How Preschoolers and Peri-Menopausal Women are Alike

I was thinking today that there might be more than a few similarities between preschoolers (of whom I’ve known a few) and peri-menopausal women (of which I am one):

Sleep:

Preschoolers need a nighttime routine.  The schedule must be followed strictly in order to assure success. Lovey? Night light? Books? Hugs and Kisses? Check. Anything slightly out of sequence could lead to crying, flailing, an insistence on just one more sip of water, or crawling into bed with her now-cranky parents.

Peri-menopausal women take nothing in their sleep routine for granted. Cold room? Complete Darkness? Sound machine?  Significant other an appropriate distance away so that zero body heat migrates to Peri’s side of the bed? Last cup of coffee before 2pm? Check. Failure to follow this routine could result in a nighttime trip to the bathroom to expel one microscopic drop of pee and leave Peri up the rest of the night worrying about college tuition, middle school oral sex rings, and the environment.

In both cases, if not enough sleep occurs, melt-down mode could surface the next day, in which case preemptive naps or quiet time might be in order. See Also: Eating at regular intervals

Potty:

One has been potty trained for mere months, the other for decades, but both a preschooler and Peri might find that it’s easy to get so caught up in what they are doing that…uh-oh…the distance to the nearest bathroom might as well be the length of the Mall of America. Note: Belts are the devil.

Comfort:
Preschoolers take their comfort seriously. No itchy tag shall remain unbanished, and socks must somehow feel un-sock-like. Sometimes nothing other than a ratty, fleece sweatshirt or a princess nightgown with rain boots feels right, at home or in public.

Peri has spent decades following the trends, and while she has skinny jeans, a maxi dress, and plenty of chevron in her closet, she also heeds the siren song of yoga pants and “soft dressing” as much as her schedule will allow. She may consider her bathrobe a fashion accessory, and aren’t those pockets handy for her reading glasses? Peri’s quest for drop dead gorgeous shoes is now married with a desire for comfort, and she may have a pair of flip flops stuck in her purse, because who has time for sore feet anymore?

Other People’s Opinions:

Preschoolers do not yet care what others think of them, and they lack any sort of filter.

Peri has spent decades being diplomatic, and trying to please others, but now she is beginning to no longer give a shit. Peri is being herself, speaking her mind, and, where applicable, testing the waters of letting her freak flag fly! And if preschoolers can wear super-hero capes out in public, why should Peri leave hers at home?

Food:

While a preschooler’s limited palate is often described as picky, Peri’s can be chalked up to knowing what she likes and sticking with it. When she goes into a restaurant, she’s going to order her favorite dish, because why mess with success? If this restaurant has the best chopped salad, chopped salad it will be (again!) Preschooler will stick to the quesadilla and fries, thank you very much.

Passions:

Any preschooler with a halfway decent passion will pin you against the wall and tell you 1000 facts about My Little Pony or the Diplodocus dinosaur. Even the bathroom is no escape from a preschooler’s fire-hose onslaught of information. A preschooler will know every factoid and desire any accessory, officially licensed tie-in product and game associated with her interest.

There’s no such thing as too much when it comes to Peri’s passions, either. Whether it’s Cross-fit, essential oils, running, soy, or meditation, she’ll be sure to fill you in on HOW. IT. WILL. CHANGE. YOUR. LIFE.  Peri is growing and learning, and she’ll be sure to spread the gospel of her passion wherever she goes, even if that’s a bathroom stall. And if her passion lends itself to numerous gadgets and accessories? So be it.

Simple Pleasures:

Give a preschooler a box, a string, and a slug, and she’ll be busy for an hour. Peri knows about simple pleasures as well. She has seen the world and been on adventures, but to Peri there’s nothing better than the little things like sunshine, chai,  or cuddling up with the remote before 10 pm.

Friends:

Preschoolers do not see color, socio-economic status or IQ, but they do have amazing radars as to who is kind and would make a good friend. They gravitate toward those people at the sand and water table.

Likewise, Peri has gotten to the point where she wants to be with people who are genuine and who bring out the best in her. She’s finally ready to leave the rest behind.

I can do it myself!:

Both preschoolers and Peri can be independent and self-assured, diving  with flourish and flair into whatever lies ahead on a particular day. When a preschooler insists on doing something herself, it will  take twice as long, and be done half as well, but it leaves her feeling  proud.

 Peri is at the height of her career and productivity. She is highly capable, and every day she does twice the things in half the time, and does them well.

But both a preschooler and Peri want someone else to swoop in sometimes.  A preschooler sometimes needs to know she’s still your baby, as you wipe a smudge of her face, pour bubbles into her bath, or wrap her up in a big terry towel. Peri is used to doing all these things and more for other people, but she would love it if sometimes someone would reach around her shoulders, tell her everything is going to be okay, and just take care of her for a little while.

 

What do you think? Are there any more similarities?

Signed, Peri.

 

 

 

 

Who am I?

12 years ago today was my last day teaching high school English. We had school conferences that day, shortened classes, and minimal Saint Patty's hoopla.

I went home, waddled around a while, and went to bed, only to be awakened by my water breaking in the middle of the night. Tom scrambled to find a tarp to protect the upholstery of our new minivan from my leaky self. I, of course, told him to get a grip and get me the heck to the hospital.

But this post isn't about Tom, or about my sweet baby born 12 years ago tomorrow, or how I lost the 52 lbs of baby weight. It's about me.

12.
A dozen.
YEARS.

How can it be 12 years since I've taught school? That's more than a decade. Do I still call myself a teacher? Should I? Do I have the right?

I taught for 6 years, yet have been "semi-retired" for 12. Now I work part-time at a church, but teaching plays no role in that position.

Was this all part of a master plan that Tom and I formulated in the 90's? Have 2 kids, stay home for a decade, then go back to work part-time? No, like a lot of things, it just kind of happened that way.

It wasn't that I was terribly opposed to having someone else watch Jake for me, but with Tom's insane hours at work and our limited support system, I just couldn't figure out how to SWING it, even part-time. It all just seemed like so MUCH.

A second master's degree to become a librarian fell by the wayside when I couldn't figure out how to care for a constantly nursing child and still attend classes.

Even though I never considered it then, and just plunged into a wonderful decade of staying home, now I wonder if I am comfortable being so dependent on my husband's income, a situation not so very different from that of my mother, who married in 19 flipping SIXTY-THREE.

If I had kept on teaching, I would be making $75,000 by now. Going back tomorrow would earn me far less, but not nearly as little as I make at my part-time job, which pays for the groceries. Almost.

6 years teaching, 12 years not.

This makes me think of other milestones. Like being a daughter who has been alive longer without a mother than with one.

I think of the past and the future.

I think of planning and intentionality.

I have friends who PLANNED out their lives: how many kids, how big a house by which year, etc., in the same amount of time Tom and I took to decide whether we should get a pillow top mattress (no). They had goals. They looked at the big picture, not just the day to day. And of course, as we all know, not all of those plans came to fruition, but many did.

But life happens whether we plan for it or not. Sometimes life happens despite our plans.

I tend to live in the land of inertia, feeling that life happens TO me. I've realized, at age 41, that this is not the way I want to live.

I think rather than a life of planning, however, I yearn for a life of intentionality. What would I like the future to look like? My friendships? My family relationships? My faith? My career? How can I make a difference in the world? How do I get there from here?

I would like to face these questions with honesty, and optimism. Not a to-do list per se but perhaps a "will be" list.

And, as I am not known for my follow-through OR my big picture thinking, let's revisit this issue together...say in about 12 years?

Summer Showers?

So if someone pees her pants just a little bit, 3 times in one week, does that constitute a problem?

Just wondering.

My Cup is Half Empty

So today at church a friend gave me $10 she owed me. I wanted to donate it to our Well Project. Since I was wearing a dress and didn't have any pockets, I decided to do what any classy, well-bred woman in my family would do-- tuck it in my bra.

My late mom was a buxom beauty. She was head cheerleader and Homecoming queen in the 1950's when the uniforms were modest,the bras pointy, and the lipstick red.

I remember a trip into Washington DC with cousins when I was about 10. Mom played tour guide and was in charge of all the important stuff. I remember watching in horror as she pulled 11 metro tickets, the house keys and possibly a small map of the city out of her ample cleavage, or as she called it, her "bosom."

I've never been built like my mom, except perhaps when I was nursing and could no longer see my feet over my boobs, but I have been able to carry my own in curves department.

Things have changed, I guess. When I went searching for that $10 bill later, I realized it had snuck right out of the bra, headed south, and made its way right out of my dress. Boo. I told Molly and she said, "I saw a guy pick a folded ten dollar bill off the floor at church and look around to see if anyone had lost it."

Poor guy, poor me.

Thinking I could keep that bill held securely in my bra was akin to convincing myself I could keep jello from running through a sieve.

Oh well. Here's to a Monday where your cup is MORE than half full!

Friday Confessions?

Do you ever put on yoga pants because you think today, of all days, might be the one when you'll start exercising again? And then, when you have to go to the bathroom, you discover the bow you tied in the drawstring is quickly and frighteningly morphing into a knot? And your over 40 eyes will not allow you see it, let alone untie it? And as the seconds tick by you realize you no longer have bladder control?

Really? It's never happened to me.

Do a Friend a Favor...

Please oh please if you saw me at the bank, or at work, or at the grocery store, or at the kids' schools, or at church in the last 3 weeks-- please oh please assure me that the 2 inch long white hair I just discovered poking out of my upper cheek was not there. I am going with the theory that it sprang up overnight.

Thanks.

Getting Older I Am

I had been trying to figure out what my lips, complete with vertical wrinkes, looked like. Smoker's mouth? Marian the Librarian who had pursed one too many times?

Not quite.

Then my son and I spent a little quality screen time together last night:

It is all so clear now.