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
Wednesday, March 19, 2014
Monday, March 10, 2014
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 mother:
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.
Thursday, March 6, 2014
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).
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).
Thursday, January 16, 2014
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.
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.
Monday, December 30, 2013
Resolutions 2014
Promises to myself for the new year...in no particular order...
1. Get more sleep.
2. Wear more dresses.
3. Take better quality pictures (with my birthday camera, yay!).
4. Spoil Andrea more.
5. Write my friends more handwritten letters.
6. Hold myself less responsible.
7. Filter myself more or less on a case by case basis.
8. Handle my frustration better.
9. Walk, cook and read more.
10. See number one. I'm serious people.
1. Get more sleep.
2. Wear more dresses.
3. Take better quality pictures (with my birthday camera, yay!).
4. Spoil Andrea more.
5. Write my friends more handwritten letters.
6. Hold myself less responsible.
7. Filter myself more or less on a case by case basis.
8. Handle my frustration better.
9. Walk, cook and read more.
10. See number one. I'm serious people.
Saturday, December 7, 2013
To sleep, perchance...
Sleep and I used to be way cool. There's family foklore my parents like to tell of a baby Jodi deciding she was tired at the dinner table, pushing her plate and table setting out of the way, resting her head down and passing out cold.
That description of me holds true throughout pretty much all of my life. Just like how when I'm hungry you'd best feed me, when I'm tired, if I don't get to sleep right then and there, there will be hell to pay for all involved.
So you can imagine, 2 small children later, how Sleep - or, rather, my lack thereof - has become the bane of my very existence...my nemesis, my curse. And not only because I get so little of it compared to my youngin days, but because I am no longer the one who chooses when, where, and how long. None of that is up to me anymore, and I feel fairly certain that, if it were, 99.9% of my parenting complaints would no longer be an issue.
As it stands, I haven't had a good night's sleep since, oh, the early part of my first trimester with Sofia, way back in 2008. Since then, we've had sleep issues and sleep deprivation, sleep training and co-sleeping all up in our faces - every nap, every night. We are four people bunked up in one bedroom. We are night nursing and, this week, severe jet lag. We are...for lack of a better description...freakin exhausted.
I don't have anything out of the ordinary or life-changing to add to this post, really. I'm not writing this to then surprise you with a "but THEN, we discovered" sleep training post. Sleep training didn't work for us with Sofia - in fact, it worsened the situation - and we've opted out of it with Samina. Our theory - as with all second child theories - is that it will eventually work itself out.
Eventually. And, in the meantime...we stock option coffee and cat naps and, what the heck, will take a go at adding it to our Christmas list.
Wish us luck!
That description of me holds true throughout pretty much all of my life. Just like how when I'm hungry you'd best feed me, when I'm tired, if I don't get to sleep right then and there, there will be hell to pay for all involved.
So you can imagine, 2 small children later, how Sleep - or, rather, my lack thereof - has become the bane of my very existence...my nemesis, my curse. And not only because I get so little of it compared to my youngin days, but because I am no longer the one who chooses when, where, and how long. None of that is up to me anymore, and I feel fairly certain that, if it were, 99.9% of my parenting complaints would no longer be an issue.
As it stands, I haven't had a good night's sleep since, oh, the early part of my first trimester with Sofia, way back in 2008. Since then, we've had sleep issues and sleep deprivation, sleep training and co-sleeping all up in our faces - every nap, every night. We are four people bunked up in one bedroom. We are night nursing and, this week, severe jet lag. We are...for lack of a better description...freakin exhausted.
I don't have anything out of the ordinary or life-changing to add to this post, really. I'm not writing this to then surprise you with a "but THEN, we discovered" sleep training post. Sleep training didn't work for us with Sofia - in fact, it worsened the situation - and we've opted out of it with Samina. Our theory - as with all second child theories - is that it will eventually work itself out.
Eventually. And, in the meantime...we stock option coffee and cat naps and, what the heck, will take a go at adding it to our Christmas list.
Wish us luck!
Thursday, November 14, 2013
I'm good here.
Today, I realized something.
I don't know why it popped into my brain, but I suddenly remembered the day Andrea and I got the news from my doctor that Baby #2 was another girl. The joy! The utter thrill! I'd secretly (or perhaps not so secretly, depends on who you ask...) been hoping for sisters. And not just so I could re-use all of Sofia's old and adorable clothes.
Andrea and I were so incredibly pleased as we left my doctor's office that day. The feeling of it - as is the feeling of almost all the "big" moments of both pregnancies and first milestones - is still right there for me to grasp. I am happy to report that most of the pain involved with the early days has been forgotten, but the sensations and the feelings and smells related to them...I think those are around for the long haul. The pungent smell of my milk-soaked tank top. The shadowy, eerie reading light I used, hooked onto Samina's side bed the first couple months. The taste of the fennel tea I drank to keep up my milk production those first weeks.
Anyway, I remember all the details of that visit, that day, and I can feel that same feeling of giddiness now, about 23 months later, at knowing Sofia was going to have a little sister. And I re-felt that emotion this afternoon, out of nowhere.
And you know what I learned?
Although that moment was pure joy, I wouldn't go back there if you paid me. And the same, I then realized, goes for all my previous moments, including first milestones or birth days or even that time Andrea sent me for a night away at the spa for my birthday.
I'm good here.
Which is surprising, so surprising to me, and mainly because of what this article sums up about the passing of time: the pressure I often feel to live in the moment and to "enjoy this," even on the bad days, even when I speed up the bedtime routine because I just want to catch up on Downton Abbey. I have guilt about that so much of the time...and then. And then I had this realization.
I'm good here.
Miraculous, healing words with a miraculous, healing (and stress-relieving) message.
I'm good here.
I don't know why it popped into my brain, but I suddenly remembered the day Andrea and I got the news from my doctor that Baby #2 was another girl. The joy! The utter thrill! I'd secretly (or perhaps not so secretly, depends on who you ask...) been hoping for sisters. And not just so I could re-use all of Sofia's old and adorable clothes.
Andrea and I were so incredibly pleased as we left my doctor's office that day. The feeling of it - as is the feeling of almost all the "big" moments of both pregnancies and first milestones - is still right there for me to grasp. I am happy to report that most of the pain involved with the early days has been forgotten, but the sensations and the feelings and smells related to them...I think those are around for the long haul. The pungent smell of my milk-soaked tank top. The shadowy, eerie reading light I used, hooked onto Samina's side bed the first couple months. The taste of the fennel tea I drank to keep up my milk production those first weeks.
Anyway, I remember all the details of that visit, that day, and I can feel that same feeling of giddiness now, about 23 months later, at knowing Sofia was going to have a little sister. And I re-felt that emotion this afternoon, out of nowhere.
And you know what I learned?
Although that moment was pure joy, I wouldn't go back there if you paid me. And the same, I then realized, goes for all my previous moments, including first milestones or birth days or even that time Andrea sent me for a night away at the spa for my birthday.
I'm good here.
Which is surprising, so surprising to me, and mainly because of what this article sums up about the passing of time: the pressure I often feel to live in the moment and to "enjoy this," even on the bad days, even when I speed up the bedtime routine because I just want to catch up on Downton Abbey. I have guilt about that so much of the time...and then. And then I had this realization.
I'm good here.
Miraculous, healing words with a miraculous, healing (and stress-relieving) message.
I'm good here.
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