Double Agent

As I prepare for BlogHer this week, I’ve been bubbling over with excitement about seeing old friends and immersing myself in 5 days of IRL blogging heaven. This has occasionally resulted in my having to explain my excitement to those around me, followed by not taking their strange looks personally.

It’s hard to be a blogger, yo.

I often feel like I’m living two lives. One life is a nurse, working a steady full-time job, going to the grocery, picking my kids up from summer camp, sitting through business meetings at work, doing laundry, keeping strong opinions to myself, occasionally meeting up with friends, and watching TV with my husband in the evenings.

But then there’s my other life. In that life I write about my inner thoughts on the internet, converse with friends I know in person and those I’ve never met across the globe, share openly my struggles with ADD and my daughter’s autism, attend conferences of like-minded geeky people who like to talk with each other on the internet, leverage my virtual soapbox to give my opinion on products and services and provide feedback directly to big companies that otherwise wouldn’t notice me, occasionally discuss money, politics, religion or some other topic we’re not supposed to discuss in polite company, and freely dance my way across social media platforms, interacting with those who cross my path.

My other life sure seems like a lot more fun sometimes.

I often look at my two separate-but-not-equal lives and wonder which one is the real me? Or are they both different parts of me, like the Freudian id and ego?

My daily life requires me to constantly censor myself to fit in, molding every action and word to fit in with what is expected of me. Some of it is the real me, but parts are an act, an elaborate character I play when the need arises. Stick to the superficial when interacting with others in public, bury deep your true feelings so as not to offend anyone, try to blend with the crowd. And for goodness sakes, don’t talk about your blog or anything geeky, lest you be branded a complete weirdo!

In college, I was praised by my sorority (wha? yes, I was in a sorority – stop laughing) for being great at the small-talk required during rush. But small talk was easy; scripted conversation starters with a mental list of how to respond to various answers made it a game. Ask me to have more in-depth conversations, though, and the conversations quickly deteriorated as I lost my ability to be chatty and instead panicked.

Online I still must censor myself, but in a different way. Here I hide specifics of the superficial details: my daily schedule, where my children attend school, details about my job, etc. Yet here my inner soul is on display, and writing serves as an outlet for that part of me that is kept bottled up every day. My interactions here are with people who I share something in common with on a more personal level, instead of the superficial level of proximity. On my blog, I don’t feel the need to hold back on my opinions – anyone who reads them is here in my space and free to leave if they disagree.

So which is the real me? Blogging conferences always put this to the test. My online self is on display in person, interacting real-time with those I enjoy talking to online. Only without the luxury of taking the time to craft a thought-provoking or witty response. (There’s no backspace key in real life.) I always worry I’m going to disappoint people who know my online persona once they meet the physical person. Depending on what point of the day you meet me, I could be shy or very outgoing – it all depends on how overwhelmed I am at the moment.

But thankfully, most people attending BlogHer will be feeling the same way. From past experience, I know that once the initial nervous jitters pass, I find it very freeing to let my two halves loose at the same time. BlogHer makes it possible to be yourself – whichever blend of “you” is the one you feel most comfortable with.

Hopefully I’ll be seeing some of you there this week. If we haven’t met yet, I hope we’ll find the chance to say hello at some point.



Fun in the Sun

Cordy and Mira demonstrate proper head and eye protection in the sun.  Too bad Cordy already scorched her shoulders in a sunscreen mishap earlier last week.

sunglasses

(Yes, this is totally a shameless photo filler post. But hey, look at the cute kids!)

(No, really, my review of the Ford Fusion is coming soon. Although I nearly typed Ford Fission when I wrote that, which would be an ENTIRELY DIFFERENT kind of car, wouldn’t it?)

(And did I mention the cute kids on this little mommyblog?)



Picky Eater

Going out in public with my children can sometimes be a challenge. Especially if going out involves eating, and that eating is taking place either in someone else’s home or at a restaurant my girls aren’t familiar with. Far too often I deal with someone looking at my children at one point and sighing, “So what WILL they eat?”

I have picky eaters.

I’m well aware that my kids have a small list of foods they will eat, and I’ve probably already heard every criticism and judgment someone could think to throw at me. I didn’t expose them to a wide enough variety of foods when they were younger. I didn’t expect them to eat a bite of everything placed in front of them. I gave in to their demands for the same meals over and over. I’m raising children who will have a limited experience with food and force others to bow to their whims.

Yep, I’ve heard it all, and honestly? I don’t care. I know I’m doing the best I can to give them healthy foods to eat. I still make the effort to have them try new foods, even while I give them the foods they like most of the time. And if anyone claims to know anything about dealing with a picky eater, it should be me – I was one of the worst picky eaters as a child, and now I love trying new foods.

Mira is the more adventurous one when it comes to food, but even she can be picky. Occasionally, she’ll try something new, but only if we make it seem like we want it all and really don’t want to share it with her. If we’re asking her to try a bite, then clearly it’s poison and must be avoided at all costs.

(Although it’s hilarious when she does beg to try something and doesn’t like it. She’ll take one tiny bite, force a smile and say “Yum! I like it!” just because she doesn’t want to admit that she begged for something yucky. Ask her if she wants a second bite, though, and she’ll suddenly become generous and say, “No, I just wanted one bite.” Sure you did, kid. Wish you only ever wanted ONE bite of my garlic bread.)

Cordy is far more cautious with food. Her autism and sensory issues make food a very touchy subject. She likes mac and cheese, but at home it has to be in an easy mac bowl. (And she really likes it to be neon yellow, which she can’t have due to her sensitivity to dyes. It’s been a long journey to get her to eat the white cheddar mac and cheese.) Milk has to be white – no flavored milks for her! Applesauce must be unflavored.

She refuses to drink water and will let herself get dehydrated rather than drink it – a splash of 100% juice makes it acceptable to drink. Any foods she normally eats that are presented in an unfamiliar way (like potato wedges vs. french fries) are usually rejected.

But even with her picky eating, Cordy’s short list of acceptable foods includes several healthy options. She loves salad, as long as it is lettuce and dressing only. She’ll eat apple slices and sometimes bananas, although all other fruit is unacceptable. And while she certainly likes cookies, crackers and gummy treats, I try to only buy organic and dye-free varieties for her.

It took some effort to convince her the cheese wasn’t carrots because carrots cannot exist in salad. 

I know it frustrates my family that Cordy and Mira often refuse the foods they made for all of us to share. My mom has commented on more than one occasion that they’ll never eat healthy by being this picky. However, I think that the years have clouded her recollection of my youth.

Here’s what I remember from my childhood. For main dishes, I ate only a handful of foods: mac and cheese, spaghetti, pizza, ham sandwiches, or fast food. I gagged at the very sight of rice. (Thanks a lot, Lost Boys – it took me years to overcome that aversion to rice.) The only vegetables I would even allow on my plate were green beans and occasionally carrots. My mom would beg me to try new foods and I’d turn my nose up at everything. She never forced the issue, though, and more often than not she would give in to my demands for a familiar food.

From that history, you might assume I grew up to have a limited palate. But instead, my tastes matured as I moved into my twenties, and I sought out new foods. I ate new vegetables. I actively tried new foods at parties. Chinese food became a favorite – yes, even the rice! As I matured, my food interests matured with me.

Now? I love food. There are only a handful of foods that I’d politely refuse to taste. And most of those are due to being forced to eat them at some point as a child, creating an aversion so strong that I don’t even like the smell of those foods.

I have faith that no matter how picky my daughters are now, they will not remain this way forever. I refuse to start a negative relationship with food by forcing strange foods on them. So we are short order cooks in our house. Aaron and I have our dinner, we invite the kids to join in on those foods, and if they don’t want to, we make them something else. Occasionally they eat the same thing we do, and we heap praise on them for trying something new.

Out in public, both Mira and Cordy understand that if there’s nothing they’re willing to eat, they may go hungry. I usually have snacks available if I know we’ll be gone for more than one meal, but otherwise I leave them at the mercy of their picky natures. If they’re really hungry, they’ll eat something, even if it is just a hamburger bun.

Someday they’ll be ready to try new foods, but it will happen at their own pace. And when they’re ready, I’ll be waiting to introduce them to all of the delicious foods I’ve discovered after my days of picky eating.



Tiny Dancer

When Cordy was enrolled in soccer this spring, Mira started asking when she could sign up for an activity. I offered her several options and she chose ballet. I found a nearby class that was designed for three and four year olds and was only eight weeks long. Even if she hated it, we wouldn’t be out a lot of money for the experience. Perfect.

Mira did well in the class, although we ran into the same problems in class that we see at home. When she hasn’t had a chance to get to know someone, she’s generally shy and charming. But once she feels comfortable, Mira’s full personality bursts through, and this kid has a LOT of personality.

It took about three weeks for Mira to show her true colors to her ballet teacher. She became bossy, demanding that she didn’t want to dance to “princess” music and had to do things in the order they did them the week before. (Sigh...) She told other little girls they were doing things wrong. (Gah!!) Her bossy personality got worse when they had a substitute teacher one week. I nearly died from embarrassment as she ordered the poor young sub around on how to do her job. (Nooooo!)

Thankfully her teacher was amazingly patient with her and wouldn’t let me yank my kid out of class for being disrespectful. (Oh, how I wanted to, though!) Instead, she gave in to some of her demands, letting Mira feel in control, and in doing so Mira did pay better attention and didn’t do too bad as a dancer.

On the final day they performed a “recital” for the parents, using the music that Mira found acceptable: Peter Pan – no princess music for her!

Did I record it? Why yes, I did.

Am I going to post it here? Why yes, I am.

(Was I a dummy and didn’t understand that I needed to turn my new iPhone 4 sideways to get the best video shot? Why yes, I was. Sorry for the narrow video clip – you might need to enlarge to see it better.)

Mira’s not hard to spot. She’s the biggest kid with the mop of curly hair on her head.

Mira’s Ballet Recital from Christina M on Vimeo.

Gotta admit, she’s cute. I’m so proud of her for being brave enough to perform.

Now if only she wasn’t so stubborn.



Not The Kind Of Dreams I Want

I came home from work yesterday morning to find a small swarm of ants had invaded our kitchen floor, conquering the chunk of bread crust they had found. As I wiped out the enemy forces, I made a mental note to give the kitchen floor a good scrub down as soon as possible to dissuade the little trespassers from coming back.

As I drifted off to sleep, I continued to worry about the ants coming back and how I needed to clean the floor soon.

Next thing I know, it’s late afternoon. I looked at the floor and decided that I had time to get it done before the rest of the family got home. I grabbed a bucket with soapy water, pulled out a sponge, and got to work cleaning the floor on my hands and knees. It felt like it took forever, but every nook and corner were cleaned and I felt satisfied that the ants would have to look elsewhere for any food.

And then I woke up.

I dreamed the entire thing.

Coming downstairs, I walked past the kitchen and thought, no way am I cleaning that floor. I’m already exhausted from scrubbing it in my dream!

If only I could have been sleepwalking (sleepcleaning?) while dreaming it.

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