The more we play together the happier we'll be

When I see Sadie and Simon playing together happily (or at least side by side), I feel happy they are so close in age and so far they are also pretty nice to each other. Although Simon does have a blue bruise on his cheek where he "fell" after coming in contact with Sadie's hands. She had the phone; he wanted it; now he's got a bruise.
I am thinking these two may be hinting they would like to start a little family band a la the Partridge Family. I, of course, will be on the keyboard and Jeff will play the oboe. We'll have to start shopping for good gigs. What will we call ourselves?
Simon is voting for keeping it simple and calling the band: "The Mama and the Papa and the Two Kids." Coming to a juke box near you.

Adios, 2011

2011, you have been very good to me and my family. The highlight of the year was the birth of Simon, who has brought all of us so much joy. It's been a delight to watch our family grow. I can't believe these two wonderful beings belong to me. I love them so much. Another highlight was having the courage to let go of my firm job, which was an agonizing decision. It was also one of the best decisions I ever made. Our family weathered the blizzard of 2011, the departure of our first nanny, the welcome of our beloved Sabrina. We set our gazes on the horizon and look forward to finding a school for Sadie and (hopefully) a little less travel for Jeff. I hope to find my way back to a professional existence in God's time.

In the meantime, we are rocking the new year with a bowl of cereal for dinner and a bedtime of 10:00 p.m. sharp. Don't tell me that parenthood isn't exciting. I tried a new cereal for dinner: Barbara's Toasted Oats-- no corn syrup.

By the end of this year I will either be vegan or on the paleo diet. I am in the mood for some dietary extremes.

Stay tuned.

Ask me why I hate Steve Jobs.

I have spent hours reading Walter Isaacson's biography of Steve Jobs. It's riveting. I have never learned so much about computers or microchips or innovation. I was willing to forgive Jobs for his tyrannical business practices, his ruthlessness in negotiations and the harsh manner in which he enforced accountability at Apple. I read with awe and incredulity how Jobs bent reality to fit his purposes and drive his teams to produce greater products that have actually improved my life. And putting aside the fact that it's actually none of my business what his personal life was like, I still couldn't help but think about his relationships: the one with his oldest daughter whom he initially abandoned and then maintained a rather stormy relationship with for the rest of his life or his subsequent three children.

Because Jobs fully cooperated with Isaacson in the writing of this book, I felt invited to think about Jobs' personal decisions, including those involving his children.

I didn't really start to hate him until I finished the book and saw the picture on the inside back cover. It's a picture of Jobs in his signature black mock turtle neck, jeans and Keen shoes. He's leaning back in his chair with his head cradled in his hands. His gaze appears to be focused on his computer screen: a large Mac (of course) with a picture of his wife and son, Reed, smiling on what appears to be a happy day. That sealed it for me.

Throughout the book Isaacson made several passing references to how Jobs tended to ignore his daughters, Eve and Erin. There are hardly any references to Jobs' actual interactions with his daughters in the entire 571-page book. His disinterest in them was especially alarming in light of his interest in Reed. Reed was allowed to attend a weekend of board meetings in June 2010, when Jobs and his Board were trying to decide how to deal with the technical glitches in the iPhone 4. "Jobs also decided to bring his son Reed, then a high school senior, back with him from Hawaii . . . [Jobs told Reed] 'You're going to be in the room with the best people in the world making really tough decisions and get to see how the sausage is made.'" According to Issacson, "Jobs got a little misty-eyed when he recalled the experience. Jobs told Issacson, "'I would go through all that again just for that opportunity to have him see me at work . . . He got to see what his dad does.'"

Well, that was no doubt wonderful for Reed. Do you think maybe Eve and Erin might also like to see what their dad does for a living? Might Eve and Erin also want to sit in on historic meetings with the "best people in the world"? Might they want the opportunity to be exposed to the rarefied air at an Apple Board meeting? Yes, his girls were younger than Reed, but if you are going to let a 16 year old sit in on top secret Board meetings, why not a 13 year old?

So, here's Steve Jobs, this west-coast innovator, "genius", and "visionary", but he won't give his daughters the same access he gave his sons to his beloved company. It's one thing to read about large sociological patterns and glass ceilings, but it's quite another to see one of the most powerful businessmen of my generation obliterate his daughters. Surely, of any of the young women coming of age today, those with fathers or mothers who are CEOs are at least slightly more likely to rise through the business ranks because of privilege, connections, opportunities, and because they have been parented by CEOs. A CEO parent has a rare opportunity to give his children a portal into the pressures and joys and politics of running a company.

But not if the CEO parent is only interested in imparting that knowledge to his sons. I know that no one, including Jobs himself, holds up Steve Jobs as a paragon for parenting. It's awfully old-fashioned to value sons more than daughters, isn't it? I thought he was supposed to be cutting edge. What's so cutting edge about giving your son a front-row seat to history but leaving your daughters at home to prepare you a vegan dinner? Ok, so he left his daughters in Kona, Hawaii, but still. They weren't invited to the Board meeting and Isaacson suggests that such an idea would have never occurred to Jobs.

How could it occur to his daughters if it never occurred to him?

Isaacson also noted that Jobs solicited input from Reed about the new Apple campus, but ignored Erin-- who was sitting in the same room during the conversation-- who is an aspiring architect and already showing promise in design. (Reed hopes to be an oncologist.) "[I]t seemed not to occur to him to call her over as well." She also really wanted to go to the Oscars with her dad, and while Jobs' wife was game to give up her ticket for her daughter, "[Jobs] dismissed the idea."

Here's a man who may be placed in the pantheon "right next to Edison and Ford." What does it mean for future female executives that "the greatest business executive of our era," brought his son to meetings to show him what Dad does, but left his daughters at home like pets or invalids? Jobs himself liked to see himself as perched at the intersection of science and humanities. He said that "the reason Apple resonates with people is that there's a deep current of humanity in our innovation." Last time I checked, daughters were part of humanity.

While I was reading the book, I tempered my disgust for his treatment of all three of his daughters by reminding myself that he was sort of an asshole to everyone. He was probably an asshole to his son as well. His true legacy is Apple, his company, not his children who can presumably afford any therapist in the world to help them work through any lingering father issues.

But that back cover. I just can't get over it. I am annoyed that it looks like his screen saver is a picture of his wife and his son. I feel like screaming at this dead man that I don't even know, "HEY, HAVE ANY PICTURES OF YOUR DAUGHTERS SAVED ON YOUR FANCY MAC?" Really, at the end of the day, Steve Jobs was just one more man who values boys more than girls. It so happens that he is also became very successful and created an iconic American company. All dads who fail to value their daughters as much as their sons piss me off. If Steve Jobs can't see the value in his own daughters' minds and imagine their contributions to a host of enterprises, then how can he (or any other male executive) see the value and potential in women he did not father?

I can't wait for the day that fathers understand that their children don't have to have a sausage to have a desire and a right to see how the sausage is made. Maybe when there are more females among the top-ranking officials in public companies we will be able to move beyond metaphors that invoke the most phallic cut of meat to something more gender-neutral, like pot roast or brisket.

Parenting

The holiday cards are rolling in, and they are my favorite part of Christmas. I love seeing each family's personality reflected in their cards and pictures. I have noticed that they have gotten very elaborate this year. Half our cards were fold outs with multiple pictures of each children from trips to Hawaii and Disneyland and all manner of adorable poses. It reminds me of the saying that parenting is a competitive sport.

And, you know what, I am sort of sick of it. I am sick of measuring myself and my kids against whatever random measuring stick is laying around at the time. I really just want to be kind to my kids and do my best. I guess we'll also get them a good education and some fresh air, but really, I just don't know if I can also eat locally, and get special music tutors, and expose them to the arts and wind farms and worm composting. It's also really hard to be continually nice and kind to a demanding 2-year old who wants her milk cold. No hot. No colder. No, how about juice? Maybe water? Only if it has ice. Two ice cubs, Mommy. Wait, it's too cold. I want an orange. And some macaroni and cheese. And a pear. And 3 figs. And a date. Here, hold my pit. No, Daddy should hold the pit. Mommy, you should get me some artisanal pickles to go with my grilled cheese and my macaroni and cheese.

Are you kidding me that I have to be nice and obsequious to my toddler when she acts like this? And, if you are reading this, don't assume she was using her nice, cute, innocent little kid voice. Assume she was screaming and petulant and angry and surly and coy-- all at the same time. I find myself in those moments wanting to scream my head off. I hear messages that I should be patient and treat her with respect because, after all, she's a little person. The thing is that she doesn't act like a little person. She acts like a little tyrant going through withdrawal from caffeine and having just endured a breakup and a layoff. The drama is high and so is the pitch and the volume. I know I am the parent. I know I chose to have a child who was one day going to be 2 and have to learn autonomy. But, God lord, expecting myself to show up for all of it with nothing but a serene smile and an endless repertoire of cheese-based dishes is too much.

It's just too much.

No more expectations that dealing with this is supposed to be fun or easy or intuitive. If I did what was intuitive, I would lay down on the kitchen floor and beg her for mercy or just to shut up for 5 minutes while I tell her all the reasons why her life is 45 flavors of totally awesome. Then, I would remind her that she asks me for frozen yogurt and figs every single day and has yet to digest either. Ever. So, no, she can't have either one and she's going to get a beverage in the temperature of MY choosing and she's going to drink it, like it, and be well hydrated. I haven't done this. I have stood there stupidly wondering what is wrong with me that the yelling grates on my nerves and pushes my buttons.

Nothing is wrong with me. I am human. 2 year olds are doing something wonderful and hard; so are their parents.

So I am going to be nice and kind and keep the expectations a little more realistic.

Denim Day

I used to love those specialty days during grammar and high school where you got to dress in creative ways: school spirit day, picture day, character fair day. It was a big deal at my Catholic schools because otherwise we were all wearing the same plaid uniform day after day and year after year. I never lost my love of thematic dressing and now Sadie and Simon have to endure my flights of sartorial fancy. Pictured above is our homage to denim: Sadie in her little denim dress and Simon sporting the Oshkosh overalls. If there is something cuter than a chubby baby boy wearing overalls I have never seen it.

I haven't been able to post much during December, even though I thought I would be so above getting sucked into holiday frenziness. Turns out, celebrating both Hannukah and Christmas is actually more work. I didn't see that coming. I was too busy buying blue Hannukah wrapping paper and Christmas tree ornaments. I am also toying with the idea of figuring out how to make a latke a little less...well, fried. It's so damn fried. I want to enjoy the holiday and the traditional food but a plate of brisket and a fried ass potato is gonna set me back a bit on the old health front. I think it's probably rude to mess with a tradition that has worked for Jewish people for many, many years, but I may be brash enough to tackle the latke. We'll see.

Other December highlights include extra time being a super model parent. Ask Sadie about what happened when Jeff and I let her lick a serrano pepper on Saturday? Be careful if you bring it up, though, because she may start to cry and talk about how "spicy" it was. In our defense, she kept asking to taste it and we let her just barely lick it. I honestly didn't know that her whole chin would turn red and she would cry for 30 minutes. After she licked it, we fed her milk and cheese and chips and water and anything we could think of to get the "burning" to stop. I am pretty sure that little exercise qualifies as tough love.

Other than that, it hasn't been easy to buy a bunch of presents for myself, wrap them and put a card on them that says, "To Mommy / Love, Daddy." I am so overwhelmed at Jeff's generosity. He has no idea what he got me, and he's going to be so excited to see it all. I can't wait until Christmas morning.

I also took a night off to go to see A Dangerous Method with a friend. Ah, a movie date with a girlfriend. It's better than a week of therapy, which is a good thing, because guess who's therapist took off for two weeks during the holidays. Don't they tell therapists to stick around during the holidays because of the whole suicide thing? I am pretty sure that people get depressed during the holidays and could use some therapy. I am not asking him to miss the high holidays, I just want him around so I can complain about feeling fat after I eat those latkes. Actually, his absence really just interrupted my running schedule because I run to therapy and that's a nice long 4.5 miler for me. With him gone, how do I get that run in? Nothing says attachment like "you fucked up my running schedule."

Anyway, I am working on my vision for 2012. It's going to be the year of the risk. I am going to push out of my comfort zone and dream big this year. Either that or I am going to keep doing what I am doing and risk feeling more shame about having such a fantastic life.

Christmas Magic

We have our iconic Christmas Magic photo captured above. We usually get some good Hannukah ones as well, but we were both too busy trying to keep Simon from catching fire to snap a photo. Good thing we have 7 more nights to try!

This says it all

Here's how we wind down before bed: we turn Sadie upside down and run around in circles. She loves it; we are convinced it helps her sleep. There have been no long-term studies on the effects of this on small children. We like to call it "fun."

Actually, both the kids are very physical these days. Simon can walk about 3 steps before falling and Sadie likes to jump on our stomachs and backs and legs. It's all quite cardiovascular and as soon as there is a Groupon for full-body physical therapy, I am signing up. I didn't realize how physical this was all going to get. We are all covered in bruises, but at least I think my kids are getting plenty of my physical attention.

In other news, our friend the mouse is back in the house. I have seen her and so has Jeff. I am sure the little critter is just trying to escape the cold, but I wish she would take up with our neighbors. How much do I NOT want to have to kill one of God's creatures during Advent? On the other hand, how much do I want to be able to come and go into my kitchen without fearing I am wrecking the set of Ratatouille? I have to say that if I was a late-night grazer and wanted to stop, I would get myself a mouse because it's really no fun to eat peanut butter standing up wondering if a mouse is about to run across your feet. So that's my diet tip for this New Year: Get a mouse and you will stay out of the kitchen.

Other causes for celebration:

• Simon has slept past 5:55 a.m. on more than 3 occasions. Praise Allah!
• The holiday shopping is almost done and neither of my kids understand presents, or holidays or Santa, which means no long, annoying lists of Disney crap they want (and won't get).
• Jeff's travels are winding down for the year, which means I don't have to put both kids to bed alone again during 2011. Better than Louis Vuitton.
• We are narrowing down our school search, which means the home schooling, as Plan B, has moved to Plan C.
• We surrendered on the topic of getting the perfect holiday picture and made a perfectly lovely holiday card that is en route to our house presently. We will get those out before Arbor Day after all.
• We have taught Sadie how to say prayers at night, which we have defined as sending good thoughts and kind words to people we love or those who might need it. It's my favorite time of night. She loves to say her prayers and then we put our hands together under our chin and say, "Amen," together. Cutest. Thing. Ever. It gives me a chance to remind her how big of our world is, how full of love it is, how easy it is to send love to others and how thinking about other people we love at the end of the day is a very soothing ritual. Next year we can work on praying for the people we don't like very much.