Gifts

Sometimes I get annoyed with Sofia for wanting to play with me all the time. I have dishes to wash, dinner to prep, emails to answer (mumble mumble facebook posts to like). But just yesterday, the realization came to me as I begrudgingly took part, but then slowly forced myself to be fully present: by allowing me to play with her, she is giving me a unique look into herself. How she talks to other pretend presences, what she says to her dolls, the new words she's learned, the depths of her imagination. If I listen very carefully, she is offering me the most hidden, truest parts of herself. She is giving me a gift.

There are times when we are with other people and I get worn out keeping up our back-and-forth language game, making a stubborn attempt at only speaking to the girls in English. This requires a lot of translating, as it's important to me that neither the girls nor our Italian friends feel left out of the conversation. It's very tiring. The truth, though, is that when I turn to Sofia or Samina and speak to them in English in the middle of a very Italian conversation, it feels like we are a little team, sharing our own quiet inside story. We are working together to speak our bilingual sentences. They are giving me a gift.

Sofia was born a highly sensitive child. She needs explanations to things, wants to know why and how, letting things settle in her before she can accept them. We occasionally roll our eyes while answering all her questions - the why's and the how's don't always come at life's most convenient times, and we wish she'd just listen to music in the car instead of giving us the third degree. But, when I stop and think about it, these questions she has for me always make me think. I have to analyze what she will understand, how much to tell her, what information will suffice. But, usually, first I have to figure out if I even have an answer for her. And it means I have to think back to when I was her age, just as highly sensitive, and I am forced to find empathy. That empathy is a gift she is giving me.

The ins and outs of our daily lives are so mind-numbing, so frequently tedious and monotonous that I forget. I disregard the fact that my children weren't only 'given' to me so that I could set them on the righteous path - but that they are in my lives to teach me something, for me to receive something as well. I get so bogged down in wanting to make them become the best adults they possibly can be that I forget they are here to do that exact same thing for me.

Our children have gifts to give us. It's not easy to find the energy to even figure out what they are, amid the frustration and exhaustion. But they are there, and we can find them in the quiet. In those moments we allow ourselves - sorry, no, we force ourselves - to just be. To play dollies, to speak thoughtfully, to answer questions earnestly - for the sole purpose of simply playing, simply speaking, simply answering. Because it is in those instants that we can, if we're truly lucky, catch a glimpse of not only who our babies are becoming, but who we are.

Happy Half Birthday!

This little girl. Our second child.

This picture was taken just seconds before a humungo-sized meltdown because I said it was time for her and her leashed cat (aptly named "Gatto") to leave the park.

But look at that kid.

I use a lot of nicknames with the girls - Sofia prefers to be called Sweetie Pie, but between them there's also Peanut (Sofia), Monkey (Samina), Sammy Whammy, Fia, Babydoll (I hate this one but it keeps coming out of my mouth anyhow). And, thrown in there, I find myself using the occasional "Sunshine" when talking to Samina because, well: Look at her!

NOT that it's always rainbows and unicorns with Miss Samina. She is Sass-a-lot and Spice mixed with a tiny little possible future attorney. And my oh my can she be touchy.

Current Likes: picking out her own shoes, testing Mommy's limits, playing "Mamma & Figlia" (Mother and Daughter) with her big sister, the park, dolls, lipgloss, filling her hands and arms with as many objects as humanly possible to bring (a) to the car and (b) into bed. Loves music of all types, ice cream sandwiches, lemon in her (bubbly) water, nursing (aka "tatte"), snuggle sessions with Mommy, story time and pretending to read books to us, when the whole family is together, swimming/diving and anything messy.

Current HATES: feeling controlled (this one's not working out too well for us), getting yelled at, getting her diaper changed, transitions of any kind LORDHELPUS, being rushed, sharing toys - especially with her sister, not getting her way. When anyone is upset with her. Your basic 2-year-old stuff.

Samina is such a character - and I dare anyone to talk to her for 10 seconds and not smile. She is precociously witty and her comic timing is right on point. She has a way of bringing out the best in people - though sometimes I think it may just be because she's so bossy people are terrorized into acting correctly.

We love you Sammy Whammy Sunshine. Happy 2-and-a-half! Please don't ever change.

Updating

We have an electronic picture frame in our living room that turns on every day at 6pm. Embarassingly, it's been neglected for so long that the only pictures on it were of Sofia from about 0 to 2.5 years of age. The other night, as I sat watching the pictures flash by with Samina and, photo after photo, she asked me "Samina?" and I softly replied "No, Sofia!", my mother guilt got the best of me and I decided it was time to finally update.

So, this afternoon I sat down and began the task of choosing pictures. And I found amazing ones like this one...

And this one...

  And, be still my heart, this one...

And BOOM. Just like that, I rediscovered my family (or, more precisely, re-rediscovered...it's all a constant cycle, isn't it?).

And this thought came to my mind: There is Love in this house. There is also anger and frustration and piles of laundry and 2-day-expired milk. But There is Love. In abundance.

And now, we have the pictures proudly displayed in my living room to prove it.

Growing up

Just today, for a little Throwback Thursday fun, I posted this picture of myself from our wedding 8 years ago:

...and every time I look at it, it makes me feel a profound sadness that I'm not very familiar with.



As I approach the big 4-0 in a few months, I find myself unfamiliar with that younger version of myself up there. Disconnected from those tanned freckles on my then-thinner arms, those smiling, totally carefree eyes. The world out there waiting to be grabbed hold of. Not quite innocence but...a certain tranquillity, an assuredness that the seasons of my life would be bountiful and, somehow, endless.

As I turn the corner to what was once called "mid-life" (gag), I do feel intrinsically changed.

Physically I have accumulated so much fatigue that it seems to have started turning itself into insomnia. It takes me longer to get up off the floor (though I am proud to say I can still sit cross-legged!) and I find myself wishing I had more exuberance in general.

Mentally, though, I feel more stable in so many ways. Thanks mainly to my daughters, I've learned my limits and am more sure of when it's worth it or not to push those limits. It still matters to me what other people think, but not in the same way, and not with the same people. It's ok for others not to like me, and that has given me a sense of great power.

I've become simultaneously more and less patient. My bullshit sensor has become even more refined and - and this is an important one for me - I've learned that holding grudges really, truly just isn't worth it.

I look at this picture, though, and I find myself wondering: "Am I as happy as I was then though?" And that's where the unfamiliar sadness comes in. Because, yes, I do think I'm happy overall. But there is a bittersweetness to it, a feeling of never-getting-it-back that I have just never really felt before. Something dark lurking over my conscience, reminding me that it's not and can never be what I once thought it was: endless. As singer Brooke Fraser tells it, It's funny how sad the funny things get as you grow older.

So. This is me now instead:

The same smiley attempt at living life.
Hardly ever alone in a picture.
A few more pounds and a few more greys.
And working her ass off to be ok with all that.

Seeing yourself

A blogger I follow wrote this: "Not everyone should have children, but I'd venture to guess that you don't really know yourself until you have them. However you come by them, naturally, adopted, foster, surrogate or otherwise, they will show you the best and the worst parts of yourself."

This is the hard parenting truth that makes life so difficult much of the time. The part where you become familiar with your own limits of patience, exhaustion, and selflessness. Those days you wish you weren't anyone's parent at all and could go back to living your life just for yourself again. Just one, tiny day of solitary living. When you are filled with self-hatred for the monster you've released from your most hidden underbelly.

But then, my blogger reminds me, there are the good days too. The days I see myself at my finest. When I am the personification of empathy. When my words are slower and more deliberate, and I can see a glimpse of deep recognition in my daughters' eyes. When I take the time, and I enjoy it.When I am Mommy with a capital M and I can feel the joy of that realization creep through my veins.

Those latter days, unfortunately, are fewer in number than the days when I am not too proud of myself. But they do exist. And the fact remains that nothing is more of a mirror into our own souls than our children, than the very personal path we take as we accompany them through their lives. How we react, the words we say, how we (really) feel about it all...it all becomes crystal clear the second they hand that baby over to you. And the rest of the world, well, doesn't quite melt away but refocuses. And what we're left with at the focal point, left to battle with and re-align, is our own most authentic, individual human nature.

Buon Compleanno, Andrea!

Today is my favorite person in the world's birthday...

He is generous to a fault, a beyond-devoted father, friend and partner, sacrificing his own needs without question to make certain the rest of us are content.

When you see him, he is usually clad with children - his own and others - nurturing them, carrying them, feeding them, running after them...tirelessly (well, nearly)...

 

 

 

 

 

 He is deliberate and exceptional, aware of the world around him and priveleged with the gift of boundless curiosity.

 He puts up with a lot, but never gives up on us.

 

He is the calmer of souls, the provider of energy, the benchmark and point of reference for everyone in his life.

 

He is the sturdiest person I've ever known, with the most massive heart, the most courageous soul and the softest yet most protective spirit. 

 
 

Happy birthday, Andrea.

  

 

“It is easy in the world to live after the world's opinions; it is easy in solitude to live after your own; but the great man is he who in the midst of the crowd keeps with perfect sweetness the independence of solitude."

 - Ralph Waldo Emerson

Two

Dear Samina/Sami/Sami Davis/Monkey,

Your enigmatic, complex soul. So exposed with your needs and emotions, so sure of what you want. But, something lies behind that façade too...something pensive. Reflective. Mysterious. The look that comes to your face when your feelings are overwhelming...those inexplicable, unreadable eyes. What is going on behind them? What are you thinking about this all - about us, about this crazy life with these crazy people who can't get enough of you?

Today is your birthday, sweet girl.

2 whole years of your scheming grin and your belly laugh, of your stubbornness and silliness and vehement independence.

2 years have come and gone with you in our lives. 2 years of literally not being able to remember what life was like before you. 2 years of feeling like a complete, whole-rounded family of 4.

2 years of the tenderness you've brought out in Sofia. 2 years of sisterly antics and kisses and hitting and biting and yelling and sharing and plotting.

2 whole years.

And 2 years, for all 3 of us, filled with the fascination of getting to know you. The genuine honor of being your parents and your sister.

Thank you for being you, Sami. Happy 2nd birthday.

We LoLo,

Mommy, Papà and Fia

My breastfeeding soapbox

I have a lot to say on this subject brought up by the Wall Street Journal.

Let me start by saying this as strongly as I possibly can: I am not judging. If a woman makes a choice to formula feed, more power to her. Honestly. What my soapbox here is about is the misinformation, the manipulation by big business and the lack of support floating around the subject of breastfeeding, in the case where a woman would have wanted to breastfeed but was pressured out of it, in one way or another.

When I became a mom, I asked my own mother why she formula-fed all three of her children. Her response to me was "because, back then, that's what you did." She's right. When I was born back in the *cough* 1970's *cough*, that's just what most moms in the U.S. did.

Have things changed? Well, my vote is both yes and no.

Yes. Of late (the last 10 years?), the public has woken up some and, albeit begrudgingly, decided to take things into its own hands. For example, in 2012, Mayor Bloomberg "banned" baby formula from NYC hospitals, while the "Breast is Best" campaign -- stirring an avalanche of debate -- has by now become a household name.

No. Uninformed or insensitive nurses and doctors still often force their patients to immediately start supplementing, beginning from the early hours after a baby is born. Vulnerable, hormone-ridden, justifiably scared mothers (and fathers) face the intimidating task on their own. Hospitals often have one single lactation consultant available for their entire ward, if any at all. Appointments must be booked in advance but, and I know this from experience, the problem is that moms don't know they will need a consultant until they need one. And, since the first few hours are the most critical, these waiting moms will instinctually do anything to stop their babies from crying. And so begins formula use.

The world hasn't become a friendlier place for breastfeeding mothers. Not only is hospital staff untrained in the bedside manner of dealing with a postpartum, anxious breastfeeding mom, but just the simple act of nursing itself has become so sexualized in our society that moms have to buy expensive cover-ups to keep the poor world from catching a glimpse of their side boob. Moms who choose to nurse for longer than a couple months (me) are constantly fielding questions about when they're planning on stopping and aren't you tired of having her hang off you? 

Things here in Italy are only slightly better -- help is there, but you have to look for it. Like I said, with my first, I didn't know I'd need a consultant until I needed one. And then it took us ages just to figure out who to contact. My ob/gyn? Our pediatrician? My own family doctor? (the latter, by the way, despite my desperate pleas to help me figure out how to succeed in nursing, insisted I was trying to do too much and that I just jump to formula already -- she is no longer my family doctor). Luckily, by the time I got to baby #2, we were more prepared and knew where to get help, which thank goodness was everywhere though, sadly, not where it would have been easy to access, like with pediatricians or in hospitals.

Many of my friends, both back in the U.S. and here in Italy, haven't been fortunate in their experiences. They are susceptible to the workings of the formula industry who, according to the WSJ article, spends over $45 billion a year in advertising. These same industries give women "going home gift bags" complete with free formula as they leave the hospital, on their way home to face the big, bad world alone with their new, scary baby.

They...we... are vulnerable. Alone. Scared to dehydrate our babes, paranoid our colostrum isn't enough. Terrified. Exhausted.

The debate over whether or not breast really is best will go on forever, and studies upon studies will demonstrate both or neither, most likely until the end of time. But the fact remains: there is not enough support for new moms making tough choices in those early days and hours -- with breastfeeding on top of that list. We need more in-hospital LCs, we need more free support (FYI check out this link for free La Leche League support groups in your area, or this website to get bf'ing help), we need to normalize breastfeeding (this website  is a good jumping-off point on the subject if you're looking for ways to participate).

And, above all - and I hope it doesn't sound trite - we need to quit it with the Mommy Wars and support one another: formula or breast, SAHM or office mom, disposable or cloth, farm-fed or processed, helicopter or wine drinker. Because if we don't advocate for ourselves and each other, who will?

Festa del Papà 2014

You heal our bruises and pick up the pieces.
Your tireless hands hold ours.
You teach us how to write, how to run, how to fall down and laugh about it.
You bathe us, feed us, caress us when we're sad.
You proudly tape up our pictures all over the furniture.
You stay up late to learn how to make us balloon animals.
You give in almost every time we ask for "just one more story."
You don't let us get away with anything.
You let Mommy rest when she's had a long day.
You teach us generosity through your acts, not your words.
You push us to be better, just like you always strive to be better.
You show us, every single day, what it is to be a Man, a Father, a Friend.

Grazie, papà. Di tutto.

Con tanto affetto,

Le 2SER

Life Lessons

This past weekend, my mom organized a surprise birthday party for my dad...even though it was her birthday!

As part of the festivities - which we, unfortunately, couldn't attend - I made up my TOP TEN LIFE LESSONS I'VE LEARNED from my FATHER and MOTHER, which my sister-in-law very kindly presented for me at the party...

The Top 10 Life Lessons I’ve learned from my father:

1. Nothing is sacred and it’s never too soon to joke about it.

2. Pain is good because it means Happiness is right around the corner. Unfortunately, that also means that Happiness is bad because it means Pain is right around the corner.

3. Never trust weathermen, religious fanatics, doctors or Republicans.

4. It’s always better to spend the money on a tutor than to have a family member teach you how to either do math or drive.

5. Thursday is diner pea soup day.

6. Just like the old adage goes, “Do what you love and you will never work a day in your life.”

7. It makes more sense to circle around the same block 147 times than to stop and ask someone where the hell you’re going.

8. Go with the decision that will make the best story.

9. In life, it’s important to find a reliable mechanic, a current Zagat’s, someone else to change your light bulbs and a life partner who will pick out all your clothes for you.

10. Do your best every day, then go home.

The Top 10 Life Lessons I’ve learned from my mother:

1. The true job of a parent is to teach their children to be independent.

2. The latter doesn’t however necessarily include financial independence.

3. The best way to organize an all-day outing is to first decide where you’re going to eat your three meals and then work around them.

4. If I walk into a car dealership and the first question they ask me is “What color would you like?” I have permission to give them hell.

5. Worldly possessions are not worth anything at all if you can’t share them with the people you love.

6. There’s nothing a little dessert and a spa day can’t cure. Shopping has been known to be a solution as well.

7. Girls can do anything boys can do…better. Or at least that’s what the t-shirt said that she gave me when I was 8.

8. You can’t spoil children with love. Toys, however, are another story, but whatever.

9. Guilt is a powerful tool, use it as much to your advantage as humanly possible.

10. Don’t be afraid to go for it…mom and dad have your back.

 

The Mother Guilt

Today, the weight of The Mother Guilt sits heavy on me.

Not that anything in particular has happened. Yeah, it's been a rough week with tantrums galore from both girls, though mainly Sofia. We've taken milk away, carried her out kicking and screaming from a birthday party, sent her to bed right after dinner. It hasn't been pleasant for any of us.

And, well, these are the times I become most mindful of my responsibility here -- and when the inevitable therefore floats to the surface: I become ultra-aware of my flaws. The screaming when I should be patient, the angry words I wish I could take back, the unnecessary criticism, my insensitivity and lack of empathy. The expecting too much from a 4-and-a-half-year-old girl (who though, in my defence, is going on 14).

There is no doubt my daughters know I love them, and this is how I reassure myself. We spend lots of quality time together every single day and I have absolutely no problem showing them affection, talking and playing with them.

But my job - this duty I've taken on - it is so important, essential, scary. And it is forever. It's funny how looking back I realize how easy I had it when they were infants. I simply had to keep them clothed, fed and alive. Now? I'm in charge of things like teaching them empathy and cooperation and how to respect authority without giving up their personal rights. But also how to blow their noses, how to break the stem off asparagus, how to tie shoelaces and cross a street and say "Who is it?" when someone rings the doorbell.

That's a lot of information to have to pass on, and to have to do it while remaining calm and patient is almost too much sometimes. Sometimes I can hardly function in the world - how on earth am I going to get them to adulthood, all 4 of us still alive to tell about it?!

A while back I read a great book called "Raising an Emotionally Intelligent Child" which had a huge effect on how I think about parenting - and even how I look at relationships in general. Its premise is that we as parents (and as people) can use conflict and difficult situations as jumping off points for further parent-child/human intimacy and as a teaching tool for raising empathetic individuals. And, really, in theory it is very simple. Except the main crux of the book emphasizes keeping calm. Instilling patience and empathy through...you guessed it...patience and empathy.

In so many ways, I feel like I've already failed, though intellectually of course I know the road is still very long. Every day becomes a challenge to face where - even if Sofia has thrown herself on the floor crying for "ONE LAST BOOK" before bed - my one and only task becomes keeping calm and carrying on.

So, basically, I'm screwed.

I don't think I'm adult enough for this parenting stuff. But...I keep putting one foot in front of the other and wake up almost every day a cautious optimist because, well...this:

Keep on keeping on, parents. Trust me, we're doing fine (or whatever, we're doing the best we can).

What I've learned so far (Part I)

Take more videos.
At least a few seconds every few months or so.
I've always been lazy and preferred pictures, but this morning the four of us got on the bed together and watched some "old" videos and I think my heart grew x 100. We will never get those moments back - and that's ok for a lot of reasons - but it really puts everything in perspective when you retrace your steps and see how far you've come. Side note: four years honestly seem like an eternity.

My house is never (ever ever ever) going to be clean ever ever again.
The best we can do is invite people over -- especially people that don't know us that well -- to clear our schedules enough to give the place an overhaul. But that's OK. I repeat: that's OK. It has to be, really, so I just need to accept it and keep my complaining about it to a minimum. Yar, sure, I'll get right on that.

The girls hear and see - and will imitate - everything I say and do.
Every. Little. Thing. The best is when, a few hours after I say or do it, I see them acting it out. The least scary is when they pretend to be me going to work, while the worst is when they yell at their dolls using the same obnoxious tone and words I recognize from my own big mouth. By now, Andrea and I can tell which of us is the bad influence, depending on what language they use.

Children always get sick late Friday night.
Just when your pediatrician has closed up for the weekend.

Nothing you ever plan is going to go the way you imagine it will.
This is, by far, the cruelest thing to get used to. In my pre-parenthood life, sure, there was disappointment and I had to learn to be flexible. But now...now, nothing goes as I expect it to: a trip to the supermarket, visiting a new place, Skyping with my parents, Thanksgiving. And if you don't learn to roll with the punches and truly make whatever work, you are going to hate your life. Forever and ever, the end.

I have lost all control.
This is related to the above. When the girls are around, I decide pretty much zero anymore, from when and what we eat, to how and where we sleep, to what clothes they (and I even) wear, from how long it will take to leave the house to how long I can talk on the phone to what music we listen to in the car...you see what I mean. There is not one aspect of my life that I and I alone decide anymore. Nope, can't think of one. And I, of course, was one of those pre-children moms swore I would never be this way. HA. HA. HA. To quote my mother: "When I die, I want to come back as my own children."

Isolation is bad.
It might feel like a good idea to have a stay-at-home pajama Saturday with the whole family, but do yourself a favor, get dressed and get the hell out of there. Trust me.

It's important to be your old self again.
I once heard advice to new mothers to turn up the music and dance in front of a mirror, to remind yourself that you're still in there. Everyone should do that.

Shopping - including window shopping - for myself will probably have to wait another 10-15 years.
My wardrobe is so sad, thank the lord for Old Navy online.

My life without my family is really damn boring.
Yeah, I NEED and BEG and PLEAD for time alone. But it never fails that, after a couple hours, I'm ready to have them back. (And then, when they get back, it takes precisely 3 minutes and 10 seconds before I'm begging for "me" time again).

They really do grow right before your eyes.
So many times, they've woken up from a nap or in the morning and they are literally, noticeably bigger. I am positive that it is the most bittersweet feeling that ever existed.

Every stage is the best, every stage sucks.
Funny story. When Sofia was still a wee babe, I went to a store to look into highchairs, and the saleslady scolded me for trying to speed up time so quickly (she obviously wasn't working on commission). She was right, though. I was so eager to get out of the early months that I was working on fast-forwarding my way through it. What I didn't know was that, as hard as it was to deal with nursing and sleeping back then, the first toddler months were going to be just as harrowing - in an entirely different way. Just as I had no idea that those amazing newborn cuddles would then be replaced by the mind-boggling first words stage.
It's all good, it's all hard, it's all magical. All of it. And every single fiber of my being is simultaneously relieved and nostalgic that we're stopping at two.