7 quick takes Friday

 1. One of the saddest things in the world is making delicious high calorie food and then burning it.  On the one hand, you have spent money and time on this creation. On the other, what is the point of consuming bad-for-you-food when it doesn’t taste good. A cruel conundrum. This is why I recommend vigilance. And am also considering getting new baking sheets.

2. As I remember every year, gift giving is an art—not a science. Which is why someone, in suggesting to a friend what to get for her spoiled child (this is a purely fictional scenario) might write “cool binky.” Which could translate into this gift (already sold out on some websites): http://www.perpetualkid.com/moustache-pacifier.aspx

Or this creepfest:  http://www.perpetualkid.com/little-vampire-pacifier.aspx

3. It was so funny seeing Jen Fulwiler’s mention of how she gets into Christmas cards. See: http://www.conversiondiary.com/index.php?s=Christmas+cards   Funny because I love Jen and she’s brilliant and we have so much in common but Christmas cards are the absolute bane of my existence because:

a)      They come at a really busy time of year.

b)      They come at the end of the semester (this is mostly a problem when I’m teaching…)

c)       I never know who exactly to send them to (I mean, people who live far away ‘need’ them most since we don’t have much contact. But then do I NOT send them to close-by friends?

d)      I’m never sure what to write (I always want to write more but don’t have the time and not sure what to say and not up for sending a full family report every year…).

e)      My mother never sent any.

f)       My father only sent a few, almost all of which he sent after Christmas, only to a few family members.

g)      My husband sends them nice and early to all the people on HIS side.

Can you tell I could go on? But I’ll stop here. I’m open to being convinced—and to changing.

  

4. My husband and I went on a Downton Abbey watching fest a couple of weeks ago. It’s a really extraordinary series (we’ve finished the first two seasons). Most dramas seem to be about a person, a family, a company, a group—you name it—crashing and burning. It can be slow (better drama) or fast—but when there’s drama, it’s usually bad. (Think The Godfather, Mad Men, The Shield, etc.) One of the thing I love about Downton is that there’s plenty of drama—but there’s also plenty of good. And good people. And the drama comes mostly from good but imperfect people facing complicated circumstances and figuring out what to do.

5. I committed to doing this blog knowing that I’d have to be patient with a super slow, erratic speed. But I disappointed even my own personal low standard when I failed to blog at all last month (and I’m not working outside the home right now). There are boring reasons for that but the interesting reason is that I am reading these books by the Heath brothers and absolutely loving them so I don’t want to slow down to write them. Highly recommend. Made to Stick is great but Switch is even better. Read them now.

6. Inspired by many things—Switch among them—I decided to commit to daily mass during Advent this year. Amazing what a difference one thing can make (like making your bed, only better). There were a lot of reasons why I didn’t go before (two small, unruly children among them). But everything is more ordered—internally and externally—now that I’ve started going. Wow.

7. My daughter—a bright, energetic girl, really!—recently had a homework assigned where they were asked to identify “factual” sentences and distinguish them from persuasive ones. At the end they were asked to write a sentence “trying to convince others to agree with you about something that is important to you.” Here is what she wrote (sorry, didn't have time to scan it in her 9-year old writing): 

Chickens are pests.

 I laughed so hard I cried. And then she laughed with me. Good to instill a good sense of self-mockery in your children from an early age. Serves us all well throughout our lives.

Habits...of Another Kind

This post is way overdue but the stars aligned yesterday to remind me. After reading The Power of Habit by Charles Duhigg, I was quite inspired to re-think some of my own habits—as well my children’s (I’ll leave my spouse of things for now J). One of Duhigg's lengthier reflections is on how Target managed to make inroads among pregnant customers. Apparently, new parents are a very interesting group to retailers because they much more open to changing their habits than your average consumer, since their lives have just been totally disrupted (since this is a Mom Blog I feel no need to explain why!)

Anyway, a couple of days ago, Duhigg was on our local NPR station, talking about habits with Dr. Dan Gottlieb and Michael Bain of UPenn on “Voices in the Family”. Part of the discussion centered about how habits evolve. Duhigg’s operating definition of a habit is something we initially do consciously and deliberately and which, after a certain point, we do something routinely and automatically without thinking—Duhigg’s go-to example is backing our car out of our driveway. Initially it requires a lot of attention and focus but after a while it becomes second nature. Our brain makes a neural pathway and when it sees its cue, its starts to go in the direction of habit. What once took a while to figure out becomes a mental short cut.

Why do we do these things? Apparently, we do them mostly for the “dopamine hit” that we get from them. This is easy to see in cases like junk food, drugs, and alcohol—the pleasure center in our brain gets activated and so we reach for the Ben and Jerry’s, even though we know it’s the 4^th time in a row. But food isn’t the only thing that gives that “hit”—it seems like even backing out of our driveway gives a psychic satisfaction that we crave on some level.  The key to unlocking and working with our habits is to identify the cue, the routine, and, especially, the reward. What is it that I get out of habit x that I crave? If I can find a better way of getting that reward, I can change the habit. The goal, then, is to figure out the two ends of the habit loop: the cue and the reward. To break a routine, I need to a) identify the routine b) experiment with rewards c) isolate the cue (the standard five are location, time, emotional state, other people, and immediate preceding action) and d) [drum roll] have a plan.

The mystery to me is how to use this to my benefit. While I have bad habits like anybody, what bothers me most (and those around me) are all the habits I don’t have. Like screwing the tops all the way back on lids (don’t ask) …or turning the lights out before I go to sleep…or…I think I’ll stop here lest I betray too many embarrassing weaknesses…. If I can just find a way to a reward for doing those things I’ll be all set. 

In Praise of Dabbled Things

(I don't want my paint job to look like this but it's lovely nonetheless.....)

The other day I got rather aggravated as I worked on a Home Project. This is not surprising since I have a love-hate relationship with household projects. Love the idea. Hate the actual execution, since I'm lazy and imprecise by nature and it requires ongoing supernatural powers to change me--but which I continue to invoke regularly. Anyway, to be specific: we had gotten the trim in several rooms painted but for financial and family disagreement reasons (the trim had been my idea while my husband preferred keeping it dark), we hadn't done some other adjoining rooms. So--once greater family unity was established on the esthetic end-- I  decided to tackle the trim in my kitchen (including a rather substantial bay window) myself. For a non-precision person like me, it can be a daunting task. As I struggled,  I found myself getting rather annoyed at the half baked way my family often does things. I mean, heck, it would have been so much easier if we had gotten the painters to do the whole thing. I wouldn't be sweating as I primed the window hoping that my nursing infant wouldn't wake up and need me before I'd cleaned the paint off my hands.  Why can't we do things right? I wondered (OK, muttered bitterly) to myself.  Why do we always DABBLE instead of doing things wholesale?

Somehow, luckily, I remembered a couple of things. One was some of the hundred houses or so houses we'd seen while house hunting. (Really, we did see a hundred between our two house hunts in the Philly area. More on that some other time). I remembered how many had clearly done the WHOLE HOUSE in a given period. That period often involved a predilection for thick green shag carpet, mirrored walls and possibly doors, and very bold, very adherent wallpaper. I was open to radical redecorating but I remember sometimes thinking that it would be hard to remove some of the decorating choices entirely from those houses, and that I probably couldn't afford to do so. I--and possibly the houses owners--would have been much better off if they'd done only one room or area at a time. Then they might not have fallen prey to thinking whatever was popular at the time was the way to do everything. They would have done better if they'd dabbled....

I also found myself thinking about Gerard Manley Hopkins' poem Pied Beauty (thank you, 11th grade English!). It's the one where Hopkins gives praise to "dappled things"--freckles and so forth. I love freckles and freckled people but back in Hopkins' era they weren't considered so very pretty. So he was giving thanks for a beauty that many people wouldn't have recognized. He was noticing and loving a loveliness that many hadn't yet come to appreciate.

So maybe there is an upside to all our home's Dabbled Things. Here's to hoping that time and maturity help me recognize their loveliness more fully.

How I Challenged the Universe—and Won

    ...well, maybe sort of.....

One of my favorite family stories concerns some sophisticated praying my sister Jessica did as a young girl. When my mom was pregnant with her fifth child (Jessica was 9), Jess really wanted the baby to be a girl. So she prayed really hard that my mom have a girl. Instead, my brother Mike was born (and yes, she—and I—love him anyway). But when my mom got pregnant again four years later, an older, wiser, Jessica decided that it was time to try some reverse psychology on God. So she prayed that my mom have a boy. And sure enough, Anna came out female. Triumph!

I couldn’t help thinking about that story in my recent attempts to beat the universe at its own game. You, see, I have really bad luck. Not the ”my-life-sucks-everything-always-goes-wrong-and-no-one-loves me” kind of bad luck, just the “I’ve-played-this-game-1,000 times-how-come-I-haven’t-won-yet?” variety.  What makes it stranger is that many, many, times when I play things I really think I’m going to win. Really. I even envision scenarios in my head where people ask me and I have to admit to just having had this sense that this was my lucky day. Only it never is. But that hasn’t stopped me. I’ve entered HGTVs sweepstakes, Parenting.com’s daily giveaway, May Fair Peg Boards—you name it. But nada, scattah, zilch.

That is, until this summer. My husband, you see, has quite good luck. He won a raffle at our church last summer and this summer he won a prize basket at a work event.  Our local pool has been doing a number of new fundraising initiatives this summer and decided to raffle off a number of prize baskets. Simple enough: you buy your tickets and put them in the jar of whichever prizes you’re interested in winning. Easy.  Except that I kept looking at them all and mentally calculating the relationship of my interest in the basket to my likelihood of winning. Spa package—good stuff, but too many people. Free photography session—not so many people but possible hidden costs…So it took considerably longer than trying to decide what to have for dinner at a brand new restaurant on my anniversary. That is, quite a long time. But as I was (finally) filling out my tickets, I had a revelation regarding the self evident truths already established. I’ll call it Corollary A: I have bad luck. My husband has good luck. What if I took this principle and utilized it to my advantage?

So I tested the universe. I filled out half of the tickets with my name and cell number. I filled the other half out with my husband’s name and our home number.  And lo and behold, Colin won, confirmed by a call to our house the next day. And it was a prize basket tailor-made for him—no random toys for the kids or manicures for me. A discounted pool membership and a couple of free swimming lessons.

You may call it luck. I call it working the psychological angle on the universe.  I’ll take it over my bad luck any day.

One Thing I Do Know—Lessons from Joe Paterno’s Statue (and Its Removal)

Years ago, when my husband and I were still living in NY, we went down some familiar highway only to discover it had been renamed for some local politician. I remember my husband asking why we would rename a highway for someone still living. I’ve had reason to come back to that question many times, but lately it’s as clear as day that it’s a bad idea.

Living where I do, the Penn State-Sandusky affair has been especially big news.  Over the course of this year, Joe Paterno has gone from a figure embodying the Penn State Football Powerhouse and fatherly fun to a man representing the triumph of an Old Boys Network over the welfare of children. Earlier this week, the newspapers were ablaze with reactions to the removal of JoePa’s statue from the campus, out of apparent concern that it was an overly divisive symbol (and cynical speculation that it was done to appease the anticipated NCAA sanctions. If the latter, it was a miserable failure).  

I don’t know what I think of Joe Paterno overall, though I’m inclined to think he was a great man, with some serious flaws. But I do know what I think of putting up a statue while a man is still living. It’s a not a good thing to do—for many reasons. First of all—since we usually have the decency to wait until someone is dead-- it makes it seem like the person has already passed.  So a living person gets to pass in front of his statue regularly. Weird.  But more importantly, it tends to make him see himself as larger than life. A famous man, who feels loved by everyone can be easily tempted to arrogance. If we want to keep our leaders great, we need to keep them humble. And putting up statues while they’re alive is temptation to arrogance if ever there was.  If we love our great men—and I hope we do—let’s help them stay that way. Finally, putting up a statue is a testament to a person’s legacy. Presenting that legacy before that person’s death is jumping the gun. We know not to build structures on ‘projected’ inheritances—the market can deliver nasty surprises and so we wait for the real thing.  To do otherwise is presumptuous—and always a bad call.  

Why I Don't Get Manicures (Very Often Anyway...)

So I finally decided to go get a manicure/pedicure last weekend. That might seem like a simple enough thing, but when you’re me, it’s not. The appointment for the mani-pedi (as those who get them often call them) was precipitated by the fact that I had a gift certificate for a salon that’s 5 minutes from my house (on a bad day, with traffic). 

(That's my color, "Beau", third  from left--I think, anyway)

The gift certificate was a Christmas gift, as in, I received it for Christmas last year, but it’s not that simple, see? I used to get my hair done at that salon but it was just too expensive for me and so (much as I liked my stylist), I decided I need to search out cheaper pastures. So I had specifically requested a gift certificate for that salon on my Christmas giftwish list (more on that later…) but I hadn’t specified the extremely exorbitant amount it would have to be lest my family gape in disgust and amazement at what I was asking them to pony up for. So when I got the $60 gift card I thought, Hmmmm….I will have to put on my thinking cap and figure out what to do. Which was followed by months of deliberation, most of which follows the my basic internal debate of whether to pay for goods or experiences, especially when it comes to being “pampered”. A massage sounds awesome. How relaxing. But what do you have to show for it when you get home? So maybe a massage isn’t the way to go. Well then, should I just get a standard, “boring” mani-pedi with this and not spend more (except for the tip)? Or should I get a massage and spend more money? Should I scrimp and save and BEG so I can get my hair done there again and spend even more money? That massage sounds great. Should I get one now while I’m pregnant or wait? A post-partum one?...Which was followed by several emails to family and friends until I finally determined (with my insanely patient and understanding friend Maria) that I would indeed, get a mani-pedi but instead of a regular manicure I’d get a New Improved Gel Manicure.

The excitement of the Gel Manicure will make more sense if you understand that one of the traditional problems I have with manicures is that my annual manicure simply doesn’t last. I *know* that a year is a long time, but it barely even lasts three days most of the time. Some of this I can—and will—blame on the Evil Sick people who make nail polish (much like the Evil People who make women’s stocking deliberately so they will snag on a pew or a desk or even a toilet seat just as you are making your way toward your Big Event).  But I must acknowledge my own part in the matter. To wit: I simply do not know how to be careful with my hands. I mean, they’re my hands! I need to use them! Gloves make me claustrophobic—really! And life is full of challenges—like opening drawers, and scraping those label residues off of things and chopping onions etc. ETC.— I simply cannot be bothered to slow down. So *why* can’t they make a nail polish that is scratch and chip resistant?  Enter the Gel Manicure—a manicure that lasts!

Now, those of you who know nails know that the gel manicure isn’t exactly brand new news. But for people like me who get manicures about once a year, it’s Hot of the Presses. So I got all psyched up for this manicure like no other, especially since I was going to a party later that day and wanted to show off my beautiful nails for once. I arrived at my appointment on time and was greeted by Jee, my assistant. Making the pleasant small talk that is the bane of my salon experience (and analysts would probably tell me was the underlying motivation for my salon-avoidance behavior) , Jee started work on my feet and asked me if I’d been there before. Uh Yes, I said, though not for nails (perhaps it was obvious?). Continuing the small talk, Jee asked me if I had children. Uh Yes, I said, actually I had five. Laughing nervously and anticipating painful conversation for the next hour,  I explained that might have something to do with why I hadn’t been there before. “Five children!” she said. “I know someone with four children, but no one with five. You Catholic?” “Ha ha, yes, I said.” I didn’t think that telling her about the many people I know with MANY MORE children would really help broaden her horizons, just prove to her beyond a shadow of a doubt that a Really Weird Woman had come into her orbit.

The conversation was better than average, but then, I have very low standards. My toenails look great, but of course I managed to bang my hand shortly after the manicure and two days later I cut part of my nail with a knife. I can’t decide if I want them to wear off in a week (5 days and counting as I type) so I can prove my point or whether I really should still hold out hope that I have found the Font of Nail Life and Hope. My sister-- who has 7 kids and an extremely busy schedule—tells me that gel manicures last 2-3 weeks and then “for people like us” they just peel off (for normal people, apparently, getting the gel off is a Big Issue). Which made me wonder--where does my sister find the time to get a gel manicure? Somehow  I imagine the lack of emailing everyone she loves and pestering the bejeezus out of them trying to decide what to do helps her in the time category. I’ll have to text her and ask….

Parenting à la française (per Schwartz)

I’ve been on a French kick recently —and it seems like I’m in good company. I recently finished Karen LeBillon’s French Kids Eat Everything and now I’m reading Bringing Up Bébé. LeBillon’s book has definitely made me think about both my own parenting-food habits and those of our nation at large (i.e. why must we snack all the time?). But the public response to these books (both of which had article-length versions of their contents in major newspapers) has made me think about bigger issues as well. To wit: why are we American parents so interested in different “national” approaches? Last year, the Tiger Mom and “Chinese-style” parenting, this year French-style—pour quoi? 

Coming back to Schwartz’s choice paradoxes (as I so often do!), I think one big reasons is that American parents feel overwhelmed  by the number of choices that confront them as parents. As if having a newborn child weren’t already dramatic enough—we have added all kinds of extra questions about how to approach things. Which I get—heck, I think it’s kind of fun exploring approaches! But it can also be too much. Way, way, too much. And what happens (coming back to Schwartz) when people are overwhelmed by choice? They either a) don’t make choices or b) make bad choices based on easy-to-assess categories and  c) we make choices that we later regret at disproportionate rates) .  When it comes to dealing with your kids, option A isn’t really much of a choice. After all, you have to feed them something, somehow. But in the absence of a really clear underlying approach, most of us end up parenting on the fly. Which would be fine if that meant we were parenting from our hearts and minds. But often, it ends up being by instinct. Child hungry+tired parent=easily obtainable, child-pleasing food choice (i.e. low quality snack food).

In searching for a simple parenting philosophy, we know that our own country offers too many options— enter the foreign approach. It’s simple! It’s clear! Everyone in the [superior nation of your choice] does it! It works! American pragmatism meets our cultural inferiority complex and simplifies the choices in the process. What’s interesting to me is that we realize that we need a more authoritative way to approach our children—we sense that being their friends isn’t going to cut it—for us or them. But we’re not quite sure how to do that yet. So all these books aren’t a simple solution to our national parenting ills. But –I hope—they’re making us think about finding simple approaches to raising healthy, happy, and (dare I say it?) good kids—as well as “above average” ones.  I just hope we avoid the Scylla and Charibdis temptations that there’s either a) a magic bullet out there when it comes to raising perfect kids or b) it doesn’t really matter what you do.  In the meantime, vive la différence!