Jason is trying to put Lucy to bed right now and she is a manic, giggling fool. This is the worst version of the Lucy Who Won't Sleep, because she's irresistible. You don't want her to go to bed — you want to take her out for a beer.
Jason just said, in his sternest voice, "That's it, Lucy, I am not going to argue with you anymore." She chuckled and said coyly, "Yes, you aaarrrre...."
I laughed so loud from the other room that Jason got mad and Lucy laughed too.
I just finished "The Road" by Cormac McCarthy. I am in despair. It's about this man and his son who wander around after some kind of nuclear holocaust. Think "Grapes of Wrath" meets "Schindler's List," with a hint of "Road Warrior." The bleakest thing I have ever read — horrific and hopeless and beautiful, without being at all maudlin.
So this dad ("the man" is the only name he has) has to find a way to protect his kid ("the boy") from cannibal marauders, feed him as they wander along a "cauterized landscape" where nothing grows, and foster hope in the boy even though there are maybe like five living nice people left in the world and no birds or sunshine or fresh air. And oh yeah, the dad was homeschooling him at one point. Or rather, roadschooling him.
I am still too stunned by the book to understand what it means to me, except that if Jason is Superdad, "the man" is the Mad Max of dads. Despite all that I have just said, I recommend the book. It makes me want to stockpile water and happiness.
I am in Atlanta at the National Association of Women Business Owners Conference in support of our client, UPS. I went to a dinner tonight with all these fabulous women: entrepreneurs and geniuses and high-level executives. It was inspiring and intimidating, and I sat there feeling like junior girl scout in my too-cute dress among all the sharp suits. I'm a sham, but at least I dress honestly.
I had a truly meaningful conversation with the executive director of the organization, this 30-something dynamo mom who travels 50% for work and has become the poster child in the press for working mothers. We talked candidly about this whole doing-it-all thing and she said, "THERE IS NO DOING IT ALL." There is just good judgment about what you do and don't do (which is insight I'd already received from Ben Cohen but did not fully process until now).
Her other insight was even better: she is interviewed by magazines all the time about motherhood-career balance, and she always wonders, "Why are they interviewing me? Interview my husband. He is the person that makes this possible."
I grabbed her hand when she said this. Yes. So true. What would I do without my fabulous partner?
I waited until later to call to thank Jason for being Superdad. I offered a soliloquy of gratitude, and then launched into a recap of the evening's events, awaiting feedback.
"Of course things went great, Babe. You're awesome."
[A metallic crash. Some grunting.]
"Jason, what are you doing?"
"I'm just emptying the diaper pail. It's trash day tomorrow."
Superdad.
Lucy is not a baby. She hasn't been one for a long time, but as we ate dinner tonight, I was acutely aware of her very organized, social interaction with everyone around her. She observed, she engaged, she responded, she charmed — using a combination of complete sentences and social nuance that was disturbingly mature. Not inappropriate, just beyond the awareness and emotional intelligence of a baby, or even a toddler. Or even some adults I know.
Tonight she asked when she would be a grown-up. I said, "When you're 21." She asked, "How old are you, Mama?" And I responded, "Thirty-three." She said, "Okay, I will be a grown-up when I am 33." I laughed. I did not tell her that when she is 33, she might look like a grown-up on the outside, but really it's okay if she's a big spaz on the inside.
She is learning to be a person, in a hurry to be a grown-up. It is exciting and sad. I mourn her babyhood, and I am so sad for every moment I rushed through. Surely I am hurrying her toward adulthood the way I hustle her through everything: "Get in your carseat please we're late no time for twirling yes I know you're dizzy thank you for the leaf you picked no I don't need another one get in the car before I count to ten or I will leave you here I mean it."
This regret makes me think, I want a baby again! But I don't. I want a baby the way people who have grown dogs or cats think they want a puppy or a kitten. It's all big eyes and sweet, needy sounds, until the charm wears off and you realize, wait, I already have one of these creatures that doesn't crap in its pants/on the floor!
I miss the moments I've missed, and no new creature will help me reclaim those. I am not saying never, but it will take a lot more yearning than this trite soliloquy to make me restack our Jenga life to accommodate someone who can't find its own Duck. Lucy has set a very high bar.
Exhibit A
Lucy, Jason and I were in snuggled up in bed and I told her we were spooning, you know, like three spoons all in a row. And she said, "No, I'm a spoon, you're a fork, and Dad's a knife."
Exhibit B
Jason was trying to get her to put her pants on to leave the house, and she didn't want to and kept asking, "Whyyyyy?" Jason explained that everyone didn't want to see her underwear. She countered, "But why not? They have Hello Kitty on them."
A few days ago, we tried to dress Lucy in this darling halter top and matching shorts. She collapsed in a screaming heap, yelling, "NOOO! NOOOO!" Good lord, who doesn't love madras plaid? We finally made out the source of her agony: "NOOOO! PRINCESSES ONLY WEAR DRESSES!!!"
Princesses only wear dresses. Jason explained that princesses wear whatever they want, er...need to wear. I told her being a princess is about what you are on the inside, not what your wear on the outside (a take on my grandmama's warning that "pretty is as pretty does"). She conceded, snotty, red-faced and well-dressed.
My mom is a really good teacher. Whenever I meet one of her former students, which I do a lot because Donaho is such an usual last name, they are always so excited to tell me how much they loved my mom. I went to see an orthopedist last year and it turned out his partner was a former student of my mom's. He and his family came as boat people from Vietnam, and he explained, with teary eyes (this very successful orthopedist) that my mom taught him (and his many siblings) to speak English.
These former students usually say, in addition to how much they loved her, how hard she was, but that it was okay because they needed it. And I can relate to this. She's been my teacher my whole life. Here are the things she has taught me so far:
• Make friends and be a good friend.
• Tell the truth (unless it is going to hurt someone's feelings unnecessarily).
• Always bring enough money to buy your own dinner (both literally and figuratively).
• Make your bed.
• Do the right thing, even when no one else is looking.
• Mind your manners.
• Share your opinion.
• Eat at least one bite of everything you're served.
• Give help and mercy where it's needed.
• Do a good job (and not just to please other people but because it feels good to do it).
I am the sum of these lessons, and I'm proud of it. I've had an amazing teacher.
JCPenney has some Mother's Day television ads running right now that make me cry. Every. Single. Time. Am not saying that because JCPenney is my client (we didn't do these spots; a rival agency did). Am saying it because they took a laser aim at the squishiest part of me, their "modern spender" mom, and hit me. Go advertising.
Jason tried to get her to wear her Johnny Cash t-shirt today and she wouldn't.
"No, Dad, that's too boy."
At 4:30 this afternoon, Lucy began referring to herself as "the Princess." She was wearing a long gold gown, a crown with crazy chiffon...thingies hanging off of it and the usual high-heeled, plastic mules.
"The Princess is really thirsty."
"The Princess needs a snack."
"The Princess wants some macaroni."
"Is this an early dinner? The Princess wants an early dinner."
After bath: "Look, Mom, the Princess is not stinky. I'm a princess burrito."
"Nooooo, not bedtime. Actually, the Princess is not tired."
"The Princess wants to read Arnie the Donut." Again.
The Princess went to sleep some time between 10:15 and 10:59.
The Court is very tired.
