Less is More

Just Me - Less is More

Control Alt Delete

August 14, 2012 by 2 Comments

I’ve always loved writing. When I was younger I would write vivid stories of tragic young adults, suffering from pain, abandonment, and fear. Stories of children who had been abused by their parents and decided to run away and live in the wild; children who had been orphaned and were sent away to live with a crotchety old aunt in a cold and dreary house. My mom used to joke that if someone would have read the notebooks filled with my stories, they may have thought I had dark skeletons tucked away in my closet and called Child Protective Services.

As a teen, I used writing to express the words and thoughts that were too difficult for me to speak. I wrote poems and letters with ease as my frustrations flowed onto the college-ruled loose leaf. On paper, I was the opitome of bad-assery. I always knew what to say and when to say it. On paper, I wasn’t left standing alone wishing I had said what was really on my mind.

In college, I used writing as a way to escape. I’d sporadically write in my journal, desperate to document my life journey, each time vowing to write frequently… and never living up to my promise.  Now as I approach my thirties (gulp) I have realized that writing, regardless of it’s topic, is therapeutic for me in so many ways. It allows me to put my chaotic and rambling thoughts into a logical order and if I’m brave enough, a way of sharing them with the world.

But lately, my thoughts have been too hectic and chaotic to put into words, let alone sentences and paragraphs worthy of reading. And so tonight, I try to recoup.  I try to push my mind’s CONTROL ALT DELTE and reset. Lord knows, this girl needs it.

All week I knew tonight was my night. My husband would be at work and technically, due to working part time, I would still be on my ‘weekend.’  I considered my options:

I thought about relaxing in the bathtub. Lighting scented candles, playing Enya on my iPod, piling my hair into a loose bun and climbing into a warm soapy heaven of relaxation.

And then I realized that would mean I would have to rinse out the sand left over from the little sandbox loving toes that occupied the tub earlier this evening, pick up the plastic princess and rubber ducks still littering the floor of the tub, and download a few Enya songs to listen to.

I thought about snuggling under the covers in our king sized bed. A glass of white wine on my nightstand, the windows open with sounds of crickets chirping outside, and a good book to read.

And then I realized that would mean I would have to fold all of the laundry piled high on the bed, tell my teenage neighbors to turn down their nightly backyard chat, and try to stay up long enough to enjoy my book… and wine.

Instead, I settled on snuggling on the couch, hair piled high on my head, a lavender candle burning on the coffee table, and a bowl of ice cream. It’s not what I had in mind, but if I try really hard, I can almost hear the Enya song (the only one I know) over the sound of my obnoxious neighbors, I can almost smell the pages of a favorite old book, and I can almost feel my muscles relaxing.

And so here I sit, with numerous half finished blog posts sitting in my blogspot dashboard, just begging for me to complete and hit that gratifying “publish” button. But instead, tonight is my night. My night to watch whatever I want on TV,  my night to ignore the mountain of laundry on the bed (that I will likely push over to my husbands side before I crawl into bed tonight), and my night to watch the new Taylor Swift youtube channel in which she premiers her new album and new single (which I not only find incredibly catchy, but also can totally relate to. In fact, if we were to browse through my college journal entries, I’m rather positive you would find an entry rather similar to her “We Are Never Ever Getting Back Together” single.) Yes, I’m a teeny bopper and yes I love Taylor Swift. Get over it.

Tonight is my night.

What do you do to reset and unwind?

Less is More - Motherhood

Princess Pride

January 30, 2012 by 0 Comments
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Recently I have stumbled across several articles lashing out at the idea of crown-wearing-princess-loving little girls and the parents that continue to buy into the multibillion dollar market; books claiming that their daughter has been devoured by a certain princess and articles offering ‘Princess Recovery Programs.”


“This princess mania, many argue, leaves girls all mixed up: while they excel in school and outpace their male peers in science and math, they also obsess about Prince Charming and who has the prettiest dress, learning—from a mix of mass marketing and media—not that girls are strong, smart, or creative, but that each is a little princess of her own, judged by the beauty of her face (and gown). Just think about the fairy tales themselves: Cinderella, Sleeping Beauty, Snow White—all pitted against evil, ugly old women (read: age = awfulness), waiting for the prince they’ve never met to fall for their beauty (not smarts) and rescue them from misery. In The Little Mermaid, Ariel literally trades in her voice for the chance a man she’s never met will love her in return.” 
(http://www.thedailybeast.com/newsweek/2011/01/26/disney-princesses-and-the-battle-for-your-daughter-s-soul.html)

Do I want my daughter to grow up thinking she needs a boy to rescue her in order to be happy? No. But can that mindset be blamed on allowing our girls to watch Disney films and the mass marketing that accompanies it?  Isn’t it a parent’s job to teach their daughters self-respect and self-worth?

I watched Disney films as a child and I like to think I turned out just fine. I’d put on big puffy dresses, glitter soaked shoes, a tiara and pretend to be a princess…. but if that darn prince didn’t come rescue me, you bet your ass I didn’t sit around waiting for him. I grabbed my nearest sword, magic wand, or wrapping paper tube and I’d slay the dragon myself.

I won’t argue that these movies and marketing strategies sometimes give our girls the wrong impression and if not careful a parent may find their child interested in only all-things-princess.  But isn’t it possible that these fairytales also teach our girls something more? The princesses, they all have their own woes and their own challenges. Their lives aren’t perfect.  Like most girls in their teenage years, they feel alone, alienated, different.  These princesses chase their dreams, they don’t change who they are for anyone, not a prince or wicked step mother (well, except for Ariel…).

The gorgeous gowns and tiaras? Many of the scenes in the Disney films don’t depict the girls in beautiful dresses. Give a kid a broom and dustpan and let her be Cinderella.  Odds are, she will enjoy that just as much as wearing the princess gown.

Their love interests? A beast, a beggar, a (gasp) human? No prejudice there. As a parent shouldn’t we be pointing out the important lessons from these great stories?  Belle knows it’s what is inside that matters, not the beastly outside.  Ariel falls in love with someone who looks different from herself.  Jasmine refuses to marry simply for money.

The girls are independent, strong, and fight for their dreams. They strive for independence… and if they snag a good-looking guy in the end, what’s the harm in that?

As a parent I think it’s wise to be aware of what media may be teaching your child, however at the end of the day, it’s still the parent’s responsibilty to deal with the issues head on.

Do my girls have princess dress-up clothes? Sure do.

Do they have Disney princess dolls? Of course. 
Do they have blocks, trains, cars, crayons, play-doh, and doctor kits as well? You betcha.  

My girls love princesses, but loving princesses hardly defines who they are.  Last year, Sesame Street characters consumed our home and we sang “Rubber Ducky” and “C is for Cookie” as we made dinner.  This year, princesses are strewn about our living room floor and the girls ‘take turns’ singing “A Whole New World” and “Part of Your World” on the fireplace (aka ‘the stage’)  I don’t think that allowing a child to play with princesses will make her a self-absorbed diva any more than allowing her to play with an Elmo doll will make her a furry red monster.
As a parent it is my responsibilty to teaach, inspire, and guide my daughters and help them become independent and confident women.  The mass media and propaganda surely makes parenting difficult at times (thank you Disney store for displaying all of your princess dresses at the front of the store so my daughter screeches each time we pass by) but it can hardly be blamed for the self-centeredness and sense of entitlement that many young girls have today. 
So, thank you “Princess Recovery Program,” but I regretfully decline. I have a fairytale ball to attend with my little princesses.  
Less is More - Motherhood

The Last Time

January 15, 2012 by 2 Comments

A long time ago, before having kids, my mom and I had a conversation about ‘the last time.’  She explained how as parents, we document all of our children’s first. First tooth, first step, first bath, first words, first haircut, but as a mother she wishes she could remember all of the ‘lasts.’  The problem is, we never know when the moment will be the last.

When my youngest brother was little, he consistently mispronounced words.  As his sixteen year old sister, this drove me crazy.  I would constantly correct him when he said “Psghetti” instead of spaghetti and “liberry” instead of library.  Having had four children, three already well into their teenage years, my mom recognized a fleeting moment when she saw one and would scold me as I correctly pronounced the word for him.  “Someday, he will say it correctly on his own. For now, let me enjoy liberry and psghetti. You never know when he won’t say it like that anymore.”

Sorry Mom, but I didn’t really get it until I had babies of my own.

The night before Lily’s first birthday, I rocked her to sleep in her nursery, clutching to her little body for dear life.  As I listened to her soft breathing I cried as the realization hit me, this was the last time I would rock my infant baby girl. Tomorrow, she would become a toddler.  Sure, I would continue to rock her and in the future I would have more babies to rock to sleep, but the reality was, this was the last night she would be a baby.   (Side note: Charlotte will be one years old in less than twelve days and I know I can expect a few tears on January 26th).

I will remember that night for the rest of my life. It was one of the only times I can actually say I remember the “last time.”  I don’t remember the last time Lily said “Aya” instead of “What’s that?” or the last time she stuck food on her head to show she was done eating. I don’t remember the last time Charlotte spent the night sleeping in my arms (because she refused the crib) or the last time she let me feed her baby food, but I desperately wish I could.  I wish I could bottle up all of the ‘last time’ moments and sneak a peek at them whenever I’m having a ‘when did my baby get so big?’ moment.

It’s so easy to get caught up in the everyday moments and overlook the little things, but someday those little things (and those little ones) will be a distant memory, making way for bigger, better, and older things. Someday Lily won’t let me put her hair in pig tails and someday Charley won’t squeal with delight as kiss her toes (heck, someday I won’t want to kiss her toes!).  Right now, these events feel natural, something that is engrained in our everyday life.  But before I know it, they will have a ‘last time’ and I likely won’t even know it, until the moment has passed and it’s too late to soak in every last second.

Over-dramatic?  Maybe, but it’s the truth.