Dear Kid,
If being pregnant with you and hauling you around as a baby has taught me one thing (outside of actual parenting knowledge), it's that people are always nice to a pregnant woman or a woman with a small baby. Before I was pregnant with you or if I'm out now doing stuff without you, no one gives me the time of day. I'm basically invisible.
Huge Prego Jill and Mommy Jill get an entirely different treatment. People might as well roll out the red carpet! Everyone I meet gives me a big smile and is more than happy to help me with anything from letting me cross the parking lot to pumping my gas for me.
It's the strangest thing how we, as a race, don't feel the need to help another average human being, but if the person is pregnant or has a very small child (once they get older, you become invisible again or worse... Get dirty looks for bringing angry kids out in public) or if they're old and gimpy (but not freaky in any way like mental problems or B.O.), people will suddenly go out of their way to be helpful.
So here's the lesson, kid: always treat everyone like they're pregnant.
All my love,
Mom
Thursday, February 28, 2013
Tuesday, February 26, 2013
Failure
Dear Jane,
I read an article today by a woman named Lyz Lenz. Learn this lesson young... It's important.
Even at 2, my daughter is wary of risk. She tells me to "be careful" when I stand on a stool and reminds her friends, "don't tip ovah!" when they climb the stairs. You'd think she was parroting our language, but she's not. I've rarely had to tell Ellis to be careful. Just the opposite. I'm constantly encouraging her to jump, leap and tip over all she can. I want her to push her limits, to ride the edge, even if that means falling and failing. Yes, I want my daughter to fail.
When I was a Junior in High School, I got my first A-. I moved in the middle of the year from a small, rural high school where the homecoming king drove a tractor to school to a large, suburban high school with Mercedes on display in the parking lot and name brand jeans in the halls. The transition was jarring and isolating. As a result, my study habits took a nose dive and I got my first less than perfect grade. I handled it like any honor roll brunette who was on both the debate and mock trial teams would: I bawled my eyes out. I begged my mom to let me drop the class and remove the ugly minus sign from my transcript. She refused to sign the form. "No," she said. "This class was your choice. Plus, it's a good lesson in failure. Better to fail now and learn how to handle it, than fail as an adult and fall apart."
I thought her response was impossibly cruel and I spent weeks writing tortured journal entries about the incident. "Doesn't she want me to have a future?" I wrote in my bubbly teenage cursive. "Doesn't she care?" It wasn't my last failure. I was rejected from my first-choice college, I got a B in college Latin (my first) and I had to apply to 10 different graduate schools before I was accepted. And now, I am in a field where I am frequently rejected 10 times before my first cup of coffee. I'm a writer. I pitch editors story ideas and for the first seven years, it seemed that for every "yes" there were thirty "no's." It's getting better now, or I've just stopped counting. Yet, on my bad days, I feel that failure like the 17-year-old girl sprawled on her floral bedspread, weeping tears of anguish. But I wouldn't exchange this life for anything more ego soothing.
In my daughter, I see glimpses of that part of me. I see her caution and her perfectionism. Her desire to do things right and I know, that of all the lessons I want to teach her failure is the first and foremost on the list.
There is a new trend in parenting. The so-called "snow plow" parents come between their children and failure, smoothing their path and easing their way into the world. And I understand this desire, I do. I carry my kid up the stairs way more often than what is good for her. I pad her falls and coddle her cries. But in the end, I know that becoming accustomed to failure isn't just loser talk, it's how character is created. Thomas Edison, the Steve Jobs of a much earlier generation, didn't become a household name by evading hardship. The man took risks. During his many attempts to perfect the light bulb, he famously noted, "I have not failed. I've just found 10,000 ways that won't work."
Parents want their children to be great and achieve their goals, but protecting them from failure only serves to make them mediocre -- willing to quit at the slightest obstacle. A life lived without failure is not success, it's mediocrity. I don't want to teach my daughter to quit or that I will pave her way. I want to teach her to pull back, reformulate and try again and again and again. I think of Madeleine L'Engle, who was 44 before she published her first novel. Or John Keats, who died a "failure." I think of Leland Stanford and the robber barons of California, who became great on a full-on gamble with their last pennies and an unstable railroad engineer. Without risks, without chances and without failures, the Wright Brothers (high school drop-outs) wouldn't have been able to soar.
So, I push her to the edge of her comfort. We make messes. We fall on pavement. And in high school, when she sobs over her flagging grades, I will tell her the same thing my mother told me: "I want you to fail. Better you fail now and learn how to handle it."
And if she doesn't curse me out in her angsty bubbly script, then she's not learning.
I love you. I'll try to let you fail.
All my love,
Mom
I read an article today by a woman named Lyz Lenz. Learn this lesson young... It's important.
Even at 2, my daughter is wary of risk. She tells me to "be careful" when I stand on a stool and reminds her friends, "don't tip ovah!" when they climb the stairs. You'd think she was parroting our language, but she's not. I've rarely had to tell Ellis to be careful. Just the opposite. I'm constantly encouraging her to jump, leap and tip over all she can. I want her to push her limits, to ride the edge, even if that means falling and failing. Yes, I want my daughter to fail.
When I was a Junior in High School, I got my first A-. I moved in the middle of the year from a small, rural high school where the homecoming king drove a tractor to school to a large, suburban high school with Mercedes on display in the parking lot and name brand jeans in the halls. The transition was jarring and isolating. As a result, my study habits took a nose dive and I got my first less than perfect grade. I handled it like any honor roll brunette who was on both the debate and mock trial teams would: I bawled my eyes out. I begged my mom to let me drop the class and remove the ugly minus sign from my transcript. She refused to sign the form. "No," she said. "This class was your choice. Plus, it's a good lesson in failure. Better to fail now and learn how to handle it, than fail as an adult and fall apart."
I thought her response was impossibly cruel and I spent weeks writing tortured journal entries about the incident. "Doesn't she want me to have a future?" I wrote in my bubbly teenage cursive. "Doesn't she care?" It wasn't my last failure. I was rejected from my first-choice college, I got a B in college Latin (my first) and I had to apply to 10 different graduate schools before I was accepted. And now, I am in a field where I am frequently rejected 10 times before my first cup of coffee. I'm a writer. I pitch editors story ideas and for the first seven years, it seemed that for every "yes" there were thirty "no's." It's getting better now, or I've just stopped counting. Yet, on my bad days, I feel that failure like the 17-year-old girl sprawled on her floral bedspread, weeping tears of anguish. But I wouldn't exchange this life for anything more ego soothing.
In my daughter, I see glimpses of that part of me. I see her caution and her perfectionism. Her desire to do things right and I know, that of all the lessons I want to teach her failure is the first and foremost on the list.
There is a new trend in parenting. The so-called "snow plow" parents come between their children and failure, smoothing their path and easing their way into the world. And I understand this desire, I do. I carry my kid up the stairs way more often than what is good for her. I pad her falls and coddle her cries. But in the end, I know that becoming accustomed to failure isn't just loser talk, it's how character is created. Thomas Edison, the Steve Jobs of a much earlier generation, didn't become a household name by evading hardship. The man took risks. During his many attempts to perfect the light bulb, he famously noted, "I have not failed. I've just found 10,000 ways that won't work."
Parents want their children to be great and achieve their goals, but protecting them from failure only serves to make them mediocre -- willing to quit at the slightest obstacle. A life lived without failure is not success, it's mediocrity. I don't want to teach my daughter to quit or that I will pave her way. I want to teach her to pull back, reformulate and try again and again and again. I think of Madeleine L'Engle, who was 44 before she published her first novel. Or John Keats, who died a "failure." I think of Leland Stanford and the robber barons of California, who became great on a full-on gamble with their last pennies and an unstable railroad engineer. Without risks, without chances and without failures, the Wright Brothers (high school drop-outs) wouldn't have been able to soar.
So, I push her to the edge of her comfort. We make messes. We fall on pavement. And in high school, when she sobs over her flagging grades, I will tell her the same thing my mother told me: "I want you to fail. Better you fail now and learn how to handle it."
And if she doesn't curse me out in her angsty bubbly script, then she's not learning.
I love you. I'll try to let you fail.
All my love,
Mom
Saturday, February 23, 2013
Aftermath
Dear Jane,
I had so many plans for today, but none of them were completed. You took up all of my time.
Today you were a sad, sad baby. Your legs must have been sore from your shots yesterday and I bet you weren't feeling tip top in other ways either.
So you decided to cry all day.
That made me want to beat my head against a wall.
We couldn't do anything to make you feel better. We've just been waiting it out as much as possible and trying to get you to sleep whenever we can. The silence in those short moments is absolutely brilliant. I never thought nothing could sound so good.
Ordinarily I love it when you're awake and alert, but today brought nothing but tortured screams. You wouldn't even eat for most of the day, which always makes me super nervous for you. I hope you're feeling better tomorrow... for the sake of everyone in the house.
All my love,
Mom
I had so many plans for today, but none of them were completed. You took up all of my time.
Today you were a sad, sad baby. Your legs must have been sore from your shots yesterday and I bet you weren't feeling tip top in other ways either.
So you decided to cry all day.
That made me want to beat my head against a wall.
We couldn't do anything to make you feel better. We've just been waiting it out as much as possible and trying to get you to sleep whenever we can. The silence in those short moments is absolutely brilliant. I never thought nothing could sound so good.
Ordinarily I love it when you're awake and alert, but today brought nothing but tortured screams. You wouldn't even eat for most of the day, which always makes me super nervous for you. I hope you're feeling better tomorrow... for the sake of everyone in the house.
All my love,
Mom
Friday, February 22, 2013
Four Months
Dear Jane,
Today you turned four months old.
Unfortunately, you also had a doctor appointment today. That means you had your vaccinations today.
You were wicked pissed. You cried for 15 minutes before you were calm enough for us to leave without people thinking that we had just beaten you.
There were two plus sides, though:
1. I didn't cry at all this time and I was actually able to help hold you down while the nurse administered your shots.
2. The crying wore you out so much that you've been asleep on me ever since. I do love the baby cuddles.
Feel better, little one.
All my love,
Mom
Today you turned four months old.
Unfortunately, you also had a doctor appointment today. That means you had your vaccinations today.
You were wicked pissed. You cried for 15 minutes before you were calm enough for us to leave without people thinking that we had just beaten you.
There were two plus sides, though:
1. I didn't cry at all this time and I was actually able to help hold you down while the nurse administered your shots.
2. The crying wore you out so much that you've been asleep on me ever since. I do love the baby cuddles.
Feel better, little one.
All my love,
Mom
Monday, February 18, 2013
Jenny Jump Up
Dear Jane,
You just love your jumper. It's just about the cutest thing I've ever seen. Your favorite time is when we put it in the front door and you get to see the big, wide world outside. You'll sit and talk to the birds, the trees and the sky for ages. It's precious.
All my love,
Mom
You just love your jumper. It's just about the cutest thing I've ever seen. Your favorite time is when we put it in the front door and you get to see the big, wide world outside. You'll sit and talk to the birds, the trees and the sky for ages. It's precious.
All my love,
Mom
Valentine's Day
Dear Jane,
I know it's late but I thought I'd tell you about your first Valentine's Day.
It was a good one. Your daddy and I took you to Gramma's while we snuck Damburger into a dollar movie (James Bond. Your dad's choice.). Even though you weren't with us, I couldn't stop thinking of you because Skyfall is the first movie you ever saw. It was over Thanksgiving when your Grandma and Grandpa Haskett were here to visit. You loved the colors in the opening sequence. You did not love the sound of gunfire.
Anyway, your dad was kind enough to let me have a nap afterward until we had to pick you up. Then we had a couple quiet hours of family time before it was time for a Valentine dinner. The ward put it on. Technically, it was ADULTS ONLY, but we brought you anyway. We also brought Gramma and DziaDzia. It was tons of fun! We had a great meal, good conversation with the people at our table and you were entirely hilarious. It was a candlelight dinner and you were fascinated with the fake candles. Couldn't take your eyes off them. We loved your enthusiasm.
Then it was home and bed. A good day had by all.
All my love,
Mom
P.S. First grade made you a bunch of valentines. Adorable.
I know it's late but I thought I'd tell you about your first Valentine's Day.
It was a good one. Your daddy and I took you to Gramma's while we snuck Damburger into a dollar movie (James Bond. Your dad's choice.). Even though you weren't with us, I couldn't stop thinking of you because Skyfall is the first movie you ever saw. It was over Thanksgiving when your Grandma and Grandpa Haskett were here to visit. You loved the colors in the opening sequence. You did not love the sound of gunfire.
Anyway, your dad was kind enough to let me have a nap afterward until we had to pick you up. Then we had a couple quiet hours of family time before it was time for a Valentine dinner. The ward put it on. Technically, it was ADULTS ONLY, but we brought you anyway. We also brought Gramma and DziaDzia. It was tons of fun! We had a great meal, good conversation with the people at our table and you were entirely hilarious. It was a candlelight dinner and you were fascinated with the fake candles. Couldn't take your eyes off them. We loved your enthusiasm.
Then it was home and bed. A good day had by all.
All my love,
Mom
P.S. First grade made you a bunch of valentines. Adorable.
Saturday, February 16, 2013
Sick of It
Dear Kid,
I haven't been posting. We've all had the flu pretty badly and it's all I could do to keep up with it. I even fell asleep with you in my arms a couple times while waiting for someone to take you for a while (which I really hate doing because I always feel like I'm going to drop you or something terrible).
Don't worry. Recovery is approaching. So are regular blog posts.
All my love,
Mom
I haven't been posting. We've all had the flu pretty badly and it's all I could do to keep up with it. I even fell asleep with you in my arms a couple times while waiting for someone to take you for a while (which I really hate doing because I always feel like I'm going to drop you or something terrible).
Don't worry. Recovery is approaching. So are regular blog posts.
All my love,
Mom
Thursday, February 7, 2013
Button-holed
Dear Janey,
Your dad hates buttons. I've never met anyone who hates buttons as much as he does. The funny thing is that this incredible rage didn't present itself until you came along. What's funnier is that the buttons he hates aren't even real buttons... They're the little button snaps on your jammies.
That man has the most difficult time getting them to line up. Your collar is always half-cocked in one direction or the other when he dresses you. He regularly throws up his hands in defeat and has me finish getting you ready for bed because he hates those darn snaps so much. I guess we'll have to start buying you more clothes with zippers.
All my love,
Mom
Your dad hates buttons. I've never met anyone who hates buttons as much as he does. The funny thing is that this incredible rage didn't present itself until you came along. What's funnier is that the buttons he hates aren't even real buttons... They're the little button snaps on your jammies.
That man has the most difficult time getting them to line up. Your collar is always half-cocked in one direction or the other when he dresses you. He regularly throws up his hands in defeat and has me finish getting you ready for bed because he hates those darn snaps so much. I guess we'll have to start buying you more clothes with zippers.
All my love,
Mom
Teething
Dear Kid,
You're teething. It makes you very angry. That makes Mommy very tired. Let's hope it's over soon... For both our sakes.
All my love,
Mom
You're teething. It makes you very angry. That makes Mommy very tired. Let's hope it's over soon... For both our sakes.
All my love,
Mom
Monday, February 4, 2013
Another First
Dear Jane,
Today you said your first word! Hi. You said hi to me and Gramma. Now, most people wouldn't count it because you were bound to combine two sounds that made an actual word; Sort of like giving chimps typewriters... They will eventually write the complete works of Shakespeare (not that it's hard because that guy is a total hack).
Still, I'm counting it. Your Gramma heard it too, so I'm not even being a delusional parent who thinks their kid is a genius. You totally said it.
Your dad says it doesn't count. Pretty sure he's just jealous because he missed it.
All my love,
Mom
Today you said your first word! Hi. You said hi to me and Gramma. Now, most people wouldn't count it because you were bound to combine two sounds that made an actual word; Sort of like giving chimps typewriters... They will eventually write the complete works of Shakespeare (not that it's hard because that guy is a total hack).
Still, I'm counting it. Your Gramma heard it too, so I'm not even being a delusional parent who thinks their kid is a genius. You totally said it.
Your dad says it doesn't count. Pretty sure he's just jealous because he missed it.
All my love,
Mom
Super Lame
Dear Em,
Today was the Super Bowl. Jane's first Super Bowl. I'm sure you were overjoyed because her first SB was a game where the 49ers played. I'm sure you would have been more overjoyed if they had won.
Oh well. It was a good game. The 49ers almost came back to win it after a tough start. Some may attribute that to the power outage that occurred right after halftime. It was pretty entertaining. The Harbaugh boys, one of whom was coaching each team, were pretty ticked about it. You could totally read their lips when they were yelling at the guys who ran the stadium. Not nice words. On the plus side, you got to be on TV during the Super Bowl with Dad when they showed a clip from the last time the 49ers dealt with a power outage during a game. Granted, you were a teeny little speck surrounded by other teeny little specks in a zoomed out shot of the stadium, but hey man... It was still national television. Pretty sure you could put that on a resume or something.
Maybe next year they'll get those rings. And by then, Jane will be big enough to cheer for a team. You'll have to fight with Matt about which team it will be, though.
All my love,
Jill
Today was the Super Bowl. Jane's first Super Bowl. I'm sure you were overjoyed because her first SB was a game where the 49ers played. I'm sure you would have been more overjoyed if they had won.
Oh well. It was a good game. The 49ers almost came back to win it after a tough start. Some may attribute that to the power outage that occurred right after halftime. It was pretty entertaining. The Harbaugh boys, one of whom was coaching each team, were pretty ticked about it. You could totally read their lips when they were yelling at the guys who ran the stadium. Not nice words. On the plus side, you got to be on TV during the Super Bowl with Dad when they showed a clip from the last time the 49ers dealt with a power outage during a game. Granted, you were a teeny little speck surrounded by other teeny little specks in a zoomed out shot of the stadium, but hey man... It was still national television. Pretty sure you could put that on a resume or something.
Maybe next year they'll get those rings. And by then, Jane will be big enough to cheer for a team. You'll have to fight with Matt about which team it will be, though.
All my love,
Jill
Saturday, February 2, 2013
Big Steps
Dear Janey,
You almost rolled over today! I'm counting it as fully rolling over, since the only problem was that your shoulder kept getting in the way and stopping you from making a complete turn. Your dad and I were absolutely fascinated. We took a ridiculous amount of video and sent it all to EVERYONE. Annoyingly proud parents? Yes, I think so.
We also put you on your stomach for a while and you scooched around on the floor. It won't be long until you're crawling! We are too excited.
All my love,
Mom
You almost rolled over today! I'm counting it as fully rolling over, since the only problem was that your shoulder kept getting in the way and stopping you from making a complete turn. Your dad and I were absolutely fascinated. We took a ridiculous amount of video and sent it all to EVERYONE. Annoyingly proud parents? Yes, I think so.
We also put you on your stomach for a while and you scooched around on the floor. It won't be long until you're crawling! We are too excited.
All my love,
Mom
Flirt
Dear Janey,
You love attention. Most if the time you won't sleep unless someone is holding you. Plus, you're always doing something cute so people will watch you.
Tonight you amped up the adorable a few notches.
We have occasionally been letting you watch the TV with your daddy. You really love the colors and all the different shapes. Usually, that's all you see, but when you watches TV today, you saw more.
You were actually able to identify faces on the screen from across the room! They would smile and you would coo and smile back at them! It was hilarious!
You do something new and fun every day. I can't wait to see what tomorrow brings!
All my love,
Mom
You love attention. Most if the time you won't sleep unless someone is holding you. Plus, you're always doing something cute so people will watch you.
Tonight you amped up the adorable a few notches.
We have occasionally been letting you watch the TV with your daddy. You really love the colors and all the different shapes. Usually, that's all you see, but when you watches TV today, you saw more.
You were actually able to identify faces on the screen from across the room! They would smile and you would coo and smile back at them! It was hilarious!
You do something new and fun every day. I can't wait to see what tomorrow brings!
All my love,
Mom
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