The Art of Doing Nothing

Another big change that happened when we moved to Vermont: I stopped working.

Those of you who have never thought of me as a heavy-hitting career woman are absolutely right, but I did work continuously as the part-time director of Project Peace East Bay from the time Fiona was about 7 months old up until Georgia was born in March 2011. (SHAMELESS PLUG: If you have money that you’d like to donate, and particularly if you live in the East Bay, give Project Peace some love. It’s a small nonprofit org that does mighty things, and is doing even mightier things now than when I was at the helm. Not that the two are related or anything….)

I was able to pull this off because Erick’s wonderful parents lived 45 minutes away and are both retired. So, two or three days a week they would drive over to Berkeley and spend all day with the girls. This continued for 3 years. It was such an ideal situation that I’m almost embarrassed to admit it. I LOVED going to work, because I got to use a part of my brain that wasn’t actively employed by parenting, because I got to interact with other adults, and because I felt like through Project Peace I could actually do some good for the community — which was good for my girls to see. And I honestly never felt guilty about leaving the house for a second, because the girls had a chance to form amazing relationships with their very own grandparents.

All of this came to an abrupt halt with our move to Vermont. With no grandparents within easy driving distance, and a new baby, new house, new job for Erick, and new community to navigate, it was clearly my season to stay at home. And I have only been grateful that we made this choice, and for this time at home. It’s been a very sweet season, although not one that I expect — or even hope — will last forever.

I wrote that preface because I’m concerned that what I’m about to say may come off as a luxury “problem” only to stay-at-home moms. (“Oh, here she is complaining, while I’d LOVE to be at home doing nothing with my kids!”) And I’ve never seen such nasty comments or unfortunate misunderstandings as those that occur in the dialogues between stay-at-home and working mothers. So I want to be clear that, as someone who has been fortunate enough to be in both roles, what I am about to write has more to do with how you spend your time while at home, for whatever amount of time you happen to be there.

All clear? Good. (And sorry for any over-explanation. This is also how I deal with the BIG QUESTIONS from our girls, like “What is love?” and “Why can’t a man have more than one wife in our country?” and “Why is Daddy having another Scotch?” I basically over-explain until their eyes glaze over and they aren’t paying attention anymore.)

So. We’ve been spending a lot of time at home doing nothing these days.

Partly, I blame the weather. Although it’s been an abnormally mild winter here in the Northeast, it has still been quite cold. Cold enough that we consider a high of 36 to be a heat wave — and I can tell you, it really does feel that way. Plus, we get about 2 hours of sunlight a day. So leaving the house, even when it’s possible, isn’t always appealing.

But partly, I blame myself. While we certainly have our regularly scheduled activities each week — playgroup. library, open gym, preschool drop-off and pick-up (yes, I count this as an activity!) — I’ve not been attempting to fill up our free time with the same enriching outings as I did over the summer. Given a choice, my girls usually vote to stay in. And since, as previously discussed in this blog, it’s kind of a hassle to get three little girls winterized and out the door, most days I’m just as happy to acquiesce.

Okay, so we’re at home a lot. But there are different ways of being at home. My ideal of being at home — the kind of being at home that I imagine all other mothers are accomplishing — involves art projects, family baking, and enriching learning activities. Like the fantastic activities listed on this wonderful website, which a friend of mine passed along over a year ago. Have I done ANY of the activities listed on that website? No, I have not. Because, whenever I propose a “quality at-home activity,” I’m either rejected outright, OR the activity devolves into a free-for-all with the girls and house covered in paint/chocolate/stickers/tape/etc., and me yelling.

What they’d rather do is pull all the cushions off of the sofa, take off all their clothes, and pretend to be princesses/lions/Barbies. And the oldest two are old enough now that they don’t even need me, except for every 5 minutes when they suddenly demand my COMPLETE FOCUS so that I can be the evil stepmother/witch/fairy in their story. That’s 5 uninterrupted minutes when I can clean something/throw dinner in the crockpot/check email (not necessarily in that order).

So, I ping-pong back and forth between “productive” work around the house and playtime with the girls, and by the end of the day I feel like nothing has been accomplished. The truth is, I’m not very good at doing nothing. I come from a long line of people who will do just about anything to keep busy. All of which means that I feel guilty a lot. Guilty that I’m either not doing enough with the girls or not doing enough around the house. Guilty that Fiona still can’t quite write the “N” in her name. Guilty that Campbell is either colorblind or truly doesn’t know the difference between red and green. Guilty that I left Georgia propped up in a corner 10 minutes ago. Guilty that no matter how fast I run, the dust balls and cobwebs will always have me beat. Guilty guilty guilty….

Until I was brought to my senses by a perfectly-timed email from my wise friend Jen. Jen has 3 kids slightly older than ours, took over for me at Project Peace when we moved (and is doing amazing things there), and is basically someone I’d like to be when I grow up. Also she surfs. All Fall we were exchanging brief and business-y emails, mostly her asking me where she could find various files. But out of nowhere – you know how sometimes you get a message just when you need it? — she inserted this little nugget into an email:

I know it sounds absolutely completely insane, but enjoy the “slow” life trapped at home with your little people. Truly, lay around with them in your PJ’s the whole day staring at grass or dirt or something. Life is a rush here and we seldom get to do those small things anymore.

I quote this email to myself almost daily. So, that’s what I’m trying to do: practice the art of doing “nothing” with my girls, which will probably add up to a whole lot of something when I look back on it. And to be okay with it, to get over the guilt, which really shouldn’t have to be a cornerstone emotion of motherhood. Because I figure that maybe if I can banish the guilt, then maybe I can actually be present in the moment and fill my guilt vacuum with joy.

Mommy Date

One of the things that Erick and I try to do, with varying degrees of success, is to each have one monthly date with each of our two oldest girls (Georgia’s time will come). During December, this got lost in the Christmas festivities, but now we’re back on track. Fiona and Campbell got ice skates for Christmas, so I decided that for my “mommy dates” with them this month, I’d take each of them skating at the town rink. This past Sunday it was Fiona’s turn.

Most of you may not know this about me, but I really love ice skating. Back when I was in college in the northeast, I even took lessons. And I haven’t skated since then, partly because I married Erick, who has flat feet and isn’t very comfortable in ice skates, and partly because I lived either in New York City or Berkeley, where most ice skating options involved waiting for four hours with a bunch of tourists for some overpriced city skating.

But here I am, back in the northeast in a town with a rink that has open skating hours, and with two daughters who are willing skate dates.

Fiona had never been skating before. I don’t know about other kids, but our girls are still pretty unpredictable in terms of what I’ll call, for lack of a better term, “trooper-ness,” from one situation to the next. One day they’ll voluntarily hike barefoot three miles through the snow; the next, they’ll whine endlessly and demand to be carried the second we leave the house. So before hitting the rink, I gave Fiona a pep talk. It went a little something like this: “Fiona, you’re going to fall on your butt. Probably more than once. When this happens, are you going to cry and ask to go home, or are you going to get up and keep trying?” What can I say? I’m a tough love kind of mom.

So we got to the rink, and it was great. Because we live in a small town with limited recreational options, about half of Fiona’s preschool class was there, including one of her favorite preschool friends, Ruby. Ruby had been skating a few times before, so she was whizzing around in the middle of the rink, holding onto a nifty contraption that they have here for beginning skaters: two milk crates zip-tied together. Here’s the idea:

Fiona’s main objective immediately became: get to Ruby. And that day, Fiona’s “trooper-ness” was at a high level. She fell a couple of times, but bounced right back up again. She tried the milk crates, but wasn’t actually a big fan. (I don’t think her visions of ice skating had involved being hunched over a couple of plastic crates). So before too long, she was venturing out on her own, and doing pretty well.

And then it happened: she reached Ruby, turned to me, and said, “I’m okay, Mommy; you can go now.”

HUH?!?

“I’m okay, Mommy; you can go now.”

Isn’t this the moment we hope for as parents? When Fiona was born, Erick and I laid out this mission statement, which is probably not that unusual and which we often circle back to: our main objective in parenting is to get our kids to leave us. (Seriously, I have very low standards. As long as they’re self-sufficient, relatively happy, and not breaking the law, I will consider my job well done). And, barring the normal periods of attachment, Fiona has not had problems with independence, it’s just that up to this point, it’s always been me pushing her off. Sleep in your own room, stay with a babysitter, go to Sunday School, go to preschool. I really think that this is the first time that Fiona has pushed me away — and I mean that in the best possible way. (Campbell is another matter; she’s been telling us — verbally and non-verbally — to “Go away!” almost since birth). But of course, when Fiona said this to me, my first response wasn’t joy, it was shock.

GO WHERE?!?

Anyway, I went. I skated away from my daughter and joined the brisk oval of skaters circling the outside of the rink. And I have to say, it felt amazing. It was a little strange not to be hunched protectively over a child, but didn’t take long to rediscover my balance, my speed, and that feeling of soaring that I’ve always loved about skating. (And thankfully, because of the layout of skating rinks, it was also easy to keep an eye on Fiona and Ruby, who were having a blast in the middle of the rink).

I guess I’d better get used to it.

Fiona, circa 2009. "I'm okay, Mommy; you can go now."

Let it Snow!

It’s been an unseasonably mild winter here in Vermont thus far. Sure, it’s snowed a bit, but no more than a few inches of accumulation. We keep being reassured that the snow will come in earnest throughout January and February, so we are keeping the faith. But according to our indoor/outdoor thermometer, it’s now 43 degrees outside.

On the other hand, maybe when 43 degrees feels unseasonably warm, we’re really becoming true Vermonters.

Nonetheless, we’ve managed to have some winter fun in the past week. Here are some pictures from a hike we took in our neighborhood, and from our first snowshoeing outing.

Our big discovery in the woods near our house: a partly frozen "waterfall!"

Erick and his girls throw rocks in the stream.

The Gong girls bravely set out on the trek home!

Making a brief stop to sit on the "frozen pond" (really more of a puddle).

Campbell tests out her new snowshoes at the Middlebury College nordic ski course.

Too much fun isn't good for kids, so we put them to work on the way back.

Back home and stripped down to her base layer, Georgia declares her first snowshoeing trip a big success! (And also displays the 2 front teeth she got for Christmas).

We wish you all a very happy 2012 filled with love, joy, and plenty of bowls to lick.

First Vermont Christmas

It was long on fun and memories, short on actual photos. Here’s the rundown of the fun:

Dec. 23: Nana and Boom arrive from Virginia! Embodying the word “trooper” they got my Dad suited up in body armor to stabilize his broken vertebrae (the girls now call him “Iron Man”) and made the 9+ hour drive north.

Santa hats, rubber gloves, and antique hair rollers = a recipe for fun!

That evening, we went Christmas caroling Vermont-style. Our friends Cris and Courtney (parents to two of our girls’ best friends, Wyatt and Isabelle) have family that runs a local dairy farm, and every Christmas they hitch up a hay wagon to a tractor and drive around singing Christmas carols. They invited us to go with them this year, and it was a BLAST! We drove through single-digit temperatures and snow flurries to a local assisted living home, sang carols, and then rode the hay wagon back to the farm, where there were goodies and hot chocolate waiting for us. (We have no pictures of all this for the obvious reason that it was dark. Also because we were wrangling 3 little girls on a hay wagon).

Dec. 24: One last batch of Christmas fudge, complete with the best part — the pan licking.

Then dinner at a friend’s house and a candlelight service at church.

Georgia's ready for her first Christmas.

Before bed, Boom reads "The Night Before Christmas."

Dec. 25: Amazingly, the girls slept in until 7:45. And after a very mild and non-snowy start to the winter, we awoke to find that a light blanket of snow had fallen overnight, thus making our first Vermont Christmas officially white. Then…Stockings! Breakfast! Church again! Presents! Lunch! Naps! Dinner with our friends Damascus and Betty and their two sons! Phew!

The girls' favorite gifts: bean bag chairs and (not pictured) snowshoes.

...but it was the best gift of all this year.

Georgia, after sampling some of Boom's fruitcake, declares Christmas a hit.

We hope that you all had similarly special Christmases. Merry Christmas and Happy New Year from the Gongs!

HEY! Unto Us A Child is Born!*

Today was the children’s Christmas pageant at Memorial Baptist Church. The Gong girls made their debut as sheep.

The pageant was really for children aged 3 and older, but since Campbell is 2 and has an older sister, she was offered the chance to participate. As of dinner the night before, she wasn’t very enthusiastic. “I’m going to be in the audience,” she kept saying, in response to Fiona’s urging. But once she got to church and saw all the sheep hoods, she apparently couldn’t resist.

And a star was born. Those of you who know Fiona, with her penchant for drama and her love of musical theater, might think she’d be the most likely candidate for the stage.

So did we, until Campbell put on that sheep’s hood. To say she embraced the role would be an understatement. “BAAA!” she kept shouting at regular intervals at the poor man sitting in the pew behind us. (That’s until she grasped church etiquette, after which she would say, “SHHH! THERE’S NO TALKING IN CHURCH,” whenever somebody who was supposed to be talking at the lectern would begin. Those moments until the pageant started were perhaps the longest of my life).

All of a sudden it was time. Mary and Joseph were at the manger. Campbell and Fiona, holding hands, made their way sweetly to the platform with the other livestock. (Sorry for the poor quality of pictures — challenging conditions!)

While Fiona sat demurely (turned away from the congregation for most of the pageant), Campbell was having a great time joking with the other sheep and her friend Wyatt, who played the lone cow. And then, at exactly the moment we all started singing “Away in a Manger,” she noticed that the baby doll that was standing in for the Baby Jesus was just inches away. At that point, she reached out and, depending on who you ask, began either giving the Baby Jesus a head massage or attempting to pick him up by his head.

As you can see, Joseph himself felt the need to intervene.

When we asked Campbell later about why she was giving the Baby Jesus a head rub, she said, “Because I love him!” So I guess that’s the right idea. Anyway, it was great fun, and even Georgia gave it a positive review.

*Reference from “The Best Christmas Pageant Ever,” a hilarious children’s book that I’d highly recommend if you haven’t read it yet!

About a Tree (and a Bush)…

We got our Christmas tree on Sunday. In keeping with our new life in Vermont, in which we now drive a matter of minutes to do what we used to drive at least an hour for (i.e. apple orchards, pumpkin patches, dairy farms), we drove up the road to Werner’s Christmas Tree Farm. The Werner family not only has trees on their farm, they also have an assortment of poultry…

…and a couple of horses.

Campbell's not looking at the camera because she's nervous about the turkey. Can't say I blame her!

Even with these distractions — not to mention the model train — it didn’t take us long to select an acceptable tree.

We took it home, we got it up with a minimum of angst (Erick might differ with me there), and then the whirlwind Gong girls took over with the decorating!

Note the completely unsupervised third child, making a grab for the tree.

Erick thinks we should take more pictures of Georgia so that she won’t feel neglected later on, so here’s one to prove that, in fact, she did not pull the tree over on herself in the photo above.

See? Happy baby! (Really, that is her happy face).

When the dust settled, we stepped back and realized that this house was absolutely made for Christmas.

Which brings me to the bush. Of course, when you move into a new house, you also inherit all the landscaping. Here is the bush in question right when we moved in:

It looks okay there, but the thing is, it grows pretty fast and starts getting into the front decking, which meant that I had to spend significant time this summer pruning it. And what you don’t see in this photo are the SHARP thorns that line every branch. I’m talking pierce-through-your-gardening-gloves sharp. By summer’s end, I was about ready to dig up the whole thing. And I really would have, but then in the autumn, it suddenly did this:

barberryearlyautumn — NOTE: This is a photo from the internet, not our actual bush.

That photo doesn’t quite capture the brilliant purplish-red that the bush turned. “Okay bush,” I said to myself (Or maybe I was actually talking to the bush. What? Don’t judge!), “I’ll give you another chance. But if you don’t shape up after those pretty leaves are down, you’re outta here!”

And here’s what it did next:

winterbush — Again, not our actual bush because it's grey and rainy here, and nothing would look very good outside right now.

As you can see, the thorns are still there, but get a load of those brilliant red berries. It’s the only splash of color outside right now, and it’s just spectacular.

Why am I going on about this bush? Well, for starters, if you take another look at our Christmas home, you’ll see that I’ve found an indoor use for some of its trimmings:

I hope that these branches will deck our house for many months to come — at least until Easter.

I’m so glad that I gave this bush a little time — and by the way, I’ve just discovered that it’s officially called a “Barberry bush.” The fact that it went from being a hated piece of our garden to surprising us with its late-season beauty seems like such a fitting part of this season of expectant waiting and hope. Draw whatever allegories you like between this and the human condition, the spiritual journey, whatever — I’m not going to preach at you. Except to say that if there’s only one thing I’ve learned from our Barberry bush, it’s to give all your plants at least one full growing season before you decide to uproot them. I think that’s true of people, too.

Randomly Thankful…

It’s lightly snowing in Middlebury as I write this, and our house is firmly in advent-pointed-towards-Christmas mode. But only a week ago, our family was giving thanks. For so many things. Obviously there was the feast, featuring an enormous turkey from just down the road at Stonewood Farm. We’re STILL eating the leftovers!

Fiona and Erick preparing the turkey for cooking.

And on the other end, Fiona and Erick preparing the turkey for eating.

Joining us for Thanksgiving dinner were Nana and Boom. The feast marked a celebration of sorts, as their Gilligan’s Island-like visit (the 3-hour tour that became much more!) came to an end. You might recall that Nana and Boom had journeyed to Vermont in late October for a 1-week visit. After Boom broke 4 ribs and 2 vertebrae falling off a ladder in our yard, their visit stretched to 5 weeks. We loved having them here and were sorry to see them go, but we’re happy to report that they’re now safely back at their home in Virginia!

Lately we’ve also been feeling randomly thankful for our three girls. And I want to give particular attention to the fact that we do have THREE girls; poor Georgia gets pretty short shrift in these posts. It’s funny: when you have your first baby, everything they do is endlessly fascinating and gets documented by the second; when it comes to #3 (at least in our family), they’re the least interesting member of the family because you’ve already seen their tricks twice over. But we do love Georgia — everybody loves Georgia. She is happy, adorable, and doing a great job of being a 9-month-old (babbling, working on walking, eating solid food). And our girls seem to be having increasing fun being sisters, which is endlessly joyful to see. They’re starting to have a great deal of fun together, as evidenced by the following pictures.

About a month ago, when we still had leaves in our yard.

But wait! Our third daughter was also there!

Just this week: our three girls enjoy some post-lunch under-the-table play.

These are very small, specific things that I’m feeling thankful for today. It’s easy to feel grateful and warm and cozy, and lose sight of the fact that we’re often thankful for the things we DON’T have to deal with…but other people do. For instance, yesterday was World AIDS Day. Erick was asked to give a talk at Middlebury College about his research, which deals with the economics of HIV/AIDS in Sub-Saharan Africa. So I’m awfully thankful that I’m not in the position of having to engage in potentially fatal sexual behavior to feed my kids. But how can I – we – move from being thankful to dealing with the things I’ve been fortunate to avoid? That’s where my brain is headed this time of year, and I’m writing it here to keep myself honest, because I want our family to be engaged in random acts of giving this Christmas. One of my favorite “anti-Christmas carols” has become Jackson Browne’s “The Rebel Jesus,” and I try to have its spirit inform the way we celebrate Christmas in our house. If you have a minute, it’s worth a listen, just click here. I’ll report back on what we came up with this Christmas season!

First Real Snow!

It did this last night:

Looks like it’s going to be a white Thanksgiving! Here are the girls exploring our yard and posing with the first snowman of the season. I’m sure the excitement will wear off after another 5 months of this, but it was a thrilling morning!

And the best part: hot chocolate and popcorn after a morning of playing in the snow.

Feeling very thankful for the beautiful snow, for fun with family, and for a warm house with a (finally!) completed new roof!

Scenes from a Birthday

Fiona had a spectacular 4th birthday. It involved 2 days of celebration, beginning with cupcakes at preschool, continuing on to a family party, and continuing further with her “friend party” today. As I sit to write this, I have just recently survived a house full of 11 children under the age of 5. So I am going to smack up some photos and then go have a glass of Scotch. If you’d like a more sentimental glimpse of Fiona, please read the previous post; this is all about the parties!

Fiona and Campbell explore the big ticket gift -- mom's old Barbie doll collection -- with Nana.

Fiona with her birthday cupcake at her family party.

The "Fall Harvest" cake for Fiona's friend party (theme: Pocahontas).

Fiona in her Pocahontas costume (courtesy of Grandmommy) in front of the "longhouse" set up in our sunroom.

...and for good measure, in her Mulan costume (also courtesy of Grandmommy).

Fun times! And while we’re on a roll, tomorrow we’re having Erick’s students over as well. G’night!

Five Facts About Fiona

Today, Fiona turns 4. This feels like the first birthday we’ve had where the age wasn’t such a big deal. For instance: “You’re 1 year old!”, “Uh-oh, now you’re 2.”, “Phew! You’re 3! Goodbye to the terrible 2s!” But 4? Not a huge milestone. What I would say about this age is that, recently, Fiona seems to have passed through the developmental sturm and drang of the past couple years and emerged as a fairly mature little girl. Someone with her own opinions, capable of sustaining a conversation. It’s now much easier to see who she is, what she’ll love, and what hurdles she’ll face in the future.

Fiona on her birthday morning. Yes, I know she's posing like a goober. No, we didn't teach her how to do that. It's just pure Fiona.

So here, in no particular order, are 5 fun facts about Fiona on her birthday:

1. Fiona is dramatic. This will come as no particular surprise to anybody who knows her: Fiona loves drama in every sense. She has always had a vivid imagination; by age 2, she had no fewer than 5 imaginary friends (4 cows: Pak, Pook, Lolo, and Orange, plus one lion named…Lion). Today, whenever left to her own devices she will play make-believe, and reenact any situation: the library, the doctor’s office, preschool, Sunday School, and just about any fairy/princess tale there is. (There is of course a flip side to this drama, when Fiona chooses to bring her drama into everyday life. But we all have things to work on!).

2. Fiona is an all-star big sister. We could not ask for a more loving, thoughtful oldest child when it comes to her two little sisters. If she had her way, she’d carry Georgia around the house all day. And she’s been amazingly generous and patient with Campbell, who is now going through the terrible 2s with a vengeance. All three girls are now sharing a bedroom, and they love it — and it’s so fun to hear them talking and singing on both ends of bedtime. As the oldest, I give a lot of credit to Fiona for helping create a sweet sister culture.

3. Fiona has her own style. Ever since she was old enough to dress herself, Fiona had a very strong sense of what she wanted to wear. She continues to choose outfits that are kind of amazing in the way they mix bizarre elements and yet somehow still work. (Her latest thing is to wear printed t-shirts backwards). And she really loves clothes; given a choice of how to spend her money, she’d choose clothes. Which is just incredible as someone who is the offspring of Erick and me, arguably two of the least fashionable people out there. We don’t value clothes in our house, and have certainly done nothing to encourage this tendency in Fiona. She was truly just born this way.

4. Fiona always surprises us by her kindness. She can still throw a great fit on occasion, but this is also a girl who will always check in on everyone else’s aches and pains. She will suggest taking food to or making a card for somebody in need. She will volunteer to give away toys or clothes that she doesn’t need. With Boom still recuperating at our house, she will go check in on him regularly (overheard yesterday: “Boom, would you like to come out for breakfast or would you like breakfast in bed?”).

5. Fiona likes music. Loud music. At the moment, her criteria for whether a song is good is two-pronged: 1. Is it loud? 2. Is it dramatic? Favorite songs at the moment include “Colors of the Wind” from Disney’s Pocahontas, and “On My Own” from Les Miserables. Needless to say, anything sung by Snow White gets a big thumbs-down.

We can’t imagine our family without Fiona. We love all of her — the good and the challenging — and we hope that she will keep being herself.