face. Meera is a baby who loves loves loves toys. She’s entertained for hours playing by herself with all her little baby things. But by far her favorite thing to do is to watch her brothers and — even better — receive their attention and affection. Meera Grace is a miraculously ridiculously unbelievably easy happy mellow happy-go-lucky baby who delights us everyday by simply just being. We can’t believe we’ve passed the 6-month-mark with her. She’s growing so fast; we are trying to savor each and every day with this precious baby bundle.