you know, it's like a marathon of stuff to be grateful for.
What’s cuter than a puppy? a baby and a puppy. Even Cuter? A BABY AND A PUPPY TAKING A NAP. (http://www.buzzfeed.com/chelseamarshall/this-puppy-and-baby-are-the-most-adorable-nap-time-pals). Yes. Yes, it is. And this is like infinity and beyond on the adorableness-o-meter. I am filled up with cutest-ness. Seriously, doesn’t your heart do a funny little thing when you see this. Mmmmmm, thanks, Beau and Theo. Even your names are cute. Awwwwwww.
Art Linkletter said “kids say the darndest things,” and we here at the gratitude-a-thon would like to add that animals DO the darndest things. It’s true. Take Cato the husky. He’s been shoplifting. Personally, I think he was Christmas shopping for his friends and well, dogs don’t generally carry money around (where would they put it), and he got nabbed. Anyway, good dog, you made my Monday.
I LOVE McSweeney’s. So good. So good. So good. And here is one of the many reasons why.
Thanks Sue Santagata, for pointing out this sad and beautiful story (http://supportthefightagainstbreastcancer.com/the-light-that-shines/#3TMz6uke70bUy8JW.01). And thanks for what you do as an oncology nurse. You’ve always been, and continue to be AMAZING.
It was 1990. I must have still had that damn perm my friends allowed me to think made me look cute. (I ask, were they really friends, if they let me walk around with that hair?) Peter and I went to the Hatch Shell in Boston to see Nelson Mandela, on one of his first U.S. stops after his 27 year imprisonment. It was crowded and electric. There were thousands of people lining the Charles that day. Paul Simon performed. But what I remember best, was that when he came onto the stage, it was emotional mayhem. People cried, looked on in awe and smiled, cheered with full hearts. It was a little like seeing Jesus. I mean, this was a man of deep conviction and justice, freedom and beauty. A man who walked the walk and talked the talk. It was one of my best moments.
Nelson Mandela always reminded me of a human onomatopoeia. His face, the embodiment of kind, friendly and peaceful, really seemed to illustrate his soul. What does it take to stand for what you believe in the way he did? Do you know anybody who would give up their lives for a cause? I know some passionate and principled people, but none of them would really trade in their whole selves for the betterment of something bigger.
Nelson Mandela inspired me then and continues to wow me now. The world is better because of him. We are all better becasue of him.
This is an interesting article on what monetarily you’re worth is as a mom (http://www.thedailybeast.com/witw/articles/2013/12/03/why-stay-at-home-moms-should-demand-postnuptial-agreements.html).
Hmmmmmm. I hope it’s worth more than just some green stuff.
I have struggled with the work/mommy thing since I was 35 and had my first child. Having been in the work world for a lot of years, and having an identity tied to being an independent person out there who made her own paycheck, and got professional fulfillment from a day of conceptual thinking (and let’s not be silly–doing a lot of other crap), it was challenge to stop working and start being a stay at home mom. The struggle wasn’t like cloth vs. disposable diapers (easy choice there, DISPOSABLE, sorry globally warmed earth), it was much more complex, and not something you could buy at CVS.
Having a three year war with infertility forced me to think deeply about what it is to have children, to be a mom, a parent. First of all, you have to accept that we’re driven to procreate by our biology. In other words, we almost unconsciously must have children to keep the species going. But that aside, which I know is a large factor to put aside, why do we do it? Is it an act of selflessness, or an act of selfishness?
For me, being a parent has been the biggest, most important, and best part of my life. I was not a little girl who always wanted to be pregnant and have babies, in fact, I always wanted to adopt. I didn’t feel the immediate need to start the family thing when I got hitched at 26 (and given the reality, I couldn’t have anyway, even if God himself had decided to have sex with me). It was one of those things that was on my future list of to do’s. I wanted to be a mother, but it felt like something I would attempt far into the future. Maybe I knew I wasn’t ready? Maybe I knew I was still too selfish? Maybe I knew I needed some professional success before I could fully give in to the multi-level challenge that wipes that smile off your face, gives you more joy than the fulfillment of the eternal quest for world peace. Whatever it was, I finally did it, should say, I was ABLE to do it (not an easy task for me).
And it was like nothing I could have ever imagined. I felt connected to the world in a way I never had before, a part of the bigger whole. I alternately felt terrified and blissful eighteen times a day. I was fascinated by my baby–all his fingers and toes in exactly the right places, his giant eyes that looked right into me–someone who had been renting space inside my stomach for nine months, and at the same time, scared like I just heard a nuclear warhead was heading to Boston, of what he meant for me. How could I ever work in advertising, AT ANYTHING, for that matter, with the daunting responsibility of taking care of this little guy, of teaching him all the really important stuff that needed to be learned to make his way in the big, bad, amazing and phenomenal world?
I struggled. Some women are cut out for the immense need a baby has for his mommy, but I felt like I was in a very tiny elevator. Claustrophobia set in early and I knew I needed to work. Let me make one thing crystal clear, I WAS ELATED TO HAVE MY BOY. IT WAS AGAINST ALL ODDS, AND I LOVED HIM LIKE he loved his bottle (UNTIL HE WAS TWO, BY THE WAY,and yes, I nursed, but only for four months–go head and judge me). But after an adult life of working, it was a switch I couldn’t make without a lot of grieving and ultimately, without doing the thing that was the hardest–being a mom and working.
I don’t get all judgey about the mommy wars because it’s a private and personal choice that isn’t always made because of emotional reasons, but because of financial reasons and because of a whole lot of other reasons, too. I was lucky, not that we were super wealthy, but just that we made choices that allowed me not to work if I wanted not to. But I wanted to, AND YET IT WAS TOTALLY IMPOSSIBLE TO SPREAD MYSELF SO FUCKING THIN.
Ultimately, for the kind of person I am, my stamina level, the fact that we didn’t have parents who were helping out all the time (Not that mine might not have, but they were dead, so that was that), I chose to work as a freelancer. And this was a good choice for me. Not necessarily a choice that would keep me making a full time salary, but a choice that allowed me to do some of what had made me, me to start with, and some of what would make me feel I had responsibly and lovingly given what I needed and wanted to my children. It was also a choice I made with my husband. Was it perfect? No. Nothing is, but once you have kids, you do what’s closest to perfect, as imperfect as that may be.
But the monetary value? Of being a teacher, psychologist, mentor, diaper changer, drool wiper, snot rag, vomit receptacle, chef, driver, entertainer, innovator, moral center, housekeeper, play date maker, school volunteer, policeman, doctor, lawyer and indian chief? Well, you couldn’t pay me enough. There isn’t a high enough salary for any parent is the real truth.
But you needn’t pay me at all. Isn’ t this our choice–to be parents? Nobody forces you to begin a family. It’s a choice. And that choice is not about the cutest little ugg boots, and all wheel drive strollers and designer nurseries, it’s about actually raising up a person. A WHOLE PERSON WHO DIDN’T USED TO BE HERE, BUT IS HERE BECAUSE YOU BROUGHT THEM HERE. Our choice. A couple’s choice. One you don’t have to make.
So, should I be paid for all my missed earnings? Why no, because I proudly, (and admittedly sometimes frustratingly), count being a mom as a privilege I was lucky enough to experience. It has given me, and continues to give me more than enough, even if it isn’t in the form of cash.
Now if I were to divorce, would I think it fair for my full time working husband to give me support, my lost earnings? Support yes. But lost earnings, no. Again, I go back to the choice we made as a couple, to be parents and to have me work part time. It’s what made the best sense. Choice, people is the key here.
I know I’ve made a lot of parenting mistakes, but I tried hard, the hardest I have ever tried at anything, but I still think it seems odd to consider my missed earnings as owed to me. Being a parent is a payday in itself. It’s a choice you make with another person. And I for one, feel really lucky to have gotten to play this gig.
Jeesh, would have been fun to be at The Mall of America on Black Friday (not really, I actually can’t think of anything worse). Serge Vorobyov threw his last $1,000 off a balcony and into the crowd. How come? He had a terrible year, he says. A bad divorce, in which he even lost his cat, made him want to spread some holiday cheer. Random acts of cash, you could call it, or just plain holiday spirit.
While I mostly hate the kind of crazy that the holidays make me and everybody else, I also love the underlying feeling that’s just under the surface of December, which becomes more and more apparent as the month goes on. People are a little nicer, a little more generous, a little kinder. It’s not always overt, although sometimes it is, but it’s there brewing like a cup of tea, and when the holidays end, and the January cold begins with the new year, the feeling disappears faster than you can say “Is that leftover eggnog in the fridge?”
I am going to try and tap into that holiday generosity this year, and allow it to let me surf through the season on goodwill and good moods. So, thanks Serge for a good start.
Somedays it’s just something really beautiful (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RcqvlJIjh9g)that gets my gratitude. This is one of those days.
That train derailment in the Bronx really freaked me out yesterday. And I could relate, because back in 1981, I was actually in a train accident myself (http://www.railroad.net/forums/viewtopic.php?f=65&t=71972&start=45). Yeah, I know, “Who gets into a train accident?” you’re asking. Me. Me and my boyfriend, who spent the day at Singing Beach, the summer after I graduated from B.U. is who.
It was really weird. We were chugging along normally and then we heard a hugely loud noise and we all lurched forward and then our entire car started to laugh. It was such a strange response, but everything was very surreal from then on in. I imagine only a minute or two went by before one of the conductors, blood on his shirt, came in to say, we needed to get off the train as soon as possible, we’d hit something.
We all filed out, and not knowing where to go, we wound up in people’s backyards. There wasn’t anyone directing us, but I remember looking back and seeing the first car up in the air on top of another train and I knew that some people must be dead.
Scott and I had no idea what to do. We were in Beverly Farms and while loads of emergency people were coming to the scene, nobody was creating a plan for the hundreds of stranded passengers. I called my sister Susan and told her what happened, and asked if she’d make the trip to pick us up. She said no, she was busy, and I explained we literally had no other way to get back to the city. I did some begging, and she finally said yes. When she got to Beverly Farms, she apologized profusely and told us it was all over the news, and brought us little bottles of like Jack Daniels, to calm our nerves. I don’t think we drank them, but both of us were really thrown.
Three people died in the accident, and there were injuries, but it obviously could have been much, much worse. I had a hard time for years after than whenever I would be on the T and it would stop underground, just imagining that another train might hit us from the back. It was creepy, and I still get it once in a while, whenever I ride the T, which isn’t a whole lot anymore. Anyway, an ugly trip down memory lane for me yesterday. But remembering that beach day 32 years ago, and that I walked away from a train wreck, always makes me grateful and also makes me think I must be in some crazy odds pool for getting into like a plane accident, since I was already in a train accident. Yep, this is how my mind works. And I’m grateful for that, too.
*the gratitude-a-thon 