Thanksgiving 2010

I will admit this readily, I am yearning for Thanksgivings of yore. Back to the days when I could spend all day cooking, without interruptions. The days when I shopped in the early hours of Friday and then napped luxuriously. The days without little people interrupting my conversations.

It is true, from time to time, I don't enjoy my kids very much. Ok, ok. I will be honest, a lot of times, I don't enjoy them at all.

The last hour may be one of those times. I don't know what it is, but these kids of ours, really, REALLY, like to be with us. Just go read a book by yourself, please! Go play with all these toys in the house! By. Your. Self!

I just want to complete something, ANYTHING!

Our Thanksgiving was lovely. I baked in peace the night before, and only had to cook a few side dishes in the afternoon as Honey Baked Ham had prepared our ham and turkey. (It was so much better than what I could have done!) The company was lovely, some family, a friend from Bible Study, and four new friends! These new friends had graciously played Monopoly with Aidan, and Aidan and Zoe got to run amok with their cousins. It was good.

There were rough patches on Friday, but we endured. We almost got stranded because Hubby's car key nearly broke in half. (The keys are 14 years old, and one had already broken in half- half of the key is still in the trunk key hole...) We made it home, had more friends over on Friday night, and fun was had by all also. But today, oh today, what happened to today?! While we met up with some college friends of ours, these children made it difficult to converse. Basically, they were being kids, but I was done being a parent.

Seriously, I am done with parenting. This forced volunteerism is over-rated and I have put in over seven years of my youth, and I am peetering out.

Oh yes, these kids are cute. Oh yes, I see that God is working in me, but really, I need Jesus to come soon.

I want to switch shoes with Zoe, I just want to hang upside down for a while.



I know, that the day when they will isolate themselves in their fortresses and I will yearn for the days when they clutched to my legs. However, I am also marveling the beauty of my mother's technique: as far back as I can remember, nearly every time I went to ask her to play with me, or to complain that I am bored, she gave me some kind of work to do. The kind of work that really made me want to just fly under the radar- like practicing Chinese handwriting, copying the multiplication table...etc. She also made me practice the piano and the violin, and all those hours were hours she had time to do stuff for herself, (I think, I can't be sure since well, I was in the piano room by myself.) It is truly a very smart system. I am enrolling Aidan and Zoe for piano lessons as soon as I can arrange it. Not just because it is time for them to jump on the train of music training, but that this mother needs some time to herself.

Trust Me Part II

I am trying to teach the kids to trust me, to know that I really do know more than they do, that I, in fact, want them to be happy. They don't usually believe me when I say so.

When we went to our church retreat, Aidan and Zoe were absolutely ecstatic about the bunk bed in our room. They built a fort, they climbed up and down, they played puppies, it was fun for all. Then, the next morning, Aidan started to beg to return to the room to play on his bunk bed, instead of going to the well-organized-and-very-fun program for kids. He begged, and begged and BEGGED. As I listened to his incessant demands about something that is so lame in comparison to the great fun he will really have with his friends and teachers, I thought about how I really don't trust my Heavenly Father.

"But Jesus, I really, really, really, want to go to an Ivy League medical school. I think it will be so good for me to do that. I really, really, really, want to date this guy, I mean, he is SO cute! I know he doesn't care about knowing you, but c'mon, have you seen how CUTE he is? Jesus, I really want to buy THIS house. Why can't you make that happen?" Meanwhile, Jesus is patiently waiting for me to see that I am wanting to play in the mud when He has an amazing playground for me.

I think, Jesus is always telling me, "My sweet daughter, trust me. I know what is good for you. I love you. I have died for you. I will not withhold anything that is good for you. I will give you what you need, what is good for you."

Similarly, A&Z can now parrot back to me, "Mommy, I trust you to know what is good for me." For now, anyway.

Trust Me Part I

I have lots of ideas for posts. Often, I am chauffering someone, somewhere, and I think, "This would be a fun subject to write about." But alas, by the end of the day, when I am done putting dinner away, bedding the children, returning phone calls, I just want to sit with my sweet Hubby and not be looking at a computer. Maybe Blogger will figure out some kind of voice recognition blogging device.

What are you missing? You must be wondering. For one, you are missing a good story about how I almost ran over the father of one of Aidan's classmates... (In order to get Aidan to school, I slug through traffic of 3 schools: our neighborhood school, the middle school, and finally, Aidan's school. The said father was on his bike, trying to cross a four lane street by the middle school, and I was trying to get Aidan to school on time. I slammed on the brakes at the cross walk, THEN he got on his bike and crossed the street. I didn't actually, almost, ran him over. However, as the whole car continued to move forward with the inertia, and all the bags fell onto the floor, Aidan said, "Hey! That is E's dad!")

What have I been doing, while not blogging, is setting up our our family trust. It is something we have been told to do, for a very, very, long time. When I started my private practice and bought my own life insurance, I was told to do this. Well, we didn't! (We had a will, no trust, from looonnng time ago.) Then our accountant got on our case, and I still procrastinated. It still truly bugs me, that I have to spend money on an attorney, to avoid probate costs, because attorneys made up the rules?! Seriously?! I should have gone to law school! But alas, the idea that A&Z could be in limbo with no milk money was sad enough to make us do it.

For our local friends, if you want a rec, Kimberley is great. She came to our house, for starters. (Although I am sure she charged us for coming to our house, but whatever, she came at NIGHT.)

The road to having a trust is long and arduous and obnoxious and annoying, even with a great estate attorney like Kimberley. We had to pick guardians, and backup guardians. We love these people, but we shudder to think of their complicated lives should we die prematurely. It is problematic, as we all have/will have at least two kids, that if we die, S&A could be parenting FOUR kids. FOUR. And our back up couple could have FIVE kids! Did I say that we love them?

Then there was the need to figure out how to give A&Z money. I tried to set it up so that I could control them from the grave, but Hubby talked me out of it. There was also this weird decision, that if all of us died, what do we want to do with the money? Do we want to give the money to our siblings? What if they died, do we want to give the money to our nieces/nephews? At what age? What if they are still very young? Seriously, too many choices.

There is also the stuff about what to do with my body if I become incapacitated. Everyone, I am game for being an organ donor, but definitely, not to be used for research, academics, or "therapy." Whatever that may be.

The "fun" part of the estate, is that we get to write letters to people to clarify this and that, to help people not to have hurt feelings. However, I think our letters to people will essentially be: "If you don't like this, suck it up. Too bad." I think it is nice that I get to tell people off from the grave.

I am so very, very, happy to say, that our trust is signed. There is just this obnoxiously tedious process of putting stuff in the trust...

By the way, did you know your life insurance policy (if greater than one million) is going to be taxed? I think most parents have a policy of at least that much, and just think, the government wants about 1/2 of it. So that your kids can starve. (Of course, our estate attorney devised some way to reduce such risks, of piling things in different piles...) Kimberley said, "You will always get taxed, whether income, gift, estate, or capital gains." Trust me, you need to get a trust in place.

Can it be true?

I read this fascinating article in The Wall Street Journal- best paper ever- over the weekend. It is an interesting view, certainly. Somewhat simplistic at times, but a very different opinion than the popular opinion of attachment parenting.

A friend of mine send me a message about this article, this is a dear friend of mine, who is thoughtful, smart, and basically, I want to be like her. I am quoting her directly.

"You know, nobody grates on me more than the attachment parenting crowd -- they are zealots and like to make people feel that the "research" shows their way is the best way etc. I am surrounded by them and all I see are exhausted, haggard women, bratty kids that think they are the center of the universe and a deep conviction that they are right. Well, don't they know that I am right? Ha ha....The other thing I thought about the article though is that no woman is being imprisoned. Prison is something that, once you are there, you can't get up and walk out. Each one of us is free to mother however we see fit for the well being of our children and ourselves. Anyone who is smashing their own organic peas and doesn't want to should just STOP! They can and they should exercise their free will and forget about what other people think. Ugh. The article almost victimizes women by not pointing out that we are strong, intelligent and free-- not imprisoned. There....that is what I dare not say on Facebook because I don't want to deal with the thread of conversation."

This is such a divisive topic, isn't it? My smart and thoughtful friend doesn't want to start a war on my facebook page. I love her! But I will start the war here, because I am provocative like that.

I have quite a few patients that come to me for lots of different reasons, but over the course of therapy, these young professional people essentially have to confront this question: "Do I want kids or not?" And they all like to know how I made my decision to have kids. (They assume I have kids, and when they ask, I do tell them I have kids. I mean, I can't deny that and then run into them at Costco with my brood!) This sweet, talented woman told me today about a study showing how single women are healthier than married women, whereas married men are healthier than single men. Her conclusion was that single women have the time/money to take care of themselves, whereas married men have their wives to take care of them. Can this be true? I came home and asked Hubby, he thought there are more ways to interpret it. For instance, married women really let themselves go... (Ha, ha.) Or, married men take good care of themselves because they are motivated to stay healthy to be with their families.

Another patient told me that he thinks parents totally just 'let themselves go, they get fat, they look ugly, and basically, miserable.' (Is that how he sees me?) Very kindly of him, however, he did say that he thought I was an exception. And he wanted to know my tricks.

It is very interesting for me to think about why I chose to have A&Z. They are so incredibly cute, but it is also hard. (For instance, I got a phone call from Aidan's school today that he missed his ride to his Chinese school. I got the voice mail at 7 pm, when we were all home already. Upon my investigation, he had 'missed' his ride because he talked too much at school today and was kept after class! Like I said, it is hard, and at times, troublesome.) Why did I do it? Twice? I believe in a way, I was out of my mind. I got brainwashed by Pottery Barn Kids catalogs. Have you seen how beautiful the catalog is? Chubby, clean, well-behaved children. Happy, glowing mothers reading to their children!

I will admit it, sometimes, when I am herding the turtles home, I daydream a bit. About my life if we were still without kids. I think I would work a lot more, I would be RICH, and I would probably be in really good shape physically. Hubby thinks we will be lonely, "with A&Z shaped holes in our hearts." I think he is right, as much as I don't want to agree with him.

From time to time, I will throw myself a pity party, "Woe is me, I work, I take care of A&Z, I cook, I clean, I do laundry. What does Hubby do? WTF?!" One thing that I love about my husband is that he is not petty. He doesn't keep records like this, he doesn't think about who is working harder. He just loves abundantly, generously, and kindly. You know how I ended up with the responsibilities of cooking, cleaning, laundering? Because I secretly like to take care of him, I like to be in charge of domestic duties. Until I am tired and worn out that is, then I give myself a pity party. If I were sitting with myself in a therapy session, I would tell myself that really doesn't make any logical sense at all.

And I think it is like that with the attachment parenting people. They like to say that they make their own organic compost to grow their organic carrots, which they steam (not microwave, I mean, the microwave kills!), until they are so tired and sick of it. Yet they like it. Like my friend said, they chose to put themselves in that position.

I tell my patients, You have a choice. You can choose to do attachment parenting and then want to die in the process, you can choose to not have kids and have a clean and orderly life. Or, you can choose to have kids, have some mess, feed them store bought organic baby food, let them cry it out, give them lots of kisses, time them out, give consequences. (Like a letter to a teacher, "Dear Ms.Z, I am sorry that I talked too much in class. I am sorry I wasn't listening. I am sorry that I made your job harder. Will you forgive me?")

It is about making choices.