The baby is back.
He returned in the company of his grandparents on Monday evening, after a final fun-filled outing that took him to the Mall of America and Underwater World. We were standing on the front steps, waiting, gazing down the street looking for Grandma's Grey Car.
In less than two hours, I was in tears. At 1:00 a.m., I thought "How on earth have we been doing this for two years?"
Studies often show that parents are less happy than their childless-by-choice peers, and though I am sure a bunch of parents have their panties in a bunch over a recent New York Times Magazine article that addresses this, screaming that parenting is a gingerbread joy ride and how dare you suggest anything different, I gotta say, I agree. Am I happier now than I was? No, I don't think so. Am I less happy? Probably.
I don't know if it's fair to compare happiness for the child-ed vs. childless. I'm different now. Things are different. Sometimes I ache for the freedom to stop at the bar on the way home from work or eat an entire meal, slowly, in one sitting, but I could not bear to not have my son, now that he is here.
What does it mean to be happy? If happiness means not rinsing poop out of diapers, I was happier in 2007. We don't forget what it was like before, so when we have to do something unpleasant, or our routine changes because of a child, it's easy to resent it. And feel less happy. And then feel guilty about feeling less happy because you're supposed to be happy because children are wonderful. It's a nice little feedback cycle.
Then, because the wonderful things about parenthood are not comparable to the life we had before, they are given less weight by our brains, which are trying to find patterns and evaluate data. Sitting and reading a story with your child, while he points out a heart and says "heart" without prompting from you has no pre-child comparison, and it's a remarkably cool occurrence. But it's easy to forget when you are staggering like a zombie to that same child's room at 2:00 in the morning, remembering how you used to sleep through the night when you were not undead. If you were up at that time in the pre-zombie days, it was your own damn fault. Not sleeping through the night for over two years is insanely miserable, and we remember it more than a sparkly moment about a dumb little pink heart in an Elmo book.
Happiness is all about expectations, really, and not becoming too attached to what you think is going to happen. Invariably, you are attaching yourself to the animated bluebirds version because it's comforting, and you don't want to be all doom and gloom because that is what your high school goth period was for. If I try for realism in my expectations, using known data and including possibilities, I have a much better chance of not being disappointed.
Keep it to yourself, though. People will say you're no fun. And certainly not happy.
Wednesday, July 14, 2010
Friday, July 9, 2010
Vacation
babywhumpus is on vacation, thus the relative silence here.
The day care is off this week, so Finn is staying with his grandparents about 2 hours away from here. I wasn't sure how I felt about this; it's the first time he has been away from both of us for more than one night.
I've been exhausted and rather down; I thought that I might feel a huge wave of relief as we pulled away from my parents' house, but that was not how it happened. I was sad--very sad, and there were tears. It was so strange to be leaving without all his stuff, without his car seat, without him.
The wave of relief never happened, and now I don't expect it to. It's nice to not have to do the 2 hours of day care transportation. It's great to get up at 8 and just have coffee. No diapers to wash. No hurried routine every night for getting home/dinner/play/bath/bed. No getting up at 2:00 in the morning. Well, almost no. I am still not sleeping through the night, exactly. And I'm 40, so I guess I can't blame him for not doing it either.
By all reports--we talk to him on Skype twice a day--he's doing excellently well. He has even slept through the night twice, and so far, he has not had any terrible nights. He's been to story time at the library, seen Amtrack trains ("Engine bye bye" is the most common refrain now); he's visited the grandparents' former workplaces; he's playing with some new friends this morning. He gets to go to the park and go for walks. All attention is devoted to him, and that's something we can't do.
I am ready to see him. Ready for hugs and kisses. I miss his little voice and the sound of him running from room to room--toddlers do not walk. We have a weekend ahead of us, and we have much we want to accomplish. Monday will be here faster than we can imagine, and then normal life is back.
The day care is off this week, so Finn is staying with his grandparents about 2 hours away from here. I wasn't sure how I felt about this; it's the first time he has been away from both of us for more than one night.
I've been exhausted and rather down; I thought that I might feel a huge wave of relief as we pulled away from my parents' house, but that was not how it happened. I was sad--very sad, and there were tears. It was so strange to be leaving without all his stuff, without his car seat, without him.
The wave of relief never happened, and now I don't expect it to. It's nice to not have to do the 2 hours of day care transportation. It's great to get up at 8 and just have coffee. No diapers to wash. No hurried routine every night for getting home/dinner/play/bath/bed. No getting up at 2:00 in the morning. Well, almost no. I am still not sleeping through the night, exactly. And I'm 40, so I guess I can't blame him for not doing it either.
By all reports--we talk to him on Skype twice a day--he's doing excellently well. He has even slept through the night twice, and so far, he has not had any terrible nights. He's been to story time at the library, seen Amtrack trains ("Engine bye bye" is the most common refrain now); he's visited the grandparents' former workplaces; he's playing with some new friends this morning. He gets to go to the park and go for walks. All attention is devoted to him, and that's something we can't do.
I am ready to see him. Ready for hugs and kisses. I miss his little voice and the sound of him running from room to room--toddlers do not walk. We have a weekend ahead of us, and we have much we want to accomplish. Monday will be here faster than we can imagine, and then normal life is back.
Saturday, July 3, 2010
Friday, July 2, 2010
Conversation
"What's a bubble bus?"
"It's like a fire bus, only for bubbles."
"To put bubbles out?"
"No, to carry them."
"So does a fire bus carry fire?"
"Yeah, I guess so. I think it's more like a party bus. Like..."
"Like, 'DUDE!'?"
"Yeah. The fire truck goes behind the fire bus because, you know, the fire bus might have too much fun."
Did I mention that this conversation was between Pete and I?
"It's like a fire bus, only for bubbles."
"To put bubbles out?"
"No, to carry them."
"So does a fire bus carry fire?"
"Yeah, I guess so. I think it's more like a party bus. Like..."
"Like, 'DUDE!'?"
"Yeah. The fire truck goes behind the fire bus because, you know, the fire bus might have too much fun."
Did I mention that this conversation was between Pete and I?
Ah, yes
Taking pictures of baby watching himself on video camera. Techno narcissism at its finest.
I see me, and I am mesmerizing.
Do I have something on my face?
I see me, and I am mesmerizing.
Do I have something on my face?
Thursday, July 1, 2010
Ka-Pop in the news
This is an article from Ka-pop's (Grandpa) local paper. Ka-pop and Oma were out over Finn's second birthday, along with Auntie Joyce and Ka-su (GrammaSue), and he cleaned out our garage, which was no small task. We're already thinking about what's next for him here in Minnesota... So, congratulations, Ka-Pop!
Going out in style: A longtime letter carrier bids his job goodbye after 28 years
by mpilon
by mpilon
EASTHAMPTON - For a few hours Wednesday morning, James E. McCauley was the spiffiest postal carrier in the county.
McCauley, 66, arrived by bicycle at the Easthampton Post Office on Northampton Street wearing a white dinner jacket and black tie over his standard-issue uniform of light blue, collared shirt, dark blue shorts and hat.
McCauley didn't wear the jacket to deliver mail Wednesday, where he was graced by perfect 70 degree weather as he chatted with the residents on his route - people who live in Florence, but receive their mail through the Easthampton office.
"I could have worn it," McCauley said. "But it would have been a little warm."
It was a regal way for McCauley to arrive for his final day at the office after 28 years on the job. The Louise Avenue resident said he wanted to leave a lasting impression on his colleagues.
"I'm going to miss being an influence on the people I work with," McCauley said.
McCauley speaks with a flourish and said he can be prone to pontificating at work. But he said his wish is to impart the value of the job to his colleagues.
"What they're doing has real value in the community," McCauley said. "I've always felt it was an honor and a privilege."
McCauley wrote about his experiences for Postal Record magazine for about 20 years. The magazine is published by the National Association of Letter Carriers.
But rather than writing about contractual or management matters, McCauley said he instead tried to stress the importance of "making the best of the job."
"What I tried to do is say 'rise above it,'" McCauley said. "We still have an amazingly positive job experience."
Counting blessings
McCauley has walked enough miles to cover the distance around the Earth's equator in his time as a postal carrier. He had knee replacement surgery on both knees three years ago and has since had to walk less on his route.
But McCauley said the active nature of his job has been a blessing.
"The physical aspects of this job have been a tremendous benefit to me," he said.
And then there are the human relationships. Postal carriers interact with hundreds of people each day.
McCauley said he finds that people are reassured by the sight of the mailman arriving.
"It represents, I think, a consistency over time," he said.
And those brief interactions each day can turn into friendships.
Corticelli Avenue resident Keith Graham spotted McCauley Wednesday and came outside with his camera to snap a few pictures of the man he said has brought "great energy" to his neighborhood over the past three years.
"He's just a great guy and we're going to miss him here," Graham said.
Asked what was the best piece of mail McCauley had delivered to him, Graham said that McCauley brought a family photo album earlier this week from Graham's mother, who lives in Montana. There was no other mail that day, he said, not even junk mail.
Graham said his 5-year-old son, Jasper, is particularly fond of McCauley. When Jasper heard last week that McCauley was retiring, he and a group of day school friends covered the mail truck with flowers they had picked.
"I drove off as far as I could with the flowers blowing off the truck," McCauley recalled. "It was a sight."
A daily hope
Postal carriers get to play a part in something that McCauley calls the "mail magic moment."
"You go out and open that mailbox every day hoping for something of value," he said. "Ninety-nine out of 100 times that hope is dashed because all you get is some junk mail or a bill. But that hope is still there."
It's not just a people job. McCauley said he has treasured his relationship with the slowly changing geography of Easthampton.
McCauley spent 25 years delivering mail in the city, which he said he has seen change for the better over that time.
"It's such a dramatic and positive change," he said.
He recalled delivering mail on Main Street in the middle of a heavy snowstorm around 15 years ago.
He had just passed Brewster Avenue and looked up to realize that there was not a sound to be heard and no cars in sight. He walked into the middle of Main Street, lay on his back, and made a snow angel.
"It was a totally silent day," he said. "I just looked both ways and said 'This is spectacular.'"
McCauley is married and has a grown son and daughter. His retirement plans so far are to ride his bicycle, read up on medical research and work around the house.
Matt Pilon can be reached at mpilon@gazettenet.com.
McCauley, 66, arrived by bicycle at the Easthampton Post Office on Northampton Street wearing a white dinner jacket and black tie over his standard-issue uniform of light blue, collared shirt, dark blue shorts and hat.
McCauley didn't wear the jacket to deliver mail Wednesday, where he was graced by perfect 70 degree weather as he chatted with the residents on his route - people who live in Florence, but receive their mail through the Easthampton office.
"I could have worn it," McCauley said. "But it would have been a little warm."
It was a regal way for McCauley to arrive for his final day at the office after 28 years on the job. The Louise Avenue resident said he wanted to leave a lasting impression on his colleagues.
"I'm going to miss being an influence on the people I work with," McCauley said.
McCauley speaks with a flourish and said he can be prone to pontificating at work. But he said his wish is to impart the value of the job to his colleagues.
"What they're doing has real value in the community," McCauley said. "I've always felt it was an honor and a privilege."
McCauley wrote about his experiences for Postal Record magazine for about 20 years. The magazine is published by the National Association of Letter Carriers.
But rather than writing about contractual or management matters, McCauley said he instead tried to stress the importance of "making the best of the job."
"What I tried to do is say 'rise above it,'" McCauley said. "We still have an amazingly positive job experience."
Counting blessings
McCauley has walked enough miles to cover the distance around the Earth's equator in his time as a postal carrier. He had knee replacement surgery on both knees three years ago and has since had to walk less on his route.
But McCauley said the active nature of his job has been a blessing.
"The physical aspects of this job have been a tremendous benefit to me," he said.
And then there are the human relationships. Postal carriers interact with hundreds of people each day.
McCauley said he finds that people are reassured by the sight of the mailman arriving.
"It represents, I think, a consistency over time," he said.
And those brief interactions each day can turn into friendships.
Corticelli Avenue resident Keith Graham spotted McCauley Wednesday and came outside with his camera to snap a few pictures of the man he said has brought "great energy" to his neighborhood over the past three years.
"He's just a great guy and we're going to miss him here," Graham said.
Asked what was the best piece of mail McCauley had delivered to him, Graham said that McCauley brought a family photo album earlier this week from Graham's mother, who lives in Montana. There was no other mail that day, he said, not even junk mail.
Graham said his 5-year-old son, Jasper, is particularly fond of McCauley. When Jasper heard last week that McCauley was retiring, he and a group of day school friends covered the mail truck with flowers they had picked.
"I drove off as far as I could with the flowers blowing off the truck," McCauley recalled. "It was a sight."
A daily hope
Postal carriers get to play a part in something that McCauley calls the "mail magic moment."
"You go out and open that mailbox every day hoping for something of value," he said. "Ninety-nine out of 100 times that hope is dashed because all you get is some junk mail or a bill. But that hope is still there."
It's not just a people job. McCauley said he has treasured his relationship with the slowly changing geography of Easthampton.
McCauley spent 25 years delivering mail in the city, which he said he has seen change for the better over that time.
"It's such a dramatic and positive change," he said.
He recalled delivering mail on Main Street in the middle of a heavy snowstorm around 15 years ago.
He had just passed Brewster Avenue and looked up to realize that there was not a sound to be heard and no cars in sight. He walked into the middle of Main Street, lay on his back, and made a snow angel.
"It was a totally silent day," he said. "I just looked both ways and said 'This is spectacular.'"
McCauley is married and has a grown son and daughter. His retirement plans so far are to ride his bicycle, read up on medical research and work around the house.
Matt Pilon can be reached at mpilon@gazettenet.com.
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