Big Birthday #21: You Asked for It (Notes for a New Mom)

NOTE: As I approach my 70th birthday, I’ll reprise a milestone post here each day until the end of May. Today – from April 29, 2007.

That’s me with my older son, Josh, in Muir Woods outside San Francisco — pretty many years ago. I don’t know if you can tell but I’m pregnant with his brother. Happy to join the virtual shower although despite my adoration of and respect for both Liz and Catherine, I’m from the generation that put their babies to sleep on their stomachs and so may sound a little old-fashioned*.

1. Don’t do anything that doesn’t feel right no matter whose advice it is.

2. Trust yourself.

3. Remember that everybody makes mistakes and anyway a child is not a product, she is a person. You’ve heard that kids are resilient. They are. Do your best with love and if you don’t dwell on your mistakes neither will they.

4. You can’t turn a child into someone. You can only help them become the best somebody they already are.

5. Don’t be afraid to say no. Parents who don’t set limits and help their kids learn self-discipline are selfish. It’s easier but it’s not right.

6. No experience is wasted on a child. Maybe they’re too young to remember, but if it happened, it had an impact. So share as much of what you love as you can – music, museums, trips to Timbuktu or Target — poetry, cooking, washing the car.

7. No child ever went to college in diapers.

8. Listen to experienced people you respect, preschool teachers, friends, even, God forbid, your mother. Experience really is a great teacher. Then, though, think it through and then do what you think is right.

9. Everything is not equally important. Pick your fights and win them. 10. Leave time to just be. Lessons are great but quiet time is where imagination and a sense of self emerges.

10. LISTEN to your kids. They are smart and interesting and wise and if you respect them you have a far better chance of having them respect you.

11. Did I say trust yourself?

With love, admiration and the joy that comes from knowing all you wonderful, poetic and caring, committed and in one case, very new mothers on the occasion of this lovely virtual baby shower.

*This post was part of a “baby shower” if pieces by friends of this about-to-be new BlogHer mom.

Being a Grandmother, a Mother, a Daughter, and Sad

Once a year I pay special honor to my parents. In a service on Yom Kippur called Yizkor, I say a prayer to their memory and pledge to do something to remember them: to donate charity for their sake.

This year, even more than usual, I wept as I prayed, and afterward. I have three grandsons now, one of whom shares my father’s name, and my parents don’t know it. They aren’t here to enjoy these lovely boys, or to help me handle the issues that emerge when one’s children have children.

Our boys and their wives are stunning parents (and wonderful to us) and our grandsons are, of course, perfect; that’s not the issue. It is, rather, that I know now some of what they must have felt and I would be so grateful if I could tell them what I have learned about their own grace as grandparents, and ask them for advice on the moments that grab the heart, or maybe even, as in every family, for a moment, break it.

WHO EVER THOUGHT RAISING SONS WOULD BE SO GREAT!

NOTE: This is another 2008 virtual baby shower post – to Julie Westerbeck Marsh when her first son appeared.

OK so I grew up with sisters. And I went to a women’s college. And most of my life I’ve worked in offices with more women than men (amazing, no?) So, when I was pregnant I was terrified at the idea of having boys. They were so strange — so noisy — I just had no idea what was coming. Except that what was coming was Josh. And then Dan. And it turned out that — hang on sisters — boys are a blast, great company, luuuhhhv their moms and — boys are easier! I know this because I’ve watched my friends raising daughters and the tensions are fierce. Girls and their mothers — boys and their dads. Not easy.

But let’s get back to basics. Little boys run around a lot and make noise. They jump off things. They ride the dog around and fall off and hit their heads and need stitches. They, later, seem to be trying to kill each other much of the time. And before I go any further – let me tell you that there’s an old shrink saying that therapists never believe that babies are born with personalities until they have their second child. This is also true with many women regarding gender differences – it hits you once they show up. My kids are feminists and very good to the women in their lives as far as I can tell – but they are men and they were boys and that is not like being a girl. Nope.

I have great memories from when they were little – stomping around singing Free to Be and Da Doo Ron Ron Ron and The Garden Song and Abiyoyo, skiing down black diamond slopes and going to Yankee Stadium to see Billy Joel and Carnegie Hall to see Pete Seeger and Madison Square Garden to see Sesame Street on Ice and being dragged to an infinite number of Police Academy and other disgusting movies.

And I lived in alien space much of the time. Some of our hit toys (ie things I would NEVER have had in my house if there were not these strange male creatures inhabiting the premises — and pre-video game age of course):
One of those Radio Shack electronics build-your-own thingy kits that make bells ring and bulbs light up if you hook them up correctly.
Legos
Anything aviationary
Anything Star Wars
Anything GI Joe
Voltron
Weird wrestling stuff (boy did I fight that one!)
Folk music (that’s my fault though)
Baseball cards (and proudly, I did NOT throw them out)
Stuffed animals
Ernie

No Mary Poppins books (I tried) but I did get to read all The Great Brain and Ralph S Mouse and Timothy Goes to School and a gazillion baseball player bios.

There’s serious stuff to having sons, of course. We have to be sure, no matter how much we love hanging around with them, that they get enough alone time with their dads or some other male figure. And wave bravely as they off together on a Sunday (also your day off after all) without you. We have to accept and celebrate the guy stuff.

Just like girls, but differently, we have to let them know we think they can take care of themselves – enable independence at each landmark, if we think they can handle it, even when we really want to help. It’s so easy, with a boy, to want to remain more connected than is useful for them as they grow. At certain points they may pull back for a while, when they need to untangle. We have to let them and respect the struggle

With regard to respect for women – I am deeply impressed with my sons’ perspectives. I hope that being honest and respecting their developing attitudes, helped. I never threw a Playboy out of our house but I made it very clear how I felt about them in the (brief) period they were around. Anything like that, of which I (or my husband) disapproved, had to come out of their allowance. They had to put their money on the line – and I think that helped more than locking it all out of the house and pretending they weren’t interested. It also helped us understand where their heads were. Although that is easier for boys because they are, honestly, more straightforward.

Of course none of what I write here applies to all boys. Much of it may apply to plenty of girls. But it was my experience and in a kind of stream of consciousness baby shower kind of way it’s what rose to the top. The bottom line though, is that even though it’s scary if you’ve lived in a world of women, as I had, they are just wonderful. Most of all, because I know Julie, from reading your blog for so long, you would be a great mother to any child with whom you were blessed, this kid is in for a great life. And where advice is concerned, I say take it only as far as your gifted mother gut takes you. Where the two collide, trust yourself. Girl, boy or android, that way your little one will always be in the right hands.

YOU ASKED FOR IT: Advice for New Moms

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NOTE: In the early years of BlogHer “virtual baby showers” – posts on a topic new moms might like – were frequent. This, one of the first, sought advice for new moms. In honor of two new grandchildren, here’s what I wrote then, in April of 2007.

1. Don’t do anything that doesn’t feel right no matter whose advice it is.

2. Trust yourself.

4. You can’t turn a child into someone. You can only help them become the best somebody they already are.

5. Don’t be afraid to say no. Parents who don’t set limits and help their kids learn self-discipline are selfish. It’s easier but it’s not right.

7. No child ever went to college in diapers.

9. Everything is not equally important. Pick your fights and win them.

10. Leave time to just be. Lessons are great but quiet time is where imagination and a sense of self emerges.

11. LISTEN to your kids. They are smart and interesting and wise and if you respect them you have a far better chance of having them respect you.

12. Did I say trust yourself?

With love, admiration and the joy that comes from knowing all you wonderful, poetic and caring, committed and in one case, very new mothers on the occasion of this lovely virtual baby shower.

Our Gigantic Family #MicroblogMondays

Two new little boys will enter our family before the end of September. We’re excited, happy for our lovely sons and their wives and very happy too that our grandchildren have such wonderful people as parents.

There’s another thing, that (even though it is, of course, obvious) I hadn’t thought about in a long time: these children, while we can’t trace personal generations very far back because so many records and stories were lost in the Holocaust, have a family that goes back to Abraham and to Moses and Mt. Sinai and to Sarah and Rachel and Rebecca. Of course, we all, biblically, begin with Adam and Eve but because I’ve always known I couldn’t trace our family, I didn’t let myself consider what we might never know – it was too painful.

I think that’s why the sudden recollection of this spectacular Jewish lineage became an almost new discovery even though the reality has always been part of our lives. We, and our children, and theirs, are part of something well beyond ourselves. I am grateful to be part of the tribe – and pray that our boys, and theirs – and their moms – travel safely as the world continues on its magnificent, scary and complicated trips around the sun.

To Letty and Marlo with Thanks: My Free to Be Grandson

My grandson Nate turned two yesterday. He loves music. And, a child of his era, music video. We are avid watchers of Free to Be…You and Me clips.

This morning, this song, and the others, ran on a loop in my mind as I walked passed strollers and playgrounds in the park. Not for the first time, I was overcome with gratitude to the two of you and the others who brought these songs to what is literally now generations of children. It was a major factor in our home when our boys were little; it was even the school play at their elementary school. Now it belongs to their children. And, I suspect, those who follow.

It's become my go-to baby present to young families who don't already know it – and sometimes to those who do. And, within a few bars Glad to Have a Friend Like You or When We Grow Up, can bring me to tears.

It's everything we wished for our kids when they were little – all of us; it's a myriad of memories of all the hours we spent loving, dancing to and singing these wonderful songs as they became part of us.

And so I presume, for all the moms and dads, sons and daughters, sisters and brothers and teachers and friends — to thank you one more time, as I enter the third year of the second generation in our family to be "free to be."

Glad to have a friend like you!

Sons Really Do Get Married, and Their Parents Really Do Love It, (and Nobody Cried)

There we are, our sweet sweet family with it's newly married eldest and his lovely brand-new wife. It's an out-of-body experience to watch your son get married, and this was a wonderful one. I'd been very nervous: would it go well after the two of them had worked so hard on every detail, would they have fun, would we cry, would I look ok (well, after all, those photos last forever.)

It all did go well. The groom (in the middle) was so joyous and ready, his speech so sure and calm; his wife so lovely and pleased, his brother (on the right)offering the loveliest, funniest, just-rightest toast ever. There were only 80 of us so over the weekend we became a kind of tribe, tables shifting as people moved around enjoying the event, and one another.

It was a great joy to me to see how much the boys feel for each other. I have, today, two of my dearest wishes: that my children be good friends and that each son find a partner who is wonderful, honorable and loving. So far so good.

I'd been thinking for months about the power of time, of change. One of my friends commented on my Facebook page that "I remember when Josh was xeroxing his little hands in the office!" I do too. And I thought I'd be consumed by those kinds of thoughts. But this just felt right, timely and good for everyone. No nostalgia, not "where are you going my little one, little one" "sunrise, sunset" thoughts at all. Just gratitude at the happiness and love that surrounded the bride, the groom and the rest of us. May it always be so.

For My Friends with Young Children, or My Annual Post-Thanksgiving Meditation

Here's the thing. My children live far away, one six hours to the west and the other, with his fiance, six hours to the east. We've been together for Thanksgiving week – all of us – hanging out, cooking, touring around DC, running errands and just being — and being thankful. It's always special when the whole family is together; it seemed so natural when the boys were little and now it's a treat. I cooked a million meals with them banging around in the kitchen. Now it's a precious thing when I make turkey meatloaf with my younger son. I watch him, an accomplished cook, chop like a pro, listen as he reassures me that this new thing will taste great, laugh with him, trade recipes. I rode around in cars, subways, buses with them all the time, and, along with their dad, dragged them into a million stores from grocery to toys to clothing to antiques. Now it's the pleasure of serious shopping at Ikea with my older son and his fiance, getting to be around while they choose a sofa. Seeing what a fine woman she is, watching them seamlessly making decisions together, measuring, taking photos, laughing, planning. It feels great to see them launching themselves so well together and makes it OK that much of their life is lived far from us. That's how it is.

I know though, that when kids are little, schlepping them in and out of car seats and strollers, keeping them occupied while you try to cook, keeping little hands out of the Ikea toy bins, mediating murderous sibling battles, keeping a home running while keeping kids in line – it's a lot. I remember. It doesn't matter whether you work outside your home or stay home with your family; either way there's so much to handle. I kept thinking about that as I wandered around Washington with these adults who are also, forever, my children, reminding myself how long it would be before we would all do it together again. Reminding myself that it's a credit to us that our kids are self-sufficient, productive and wonderfully decent, funny, loving men — and how blessed we are that they chose to come to us for the holiday — and that it's right, and good, that they have their own lives and homes and futures.

But though that's true, I wanted to tell you about this because it goes so fast. All the cliches are true. Turn around and they're grown. That doesn't mean it isn't hard to keep things going now, it just means that those days will be gone, sooner than you think.

My youngest is approaching 30. My oldest is getting married. They have money market accounts and careers and fiances and plans and even some gray hairs. They teach me more than I teach them (although that was always true.) They are, like those of you reading this, grown ups, and my husband and I have our own rich and happy life together. But it still can be, for those few moments of farewell at the end of each visit, desperately painful, on both sides.

As we drove to the airport last night, I (sort of) joked that I had to hook my iPod up to the car radio so that, when I was sad after leaving them off, I could blast Bruce, or Great Big Sea to make me feel a little better. When we arrived at the departure entrance, I got out of the car to help unload the bags. My son the chef was still in the front seat of the car. I was worried that a cop would throw me out of the parking place so I went toward the door to ask what he was doing. He turned around. "You iPod's all hooked up" he said, and reached out to give me a hug goodbye.

IN MY MIND I’M GOIN’ TO CAROLINA – KITTY HAWK, ACTUALLY

We bought the kite for the four-year-old in this picture, in his father’s arms* We’re right outside Kitty Hawk and all of us are climbing the dune to watch the ("Oh my, it looks just like the very first airplane!") kite take to the air in the same sorts of breezes that aided the real plane 105 years ago in a spot near here. We’ve been here on the Outer Banks of North Carolina for 4 days and have established a lazy rhythm, somewhat altered by Wednesday’s wanderings not only to a "kids day" at a local kite store but also to the very scene of the Wright Brothers’ flight.

Our young friend has been beyond excited. The kite store was festooned with models suspended above our heads. The first airplane! A biplane! Jets and propellers and passenger planes and military planes and photos and puzzle boxes with still more. Small children, particularly, it seems, small boys, love airplanes (and dinosaurs) and our young companion is no exception. It’s wonderful to to watch him explode with joy at the small pleasure of a store display. And then to cross the highway to the dunes and see his own new possession take to the air. Oh – and to reassure him that the aspiring hang-gliding students one dune beyond will not fly over and tangle themselves in our kite strings.

Nearby is the official Wright Brothers National Memorial; we went there, too. It’s remarkable to see, this plain, very effective museum, marking with simple stones the small distances that set off the revolution that enabled us to move from a flight of 120 feet to the landing of a man on the moon in just 66 years. Remarkable too to go with this wonderful, ecstatic 4-year-old and his family and wonder, 66 years from now, what their world will be. How much farther will we have flown and whose ingenuity and inspired curiosity will have taken us there? Perhaps our young friend will lead his own airborne, or space-borne, leap forward. One of the great gifts of sharing days like this with little kids is the reminder of all the possibilities to come, no matter how tough or grim the future may appear. Another, of course, is that it’s just plain wonderful to spend time with gifted parents and their spectacular, curious, eager and lively kids.

Tonight we pack up the food and the clothes and the toys and prepare to drive back to Washington in time for a dinner honoring, among others, my husband and me. Both of the wonderful kite-flying families who joined us here are returning early, surrendering part of their precious beach time, in order to be there with us for the event. And our kids are coming – the biggest treat possible. So right now, at 4:30 on a Thursday morning, I’m just sitting in a deserted living room in a North Carolina beach house, counting the blessings of family and friends and every happy memory past, current or still to come — and wishing, for those children of ours, and our dear friends here, the same pile of wonderful moments we’ve known and hope to know. Good morning to you, too.

*As always, I won’t share his name or anyone’s identifiable photo to respect their privacy.

A BIT OF BABY SHOWER WISDOM FOR MOTHERS OF TWO

Well here they are. My two boys some years ago, on a boat someplace in Germany. This photo is probably 20 years old; it’s from one of many wonderful trips covering territory all the way from Israel to Hawaii. Each was an adventure, enriched by the presence of these two little (and later bigger) boys, as were all our days. Most visitors to the baby shower know that I’m the sentimental one – not able ever to be as arch and irreverent as many of my sister bloggers. SO CONSUMER ALERT — this is mostly a riff on the treat it is to watch your two kids grow, change, interact, fight, become real friends, care for one another and grow up to travel together and meet up to go to concerts.

When I was pregnant with my second son, I was afraid that I could never love another child. The delight we felt with our first son was so complete that I wasn’t sure whether there was room in my heart for another. That summer, as we awaited his brother’s arrival, I insisted that our son, my husband and I – go to the beach to have a last vacation with "just the three of us." It was going to be tough to get used to dividing my time so I wanted one more golden moment with just one.

It was the year The Muppet Movie came out, and I remember sitting on the little deck outside the beach cabin we’d rented, my son in my lap, playing The Rainbow Song on the boom box we’d brought with us, just about overcome with emotion. Listen to it – if it doesn’t get to you I don’t know what will.

"Some day we’ll find it, the rainbow connection, the lovers, the dreams and me." So sentimental but absolutely perfect for my pregnant, hormonal self.

And then he arrived – this little, amazing, intense infant, and as soon as I saw him I knew all the worry was for nothing. Of course you can’t love an abstraction as much as a little blond sweetie who loves Kermit and Ernie and Bert — and you. Once that abstraction arrives though, he’s as real and exciting and mysterious and loving as his big brother. As each of their personalities emerged so did their differences, but each revealed a piece of them. Each individual talent and temperment and allergy and grace reminded us of the unique treasure that each of them was to us. So here are 10.5 thoughts on the question at hand – moving from one child to two:

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