Dreaming - Issue No. 9
EARTHQUAKES AND EQUILIBRIUM
On August 23, 2011, during an orientation for my graduate school teaching fellowship (which we called “professor bootcamp”), I fell asleep. I feel it necessary to now explain that I’ve never before or since been one to doze during a meeting. The caterer for our wedding had narcolepsy, and watching her nod off as we discussed hors d'oeuvres during our final walk through was pretty shocking. This fellowship orientation was in the middle of me upending my life, moving from Georgia to Philadelphia, living out of boxes, and desperately trying to prepare for teaching my English 101 courses to students who were likely to be only a couple of years younger than me. And yes, this all reads like an excuse. The truth is, I was too tired to stay awake, and so I didn’t, until, as if being punished by the Gods of Inappropriate Slumber, I woke up to the room shaking. While I was initially convinced that this was my ego trying desperately to rouse me from looking foolish around my future colleagues, soon everyone stood up and started running towards the exit. I just sat there, deer in the headlights, watching chaos unfold for about thirty seconds until I realized that the vibrating room was real and joined the others funneling through the door. This was the first and only time I’ve experienced an earthquake, and by the time I recognized what was happening, we were outside, and it was over. However, this feeling of being prematurely roused from a deep slumber or being snapped into consequential moments of responsibility, this is a feeling that I have become acutely aware of as a mother. Last night, my daughter woke me up from a lovely dream because she was feeling guilty about coloring her sheets with a red pen hours before, the next morning my son threw a tantrum because he wanted his shoes neither on nor off. Whether it is the middle of the night wake ups or the “is this real life?” feeling that packs the same punch during the day, I am often not at my best, and there is no wading pool into parenting. I am constantly surrounded by these little earthquakes, shaking up my once calm world, while I try to conjure up some semblance of equilibrium amongst the chaos.
PEANUT BUTTER AND JELLY SANDWICHES AND LOSING THE RIGHT TO VOTE
On July 4th, we, so as to adhere to tradition, watched fireworks from my brother-in-law’s boat while listening to Bruce Springsteen. Captivated by this display of explosions that we equate to patriotism, I was able to briefly let go of what has recently been quite a disappointing display of America falling short of its potential. Not coincidentally, that night I dreamt that women lost their right to vote. If you’re like me, this dystopian plot line doesn’t feel that far off from the reality of the recent overturning of Roe v. Wade. In my dream, all of the women who still felt strongly that they should have some say on the future of their country, well-being, and livelihoods were instructed to all go to airports to sign petitions to make their audacious stance known. If enough women signed these airport petitions, whether women should be able to vote would be held to a vote. I woke up before there was an outcome, because my daughter came into our room having had a nightmare of her own. In her nightmare, it was Christmas morning and while everyone else received presents, Santa had only brought her a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. We were both shaken. I peeled myself out of bed, walked her back to her room, tucked her in and said (as I do after she has a nightmare), “you are safe, you are loved, and Mommy and Daddy are here if you need anything at all.” As I watched her drift to sleep, her brow relaxed and her hair fell into her face. I kissed her forehead and hoped that, for at least a while longer, she could live in a world in which receiving a peanut butter and jelly sandwich on Christmas morning is as bad as it can get.
GOOSEBUMPS' “CHOOSE YOUR OWN ADVENTURE” BOOKS OTHERWISE KNOWN AS PARENTING
Growing up, I used to love the Goosebumps' “choose your own adventure” books. The first one I remember reading was “Escape from The Carnival Of Horror.” I was totally consumed by the idea that I could make a decision that would impact the ending of the book not realizing that adulting is just a way less fun Goosebumps “choose your own adventure” novel, and parenting is a much scarier version. So, here is my recent trip to the zoo told through the lens of Goosebumps:
After being around a group of moms chatting so casually about taking their kids to splash pads to get a reprieve from the hot Georgia summer, do I:
Decide, fresh-off of my vacation and feeling particularly ambitious, that I too should be able to handle such an undertaking and determine the zoo is a good starting point, because then, if the splash pad fails, there are always orangutans.
Decide it’s not worth it because, at the risk of sounding hyperbolic, getting out the door can feel like a slow painful death. For those of you who remember Super Mario, you might remember the little ghost that chases Mario through the castle until he turns around and acknowledges the ghost, at which point the ghost freezes and acts totally uninterested in Mario. Then, when Mario attempts to do literally anything other than stare at the little ghost, it begins chasing him around shouting “Mommmmmmmmm” again, or perhaps now I’m just projecting. This is my life now. While these little needy ghosts chase me around, I must make our diaper bag one-hundred pounds with all of the things, while the dog incessantly humps my leg, because he hasn’t gotten enough exercise or because he wants to remind me that moms can’t do it all. And thus, the splash pad isn’t worth it.
If you chose B, the rest of the day continues to look like little humans screaming “mom” and chasing me around. If you chose A, I eventually get out the door. I then have to wrestle my toddler into a carseat and question whether it’s child abuse to physically restrain him in order to get his arms through the straps while the air conditioning attempts and fails to keep up with the heat, all while my sweat discolors the entirety of my clothing. I then realize I’ve left my daughter’s lovey and my children’s water bottles inside. Do I:
Get my children out of their car seats so they can come in with me to get the missing items and repeat this entire miserable process again;
Hope that nobody takes the car as I sprint my sweat-soaked body inside to grab Pooh Bear and water bottles from the table.
If you chose A, chances are, I’m not going to the zoo. If you chose B, I return to the car, which is thankfully still there, only to be confronted by the Double Bob stroller which in a neuralyzer-moment (the Men in Black device they zap at someone to make them forget) I cannot for the life of me remember how to collapse. Do I:
Attempt to watch Youtube videos, all of which are too long and none of which seem to be for my stroller’s model, only to realize that either I still have no idea what I’m doing, and/or my wingspan isn’t wide enough to press the buttons simultaneously as instructed. After many failed attempts, of which I hope the neighbors aren’t watching, I decide to go to the zoo with two tiny-legged-children and no wheels;
Call it a day and proceed inside to watch a movie about zoos.
If you chose A, I got to the zoo and had a surprisingly successful experience, aside from seeing only the flamingos at the entrance before my son attempted to jump off of a moving train and my daughter used the splash pad as her personal toilet. Do I:
Decide to try it again next week;
Realize that it takes a village to raise these kids, and that I should just wait patiently in my house until said village arrives.
SOMETHING THAT
DID WORK
A few months after graduating college, the song “shots” by LMFAO featuring Lil Jon was released. LMFAO has long since disbanded after a short but surprisingly successful string of hits. And, while the days of shots and binge drinking are very far in our past, this song has made a comeback in our house during the past two weeks. Last week, we finally got our kids the first COVID vaccine. The COVID vaccine became available to children ages 5-11 in October 2021. Since then, many mask mandates have been lifted and much of life (aside from a brief Omicron blip) has gone back to normal. But, we have continued to live in this isolated bubble of restrictions and fear. We have answered quite a few questions about our decisions to remain more locked-down than others. Many people with young kids couldn’t or didn’t want to remain as restricted as we did, and I hold no judgment in regards to that decision. You do what you’ve got to do. Our primary reason for remaining quite cautious was that we wanted to do everything in our power to keep our kids as safe as possible. Secondly, I was pregnant with our son during the pandemic, before there were vaccines or a firm understanding of how COVID spread, how dangerous it was, and how it would impact pregnant women. So, we retreated, and for months we locked down and lived like little fearful hermits. I think we’re still grappling with the trauma from that experience, the powerlessness that we confronted, and the loneliness and heaviness of that time. Now, it’s our kids’ turn to get the vaccine. And while they (rightly so) were far more excited about the lollipops that they received afterwards than the shot, to us this is the beginning of getting them the protection that we got over a year ago. Someday, when we describe these past two years, I’m sure it’ll feel like a dream. Here’s the most insightful and helpful information I’ve found on the COVID vaccine for littles. We don’t really know what “normal life” looks like anymore, but we couldn’t be more eager to figure it out together.
SOMETHING THAT
DIDN’T WORK
When my paternal grandmother was 93 years old, she was involved in a hit-and-run incident. After causing a fender bender, instead of getting out of the car, assessing the damage, and exchanging insurance information, she fled the scene. Later, when the police showed up at an apartment to confront the perpetrator, to their surprise, the person who answered the door was an incredibly petite Jewish woman, in a perfectly coiffed, too-auburn-for-her-age wig. While they decided that the handcuffs were unnecessary, this did conclude my grandma’s time with a driver’s license. Similar to a hit and run, recently, “the pinch and run” has commenced in our household. Out of nowhere, my daughter’s thumb and pointer turn into little crab pinchers that go straight for my thigh or her brother’s arm or our dog’s side, and before we know it, we’re reeling from a surprisingly painful pinch. Then, she flees the scene with a strangely similar surprise to an elderly woman who’s just bumped her Cadillac into the car in front of her. I, then, quickly thumb-through my “parenting rolodex” trying to handle the situation better than I did the time beforel. I’ve tried, “I understand that sometimes it feels good to pinch something. I won’t let you pinch us, let’s find something else you can pinch when you have that feeling.” I’ve tried, “pinching really hurts. Do you want me to pinch you? We treat others like we want to be treated. I don’t want to pinch you and I don’t want you to pinch me either.” I’ve tried, “why did you pinch? Can you use your words instead of your fingers? Do we need to take a couple of quiet minutes alone with me until you’re ready to talk about it?” But each response is met with running away screaming. We haven’t figured this one out, instead, in the aftermath, I am dependably greeted by a little disheveled lady who is fluctuating somewhere between guilty and flighty, reluctant to face her actions head-on.
SUSTENANCE SUGGESTIONS
How many peach recipes is too many peach recipes? It’s still summertime, so my peach-kick is still going strong. My mom made this one for Sunday Night Dinner last year and to be honest, I was skeptical. She’s a wonderful cook, but to me, cooked peaches are a condensed, stickier, lesser version of a fresh peach. This Ina Garten recipe proved my theory wrong. Now is the time, as we’re in a groove of buying pounds of peaches at the farmer’s market, to put this recipe at the top of the “to make” list.
