Where am I?

The postcards tacked above my desk have been taunting me a little. They're kind of a strange little audience, this eclectic collection of images I've gathered over the years from museum visits here and there. I tend to look at them when I can't think of what to write (which is sadly and alarmingly often). Lately I've been seeing them with new eyes.

Realization #1: Apparently I really love depictions of motherhood in art. Go figure. I've unintentionally gathered a gang of mothers who look down and supervise my daily typing. Most of them are fairly idealized (which, on the wrong day can be admittedly a bit deflating...I mean, where's my halo and rosy-cheeked cherubs?) but there's something comforting about looking at paintings that give a nod to motherhood. I can see myself there.

Or I used to, anyway. Realization #2: I'm actually not up there at all, at least not anymore!  Last week I realized these art mamas are all mothers of infants and very young children--preoccupied with nursing, swaddling, cuddling littles on laps.  So I started searching for more seasoned motherhood in art and...it turns out there really aren't many pieces of art showing motherhood past young childhood. Come on, artists of the ages, where's the art showing mothers with adolescents or older children? (Yep, adolescence is a relatively newfangled invention historically so it does make sense. But still. Scroll through the images in this book. See? Mostly babies.)

I was intrigued.  After scrolling through several more on-line collections of "mothers in art" to no avail, I decided to consult with my cousin-in-law, who's a professor of art history. I asked Monica if she could think of any good examples of art depicting scenes of mothering with older children (excluding portraits and besides the Pietas, which are in a category of their own). She suggested I start with these  (thanks, Monica!):

• Alexander Roslin's "Before the Debutante Ball" seems relevant (assuming that it is, in fact, the debutante's mother and not a maid or sister): 

Before the Debutante Ball by Alexander Roslin

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Simone Martini's "Christ Discovered by his Parents" was new to me but I really like the depiction of Christ and his parents. And his intransigent adolescent expression is a little familiar to me, how about you?

Christ Discovered in the Temple by Simone Martini

There's also this mother reading to a slightly older girl  in George Dunlop Leslie's "Alice in Wonderland." (And, Monica pointed out, George Dunlop Leslie does have some other domestic scenes that could qualify, too.) 

It's a good start. But I'm still curious: where am I, art-wise? 

As you can tell, I'm on a bit of a treasure hunt. Can you think of any other depictions of mid-stage motherhood in art? What do you think about being (mostly) left out of the whole shebang?

New addiction

Okay, friends, have you or your kids tried the game GeoGuessr?​ (And if so, why were you holding out on me?!)

Fair warning: If you're not in the market for a new, time-sucking electronic addiction, you might not want to click over right now.​ On the other hand, it is fairly educational. And it appeals to the armchair-traveler-slash-amateur-detective in each of us. 

Basically, the game presents a Google Earth snapshot. It's like you've been plunked down somewhere on the planet earth with only whatever clues are in the photo to figure out where you are. You can follow the arrows on down the road, twirl around 360', zoom in and out (license plates are blurred out). Then you make an educated guess on the map where this spot is and you get points depending on how close you come.

Okay, I can tell I'm not capturing the essence of it here but trust me. It's a worthy time-waster.

The best part is that it's a blast to play along with your kids or family as you narrow down the location, make predictions, and take a virtual trip around the globe. (I apologize, my dear adopted Australia, for thinking you were South Africa. It was the desert-y village with cars driving on the left side of the road that did me in.)

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GeoGuessr did not pay me for my gushing, nor do they know who I am. I'm just a fangirl and feel compelled to pass it along.​

Wading in together

Henri Manuel

A cruel irony of mid-stage parenting is that--just as we hit these wonderfully and woefully more complicated years--the opportunities to get together with other parents dry up. We tend to get more isolated just when we need others more. What's up with that?!  No more helpful reality checks via playground chats with fellow parents while we watch the kids play. No more playgroup lunches, comparing notes and dishing out equal parts advice and reassurance. Instead, life seems to speed up. While every single stage of parenting is loaded with ups and downs (potty training, anyone? tantrums? sleep schedules?), what makes the tough days tougher during this particular phase is that we can feel so utterly alone in it.

That's why we hatched this little blog--to say "hey, you're not the only one." We really aim to celebrate the wonders and beauties of this stage and, at the same time, we want to acknowledge the ​reality that there are pitfalls--not in a heavy, negative way but in a supportive, I-hear-you one. (This is a no-guilt zone, folks!) 

With that in mind, we've added a new feature* over on the sidebar over there ----> so you can chime in with your own thoughts and concerns. Do you have a question that you'd love to ask other seasoned parents?  A suggestion for a topic to start a discussion here? Send them in and we'll pass them along (anonymously, if you want) via Facebook and on future posts, inviting other nest&launchers to chime in. We definitely don't have all the answers but we really do love mulling over the questions. Pull up a virtual park bench and think of it as our own version of those leisurely playground chats of days gone by. 

*thanks, Andrea, for the suggestion!​

Alternative cinema for big kids, part two

Jordan came home on Saturday! We were on our way to the airport (in a veritable monsoon) when we got a call from her that Hobby Airport in Houston had closed due to weather, and she had been diverted to Midland. Midland is a good 450 miles from us, so she was left to the mercy of the airlines. She eventually made it to Houston around one in the morning. We scooped her up, threw her in the truck, and brought her home. I breathed a sigh of relief to have all of my kids under my roof and I'm considering holding her hostage in the attic.

Along with Jordan came a whole load of stuff that had previously been stuffed into her tiny dorm room -- including a pretty decent movie collection. Two of our family's favorite movies went away to college with Jordan, and we're happy to have them back as well.  

The first is Lagaan (2001) - an Indian musical depicting a farming village's conflict with British rule (meaning a group of rag-tag farmers challenge the Brits to a cricket match to settle a tax dispute). There is a handsome hero, a beautiful maiden, and the emotional charge of a community banding together for a common cause. Plus, there's the cricket -- think A League of Own meets Bollywood -- except better. Also, the underdog vs. superpower motif in this movie tugs firmly on your heartstrings. It's so much fun to root for the underdog! Your kids will be on the edge of their seats in the final cricket match. I promise.

Sterling was introduced to this movie in business school, and when he brought home a copy for our then fourth and fifth graders to watch, I was skeptical. The movie is four hours long and subtitled. Really? But the girls loved it and have continued to watch it over the years. As Rebecca and Parker became proficient readers they joined in as well. And get this, Jordan claims to understand the rules of cricket because of this movie. What American girl understands cricket? We've shared it with multiple friends over the years -- everyone has been a fan. 

Buy the DVD here.​

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And second, Les Choristes (The Chorus, 2004), tells the story of a teacher at a troubled boys school in 1949 in France (this is subtitled as well). Initially the boys are undisciplined and the headmaster is cruel and villainous, but Monsieur Mathieu starts a boys choir as a way of connecting with the students. It's sort of a sophisticated mix of Mr. Holland's Opus and Lean on Me. The music is other-worldly and the young Jean-Baptiste Maunier is superb. My girls saw this movie in their high school (or maybe junior high) French class, and couldn't stop talking about the storyline (and the cute Pierre). Watching this makes me want to hop on the next plane to France. As does eating croissants. Or macarons.  [Note: There are a few isolated incidents of of objectionable language in the movie, which are made more apparent by subtitles, so you may want to preview the film first for younger kids.]​

Available on Amazon Instant Video here.​
Buy the DVD here.

Mobile therapy

Sometimes to distract myself from the fact that I'm exercising, I listen to a podcast. (My thighs are so gullible! They fall for it every time.) A month or two ago, I listened to an On Being episode with the always fabulous host, Krista Tippett, interviewing Dr. Sylvia Boorstein (who is part wise Jewish grandmother, part therapist, part Buddhist teacher). She had some insightful comments that really resonated with me about reacting and responding as parents on those tough days and moments. 

photo: Massimo Dutti

On always being a mother, even when your kids have grown:
​Dr. Boorstein: I tell people — I tell people that I could have the most profound equanimity and I am two words away from losing it completely. Then they say, "What are those two words?" I'd say, "Well, you have to understand that first the phone has to ring. Ring, ring and you pick up the phone and a voice says, "Hello, Ma?" and [if] it doesn't sound right.

. . .​

Wise effort and the difference between "Can I care?" vs. "Am I pleased?" (though she talks about younger children in the example below, I think it applies well to older kids, too)
​Ms. Tippett: Let's talk about this core insight that suffering — and, again, we're acknowledging that parenting is the greatest loss of control we ever suffer — that suffering results from struggling with what is beyond my control, that idea that our minds get in conflict with our experience and that's where suffering comes from, not so much from the realities themselves, but how we struggle with them. How do you think that applies to this?

Dr. Boorstein: Well, I just remembered actually just before we came out here this evening. I was sitting backstage and I remembered I was on a flight last Friday, and there was a family of five traveling with me. And everything is progressing well; it wasn't a terribly long flight. Near the end of the flight, the two- or three-year-old, she just fell asleep and now she's awakened and it's late in the afternoon. Probably her naptime is way off. She not only woke up, but she woke up and she's beside herself and crying and flailing in the way of three-year-olds. I watched these two parents and they were fabulous. Her mother was completely just consoling, quietly talking to her, not losing her equanimity at all. I was marveling at it. I thought it was wonderful.

You know, sometimes you see much more upset parents. This parent was not upset. Then by and by after a little while, the dad over here said, "Pass her to me." So they changed children. She passed this one back to him. And then he — behind me — spoke to her in such a kindly way, and slowly, slowly she pulled herself together. I just so admired their parenting skills. I admired it because, first of all, the child calmed herself down. They didn't whiz themselves up and create more suffering for themselves. They also didn't create more suffering for the whole plane because, you know, sometimes when a child is getting upset and the parent becomes all upset, then you feel pulled into it.

Ms. Tippett: Right.

Dr. Boorstein: But somehow these parents' equanimity was like a calming effect around the whole plane. And I thought well they were really — at the time, I thought they were really good parents. But I thought the element of their goodness was that they're acting very wise, and that the wisdom involved is this child is two and a half and that's what two-and-a-half-year-olds do [ed: or, in our cases, 12- or 16-year-olds] when they're awakened from a nap in the middle of a loud and rumbling landing.

Ms. Tippett: You know, that's also an illustration of a distinction you made when you talk about wise effort. I found this really helpful. I feel like that's a story about it. You said in terms of our reactions, that there's a big difference in any moment between asking, "Am I pleased?" Which of course, on an airplane and you have a screaming child, you're not pleased. You're embarrassed. You think you will be less disruptive if you can make them quiet. But the difference is between asking, "Am I pleased?" or in this moment, "Am I able to care?"--

Dr. Boorstein: Yeah. For the child and for myself in a kindly way.

. . .

​On being kind to ourselves
​Dr. Boorstein: I was thinking about the GPS in my car. It never gets annoyed at me. If I make a mistake, it says, "Recalculating." And then it tells me to make the soonest left turn and go back. I thought to myself, you know, I should write a book and call it "Recalculating" because I think that that's what we're doing all the time.

That something happens, it challenges us and the challenge is, OK, so do you want to get mad now? You could get mad...Indignation is tremendously seductive...So to not do it and to say, wait a minute, apropos of you said before, wise effort to say to yourself, wait a minute, this is not the right road. Literally, this is not the right road. There's a fork in the road here. I could become indignant, I could flame up this flame of negativity or I could say, "Recalculating." I'll just go back here.

. . .​

Maybe it was just the timing in my life but this was like a bolt-of-lightning, lightbulb moment pep talk for me!  What do you think of her words of advice? 
p.s. ​Any other podcasts recommendations to distract my gullible muscles?

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If you're interested in hearing more, listening to the edited or full interview is well worth the time. Or you can watch it here. 

TV parenting

Entertainment Weekly recently had a March-Madness-style bracket game to determine TV's best couple of all time and it got me thinking. What about television's best parents?  

For your consideration, I submit Tami and Eric Taylor of Friday Night Lights (may it rest in peace & dvd sales). Heck, I'd nominate them both for best couple and best parents. (And look, I think EW staff agree with me.) Their believable, sparky (that's a word, right?), evolved partnership deftly captured the reality of marriage and parenthood in a way that left me feeling both understood and inspired. Spot on, FNL. Connie Britton and Kyle Chandler said that what allowed them to establish that partnership was that the writers told them from the start that they were never going to break them up.

Oh, and my runner up nominees? Adam and Kristina Braverman from Parenthood.​
​What think you?

p.s. This might seem like a silly exercise (and, okay, it is) but, surprisingly, it's sometimes media parents that make an impact. Once upon a time I helped conduct research on teen parents. When we asked for examples of parents they looked up to most or wanted to emulate, they quite often cited a fictional tv parent or a celebrity. Ever since, I'm always glad when a television couple demonstrates a relationship and parenting that's worth emulating.

Some days are hard

A triptych of memories, circa 2008:​

Lauren ​chose 9:30 p.m. on a Sunday night, the last day of February break, to bring us the sheet of paper.​

​Modigliani's Woman with Red Hair

"​I'm supposed to have a conversation with you."

Distracted by Jon Stewart's Oscar banter, I faintly register her request but fail to respond.
"Like, by tomorrow. It's due tomorrow in Health."
"Okay...let me see what it is."

The form lists five questions that students are supposed to discuss with parents about sex and birth control: How should teenagers show affection for each other? Should a couple have sex if they love each other and are going to get married? If a teen is sexually active, what kind of birth control should she use? Etcetera.

This is not the conversation I want to have, on demand, on Oscar night at 9:30. Keep in mind we have had nine unscheduled, unhurried days of vacation before this. I sigh.

"I already know the answers to most of these. We've talked about this before" she says hopefully. "Maybe we don't need to talk about it and you can just sign the sheet."
This is true, although we haven't explicitly discussed birth control. I imagine a pregnant child, blaming her parents' cluelessness: They couldn't be bothered. The Oscars were on.

So we talk, our glances not quite meeting for most of it. One commercial break, Greg screamingly silent on the other sofa.
As she heads for bed, she says "don't worry, I'm not planning on doing anything like this anytime soon."

Silence in the wake of her departure.

Greg asks, "Did she say 'not anytime soon'? Because I was hoping to hear 'not planning on anything like this ever'." I'm just thinking why didn't I turn off the t.v. and spend a little more time? What's so difficult about that?

. . .​

Most of my interactions with Sam are still instrumental.​​

Bruegel's Child's Games

Where are my church shoes? What are we having for dinner? Will you help me with this song? Will you play a game with me? Comb my hair? Check my homework?

These things I can do, can check off as positive indicators for the parenting balance sheet.

Although yesterday, when he hollered up from the kitchen "Can you cut my bagel for me?" I admit I actually weighed the probability of a lacerated palm (if I had him try it himself) versus a few more peaceful moments of reading before I replied a delayed "okay." Even the simple things are hard some days, their grinding dailiness overpowering my ability to rise to the occasion.

. . .​

I wake up to a small sound at midnight, my Miss Clavell-like mother sensors detecting something is not right. There it is again--a soft sniffle, a low moan. Is someone crying? I shuffle into the hallway, blurry from the scant hour of sleep and still half in my dream.

​Michelangelo's Pieta

Maddy is crying--a soft, forlorn sob that breaks my heart.

I scoot her over a bit to make room for myself under the covers of her twin bed. I fit my legs into the angle of hers {and note fleetingly how her legs have stretched longer in the last few months} and wrap my arms around her. She spills out her worries and disappointments that have been building under her cheerful 12-year-old exterior. Loneliness, jealousy, fear, nostalgia already for her simpler elementary school days, friend troubles, sister troubles, dashed expectations for the glorious experiences she thought would be hers at 12--these are all soured by their proximity to each other and by the late dark lonely hour.

There was a time when my midnight ministrations were easier, when, blurry eyed, I could provide milk and nearness and that was enough to satisfy her nighttime needs. Now my role isn't resolving or satisfying but simply witnessing & waiting while she resolves for herself.

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Yep. Some days are hard. ​While Nest & Launch is mostly about emphasizing the enjoying part of life with big kids and teens, we also want to be clear: some days are just breathtakingly, bone-achingly hard. We won't dwell there but we won't shy away from that reality either. Two-year-old tantrums somehow seem cuter than 13-year-old ones. Big kid problems--hey, even just the moments of basic mid-stage parenting--feel more personal and seem to carry higher stakes.  I get that. 

Looking back on that week in 2008, I want to put my arm around that anxious, melancholy Annie and say, "Breathe, sweetheart. Lighten up on yourself. And them. It'll pass. That's the bitter and the sweet news of all this. It'll pass." 

Yesterday Cathy Zielske talked about the challenging parts of parenting teens.  Now it's your turn: What challenges do you find unique to mid-stage parenthood?​ What would you tell the five-years-ago version of yourself now that you know what you know?