Be soft. Do not let the world make you hard. Do not let the pain make you hate. Do not let the bitterness steal your sweetness. Take pride that even though the rest of the world may disagree, you still believe it to be a beautiful place.
-Kurt Vonnegut
Dear Finn:
You are sleeping, now, curled on your side–a crumpled fern waiting to unfurl. You have an already-worn sock monkey in one hand and a stuffed dog in the other. This is what you know.
Here is what I know: tonight, we have failed you.
I had so hoped that, as a boy with two moms, the first president you’d know would be a strong, capable women. I had hoped that, for just a little while longer, you would be shielded from the kind of hatred and anger that is, we now know, so pervasive in our country. I had hoped for you to have leaders who legitimize–not antagonize–our family. I had so hoped.
Instead, tonight, our country has legitimized bigotry, racism, homophobia, xenophobia, and misogyny. And, as your Momma, I will have to figure out a way explain this to you. Not tomorrow, of course. Probably not next year, either. But the day will come when I will have to tell you that, yes, sometimes the bad guy wins.
I’ll have to tell you this because you are a mixed race baby born into a same-sex family, because one of your mothers is brown, because the other is Jewish, and because we don’t have the luxury of pretending that these sorts of decisions don’t come with very real consequences. You will see and sense these consequences, I’m afraid. The reverberations of this decision will reach you, and I won’t be able to save you, as much as I wish I could.
So many moms won’t be able to save their babies from this, as much as they all wish that they could.
Yet, I will, I’m sure, muster the impossible strength to do what all moms must do: find a way to make the wolf look a little less scary. Remind you that though there is darkness, there is also light. Help you become strong enough to face a sometimes-ugly, often-scary world with grace and compassion and love. I will be there with you, through all of this, always.
But tonight, I’m having a hard time conjuring any fairytales. Tonight, I know that we should have done better by you.
You don’t know that yet, luckily, but I do.
Always and always and always,
Momma
If you’ve been paying attention, then you know that Finn was actually alive for Halloween last year, too. I mean, he’s nearly 15 months old, now.
But last year, he was just a cooing blob of a gumball machine–albeit a cute one. We didn’t really partake in any Halloween festivities, other than dressing him up and taking a gazillion pictures.
Remember?
This year, we decided to indulge in the full gamut of Halloween activities.
For starters, we carved pumpkins. And by “we,” I mean Finn’s mommas. And by “Finn’s momma’s,” I mean me. Though the carving wasn’t exactly a baby-friendly endeavor, what with all of the jagged knives, Finn did get a kick out of taking pumpkin seeds and putting them in a bowl. And he was absolutely mesmerized by the flickering jack-o-lanterns, which he pretty much stalked for a week.
The weekend before Halloween, we took advantage of all of the stuff that our amazing neighborhood has to offer, starting with the fall fest at the garden center that is just a couple of blocks away.
Per usual, Finn just wanted to run around, independently, and explore. He wasn’t too interested in face-painting or the petting zoo. And he wasn’t afraid of ANYTHING, despite there being some pretty creepy masks/costumes.
This picture just KILLS me.
We even got him to ride a pony, which I was convinced would be a total shit-show. But he actually liked it, at first, and tolerated it, at the end.
A couple of months ago, my mom sent us three costumes that she scored for cheap: a dog, a monkey, and a dino. Originally, I got all fiesty, protesting that “I should be the one to choose his costume,” and we planned semi-elaborate family-coordinated costumes in what was, as it turned out, too lofty an attempt to win Halloween.
But then, after Finn ended up being in between baby and toddler sizes, and after we realized that he wasn’t going to keep a hood or a hat or a mask on for a single second, we did what all parents will learn to do, regularly: we gave in. “Screw it,” I said. “Just let him wear the costumes mom got him.”
And really, that’s a pretty valuable parenting lesson for me. We don’t always have to win. We don’t always have to spend the time and money and stress on a costume–or family photos or party decor or cupcakes for class–just to impress a bunch of people who we probably don’t like, anyway. Sometimes, we can just do what’s easy–and enjoying doing it a lot more.
Okay, rant is over.
So, yeah, he was a headless dog for the weekend. A headless monkey for his class Halloween party. And a headless dino, which everyone took for a turtle, for trick-or-treating.
We happen to live in one of the best neighborhoods, ever. Have you heard me say that before? Yeah, you probably have. But when it comes to trick-or-treating, it is really hard to beat our ‘hood, which makes national news with its Halloween awesomeness.
Each house was decorated, and everyone donned costumes. Whole families partied in their front yards or on their porches, handing out candy and chatting with neighbors. It made me feel really lucky to live where we do, and Finn had a blast.
We were worried that he wouldn’t understand trick-or-treating enough to tolerate it, but he totally got it. He was able to reach for a piece of candy, grab it, and toss it into his bucket like a pro. Then, he hate candy for the entire night like it was his job.
There are a few things that are more fun without kids–aimless wandering, fancy Sunday morning brunches, naps. But Halloween, like most things, is about a thousand times more fun now that Finn is in the picture.
And also, I now have an entire bucket of candy to eat. Because, you know, I’m trying to save my son from all the evils of sugar. 😉
No, really. That isn’t a rhetorical question. I need to know–my sanity depends on knowing: how do you respond to tantrums?
Finn is 14.5 months old. That’s a very specific age, I know. This week, a student asked how old Finn was and, when I said he was 14.5 months, my student rolled his eyes and scoffed, “Why can’t you just say that he is one?”
“Because, at this age, one week can mean the difference between a demon and a kitten,” I replied.
And it’s true. We read–and talked–a lot about Wonder Weeks and the various developmental stages during the first year. Finn followed most of the predicted patterns; we’d have weeks that were blissful and weeks where it took every ounce of restraint not to throw myself out of a very high window. Mostly, we survived the latter.
Still, though, Finn is experiencing a lot of mood swings. He’s had a lot of change in his life, lately, and some of the change can be attributed to those shifts.
When he started daycare, we experienced a couple weeks of serious separation anxiety, accompanied by a significant uptick in the quantity and intensity of tantrums. We’re talking full-on, body-goes-limp, dragging-himself-on-the-floor, head-banging tantrums.
“This cannot be happening so soon,” I thought. Don’t tantrums generally start when toddlers turn two? Isn’t that why they are called the “terrible twos,” after all? Is Finn just so intellectually advanced that he’s displaying two-year-old behaviors at one? (Yeah, okay, so I was trying to make lemonade out of lemons.)
So, of course, I became obsessed with trying to figure out how we should react. And, of course, there are approximately 1, 872, 098 theories about this. Ignore him. Don’t ignore him. Smother him with hugs and affection, letting him know he’s safe. Stick his ass in a closet and close the door. Put him in a corner. Put him on the couch. Put him in his crib. Talk to him. Don’t talk to him. Laugh it off. Don’t show any emotion. Don’t make eye contact. Call a priest.
If you can name it, there’s a book about it.
Mostly, we’ve decided to try and ignore his behavior as much as possible, unless he’s banging his head on a hard surface. Then, we move him to a less-hard surface and let him go to town. Surprisingly, this has been pretty effective.
See what we have, there? We have Finn getting over a tantrum, just as I’m grabbing my camera. Minutes earlier, he’d thrown himself face-down on the carpet, protesting something ridiculous. I can’t remember what, exactly. His truck probably looked at him the wrong way. Or I said “kitty” instead of “cat.” One can only imagine.
Anyway, there he was, banging his head on the carpet, when he realized it didn’t have quite the dramatic effect he’d intended. So, he does what any maniacal toddler would do: he scooted out jussssssst enough so that his head would pound against the wood floor, instead.
Then, he got over it. Until he saw I was photographing him. At which point, he threw himself down all over again in truly award-worthy performance, peeking up to make sure that I was catching it all. (I was.)
His tantrums have waned quite a bit since he’s gotten accustomed to daycare, but he still has them. And I’m sure there are a lot more coming. This is possible the least patient, most independent and willful child I’ve ever met.
He’s also starting to really challenge our authority.
He’ll knowingly do something we’ve just told him he can’t do, all while looking us straight in the eye, waiting for a reaction. We can only say “no” so many times. And then remove him from the situation. And then, guiltily, give him a little smack on the hand when he’s really not listening. We both feel pretty icky about that last one, and we’re not sure it’s effective, anyway, but sometimes we go there.
I’d love to hear tips from more experienced parents. What do you all do to respond to tantrums and mischievous behavior at such a young age? Other than down bottles of wine in the pantry, of course.
I’m home with some kind of severe stomach funk. So, I thought I’d capitalize on the opportunity and get a blog post up. I haven’t exactly been a prolific blogger, lately.
Nonetheless, even though I haven’t been doing a lot of writing, we have been doing a lot of living, and that’s really more important, right? It’s my favorite time of year, and we’ve been taking advantage of it as much as we can, despite a month of colds, Finn’s first bout of pink eye, and, now, a stomach bug.
Finn is full-on walking, now. I alluded to that in the last post, but I haven’t said too much about it. It happened SO quickly, but I guess it always does. Within a couple of weeks, he went from never having taken a step to refusing to crawl or hold a hand or seek any kind of assistance. My step-dad jokes that he’s like a drunk frat boy, stumbling around aimlessly, slapping helpful hands away, and running into walls.
The truth is, it is unbelievable how steady he’s become. Yet, his confidence still outweighs his ability. He’s a cocky little sucker like that.
Walking has made some things more challenging, yes, but it has also made a lot of stuff more fun. He can explore on his own. Parks are a whole new ballgame. He runs up the stairs and throws himself down the slide–and then does it all over again.
There are some downsides to his being fully mobile, too, as any parent knows. Of course, there’s the whole has-a-death-wish-and-must-be-watched-constantly thing, but what’s worse is that he has become even more fiercely independent. Finn has always been an independent little guy. If you’re feeling a little less charitable, you might even call him willful. (We all knows where he got that.)
Walking has only fanned that fire. He’s even more emboldened. Like, you can tell he’s thinking, “Screw you people! I don’t need your strollers or your hands or your wagons. I’m out of here!” And so, he absolutely refuses to be restrained. He’s pretty good, riding in the stroller. But try to hold him, cuddle with him, or grab his hand and he will arch his back, his body will go limp, and he’ll have a full-on temper tantrum.
Exhibit A:
What awful torture were we asking him to endure, here? We had the gall to request that he sit still for 20 seconds so that we could get a photo with his bestie, Veen. Oh, the humanity!
Speaking of Veen, we took the boys apple picking for the second year in a row. You may remember my post from last year’s apple-picking adventure.
CAN YOU EVEN HANDLE HOW MUCH THEY’VE CHANGED? I CAN’T.
That first trip was a little tricky because Finn absolutely refused to drink from a bottle, forcing Sona to whip out a boob in the middle of the orchard.
The good news is that no boobs made an appearance at the orchard, this year. The bad news is that tantrums did. Mostly, we had a great time, but Finn was his usual antsy, independent self. He didn’t want to linger at the animal pens in the petting zoo. He didn’t want to wait in line for the “Moo Choo” train. He wanted to run.
Bye, Felicia.
Luckily, he did pretty well in the wagon once we got out to the apples.
These boys. I love them so.
We tried, yet again, to do a couple quick family photos while in such a beautiful fall setting. Veen cooperated.
Finn? Not so much. #oneofthesethingsisnotliketheother
But even with all of the toddler antics introducing themselves, it’s more fun doing things with Finn, now. He understands what is going on, and he engages in our family activities. He’s like a little person–and not a little drooling blob. Granted, he’s a pretty cranky person, sometimes, but he’s our crank. And we love him.
And because we’re starting to lap Finn’s first year, there are lots of opportunities for side-by-side comparisons. So, here’s one more of our little cranky pants. Does it make your heart stop? Because mine sure does.
It’s a good thing I didn’t write this blog post last week, cause it would have been all “woe is me.” Actually, “screw you, world” more accurately describes last week’s mood.
Rock hits Sona’s windshield and it needs replaced? Screw you, world!
My fender bender, the following day, in which the man at fault fled the scene? Screw you, world!
Air conditioner on the fritz–but not on the fritz enough for our warranty to do anything about it? Screw you, world!
Having to explain to co-workers for the 20th time why I can’t/won’t just spontaneously stay late to have yet another meeting during the week? Screw you, world!
This blog crashed, and I had to have four chats with my hosting agent to get it back up? Screw you, world!
Having to walk away from a screaming Finn, whose separation anxiety has flared up in the midst of our first week back at daycare? Screw you, world!
Yeah, it was bad.
Finn’s first week of daycare actually went better than we’d expected, despite all of this hemming and hawing. Yes, the separation anxiety is rearing its ugly head, again, but we can’t really blame the little guy. He’s had a few childcare shake-ups in the past month, and it’s a lot of change for him. Daycare, we hope, will bring with it some consistency.
But for a while, he’s probably going to scream his head off when I drop him off. And for a while, I’ll probably carry around a lot of guilt and bitterness because of that.
The first day wasn’t so bad. Finn hadn’t yet realized that this place was his new version of prison. He was so shell-shocked by all the newness, he barely even noticed when I left.
It also helps that his daycare is super tech-forward, and there is an app where Sona and I can follow Finn’s daily routine. We know what he eats (or doesn’t eat), when he sleeps, and we even get photos.
When I got this picture of him napping. On the first day! On a cot! In a room full of other kids! I was SO relieved. He’s a spunky little guy, and we just couldn’t imagine him napping outside of his crib, in a new environment, without a bottle, or a sound machine. We just figured there’d be at least a week of missed naps before he got worn down.
Yet, his daycare teachers are miracle workers, and they’ve managed to get him to sleep–pretty effortlessly–each day.
Still, there have been some adjustments. He’s wearing shoes for the first time. He’s in a class full of kids 15+ months old, meaning he’s the youngest. He’s the only one who can’t walk. He’s not allowed to crawl, here. He’s drinking half as much milk as he’s accustomed to getting at home. He can’t have a snack whenever he wants. He’s not the center of attention. I could go on.
Those things have made for a bit of a bumpy transition, and we’ve had a cranky monkey on our hands. Oh, and a starving monkey. Lord help the soul who picks Finn up without a snack in hand. He DEVOURS his snack before I even put him in the car.
It’s also tough on mommies, as is any change. We worry and fret and wonder if we’re doing what’s best. I carry a lot of stress about those things, and being preoccupied by them makes it difficult for me not to be resentful about anything that comes between me and time that I could be having with my son.
All other obligations become that much more burdensome and frustrating in the context of my wishing I could be there for Finn all of the time. There’s so many feels.
I have a well-meaning co-worker who often asks me to stay late for a conversation or a short meeting, and it really is just a matter of time before he unleashes the Mom Monster. I will give him a tearful 30-minute lecture about how difficult it is to balance work and home life, especially with a toddler, before the semester ends. I see it coming.
And when, on the second day, I got this photo from the daycare, I seriously almost lost it:
I’ve obscured the faces of all the other kids, for obvious reasons. But let me paint you the picture: It’s daycare. There’s a birthday party. There are even cupcakes! All kids are smiling, in an ignorant icing-induced bliss. Enter: Finn. My son, who looks like he’s been tortured all day. Whose said face says, to me, only one thing: My momma makes me come to this horrible place because she would rather be at work.
I know how unreasonable that sounds, but that I how it feels. That is exactly how it feels 90% of the time.
On Friday, I took Finn to daycare, even though I was off. I had a lot to get done, and his teacher said he needed to come as much as possible at first–just to get settled in. I had a lot of guilt about taking him while I was at home, of course. So, excitedly, I went to pick him up early.
I practically ran to his classroom, only to find they had already left for the park. I went to my car, rushed to the park, and couldn’t find them. They were somewhere in transit. I knew what I needed to do: I needed to just take my happy ass to the grocery store, let him have some outside play time with his friends, and then come back in 30 minutes.
But I called Sona, sobbing, anyhow. All my guilt had bubbled to the surface, and I was just really, super bummed. It was silly and senseless, but I felt like I couldn’t give anything in my life the attention it deserved: not my wife, not my job, and definitely not my son. I felt so defeated.
Fast forward to today.
Finn’s teacher said he’s “improving immensely.” Hardly any crying. He’s playing with the other kids. He’s painting! And participating in music classes! And going on hunts for leaves! All things he’d never do at home.
It’s good for him. My logical brain knows this, my emotional brain resists it.
And guess what? He’s walking! That’s kind of huge, right?! His teachers have really been working with him, and he was walking after having been there for only three days.
So, yes. I know this will good for all of us. I know he’s happy, mostly, and he’s cared for. It’ll get a little easier each week.
And until then, I will just sit in meetings, pretending to pay attention to conversations about whether or not we should have attendance policies, when I’m really just obsessively refreshing my phone notifications, hoping to have an alert that Finn ate “NO broccoli.”
Shh–don’t tell, Mamas. I know you get it.
Since I’ve been pretty open about all things concerning first-time parenthood, I’ve had a lot of friends–and friends of friends–reach out to me with various questions. Yet, the question I receive the most is this: What should we register for?
I get it, because I was in a full-on registry panic, too, before Finn was born. Anyone who knows me knows that I’m crazy about researching The Best of everything. You want to know what computer to buy? What island oasis to book? What Korean BBQ restaurant to try? I’m usually a good person to ask, as I spend hourrrrrrrs online, Googling reviews and blog posts and discussion forums, searching tirelessly for The Best Thing Ever. (By the way: this is a great way to waste your life, induce a lot of unneeded anxiety, and piss off your other half.)
Nonetheless, I can usually be counted on to source the good stuff. And when it came to creating our baby registry, I took on that project like it was a full-time job. There were whole weeks of my life lost to asking, “Uppababy or Baby Jogger? Vista or Cruz?”
We followed a lot of the checklists online, too, registering for all the standard goods. Some of the things we registered for ended up never even being opened. Some things we waffled over are lifesavers, now.
So, let’s break it down. Had we to do it all over again, what would we keep, what would we ditch, and what would we add?
What would we keep? This isn’t an exhaustive list, as we registered for–and were gifted–lots of useful things. Here are some of the things that have been the most useful:
What would we ditch? (Please don’t be offended if you bought us any of these things. We asked for them, after all.)
What would we add? These are some things we ended up buying, ourselves–and something we wish, in hindsight, we’d asked for.
Of course, there are lots of other little things that made our lives easier, but these are the things that jump out–the items that were useful. Or were totally NOT useful.
New babies bring with them a ton of stuff. And, ultimately, you’ll realize that you don’t need as much as you thought you did… but try telling that to a new momma, prepping her first registry!
As I’ve mentioned before, we bought our first home, this summer. It’s duplex in our dream neighborhood in Chicago, and we’re totally in love.
However, the place was a little dated, and it needed a bit of a facelift. I blogged about our reno plans after the purchase.
Even though we’ve been in our home for a few months, I haven’t had a chance to share much of the reno results. Today, I’m sharing my favorite space in the house: our “formal” living/dining room. It’s not really formal, actually, but it is intended as our adult-ish space.
When we were looking to buy, we really wanted to find a place that had two living spaces: a living/dining room that could be for the grown-ups and a comfy family room where Finn could run wild. So, when we saw this room in our current home, we both fell in love, and I immediately started a Pinterest board, dreaming up possibilities.
Here’s what we saw the day we first stepped foot into this place:
And here’s what it looked like after we bought it:
It wasn’t awful, but it definitely needed some TLC, including ripping out the original flooring, which dated back to 1916.
And here is what it looks like, today:
The fireplace makeover wasn’t on our original to-do list; we’d expected this to be a project for a year or two later. However, our amazing contractor told us it’d be a lot cheaper to do it now, rather than having him come back for just one project. He also was confident he’d be able to fully realize our vision, which he TOTALLY did! It’s probably my favorite element of our whole reno.
We wanted the room to be like us: light, feminine, whimsical, and eclectic. The green sofa came first. We had our hearts set on a totally impractical green velvet sofa, and everything else evolved around that.
I’m not completely sold on the pillow situation. Truth be told, these blue ones are actually from our bedroom. The pillow line-up is still a work-in-progress.
Anyone who knows me knows that I’m a sucker for a gallery wall. We have several in the new place, but this one is particularly fun.
My great grandfather was a seltzer salesman. These vintage green seltzer bottles were his, and I begged my mom to let me have them.
This table is a vintage piece that we bought–and had refinished–at MegMade, one of our favorite stores in Chicago. It was originally stained a mid-tone brown, but I really wanted a pop of yellow. On the way to the store, Sona asked, “What color yellow are you thinking?” I said, “like the color of marigolds.” Once we got to the store, the designer told us they only had one color yellow in stock. “It’s called marigold,” she said. We were sold!
Truth be told, when we first bought this house, I really had one goal: to get a fiddle leaf fig!
While it’s still coming along, I’m pretty proud of this space. It’s so bright and cheery, and it makes me smile each time I walk through it. Like us, it doesn’t take itself too seriously.
This is where we spend most of our time, eating, watching Finn play, lounging as a family. It’s a special space for us, and we use it more than I anticipated that we would.
Next week, I’m going to share our bathroom renos, which are probably the most dramatic before/afters in the whole house!
Yeah, so Finn turned 13 months old this weekend, and I’m just now posting his cake smash photos. Don’t judge.
We knew we wanted to do a cake smash session with Finn, but we just haven’t found the time to do it. So, of course, we chose a weekend in which we already had a ton going on, a day on which he was sick, and a time at which he should’ve been napping. #MOMMYWIN
It was still TOTALLY worth it.
This ain’t nothin’ but a shameless photo dump of cake-y goodness. Eat your heart out, kid.
OVER IT!
Disclaimer: This post has a lot to do with Finn–it also has nothing to do with Finn. That is, it’s not about him, explicitly, but it is also very much about him. Am I killing you with my vagueness, yet?
This past year has brought with it a lot of change: parenthood, home ownership, the loss of a lot of quality time between Sona and I, Sona turning 35 (which seems OLD–I’m sorry, everyone over 35, but I definitely feel like we’re tipping some sort of aging scale, here). There have been other things, too.
It has, in a lot of ways, been the best year of my life. Having Finn is the greatest thing that has ever happened to me, and I have not spent a single second–not even one–regretting our decision to have a baby. (At least, not since he was born. When Sona was pregnant, there were MANY seconds spent wondering, “What the hell did we get ourselves into?”)
But I have spent a lot of time, regretting, lately. I’ve spent a lot of time asking myself one question, over and over again: are we–am I–doing it all wrong?
As an English professor, I understand your urge to ask a bevy of follow-up questions: What is “it”? Wrong in what way? Who is this “we” you speak of? This is all frustratingly nonspecific.
Maybe I’ve just been spending too much time in my head, which is something I’m often guilty of doing. Or maybe this is just my version of a mid-life crisis. Either way, I’ve been feeling pretty forlorn, if you assess things generously–or pretty morose, if you are less than generous. (Sona would most definitely go with the latter.)
I’ve just had this creeping, overwhelming sense that we are doing all sorts of things with our lives that we are going to regret having done, later–or that we AREN’T doing things that will make us just as regretful about having missed.
This is the trap, I know, of being a working parent in our country. It’s The Busy Trap, as one of my favorite writers, Tim Kreider, notes. Nonetheless, it’s something that I’ve become so acutely aware of, lately, that I can’t seem to pull myself out from under the heavy cloud of regret that I know is a-coming.
I’m talking in circles, here, I know. I could try to be more specific. I could say that we’re working too much. That I’ve taken on new responsibilities at work and a job I usually love has turned into a job that’s a source of a good bit of stress. That our lives are consumed by to-do lists that never seem to end. That I’m spending a large chunk of the money I make while working, paying for someone else to spend time with my son. That we spend 80% of our days getting shit done and 20% of our days making memories. That we let the stress from all of those tasks overshadow any potential joy. That I feel like I’m constantly having to ask my wife to step away from her chores and just enjoy our little family. That my wife is always having to ask me for attention. That we have a beautiful home, which I adore, but this home requires that we work more and enjoy less. That one day we will look back and recognize that we spent way too little time having fun and way too much time worrying. That my nanny spends 8 hours a day with my son, and I get 3.
ALL OF THIS.
All of this, coupled with my own neuroses–a joie de vivre that is damn-near crippling. An incurable sense of wanderlust. A burdening desire to do something BIG–have a great adventure, give it all up, invent an entirely new life. An idealism that, though I come by it honestly, sets my expectations for my own life immeasurably high.
This waxing philosophical is annoying me–even as I type. It reeks of privilege and the run-of-the-mill middle-class, mid-life discontentment. I know how it sounds. I do.
But still, something is brewing–and something needs to change.
And, because pictures of Finn make everything better, here he is, nearly swimming in beans:
