Posts Tagged Under Georgie Craig
Everybody Into the Pool!
I went for a three-day summer jaunt to Calistoga this past week. But instead of lounging in a mud bath and being massaged, I spent my time in the pool with two eight-year-olds, my daughter, Miranda, and her good friend, Marlena.
My sister, Kathy, rounded out our little family. It wasn’t a true nuclear family, more of an extended one, auntie, mommy, daughter, and friend. But we had a good time watching movies in the room, eating cupcakes for breakfast, not setting eyes on a vegetable or anything green. I even conveniently forgot everything on my “must-do” list.
It was as close to a wild weekend as I get traveling with my daughter. My sister, Kathy, is a firm believer in being in the moment. This means whatever the girls want, they get. Our bedtime routine includes eating huge bowls of vanilla and chocolate chip cookie dough ice cream in bed while watching a “Harry Potter,” movie.
“But,” the guilty mother part of me says, “what about brushing your teeth?” To which the rest of my family looks bored, yawns and goes to sleep, at midnight. Continue… »
By adminListening to Children’s View of Love
I drive my daughter, Miranda, to camp in the morning along with her best friend. I’ve been doing it most of the summer. With a little pal in the back seat, my daughter doesn’t demand my attention. So, I turn the radio on and listen to my NPR programs. That is until the radio announcer started talking about dying children in Iraq, and I quickly shut it off.
And quickly tune in to what my daughter was saying to her friend.
“Diana and Jeff are in love. I saw the love at the party.” My daughter’s very serious tone drew my attention like a laser to the back seat. I slowed down and angled my head so I could hear more clearly.
“Yeah, sure,” Her friend said in an equally serious tone. “They’re boyfriend and girlfriend. I saw the love too.”
By adminEverything Has its Place
My stomach was reeling from a mixture of too much Chardonnay and too much pumpkin pie, when I realized there’s no room in my living room for a Christmas tree.
I had to have a tree, my mother was coming for the holiday and she was bringing presents. A tree was the necessary showcase for her beautifully wrapped gifts. And what of my daughter? Miranda couldn’t be the only one in her public school with no tree.
I slowly spun around the room looking for what furniture we might tuck into the garage until the relatives leave. There’s a couch, a chair, a coffee table, a bookshelf, all necessary for social and familial functions.
By adminTakeout Preserves Family Life
Some afternoons when I drive my car into the garage after taking my daughter to swimming, ballet or acting class, the last thing I want to do is cook.
Usually, boiling water seems like climbing Mount Everest. But since we’re not in the income bracket to afford a cook, or a Sherpa, or even delivery — I fall back on takeout.
Takeout is to me what a housecleaner is to other, neater, more obsessive women: a luxury that keeps me from going insane.
By adminWhy Mothers Should Take Xanax Before Their Next Play Dates
Play dates make me nervous. I’m thinking about asking my doctor for anti-anxiety meds before I go on the next one.
It wasn’t always this way.
My daughter has been having play dates for awhile but before kindergarten they were limited to a close group of preschool friends. These were friends whose houses could be counted on to be messy and not very stylish. Now that I’ve made it to kindergarten, my daughter’s play dates have expanded to people I know very little and who have a sense of style.
By adminMy Husband, the Father I Never Had
I watched my husband, Keith, brush the hair away from my five-year-old daughter’s forehead last night as he read her Pirate ABCs. His voice growled as he did his best Johnny Depp impression. Miranda nestled next to his chest, looked up at him, smiled and snuggled closer.
I walked out of the room, tears welling in my eyes. My dad never read me a bedtime story. Not once. That wasn’t our bedtime ritual. Even though I was only six, I remember it clearly.
You see, Lyle Dennison didn’t read to his kids. He he was too busy being an Oakland cop. And when the job had been too much for him, he was busy hoisting a few Manhattans at the neighborhood tavern.
By adminWhen You Have Kids, You’ve Gotta Have Friends
I woke up last Thursday planning on taking my five-year-old daughter to school and then running a host of errands. As many spiritual teachers have said, “The universe laughs when you make plans.”
My plan was shattered as my stomach lurched and I ran to the bathroom beginning a day-long devotion to the porcelain god.
The stomach flu had hit me with a vengeance. No warning, just a seven-thirty a.m. reminder that I am not in control of my own life. I staggered back to bed and croaked at Keith, my husband, “You have to take Miranda to school.”
By adminTakeout
Some afternoons when I drive my car into the garage after taking my daughter to swimming, ballet or acting class, the last thing I want to do is cook.
Usually, boiling water seems like climbing Mount Everest. But since we’re not in the income bracket to afford a cook, or a Sherpa, or even delivery — I fall back on takeout.
Takeout is to me what a housecleaner is to other, neater, more obsessive women: a luxury that keeps me from going insane. It has become a want that is now a need. It truly is a service that prevents me from appearing on “Snapped,” the lovely TV show that “focuses on average women, who snap and kill or arrange for their husbands to be killed.”
By adminSummer Swiftly Passing
Summer is half over and the many moments I had planned for my daughter and I to have quality time together have not happened. Guilt is bearing down me as inexorably as autumn and the beginning of school.
When her kindergarten “Moving On” ceremony had ended, I had visions of us taking walks, having deep talks and reading lots of books, just the two of us. But so far those moments have been fleeting. What with camps and trips, our days have been full of movement and separation.
Not that it’s all bad. Miranda loves camp and I get to get stuff done. Projects that languished during the school year are being tackled. Old storage containers are being opened and shredding continues apace. Space is appearing in the garage. Writing, reading, and outlines for an improvisation class I want to teach are all coming to fruition.
By adminWipe or Not Wipe?
I hear her voice ringing clearly, stridently, as I bread chicken for dinner.
“Mommeeee, I need you. Now.”
There’s resignation in my voice, capitulation even, as I shout back, “What’s wrong? I’m making dinner, sweetie.” For I know full well what’s coming, but as I roll the chicken in bread crumbs, I silently pray that this time I’m wrong.
“Mommeee, please, I need you to wipe my butt.” There it is, the b word, winging its way down the hall to me.
By admin
