CurrentMom

Sick Days

Truth Thursday

I had to take an unexpected sick day last week. I had an eye problem that I planned to call the doctor about … eventually … but one morning, I described it to my husband and he, never the hypochondriac, urged me to see the doctor right away. So I did. 

All was fine, thankfully, and the doctor was able to squeeze me in (after I kept a morning meeting, of course). But he had to dilate my eyes. I have never had my eyes dilated before, and it’s kind of trippy. For hours, everything was a little blurry, definitely expanded, and I was really unable to concentrate, write, or do very much. 

So what does one do? Put one’s feet up and watch a mini-marathon of Sex and The City, of course. (Which really doesn’t hold up very well in these austere times -- remember the episode where Lexi falls out the window because her Manolos get caught in the curtain? Today she’d be wearing Easy Spirits and Candace Bergen’s highflying loft party might be a pot luck.) 

Needless to say, by the time the kids came home and my eyes had shrunk back to normal size, I had had a hour-long phone meeting with my boss, prepared dinner, worked on a social studies project with my son, driven soccer carpool and spent an hour after everyone went to bed responding to a flurry of emails about a situation at work. 

So much for taking a sick day. 

The sick days of our youths are long gone by the time we get to be adults. No longer can we beg our mothers to let us stay home, snuggle under the covers, watch oodles of tv and eat saltine crackers because our tummies are upset. In fact, given that I have the good fortune to have pretty healthy kids, the number of times any of them have had a day like that is relatively few. 

The Doctor to the Rescue?

Therapy Tuesday
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Admit it. We all do this. Even me. We have some sort of perceived child crisis (of whatever magnitude) and we head to do research. After all, someone out there must be able to tell us what to do in this time of need. We look to Dr. Sears, or in the past, Dr. Spock. We pull out "What to Expect" (whichever version we might need) or countless other parenting books.

But do we ever stop to think,"what if my answer isn't in here?" If kids are each unique individuals, is there any book that can speak to what might be going on in that moment for them? Maybe. We exhibit similar enough behaviors to have some ideas of why some things happen. What I'm interested as I write this is what makes it so difficult for parents to trust within their self that they might have the answer. 

No child comes with an instruction manual. As I tell the new moms that I work with, somehow, that got lost when the placenta was being delivered. It would be quite handy if this wasn't the case. I'm not saying that experts (or in some cases, so-called experts) don't have wisdom in the forms of understanding research, practical experience, and book learning, but to expect that one (or several) people can distill your answer in a 200 page book might not be realistic.

I wonder about how we make the decisions to trust the experts we lean on. Perhaps because we hear about them from a friend or a family member that got something of value from them. Or we saw them on TV. (The Oprah seal of approval still goes far!) We all choose a doctor for our personal health--how did that decision get made? Did we read reviews? Pick a name from the list of in-network providers from our insurance plan? Was it a recommendation from someone we know?

As you search for answers along your parenting journey, certainly look to and seek out experts. Think about how you go about this. And ask yourself if you might have some answers.

 

 

And now for a completely shameless plug: If you are looking for experts, and live in suburban Maryland, you mightbe interested in a new monthly speaker's series.

 

Vice & Virtue: Toffee Pretzel Bark & CSA Salad Recipe

I wrote the below post over the summer, but wasn't published while all the foods were seasonal. But I think it's still worth sharing, since most of the ingredients are still available, and nothing is better than a fridge clean-out turned into a yummy meal. And, let's face it, Toffee Pretzel Bark is never out of season!

Meal Monday

Recently I had the pleasure of hosting a bachelorette wine night for a friend. Not only was I excited to help my friend celebrate her upcoming nuptials. I was also looking forward to entertaining grown-ups. And their palates.

I stuck to a wine, cheese, and chocolate theme. Pure vice. Yet pure goodness. And the perfect opportunity for me to try the Toffee Pretzel Bark recipe I pinned and couldn't get out of my head.

And wow. Was it good. Dark chocolate. Pretzels. Toffee. Milk chocolate. Peanut butter. It's all in there. Fortunately I sent most of the remainder home with the bride-to-be, or it would all be in my belly.

I was not the only one pushing food that night. My soon-to-be-wed friend works on a farm, and she brought me a bounty of produce. My own personal CSA delivery.

Nobody's Perfect - Working Moms and Why We Can't Have It All

Truth Thursday

If you have not yet read Debora Spar’s article in The Daily Beast about motherhood, work, and the giving-up of perfectionist ideals, do yourself a favor, stop right here and read it. The President of Barnard College, Spar wrote an essay in response to the blogospheric conversation swirling around Anne-Marie Slaughter’s much praised (and much maligned) story in The Atlantic earlier in the summer, about being a mother while maintaining a high level, professional career, and the give and take and what it means to try to balance it all. 

While I read Slaughter’s piece and agreed with much of it, I wasn’t quite moved by it the way I was when I read Spar’s piece two weeks ago. Perhaps because I have a personal connection to Barnard (although I didn’t attend, my grandmother was an alumna, and one of my best childhood friends attended and currently works there. And one of my BFFs from my mom years is also an alumna.) It’s a great school.

But the piece is certainly more than a paean to being a smart graduate of a women’s college. In fact, it is a response to the expectation that so many of the wonderful women’s colleges set up as a paradox: how can you be the best and the brightest and go out and conquer the world, when there is laundry to do and children to feed and housework to be done? 

What Spar parses so brilliantly is the damning quest for perfection that women – and especially mothers who work outside the home – must work very hard to overcome. 

To wit:

"Indeed, rather than leaping with glee at the liberation that has befallen women since the 1960s, we are laboring instead under a double whammy of impossible expectations—the old-fashioned ones (to be good mothers and wives, impeccable housekeepers and blushing brides) and those wrought more recently (to be athletic, strong, sexually versatile, and wholly independent). The result? We have become a generation desperate to be perfect wives, mothers, and professionals—Tiger Moms who prepare organic quinoa each evening after waltzing home from the IPO in our Manolo Blahnik heels.

Even worse, we somehow believe that we need to do all of this at once, and without any help. Almost by definition, a woman cannot work a 60-hour-per-week job and be the same kind of parent she would have been without the 60-hour-per-week job. No man can do this; no human can do this. Yet women are repeatedly berating themselves for failing at this kind of balancing act, and (quietly, invidiously) berating others when something inevitably slips."

(I would like to put a fine point on the burden of society’s sharp glare on the most superficial pieces of being a woman today, exacerbated by our celebrated-focused culture on baby bumps and being back to fighting weight minutes after giving birth. We are supposed to look younger, be more fit, and be a “sexy” mom on top of everything else. Motherhood, knowing how to bake an apple pie, managing a daily commute AND the ability to rock a strapless dress well into our 50s and 60s.) 

Nana's Chocolate Upside Down Pudding -- Crazy, but Fantastic!

Meal Monday

My Nana was a great baker. And she was also an amazing recipe collector. I still have handwritten index cards of hers, with her source attributed in the upper right hand corner ("Fran" or "Rudy" or "Marion"), usually in pencil. Sometimes, it's hard to see her handwritten scrawl, it makes me miss her so much.

But I know Nana would be happy if she knew I was still using her recipes and her recipe cards. I recently reorganized my kitchen shelves, and came across a binder I'd made for myself before I got married, in preparation for my instant metamorphosis into domestic goddess upon saying "I do". Hahaha!!!