May 19, 2008

Summer, Summer, Summer Time

Yes, the Fresh Prince song is stuck in my head…

With Memorial Day this weekend, I’ve started planning our entire summer. Trips to Noah’s Ark, Six Flags Great America, church picnics, Brewers games (yes, more baseball!), Polish Fest and of course BlogHerCon. Writing it all down on the calendar makes me realize how quickly summer will be over, and it hasn’t even begun. I know, I shouldn’t jinx it.

Then I remember that my husband turns 40 this July and I’m contemplating birthday parties. My father turns 53 three days after Doug’s birthday and then I wonder if I should do a joint birthday celebration. You know, bake two cakes with one mix.

Thinking about all the things we want to do and places we’d like to visit is exhausting. Perhaps it’s just as fun to stay home and play with Dawson in the backyard. But I feel guilty for not exposing him to many different activities.

And let’s not forget family vacations. Doug and I have never taken a real vacation. We’ve never even been on a honeymoon. Part of me wants to book a trip to Mexico for the two of us, but the homebody I’m married to is hard to convince.

So I wonder, am I crazy to want to pack so much fun into one short summer? What kinds of Summer Activities do you and your family participate in?

May 5, 2008

Missing My Baby

Lately, I’ve been in a bit of a funk about motherhood. Little Dawson isn’t really so little anymore. He is only three years old, but my son is growing more independent every day. He wants to do everything by himself. He doesn’t want his mother to open the door for him, or pour milk into a cup for him, or help him get dressed each day.

“Mommy, I want to do it!” he declares emphatically, and I can’t help but feel abandoned. No longer needed.

It’s difficult to grasp the reality that Dawson is growing up. That he will continue to grow up, and that someday, he’ll leave this house to start his own life, separate from mine.

From the moment he was conceived, Dawson became a part of my life. That precious baby grew inside my womb. Every decision I made revolved around this tiny being that took over my physical and emotional selves. With every kick in the ribs, I grew to love that child and anxiously awaited for the day he’d make his debut in the world.

Then Dawson was born and life has been in fast forward ever since. Except, it never feels as fast when you’re in the thick of motherhood. I remember how difficult it was to wake several times a night to nurse a baby. How desperately I wanted to sleep, how often I wished for my baby to “get a little older” so parenting would “get a little easier”.

I don’t know if it ever gets easier, only better. While my baby was learning and growing, I was, too. The bond between a mother and child is unbreakable, and the moments that Dawson and I share are so precious. I often feel like I’m struggling to hold onto these memories, these moments. I fear that I may forget them, and someday he’ll ask, “What was I like when I was a baby?” I worry that I will not remember, and won’t be able to tell him.

When I look at Dawson now, I keep asking the question, “Where did my baby go? Who is this child in his place?”

This boy is the lover of all things Spongebob and monster trucks. He is a little boy who lives to be outside, loves dirt and swings and slides and the beach. He loves when his mommy reads to him, even if it is the FleetFarm catalog. He wants to grow up and be a race car, just like Lightning McQueen.

He wants to ride his bike until his little legs cannot pedal any longer. He wants to take his dog for a walk “like a big kid” and hold the leash all by himself. He is kind and loving and never forgets to tell his mother he loves her, even in front of others. He finds beauty in even the ugliest of things, like worms and grubs and centipedes. He is curious. He is cautious. He is smart. He is witty. He is the spitting image of his father, but he has my father’s eyes.

It feels like just yesterday that I held baby Dawson in my arms. There are days when I sit next to his “big boy bed” while he is sleeping and try to remember the baby. I gaze at his hands and remember the first moment he grasped my thumb. I kiss his feet and remember his first steps. I kiss his lips and remember the first time he latched on to my breast to nurse. I pat his belly and remember the first time he giggled after giving him a raspberry. He may no longer resemble an infant, but if I look long and hard I can still see my baby boy.

While it’s hard to watch my son grow up, I know it’s inevitable — he’s been gearing up to leave me since the day he was born. This is one of the hardest parts of motherhood. Instead of grieving over the loss of the baby years, I try to focus on the joy of watching him become the little boy he is meant to be. And, most importantly, I savor every “Mommy, I wuv-a you,” because someday I know it will be uncool to tell your mother you love her. That’s one of the hardest parts of growing up.

April 15, 2008

On Being Domestic

When it comes to domestic duty partnership, I’m a pretty lucky gal. I married a man that loves to cook (therefore I rarely have to), he doesn’t mind cleaning the house (because he suffers from OCD and can’t sit still), does the dishes whenever he feels like it (because he can’t stand to leave them in the sink), thoroughly enjoys doing laundry (because he washes all his clothes after wearing them once) and he considers yard work his “therapy” to unwind from his busy work days (so I never have to mow the lawn or weed the garden).

Okay, so maybe I’m spoiled. Just a little. At least I’m able to admit it. I married a rare breed and I know it. Most of my gal pals tell me their partners rarely lift a finger around the house and none of these men can really cook let alone put a load of laundry in the wash.

However, once I became a work-at-home-mom, my Queen Mum status flew right out the window. Now I’m Queen of the Vacuum and the Daily Doer of Dishes.

I’m not complaining. I have more time to complete these tasks now that I don’t spend 8 hours of my day in a fluorescent-lighted office across town.

Doug still does the cooking because, let’s face it, as a former line cook, he’s better at it. And he likes to do it. But my only complaint is the freakin’ mess he makes in the kitchen. The mess that I clean up. I don’t mind, because I’d rather do dishes than burn dinner. But why do men use ten times more kitchen gadgets than women?

When I cook, I use as little as possible, often drawing a sink filled with soapy water so that I can wash things as I go. But Doug? No. He makes the biggest mess with pans and knives and cutting boards and measuring cups scattered all over the counters.

Am I just being picky? Or do all men do this?

November 20, 2007

That’s Absurd

It’s Absurdity Day. Something about the word ‘absurd’ makes me laugh. It’s just a funny word to say in a sentence. “Why that’s absurd!!” you might say. See what I mean? It’s just a funky word.

Here at casa La Dana Files, I am pondering how to get rid of 1.5 million packing peanuts that arrived in several (ten) boxes. Guess what was used to protect those peanuts? Several Christmas presents a la Partylite Gifts.  I filled four large garbage bags full of the things. I just can’t understand why companies use these. There has to be a better shipping method. I mean, why not use old newspapers, or old tissue paper, or old wrapping paper, etc.?

How do I dispose of these without hurting the environment? Any ideas? Can I just ship them back to the company so they can reuse them?

It’s absurd that so many packing peanuts were used just to ship things. So much for going green this holiday season.

Maybe I could make my own bean bag chair. Instead of beanies, I’ll use packing peanuts. It will be a peanut bag chair. Not a good ring to the name but you get the idea.