should I or shouldn’t I

Santa has a dilemma

by mayberry on December 14, 2010

Jo is eight and rushing headlong toward nine. For Christmas, along with a “mackbook” (no) and a “snugie” (also no) she has asked for an American Girl doll. It would be her second one.

I can justify the expense of the doll: She really does play with the one she already has, both alone and with friends who have their own dolls. This would be just about the only thing we’d buy for her this holiday. And Opie’s one big gift is actually a nice piece of BlogHer swag, so cost=$0.

If we don’t get her the doll, we’ll probably get something like an iPod  shuffle.

I’m leaning toward the doll because this is surely the last year she’ll ask for something like this. We have the rest of her life to buy MP3 players and gift cards and clothes.

But is it silly to buy something that she’ll love for a few months and probably forget about by next Christmas? WSSD?*

*What Should Santa Do?

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Pay now or pay later

by mayberry on August 27, 2010

This summer my kid tried out a new sport (at an informal, walk-on type of camp) and liked it. We were told the beginning team was less of a financial commitment than the more elite teams, and no try-outs were required. The team would practice in a town close to us; the camp was about a 45-minute drive away.

Email from me to coach: My child enjoyed the camp and wants to join the team. Could you give me the contact info for the parent rep so I can make the arrangements?

Email from coach to me, several hours later: That’s great! Please call me at …

Me (thinking): sigh … I have to pick up the phone?

The next day, dial.  Exchange pleasantries.

Coach: OK, I’ll email you back with the parent rep’s email address!

Me (thinking): You’ve got to be kidding me.

I dutifully email the parent rep.

Me: My child enjoyed the camp and wants to join the team. Could you send me the paperwork (my address is below) and let me know where to send my payment?

Parent rep reply: That’s great! Please call me at …

Me: *headdesk*

When I called the parent rep, I learned that the team doesn’t have enough players to be eligible for competitions. BUT, I can enroll the kid in a “class” which would:

  • cost the same
  • meet in the faraway venue at 8 a.m. on Saturday mornings
  • require us to join a club, which in turn would require paying dues and performing mandatory “volunteer” hours
  • allow the kid to learn some of the skills of the sport or risk “falling more and more behind” (seriously, she said it)

My husband thinks this is a no-brainer. No team. Enroll in a local, group lesson in a similar sport instead, saving money and sparing a good deal of inconvenience. Next spring, let the kid try out for the team and hope for the best. I’m inclined to agree, since the squeeze I got from the parent rep was uncomfortable (not to mention the air of bait-and-switch around this entire experience; e.g., the summer camp was originally billed as free, and then suddenly turned out to cost $10/hour).

But the kid really likes the sport, and I get the sense that holding your nose and dealing with this kind of stuff is common in youth sports. We could postpone the hysteria, but only temporarily (and would they penalize the child later for the parent’s crime of not enrolling earlier?). I am torn.

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Asking for trouble

by mayberry on August 6, 2008

It became painfully clear during recent events that my husband and I don’t work very well together in a crisis. Instead of giving each other the extra love and support we both deserve, we tend to argue and snap at each other. Teamwork is not our strong suit, at least in times of stress.

I know this is normal and it’s actually, to some degree, a reflection of the strength of our relationship (we lash out at the safest person, the one we run the least risk of permanently losing). Things blow over and we get along again.

But this experience did leave me less sure about my expressed wish for a third child. In the worst moments of Jo’s convalescence I thought, I cannot do this ever again. How could I want another child, when it would open me up to that much more possibility of fear and hurt and worry? When the frustrations mounted and turned everyday communication into bitter bickering, I thought again: This proves it. Another child could split us up. I can’t be responsible for wanting that.

And then, a week passes, and the memories start to mutate and muffle and pretty soon I’m back to: Well, that sucked. That sucked a lot, but it’s over now and we got through it and we’re fine. Good, even.

So does that prove that we can triumph over challenges? Or that I’m good at rationalization?

I wonder.

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Almost crossed another item off the Mommy Checklist

by mayberry on March 5, 2008

he heard you were coming so he baked a cakeWhen I arrived at child care yesterday to pick up the kids everyone was in a tizzy. I had been out getting my thrice-yearly haircut/highlights and the batteries on my cell phone were dead–where is that charger anyway?–so when the director tried to call me, she couldn’t reach me.

So the first words I heard were “there was an accident but he’s okay.” We went to Opie’s classroom and he was his usual smiley, chirpy self. He immediately noticed my haircut. “You got a haircut Mommy! Looks pwetty!” Why yes son, and no more grays! You would never have known there’d been an incident except for the fact that a patch of his own hair, plus the back of one of his ears, was all bloody.

Just a half-hour before, a toy had fallen off a low shelf and gashed open my boy’s scalp. It looked nasty but I could see that he was recovering fine. No concussion, no lingering pain, and he was both brilliant and sensitive enough to compliment my hair! Most grown, uninjured men can’t manage that.

Among the daycare team recommendations for follow-up were divided. Two votes for “take him for stitches” and two for “he’ll be fine.” We had to hustle out the door for Jo’s gymnastics class; it was her final one for the session otherwise I might’ve skipped it. There I consulted two more moms, friends whose kids are also in the class. Another split decision.

With the score tied 3-3, I called the after-hours nurse when we got home. Guess what she said? “It’s up to you whether you want to take him in.” Thanks so much. Finally she offered to page the doctor.

At last, a definitive answer! No office visit, no stitches, not even a bandage. This morning he has a cruddy-looking scab but it’s entirely hidden under his hair.

Minor crisis, averted.

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Pink, blue, and very, very green

by mayberry on July 18, 2007

This news–this surprising, exciting news–makes me desperately jealous.

Please know that this doesn’t diminish the happiness I feel for Julie and her family, and the hope that the pregnancy, birth, and beyond are smooth sailing for them all. Please know that I am deeply, humbly grateful for the babies I have; I know there are many others out there who would be thrilled beyond measure with two healthy children. Or who are very happy with their tight-knit mom/dad/one kid trio.

But every time I learn of a new pregnancy, that splinter of envy grows, until it becomes a sharp, jagged shard I can no longer ignore.

My husband is unmistakably done having children. And I’m struggling to accept that that means I am too.

He adores our children. He takes good care of them. He beams with pride at their accomplishments and their cuteness. But he sees parenting as a burden, another item on a too-long list of duties. For me it is, most of the time, a privilege and a blessing.

Along with that third baby I’ll never have, I mourn the partner who never finds the delight in the everyday; who wishes each stage of baby- and toddlerhood away before it even begins; who’s missing, I believe, the forest for the small, needy trees.

I remind myself that no more kids means no more morning sickness, pumping, sleepless months. It means less money spent on child care now and college later. It means we can all fit comfortably in our house and our cars. It means more travel, more free time sooner rather than later.

I weigh all that against the honor and the joy of adding another person to our family – and it just doesn’t compare. It doesn’t compare at all.

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Choose your own adventure

by mayberry on May 8, 2007

I’m not sure what prompted it, but I was thinking the other day about do-overs: Not regrets–it’s much more a matter of curiosity than of sadness–but idle wondering about what ifs. What if I’d stayed in France the summer after I studied there instead of going home? What if I’d hired a midwife for my first pregnancy? What if I’d bought that apartment in New York at the bottom of the market (OK, I’m pretty sure I know what would’ve happened there, and I try not to think too much about the bajillion dollars I could have made)?

I’ve been blessed with a lot of good fortune in my life. I look back and realize that events that seemed upsetting at the time, that seemed not to be going my way, in the end turned out for the best. This has given me the confidence to realize that some combination of fate, luck, smarts, good parenting, karma, and who knows what else is taking good care of me. This, in turn, frees me from quite a lot of worry. (It also makes me sound like a Pollyanna. I’m not so naive as to think that bad things don’t happen, or could never happen to me; I realize that my view is colored by the fact that I haven’t yet experienced any personal tragedies. I’m just convinced that I cannot prevent them from happening by worrying. So I don’t).

Do you wonder about any do-over moments of your own?

*

Read about some people who are taking the leap to find out what if, and how you can help.

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