Love. And Marriage.(not to mention, Parenthood).

I recently read a post on what exactly makes a successful marriage tick. Michael and I plunged from marriage into parenthood without really shifting out of our "honeymoon" phase and have had to (quickly, sometimes) negotiate the fine art of balancing the trials of being new parents with co-habitation. An idea I read that really resonated is to "Consciously focus on the good in one another." Appreciation is the lynch-pin to a happy, healthy relationship because is it how relationships all start. "We de-emphasize the negative and overemphasize the positive. Unfortunately, the scales shift to the opposite after we’re married."
This, I will admit, is an extremely hard thing for me to do. Well, I haven't yet tried, but it isn't something that comes naturally for me because, I believe, I (like many humans) am innately self-centered and forget that not only does another human life depend on me for everything, but another human life whom I chose to be with needs attention and appreciation. I assume that my husband knows I love him and forget to show him all the time. He (like many humans) needs to be taken care of, needs the occasional beer fetched, and some quality time with hockey and/or fellow males at Trivia Night, Poker Night, or band practice.
I will also admit that I nitpick because I am an obsessive perfectionist with myself and out of habit expect the same from others. When I leave the house it the morning, I want it tidy, which means the bed is made, the dishes are clean, the windows are shut (to keep that sultry summer humidity at bay), our dog has water, laundry is put away, and random clothes, hats, and shoes are picked up. I'm not talking about dust-free, smudge-free, germ-free house, just...tidy.
The root of my obsessive attention to detail lies in several life-altering experiences. First, the decision my parents made to have a Virgo child. Not consciously, of course, but I can partly blame the stars. Next, a job I had in college as a "Laundry Assistant" (truly the job title) for a very wealthy family of a Duke Business School professor, his stay-at-home wife and three spoiled kids. My job was to sort, wash, dry, iron, and re-distribute all of their laundry and also do some shopping and the occasional random chore (I recall taking their Land Rover in for service at one point.) I did not complain, I was making $10 an hour - more than I ever had in my life - to do one of the easiest jobs possible. Or so I thought. It turns out the wife was very specific about how she wanted everything done. Jeans had to be ironed with a pleat. Shirts had to be hung dry, not put in the dryer. Colors and whites HAD to be separated, etc, etc. Doing the mass quantities of laundry I did for a family of five who never wore an outfit more than a half a day, it seemed, made me quite efficient and systemized. Lastly, I worked as a Supervisor, then Manager for a resort spa, basically, as a Quality Assurance specialist. My job was to find every spec of dust, rust, dirt, oil, hair, bug, mold, grime, streak, smear, stain, mark, chip, tear, break, and spider web in a 40,000 square foot facility and fix it. Needless to say, I can not go into a room and not subconsciously zoom in on what is dirty or in disrepair. I am programmed!
Fast forward to our own sweet house and my own expectations of my husband. I forget that I am not in a work environment at home and assume that he cares as much as I do. I end up getting frustrated that he doesn't see what I see and jump up and down to make things perfect. I get so caught up in my head (think like Jason Bourne, but I am a cleaning, not killing machine) that I forget Michael is a normal person who doesn't obsess over the dishes that could be done later or the laundry that isn't going any where. And I forget that that is what makes our marriage great - that he gives me balance, helps me practice patience, and reminds me what it's really all about - and I need to appreciate that he isn't some smelly, belching sloth, but a pretty darn snappy guy who is a great father and husband. Yup, he's a keeper.

Wash, Rinse, Repeat

As a devout cloth-diapering mother, my every-other-nightly ritual is spending some quality time with the washing machine. I wash twice - one cold, one hot - then rinse, then dry every other day and have for the past 10 months. We chose to cloth diaper our child for many reasons, but namely to keep thousands of diapers out of the landfill. I mean, we have to save the planet in some way since our choice to have a child and the impact of his life increases our environmental "footprint" that much more (sorry, kiddo, it's true.)
I visited our county landfill for the first time last month and it was a sobering experience (not in the least for the putrid rotting stench hovering). My visualization was something along the lines of the much talked about landfills outside of Mexico City where children make a living (and sometimes die) sifting through other people's trash. I envisioned miles and miles of filthy waste...an ugly gash in some mountain valley.
What I found was just a piece of that (without the children sifting, of course). Driving in I was amazed at the tidiness and very planned, non-landfill look and was actually hopeful that it wouldn't be the horrible experience I had imagined. There were trees, clean roadways, grassy hillsides, nice signage. But I only had to drive up and around the bumpy road, past methane vents and side access roads to meet the real dump. We pulled up between a semi and a trash truck to unload some yard waste (ok, a rusted out grill and metal fencing) and I just sat and watched what the others were dumping. The semi was the most disturbing, as it was unloaded what seemed to be a full load of orange juice gallons - full, unused, possibly expired, but still hundreds of cases of orange juice. How many people could've enjoyed some vitamins and minerals provided through that orange juice that just got thrown away! Let alone the cardboard boxes and plastic jugs it came in! It reminded me of a very American habit of over-producing (such as the case with corn, wheat, potatoes and other such staples) and discarding or let rot what doesn't get used, instead of finding, oh I don't know, starving Africans to give it to.
Then the trash truck was full of aluminum cans, plastic bottles, paper, newspaper and the usual torn, broken, unwanted trash. I was afraid to look any further, but just noticed as the trash truck pulled away how the ground oozed beneath its weight. We were on top of thousands of pounds of bags of other peoples trash - put there without thinking where it was actually going and how long that space would last and how many other spaces on this planet serve the same purpose. It still boggles my mind that people don't recycle. Sure, some say it's a conspiracy and doesn't really "work." But I say we only put one bag of trash in our bin every week, whereas when when used disposable diapers it was at least two. Our recycling bin is always overflowing for the bi-weekly pickup (as are most of our neighbors).
So, yes, although our water bill is significantly higher and my evenings significantly more routine and I have to shake and separate poopy diapers, I am glad we do cloth for our child. It's the least we can do.

One small step for man...

On the (almost) 40th anniversary of that fateful "leap" on the moon, Mason seems to have been so inspired and today took not just one meager step, but three! And not once, fair readers, but several times - he even threw in a step-step, stand, step! A far cry from actual, commonly accepted "walking," but still...progress. My screams were possibly heard by the neighbors and surely scared Mason to death (but not enough that he didn't do it again - though a little tentatively, I noted). Unlike my thoughts in previous post, this does trump hand clapping...just a little bit.
But as his earnestness (and ours) to discover the bi-ped world we live in exponentially increases his adventuresome nature, we must concurrently resign ourselves to the surety of child care. I've been lucky for the past year to have been able to stay home with him for six months, then after finding my dream job been able to take him to work. Now at almost 14 months old, he needs much more in the way of organized play, interactive games, other children, and an environment conducive to education and development (i.e. not my office where the extent of "educational" are computer cords, office supply shelves, and a window that he can watch passing cars).
Ha! I thought researching pre-natal doctors, pediatricians, car seats, strollers, and labor and birthing techniques was overwhelming!
One of the joys of the city we live in (no, not the patoulli haze or saturation of sushi restaurants) is that it is baby central. As sweet as this is on Sunday morning at the bakery, this creates a bit of a supply-demand problem, especially since one of my criteria (like many) is a quality, affordable option. Ha! We've got 6 month-1 year wait lists for the affordable options, home day cares that are stuffed to the gills or so on the DL that you have to know the right person to get in, and the rest (Little Beaver?) not the "environment" we are looking for to raise our son. And, oh yeah, I don't just want to dump him off in some room with 20 other kids and 2 teachers with no structure. Then there's the whole age-group (must be 18 months to 2 years and up) problem. Then there's the location problem (do I really want to drive an hour round trip to leave him off for 4 hours). Luckily, I have a flexible job and don't have to find something starting at 6:30 in the morning. No offense to the surely wonderful day care centers out there, but I need a little bit more (shocking, I know!) What can I say? I'm paying some one else to raise my son half of the week...I have standards.
Thinking about child care and pre-school gets started whole conversations of what kind of schooling to look for now and in the future? Should he be Montessori, Waldorf, Reggio Emilia, bi-lingual, religious, private, charter, or public school taught. Kids, after all, learn most of what they know before the age of six, so everything I expose Mason to, he takes in as the foundation for his life!
We've settled on a few places and consolations will be made. No doubt we will find something perfectly suited for him and us and then we'll win the lottery.

The clap heard round the world...

It may not be the most monumental developmental milestone, but it was definitely something that was starting to concern me. Mason had smacked blocks, blueberries, and bread together, but could not, for whatever reason, muster a clap. His fellow baby buddies had mastered the trick months ago (even graduated to high five's), so I wondered...what the hell is wrong? But last night after I'd been working for about an hour to get him to sleep I was watching him lay in his crib, very much NOT asleep, when he casually, as if to say "Mom, duh, I'm an expert - where have YOU been?" clapped his hands together. Not just once, an oops, but several times. It was all I could do to not jump up and down and yell because I had to keep my you-must-go-to-sleep cool. But I clapped along with him, in affirmation and silent solidarity.
For most of his "accomplishments" we haven't pushed anything. We are getting really excited about him walking, but I know as soon as that happens I'll bemoan the days when he could just crawl at .113 miles per hour and I could keep track of him. For now, clapping will do.