Things you might overhear me saying to my sidekick...

because I have said all of the following, in public, and probably more than once:

1. Sand! It’s so... sandy!

2. Ah ah, we don’t put hair balls in our mouth. That’s yucky (this one is repeated daily)

3. Where’s your belly? Where’s your ear? Where’s your elbow? Where’s your...? [LOOP]

4. Ah ah, we don’t lick or suck on grocery carts. We just don’t.

5. We can go get another free sample, just don’t tell anyone. Look cute.

6. Did you go poop?

7. We need to be gentle with Spot, yes, nice, yes, NICE!! NICE!!

8. Here, let me get those boogs. Let mommy at ‘em.

9. What sound does a sheep make? What sound does a donkey make? What sound does a cow make? What sound does a … make? [LOOP]

So, admittedly, I have always been an out-loud inner monologue type, guilty almost every day of talking to myself at the computer (and I share an office). Talking to a little who can’t quite yet chat back is not hard for me, but I do wonder occasionally what the world hears from me. I often wish I were wittier, more creative, and more profound, but I also wish I were smarter, less exhausted, and better resourced.

So, the net result are axioms describing how “sandy” sand is, how “wet” water is, and abbreviating two-syllable words (see #8) and adding extra syllables when the sing-songy muppet that has taken parasitic residence in my brain think would make the words have better mouthfeel. So we reach for wipeys to get rid of boogs. Let me remind you that I’m the primary person teaching this Little language. As other parents perhaps contemplate their bi or tri-lingual home, Mandarin immersion programs for the not-so-distant future, I am literally leading G down new linguistic path, familiar to those who speak English, but a new dialect entirely. Oh well, at least she’ll be able to converse with her Mama.

What might we hear you all oversaying to your little (human or non-human)?

Affective Storms

Event vs. state?
state vs. trait?

Ah, the animal behaviorist in me! I remember trying to distinguish these events vs. states on ethograms, what we would use to record behaviors of what would see happen in the animals (ahem, okay dolphins) my fellow researchers and I would see in the wild (ahem, the cliffs off of La Jolla). So a dolphin breaching might be an event, but it might signify that it was in a state of feeding, fleeing, mating, or playing, depending on several other factors.

Psychologists often distinguish as well between state vs. trait. So a state of anxiety that a person might feel, say in a testing scenario, might be temporary and situation-specific, but a trait would be more constant over time.

The point is we are careful to classify what is happening in ourselves, and what we see in others, with respect to context and duration.

All of this careful pontification is leading up to my musings on how to tackle the tantrum.

Or as my wonderfully word-gifted friend L calls affective storms.

A tantrum always has a end point, and most children certainly are not forever in the throes of one, but my God, when they come on, for no discernible purpose, and with no way to diffuse... you start to wonder, in those moments (“is this just it?” “is this the way she’s going to be from now on?”).

Ah, I shake my head, and pity the former me who had these thoughts, after my little took her most favorite thing (a sippy filled with milk) and hurled it across the room, and tried to crawl to the furthest point in the room away from me, her mama, when all I did was to come fetch her from her nap. Yes, she was awake, and yes she was waiting for me. What did I do to offend? What’s broke, let me fix it? No, no... no solution available. Equation = unsolvable (unless you count the passage of time).

And yes, I realize, those with more seasons of toddlerhood under the belt, the dangers of overthinking. It may appear that I am doing that now; really, in working through this blog entry, I am un-thinking it. Sometimes tantrums can be prevented, sometimes they can be cured, but many times, they have to just be endured.

And ah yes, they are not traits, they are probably not even states, they are just events, which will later be replaced by harsh words, possibly a door slam. Again, not fixed in time, not distinguishing characteristics of the little (or former little) underneath. Maybe they’re artistic expressions? I do not know.

But I do know that I, on rare occasion, have been known to have my own... well, tantrum. Over... nothing. Just a short in my affective circuitry. And time has healed those as well. In addition to an occasional sippy of wine...

How do you all handle these "affective storms," in yourselves, and in your littles?

Not the Daddy

Ah baby dinosaurs and just really good out-of-the-box (think Kraft-style) TV sitcoms. Remember the show The Dinosaurs? Came out in the mid 90’s? Sort of, but not really? In the show (which was about, as you might guess, a modern day family of dinosaurs) everyone, even the Dad Dinosaur, was referred to as “Not the Mama” by the baby.

So, in our household, we’re having a bit of a reverse situation.

There is a beautiful tear-jerking ballad of a love story happening between two of the members of household: our 15-month-old toothy little toddler and her daddy. And I don’t blame either one of them. I snicker at web-reads that refer today at the “nurturing dad” of this century. I joke that G has not 1 but 2 mamas. I actually find myself at the gym on most weekends, out to dinner occasionally with girlfriends, and pondering the occasional pedicure. Not sacrificing the precious minutes I have with my G and her daddy, either... and although I still marvel at the mystery, it really isn’t a mystery at all. My mystery has a name, M, and he happens to be more like a scrubs-wearing dude driving his grandma’s old volvo than a knight in shining armor. But wow, did I pick the right door.

So another part of the marvel is how smart my little is, because she gets it, too. Like “hey, I’m a pretty lucky little to have this guy as my daddy.” She totally gets how great he is! And yes, she also gets how great her Mama is, but oh that gleam in her eye is for Daddy. I remember reading a babycenter.com bit about what to do if a baby clearly has a preference for one parent over the other, and thinking, oh, poor M, I hope G never does that; I would feel so bad for him (because clearly she will always prefer me). Of course, right? I mean pregnancy, delivery, breast-feeding simply must go a long way! At least till she’s like 11, and then all girls have a bit of a shall-we-say “vacation” from remembering how great their mothers are, right?

Well, as for now, I am pretty great, by G’s standards, I am, but then there’s Daddy. It’s like he’s her team in the superbowl, and she’s always rooting. And I’ve been, shall we say, “snubbed” a few times by our little, and not always in private. She practically ran me over to get to him when we both showed up to at daycare to pick her up a few weeks ago. Sometimes, if I lean in to nuzzle her, when she is already nuzzling Daddy, her fat little arm will come out and wave back and forth, as though she is holding a chalkboard eraser and wants to erase me. Ah, I laugh.

So, a little addendum to that babycenter.com post: if you are that parent, the “other” parent, the forlorn, slightly cast aside parent, know that you very likely chose your partner very well. Your little knows that too, and probably also basks in your unconditional love so much that her excitement for you is just masked by her never-ending feeling of being loved and being protected by you. Your partner may be the the moon and all the excitement and mystery it brings, but you are like the tide, always to be counted on to rush up and over with love.

I hope that analogy brought more sighs than groans; all I know is that every time I feel like I get a “Not the Daddy” treatment from my little, I think, “hey, I can’t blame you. I think he’s pretty great, too!”

Hun, I got my orders.

Ever got the wind knocked out of you? Remember falling off jungle gyms as a kid? That’s what those words just felt like to me. That feeling of having to will yourself to breathe again, to force your heart to start beating again.

And I knew these words were coming. I’ve known for so long; months, even more than a year. M was always going to deploy, some time after fellowship, and hopefully before too long so that he could be home with us again. You know, get it out of the way.

We’ve also known, for a few weeks now, that what we thought would be a summer deployment got moved up, thanks to another doctor who was supposed to leave this February but was medically disqualified for deployment and failed to tell anyone about it... (Yes, many questions about this person, the reason, the situation, and why the “system” didn’t know about it will forever remain unanswered.) But we’ve known that M was going to go, and going sooner means coming home sooner. So, day by day, we’ve waited, inched along and tried to pretend like everything was as it always has been, though now we were beginning lists of what has to happen before he leaves (household fixes, extending our lease, filling out all kinds of legal paperwork, and finding childcare coverage for work trips and evening responsibilities that I thought M would be here for).

But to hear those words. To see the jibberish that is the actual written orders; it’s just not the same as before, when you thought maybe, just maybe, this was all some conversation. Not your life, your loved one.

So, if you're reading this, please do something for me. Let’s all put aside politics and idealogies and for one moment, take a deep breath, and embrace each other (at least virtually) for all those moments when news like this is delivered. We've all been or will be there. It is so powerful, feels so final, and is so solemn.

And let’s fast forward to another day, when I will be writing an eekonward post entitled, “Homecoming.”

My real work-buddy

Before I was a mom, I didn’t realize that in becoming a mom, you don’t don a cape with the letter “M” emblazoned on it, only to somehow take off at times to wear your other roles. There’s no Clark Kent/Superman, there’s only... ok I’m not going to say Supermom, but this other person. Of course the other roles, the other costume changes, are all still there; my point is there’s no taking off the cape. You own your mom-ness. You own it, obviously every moment you spend in the company of your child(ren), but you also own it at any job you may have, any errand you run, and certainly in all social settings. Parents out there know how much they talk about their kids when their supposed to be having adult time, and the non-parents know how difficult it is to get their parent friends to not talk about their kids when their supposed to be having adult time.

So it’s impossible to turn it all off. The conversations I have with my husband at trendy restaurants, while loving sitters mind our baby monitor, are about our daughter. Not all, but most. Okay, so before I was a mom, I had heard about this phenomenon but swore against it. Of course I would be one of “those” people. Turns out, kids give you a lot to talk about; so much so that it takes dinners (and a few glasses of wine) out of their reach and cry to actually process all that they go through (and in turn, put you through). It’s amazing when your partner all of sudden becomes your work-buddy; you then realize all those office happy hours out, when you swear with your colleagues that you’re not going to talk about work, but then you inevitably do, well, this parenting this isn’t completely different from that. You two have a job to do, the biggest and most important, nonetheless, but a job.

Which is why it is so great to have a good work buddy for a life-partner. M, thanks for sharing a baby and a cubicle with me. I’d totally write your TPS reports any day.

What we notice

“I don’t have any regrets, really, except that one. I wanted to write about you, about us, really. Do you know what I mean? I wanted to write about everything, the life we’re having, and the lives we might have had.”
-Richard, from Michael Cunningham’s The Hours, p. 67

In this part, Richard, a dying writer, is talking about how he feels that he failed, that he wanted to write about everything, but the task proved “insurmountable,” that there was too much to write about; the “weather,” “the water and the land,” “the animals,” “the buildings,” “the past and the future,” “space,” “history,” and more. This passage resonated with me for years so deeply that although I couldn’t remember the exact words after I read them that I had to buy my own copy of the book so I find this part and save it.

Of course we can’t write it all down; there’s so much beauty, it’s so overwhelming, and the words to do it can’t ever be enough. But when we do get it right, even almost right, and we use words to do it, we bridge our own meaning to another’s. From one mind to the next, it’s never an exact translation of meaning, but it connects us. It’s in that struggle to get it out, the meaning we have trapped within us, that belies so much our sociality, the innate need to share, to get out of the infinite spiral staircases of our minds and find windows: not ways out, rather, but ways in, in search of connection, of shared truth.

I can’t help myself; it is so late, but it is my time, my mind is racing and I must get this out for fear that it would be lost for ever; so much it’s hard to type... heck I just wrote a poem on my iphone. Time to head to the big guns, a real keyboard.

I have been struggling about writing about people, no, certain people, in my life, who continue to surprise, fascinate, amaze, and just enliven me with their strength, their courage, their brilliance. My friends! My touchstones! These souls, all nodes in my social network, and so much much more than that! I am just marveling at the ways in which and how I know them. People, real people, that I get to know intimate details about, share and laugh with, cry with, and watch and learn from. My pillars, my mentors, my confidantes, my loves, my family... I thought about writing about them generally, as if in sepate bins/categories, but in relation to me, even, they are all intersecting subsets in the venn diagram space that I am so honored to be a part of. I can talk about my mother as a mentor, but she’s also my friend; my friend S is daily inspiration, but she’s also a pillar, giving my strength. My friend G peppers so many of my days with laughter, but also holds a flashlight, and a map to lead me out of my dark-mind days. My sister, a constant source of inspiration for her relentless commitment topursuing her dreams, and also a mentor at so many times, but also my charge. But to talk about these individuals in relation to me is so limited, so one-sided; I want to ode them, and perhaps the only way I know how to here and now is so abstract, that I will attempt to do in poem (which is a much more forgiving form for the spaces in between, the not-said).


So my friend G photographs (and so many other things!!)
But she takes pictures, and her pictures make your heart stop, just for a moment, to allow you to be frozen for the 1/32nd of a second that it took to take that frame, and when it beats again it’s racing as you chase her daughter up a sand dune, into a wave, or up high on a swing. And you are happy.

My friend B crafts (and so many other things!!), and when she does she invites you in, and together you create such a beautiful, genuine treasure, like homemade jam, magnets, buttons, or cards, and in all that time the treasure is the words you share, the lessons you learn, the meanings you make.

My friend S paints (and so many other things!!)
But she paints, and when she paints, if you get the chance to see, be prepared to stop breathing. Just for a moment, because when you do inhale again, you will breath in so much light and mist and presence, for you are there, walking with her, being led by her hand, through the windows of her beautiful mind.

My sister makes people laugh (and so many other things!!), and when she does she does it with style, and she does it through wedding speeches, as a clown for little ones, in her hilarious scripts. She reminds us that the laughter is always there, in all parts, in every day, in everyone, just needs to found, let out, released.

My mom listens (and so many other things!!), and when she does she gets it, the down-deep, the hard to put into words, the pain, the sorrow, but also the love and the courage. And you sit and tell, and connect, and know that you are not alone.

My dad takes care of (and so many other things!!), and when he does he does it so silently, so thoughtfully, so completely, and never expects acknowledgment. A smile and a nod and maybe just time enough to get the paper, a coffee, and a hug.

My M loves in every way he knows how (and so many other things!!), and when he does he does through his shoes, which carry him to work every morning and his family every evening;
through his eyes, which read through so much data, which cherish so many moments of our growing daughter’s life;
Through his hands, which help and heal, which make music, which hold his family.

My people, my pillars, my reasons.


I wrote this over a week ago, and only now just had the guts to post.

A girl and her chair

Christmas came a little early to the Kent household... Nanna and Poppy, please don't be mad, but we couldn't resist opening up the GIANT box that came our way for two (well, three) reasons... (1) we just had to see what was inside; (2) the only thing cooler than a GIANT box is an OPEN GIANT box; and (3) Spot asked us too (no really, he loves GIANT boxes).

All I can say is, it was a win...

With Festivus upon us, this is all I had time for, but I'm brewing some more substantial bloggage. Till then, peace out, Cyber Monday (and good riddance!).