Little Adventures

Have you noticed that no matter how organized you are, no matter how far you plan ahead, no matter how perfect your day planner is, or how set your family routine, there are always little unexpected adventures that end up defining your day?

The littlest parts of the day, such as waking up, brushing teeth, getting dressed, driving, getting ready for bed, or hearing a story are all individual adventures, quickly forgotten in the rush of the day, but, in the moment, all-consuming.  There are precious little moments that I long to capture and hold in my heart forever.  Waking up with the Boy Badgers jumping into my bed, laughing and playing.  Sighing at Baby as she bathes herself in yogurt in her high chair.  Little Brother Badger putting on his clothes backwards, and being so adamant about fixing it himself.  Big Brother Badger pretending to swim like a shark in the bathtub.  And there are other moments that I don't mind letting go.  Such as the Boy Badgers' endless complaining over their dinner not being pizza.  Trying to stuff Baby into her car seat wearing her puffy winter coat.  Little Brother Badger whining over having to use a big boy cup at the table.

It's the adventure that makes me so tired.  It's the adventure that makes me so happy!  It's the little adventures that are so hard to remember a year later, or even that night.  Big-ticket items such as birthdays, holidays, vacations, first steps, first words: they are obvious.  But they are not the whole story.  They are not life.  Life is the boo-boo and the band-aid.  Life is the blown-out diaper.  It is the way my child's hair falls across his forehead.  It is the important bill that was cut up by a boy with a pair of scissors.  That snort that my son makes when he's being funny.  A cupboard emptied out all over the kitchen.  My husband walking through the house with all three kids hanging onto his legs while everyone squeals with laughter.  A trash can that always seems to be full.  The song on the radio that works so perfectly for a spontaneous family dance party.

Who could remember every little thing?  Who could document every little adventure in a day?  I feel a sense of sadness that not a journal, nor a camera, can truly capture these moments as they pass, spontaneous and unscripted.  They are sweeter because they are so transient.  They are meant to be lived, not caught and held.  They are like the wind between your fingers.

The Pink Poodle

Baby Badger's ultimate favorite toy is a stuffed pink poodle.  She carries it around everywhere; in the car, up and down the hall at home, and even to dinner.  If she forgets and leaves it somewhere, woe be to the family member who picks it up.  She's chased her older brothers, teeth bared, until, backs against a wall, they've handed it over resignedly.  It's more than a little funny to see Little Brother Badger quickly fetch the poodle for her from the basement as she sits imperiously on the sofa in the living room.  Once reclaimed, she'll clutch the poodle to her chest and say "MINE!".  Daddy River Badger once made the mistake of trying to take the poodle away after putting her in her high chair.  Hysterics ensued, and the poodle shared some yogurt.

The poodle made a rather dramatic entrance into our family.  The whole Badger clan (DRB's side, anyway) was out "camping"at one of those fun family parks where you can enjoy cabins with hot water and beds, catch fish in a small pond, and drink beer next to a fire as late as you want.  On the second day, when everyone else was on a hayride, Grammy Badger, Baby, and I went to the camp store.  At the back there was a rack of stuffed animals, and the poodle was among them.  This poodle was very pink.  It had permed fur and ribbons on its ears.  It was expensive.  It was kind of cute, but nothing I would ever have picked out.  Baby did, though.  She practically leaped out of my arms grabbing for it.  I attempted to say "no", I really did!  I tried to surreptitiously exchange the poodle for something a little less pricey, but the shrieks of my quite spoiled daughter brought all sorts of convenient excuses to mind.  It was a vacation.  The Boy Badgers had gotten sleeping bags but she hadn't (still being in her crib).  Look how much she seems to like it!  Getting it will make her happy and get her to be quiet and keep all the other parents in the store from shaking their heads at me.  Um, yeah, and it was vacation!  So, the poodle was ours.  It looked more than a little triumphant as Baby carried it out of the store.

Now it sits, mocking me with its little beady eyes.  "You spoil your children," it smirks, "You do not have a backbone and will become one of those parents hovering uncomfortably behind their diva-princess daughter as she stars on reality TV."  "Mind your own business, poodle, you'd never had it so good before I showed up," I reply.  "You have kid snot all over your coat," it retorts.

The poodle is a loudly pink reminder that I have a tendency to indulge my kids, to the eternal dismay of Daddy River Badger.  I tend to run out to Target and get them stuff they don't need.  I tend to buy them chocolate milk at McDonald's right before lunch.  I tend to be the one who goes a little over the top at the party store for birthdays.  I'll always go for the concession stand pretzel at basketball games.  The poodle knows all this and smiles knowingly; I think it believes DRB will eventually throw me out.  But the poodle does have one weakness: it is not machine-washable.  I'm going to run out and buy finger paints at Target.

When is it okay to tattle?

The Boy Badgers are of an age that they love to tattle.  They tattle on each other, "Mommy, he HIT me!"; they tattle on Mommy, "Daddy, Mommy's STILL not out of bed!"; they tattle on inanimate objects, "Mommy, the toilet is dirty, AGAIN!".  And all of it is done in a sing-song voice and punctuated with earnestness.  They are our family's new morality police.  I remember from my own childhood, and from watching Goodfellas, that tattling is wrong.  One shouldn't rat out one's friends.  And so I consistently preached, "Don't tattle!  Telling on someone isn't nice!".  I believed this is what I was supposed to do, and, honestly, it was easier than the alternative.  I didn't have to get up off the couch and thoroughly investigate situations if I could just write them off with a quick, "Don't tell on him!".  Short-cut parenting always works out, right?

Hah.  One day Little Brother Badger caught Baby Badger standing on a chair in the kitchen and called for me to come and get her, "Mommy, baby is being BAD!".  I got there just in time to catch her before she fell on her head.  So, telling worked here.  I gave LBB an M&M and thanked him for helping keep his sister safe.  Then, Big Brother Badger told on his little brother when LBB was attempting to climb the shelves in the basement.  Another trip to the ER averted, good job!  M&M's for everyone except LBB...and me.  I felt like I was giving conflicting messages.  Sometimes it's okay to tell, sometimes not.  To an adult, it seems relatively cut and dry.  When someone is in danger, or is endangering others, it is correct behavior to tell Mommy.  Alternatively, when someone has just grabbed a train toy because someone else stepped on his foot because the first someone threw a sippy cup, then Mommy probably doesn't want to hear about it.  Cut.  And.  Dry.  However, the Little Badgers are young.  I think that they can infer, in certain situations, that there might be danger involved, but I can't count on their judgment, and I shouldn't.  I also know that, try as I might, I can't be everywhere at all times, so an extra pair of eyes is helpful.  In both of the "danger-averted" moments above I was helping a boy on the potty or changing a diaper in another room.  I need to somehow let the Little Badgers know that it is okay to tell, but not to tattle.  Good luck to me in getting that subtlety across.

A potential solution is for me to altogether stop yelling at them to not tell on each other.  I would accept the 98% tattling, 2% telling proportion in order to keep the 2%.  But, I don't think this solution works at school, or on playdates.  I don't want my kid to be the one running to the teacher every five minutes tattling on so-and-so for this-and-that.  I recently talked to a Mommy friend of mine who expressed having the same problem.  Her daughter had told on Big Brother Badger as he was running with a stick at the park.  My friend's first response was to tell her daughter not to be a tattle-tale, but then she paused.  BBB could have hurt himself or someone else.  So, we had a conversation about what we should do in these situations, and, to be honest, we came up empty.  Consistency was not the answer, and subtlety seemed presently out of reach, given the children's ages.

So, I feel as though I am winging it.  Parenting on the fly.  I hate this feeling; I am one for a clear set of rules and consistency and routine.  So far, I've been trying to augment the "Don't tattle!" with a discussion about working things out, and adjust the "Thank you for telling me!" to a discussion of why it is good to look out for one's family.  This strategy is resulting in a lot of discussing, and even my eyes start to glaze over sometimes.  Welcome to gray-scale parenting.  Can't wait for the birds and the bees.

Giving Thanks with Little Badgers

The River Badger clan traveled for Thanksgiving this year.  Not too far, but still a significant trek for three small children.  We have the one-night travel packing routine down pat: we've got one large suitcase that's filled with kids' clothes, diapers, lotion, jammies, toys, a couple of books, blankets, and (in the bit of room that's left) maybe an outfit for Mommy and Daddy and some deodorant.  The kids got into the car with one toy each (a truck, a lizard, and the pink poodle), and Baby got a bottle of milk.  We're lucky and all three fell asleep pretty quickly so Mommy could run into the Wawa and get the super-jumbo diet coke.  Then it's to Grandmother's house we go!

I love going to Daddy River Badger's parents' house for holidays.  It is always warm, inviting, smells good, and is well-stocked with wine.  When we arrived this year, the kids ran to greet their cousins.  Big Brother Badger hugged his cousin tightly for a whole minute-they've been best friends since birth.  Family is so important.  I tell the Little Badgers that it is most important-something to be grateful for.  One thing about being a Mommy is that I am grateful every day.  I have moments where I practically fall on my knees from gratitude.  I have other moments where gratitude is something I think about quickly, as the day flies past.  On Thanksgiving, I want my children to think about being grateful for all the good things they have in their lives.  Their loving family, their toys, their cat.  Going to karate class and swim lessons and play dates.  On this day especially, I want them to learn about being thankful.  But, this is easier said than done.

The family sat down to dinner, and what a dinner it was!  Grammy Badger outdid herself with a beautiful turkey and six pies.  But even saying the blessing had to be done quickly with small kids under five.  Any contemplation of gratitude had to be done in between passing the gravy and cleaning up where Baby had flung her mashed potatoes.  After dinner, kids were running, laughing, watching movies, playing outside, going to the playground.  Was I grateful?  Yes.  Were they grateful?  Well, they were for the cookies and the pie.  I know that it is a stretch to think that I can force a lesson on them.  It's enough on a daily basis for them to say "thank you" for a cup of milk.  And they are so young.  Heck, I didn't even think much about gratitude myself until I had kids.  I guess I didn't know what I had to lose until I had kids.  To list everything I am thankful for would go on for a while.  Every Mommy's list would.  Every day we learn and love and say a thank you to the powers that be.  We hope that our kids appreciate what they have.

Well, Thanksgiving night wrapped up with three happy Little Badgers tucked into bed, cuddling toys and sleeping peacefully.  They said "thank you" for their milk, and to their Grammy for their dinner.  They said the words, at least, and I think that is enough.

The following morning we headed home.  We packed up the kids, the milk, the truck, the lizard, and the poodle, and picked up the super-sized diet coke.  On the road, before falling asleep, the Boy Badgers talked about the day before, and how much fun they had.  They remembered the cookies, the pie, and the DVDs, but also playing with their cousins, hugging their Grammy, being together.  Even if they didn't know to say it, thank you.

Hey, who wants to sell me some class?

I am not a yummy mummy.  I am a fleece-wearing, sneaker-sporting, jeans-rocking, hair-in-a-ponytail, maybe-some-mascara Mama.  I still practice what my mother told me when I was eighteen, that I don't need to wear foundation every day because I'm young.  Yeah, that was a loooong time ago, but presently convenient.  It's not that I don't enjoy using products, dressing up and blow-drying my hair, it's that I think I'm too lazy for a regimen.  There, I'll admit it!  But, I occasionally do get bored, or my little ones have dumped my make-up in the toilet, so every few months I'll revamp my beauty routine (translation: skip out to Target after the kids go to bed and buy a bunch of stuff) and experiment a little.  Here's how my last trip went... .

I walk in with a list of things that I'm convinced will make me gorgeous.  Make-up, moisturizer, eye cream, nail polish, night cream.  They have to catch my eye quickly, as I've only got 45 minutes to browse.  I won't buy products advertised by celebrities I don't like.  I do like Jennifer Garner!  She is pretty!  And relatable!  Foundation, check!  I'll choose eye shadow based on the instructions given on the back.  Does it tell me how to apply it?  Yes!  Check!  Moisturizer is based on sun protection and lack of chemicals.  If the ingredients list is pretty straightforward, check!  Now, eye cream and night cream are a little harder.  I think I might need the chemicals here.  After all, these products are essential non-essentials.  They promise a lot, and if I remember to apply them, I might see a difference!  Nail polish is the most fun.  My hands are weird-they look very strange with dark-colored polish.  Also, dark colors show chips.  Okay, so pale shades....and without formaldehyde (!)...and, ooh, this one will help my nails grow faster!  Check!  I am now decked out.  I'm sure this is how Jennifer Garner shops, too.  10 minutes to spare!  Let's look at lipstick!  Somehow, this Target does not have security guards patrolling the make-up section because it is very hard to find a lipstick that has not been opened and "tested".  Maybe I'll skip the lipstick.

Okay, I'm home.  Little Badgers are asleep and husband is watching TV, so I sneak upstairs and put on products.  I do my nails.  I am pretty much Jennifer Garner, except that I cannot pull off the bangs.  I sashay downstairs and bat my eyelashes at Daddy River Badger.  He's mildly interested and says something very nice and sweet.  So I ask, "Hey, honey, don't you like it when I get all dolled up?".  And he replies, "Babe, if it makes you feel good about yourself, and you smile and are happy, then that's what I like.".  Hmmm, maybe I won't tell him how much I spent.

So this was news to me.  Do I look my best when I'm happy?  No products or regimen needed?  This makes me feel a little better about my (lack of) everyday personal style.  But, then, why the impulse to buy "stuff" every now and then?  I suppose there's a deep-down feeling that I need to be trying harder.  There's a romantic notion I have that a put-together lady has a consistent beauty regimen honed over years of practice, faithful and true to a selection of products.  My mother is such a lady.  But, you know, maybe if being happy is what makes my eyes sparkle, and happiness partly comes from an impromptu trip to the make-up section where I can browse and play and escape...well, then I guess I should just go with what works for me.  After all, my better half thinks I'm pretty cute with just a smile, and I should have confidence in that.  With a touch of mascara thrown in, of course.  It's usually on sale.

Popularity

It occurred to me the other day that I am popular.  Finally, after years of associating myself with fringe groups, I am now with the in-crowd.  I'm so popular that I cannot even pee in private.  I'm like an older, more masculine version of Justin Bieber.  The fact that my new clique is all under five-years-old doesn't bother me.  The fact that my popularity has been bought by packages of fruit snacks, bottles of milk, and hours of cartoons doesn't phase me either.  I am a Little Badger icon.

From the moment I wake up, I am in demand.  Like I said, I can't even sneak off to the bathroom without the paparazzi following me.  Putting on make-up?  Very difficult when my mascara is grabbed and run off with as a souvenir.  I'll probably be able to find it again on e-Bay (or the trash can).  Getting dressed is even trickier.  My followers debate if I've had work done, "Mommy, why is your belly squishy?".  There are fights over who will sit next to me at breakfast.  And, when my clique gets to school, my name gets dropped over and over, "MY Mommy, NOT yours!".  My talents are so much in demand that I am begged for story after story at bedtime, and all the stories have to involve a loving Mommy T-rex, or bat, or moose, etc.

Now, all this could go to my head, so it's a good thing I have my husband to bring me back down to earth.  If I'm a version of Justin Bieber, he's like Bruce Springsteen.  Daddy River Badger can lift kids clear over his head so they can touch the ceiling.  He can burp really loudly.  He can make the best grilled cheese sandwiches.  He definitely can't get any privacy in the bathroom, "Whatcha reading, Daddy?".

In high school I was not one of the popular kids.  I wasn't at the bottom of the social world, either-just kind of in the middle, doing my own thing.  I didn't really think about being popular, aside from some wistful dreaming about how when you are popular your hair is never frizzy and your really short skirt was never caught by the nuns.  Of course, once college and grad school rolled around, the notion of popularity kind of faded in the face of real deadlines and pressures.  So the present unabashed adoration of three small kids has me grappling with what popularity means now, for a parent.

I love that the Little Badgers look up to me and want to be near me.  But, I am faced with the pressures of being their role model.  Not just with things like not saying swear words, or chewing with your mouth closed, or not hitting, but also with things like how I treat my spouse, how I speak to my own parents, how I treat the lady at the cash register.  I should make sure to exercise and eat right, so that they see me do it.  I should apologize when I am wrong, so that they see the good example.  I should always offer someone else the last piece of dessert, so that they know to avoid selfishness.  All these "shoulds" result in my desperate longing to stuff my face with a cheeseburger while flipping the bird to my husband and hoarding the whole stinkin' pie.  I'm afraid that popularity means not being me.

As a parent, I have to try to be "on" all the time, at least when the kids are around.  And the "on" isn't like a regular celebrity, where one just has to make sure one is wearing underwear when climbing out of cars.  It is much tougher, and more unrelenting.  It is a series of uncomfortable realizations that I'm not as kind, or as generous, or as forgiving as I thought I was.  But, I try, try again.  Because I don't want any more gleeful shouts of "a%#hole driver!" coming from the back seat.

The Picture on my Wall

I am experiencing a creative re-birth.  At least, that's what it feels like.  I was a classical musician for many years, even pursuing it at a conservatory before quitting cold-turkey for a more technical field.  Years of schooling and a career made me less likely to write, or play music, or draw for creativity's sake.  You know that line in "Jurassic Park" when Jeff Goldblum says, "Nature found a way."?  Well, my oft-suppressed self is finding its way.  I've written about my children's profound impact on my life, but there is also something else.

My parents are two different, yet complementary people.  To simplify it tremendously, my Mom is sensitive and artistic, and my Dad is more analytical and technically-inclined.  Somehow, I've managed to be lucky enough to get some of both of them.  Lately, though, the technical side was at the forefront, as a consequence of my job.  I think my creative side was being repressed, and, as creative-types sometimes are, was not too happy to remain in the shadows.  As I've turned to writing, and also to drawing (paints are way out of my league), tears and feelings of frustration seem to be calmed.  I'm embracing that I am the sum of both parts of me.  Right and left-brain.  This realization is good for my relationship with my kids, too.  I love thinking up art projects, and talking to them about colors, and encouraging their imaginations.  I also throw in a bit of science, but I don't hit them over the head with it.

So, getting to this picture.  I am inspired by pictures in magazines, translating dark and light into lines and shading.  I don't really advertise my work, as it mostly sits in a folder, or hangs on the walls of my bedroom.  I think I gave one to my Mom.  This particular picture was adapted from a photograph in National Geographic.  I don't remember the story behind the photo, but in the way I drew it, I can sometimes convince myself the woman was feeling extreme joy, and other times extreme grief.  I chose to hang it on my wall instead of some "happier" drawings.  Why did this one capture my attention so?  I think because of the ambiguity; it is emotion without context.  The reason behind the woman's strong feelings is not apparent, but the presence of raw emotion is.  It is the feeling that is important, not the analysis of the situation.  I look at this picture as a reminder that one's creative, emotional side is valid and powerful, too.  Even if it doesn't bring in a paycheck.