Quadrants of Insanity

(Photo courtesy of Lunch in a Box)

There are times when my husband hints that I have taken on too much. When he says this – I typically don’t reply other than to exchange a bewildered look. After 11+ years, he knows me right !?! What exactly on my Type-A plate is optional !?! But here is the brief summary of my plate: I am a wife of one, a mommy of two under three, a promotions manager of six brands, and a grad student of one mere class per each semester. I don’t even dare put amateur photographer or wistful poet on this list. So in my defense, culling myself down to four states of being is quite conservative. Right !?!

“Wife” and “Mommy” are clearly requisite roles. “Manager” and “Student” could be debatable until the moment we realize how questionable (psychologically rather than financially) my offering as “Wife” or “Mommy” would be without them. Beyond any grand ideas of self-fulfillment - it is very important my boys know what work ethic is and have examples of educated women in their lives. And so it seems, I remain fully committed to my quadrants of insanity.

So, at what point do I need to recognize that I am “falling short”? And what help is appropriate to ask for? It is a lot easier at work to identify the things that fall outside the scope and value of my role and simply outsource those tasks. Is it because I have a clearly defined job description? Or does it matter that I have an objective criteria that my job performance rating and compensation is based upon? Or is it simply having access to resources that I can delegate certain items to?

At home it is safe to say that I am not as aware of the nuances of my job description. That’s if there even is one. And as for job performance – whose evaluation matters most? My own? My husband’s? My kids? Anyone else’s? And I think this is the very crux where I begin to fall short.

You would think my own evaluation would be the most compassionate but I have always been my own worst critic. So yes, while each morning I prep fresh bottles and lunches for the boys – I sometimes feel badly that I am not packing them into fun little bento boxes with radishes shaped like mice. I think about how the house should be cleaner or better decorated. Rather than takeout, I think about the elaborate dinners and homemade desserts that I should be planning for the week ahead instead. I think about how if I were only exercising more, I would be slimmer, better dressed, and healthy enough to keep up with my life. I think about how much better my school assignments could have been if I only started earlier. And despite being in an Ivy League graduate program, every once in a while I pause to consider if I am failure for not pursuing my MBA. But I quickly comfort myself that there is still time to look into that Yale program after graduation. And as for work, am I even where I am supposed to be? Is this a career I simply fell into or one that I truly choose? Is this the best work that only I can do? And most often than not these answers fall on the shoulders of no.

While my husband can respect at least what I try to do everyday – I think he is still baffled that I do things a certain way. He says I need to stop aiming for perfection and I ask where the corners I can cut are. We talk about how to make my load easier but we never find anything too ripe for dropping. Is the only solution to adopt lower standards? Yes, Ismaeel and Siraj seem to have their basic needs fulfilled but do they feel their allotment of playtime is adequate? Or are my days too long or filled with more emails than time for “angry dinosaurs”. Would they even notice shorter and less fragrant bubble baths?

As for anyone else’s assessment – the relevance of judgment becomes pretty murky pretty fast. On one hand, it is nice to sound off and get advice on structuring your days or how cooking every night is even manageable. But what does it even matter when the things someone else does well are simply because those are the areas that are most important to them? It is very easy to not understand why something is on your plate. Or to assume that the buckets of your life are nothing more than selfish pursuits. Perhaps I don’t need to give myself a glowing evaluation each day but at least I can commit to knowing what is on my plate and the reason it is there. And hell, maybe a cleaning service isn't such a bad idea to look into after all...

Hot Delicious Cake

("Coney Island Melody" by Amy Nelder)

Despite coming home after midnight, we found ourselves waking up early to get out to Coney Island. In retrospect, it seems a little a random and crazy but it was Memorial Day, the last day of a long weekend, and the start of summer vacation season. After a harsh winter, we wanted to kick it off right. It didn’t matter that don’t normally go to Coney Island, we aren’t beach people, or that the boardwalk would be congested with people who did and were. We told ourselves the boys would have fun. How bad could it be?

But why Coney Island? Ok, fair question. My brother-in-law was playing in the 2010 All-Star Game at MCU Park, the minor league baseball stadium in Coney Island. It was the perfect opportunity to catch up with my sister and let the boys spend some time with their cousin Lucas. And so we trekked out to the downtrodden but historic landmark neighborhood.

Ismaeel was thrilled to drive on the Belt Parkway and point out the boats along the way. It actually took us more time to park than to drive there. Nevertheless, we soon caught up with everyone and started the day with some over-priced and over-greased fried food from the boardwalk. From there, we headed towards Deno’s Wonder Wheel Amusement Park. So far so good.

The boys were eager to ride the little helicopters on the Mini Enterprise. My sister raced to buy a book of tickets and the boys wiggled and waited for their turn. Ismaeel excitedly pointed out the blue one that he wanted to go in. And it was all ours but somehow (due to a lack of naps and waiting too long for the ride to fill) both boys started wailing before the ride even began. And so, four adults and one hungry infant were soon trying their best to wave and cheer up the two sobbing toddlers having “fun” on the helicopters. There is a particular pain point (when the ride becomes about 45 seconds too long) where the parents sadly mirror the very same wiggling their children had been doing to get on the now-traumatic ride. The ride ends and the moms and dads rush the gates to retrieve the broken souls formerly known as their children. The more voluptuous parents try to comfort their not-so-little ones with promises of hot dogs and cotton candy while the rest (with some 18 tickets to go) try to garner enthusiasm for the next ride. And so we set our sights on the Carousel, Big (Monster) Trucks, Sea Serpent Roller Coaster, and the Rio Grande Train.

All in all, the boys cheered up and enjoyed the rides (particularly the roller coaster) but a day at the amusement park can be an exhausting experience as a parent. Let’s just say Coney Island is not the most organized of places. Navigating crowds with a nap-deprived toddler is always tough but on the boardwalk you find yourself wading through more tattooed and exposed flesh (under the always classy and torn neon colored mesh “cover-ups”) than you ever imagined possible. But my simple priority was trying to help Ismaeel avoid being shoved from people who don’t understand the social norms of a queue or from receiving additional cigarette ash in his eye from the smokers who thought he was their personal ashtray.

My real favorite moment of our boardwalk crowd experience was when I became the freak, wonder, and human curiosity. A man holding hands with his ladylove (a near morbidly obese woman wearing more patches of sand than clothing) decided to heckle me for wearing a light cardigan and jeans saying “Mami, it ain’t gonna snow today”. My husband and I laughed at this - not quite understanding why it bothered him when he had his hands on so much hot delicious cake. And besides, my exposed toes and flip-flops were indeed beach appropriate. But I guess it doesn’t count unless your pedicure is chipped. Sigh.

We took this as a signal that we experienced enough early summer at Coney Island. We watched Lucas cool off with the palm tree sprinkler on the beach and said our goodbyes. As we packed up the boys in the cars, I texted my sister that we all had fun. And we really did. We just need to think long and hard before waking up early to head back…

Seriously, Another Mommy Blog !?!

Ok. Before you start yawning and fearing the onslaught of gratuitous baby photos… I vow to make this a critically minded and relevant forum for all visitors.

As a Columbia graduate student trying to complete my masters in Strategic Communications, I have been tasked with trying to find my place in the blogosphere for the next nine weeks. And as a mother of two, it seems nearly impossible not to take my toddler and infant with me.

I am full aware that a quick search for “mommy” on Technorati yields 1,903 related blogs out of 1,187,661. Normally, I don’t aim for being the 1,904th person to arrive at any scene. But as I talk to my family, friends, co-workers, and fellow students, I realize that beyond the selfish need to preserve my children’s milestones or capture my adventures in Manhattan – parenthood isn’t an individual’s journey. With each birth, a collective exchange begins where stories of wisdom (however loosely defined), mayhem, and mischief are traded, if for no other purpose than to have a lifeline back to sanity. Hopefully, with this blog I can continue being in love with New York City (and my children) while also avoiding having to be fit for my own straightjacket.

So please, join me on as I embark on this digital adventure. And who knows, maybe in a just few postings you will be begging me for those baby photos.