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Happy Friday, all. I’m sitting here in my kitchen with Hollee, making plans and Excel spreadsheets as we map out the next year of our lives. We have some tidbits of news and commentary for you on our favorite topics: parenting, work and balance. Check them out:
Lessons learned in kindergarten matter
New workplace protections for pumping
Parents, journalists must weigh “research”
I can pretty much make one thing well: risotto. Fortunately, there are endless variations on this particular dish, although I have only a handful of versions I actually use. Making risotto is soothing— I love the rhythm of the stirring, the careful addition of more stock, more wine, a handful of grated cheese at exactly the right moments.
Risotto is also pretty much the only thing I truly enjoy cooking. The rest of the time, I have to admit: cooking is a chore, one I reluctantly take on
when Pete isn’t home to meet our family’s nutritional needs with his infinitely superior culinary skills. I’ve never had the patience for cooking, and I’ve never taken the time to learn much beyond the basics. Yes, I can boil water, roast a chicken and whip up homemade mashed potatoes. But give me anything with more than three or four steps, and I’m both lost and bored.
Funny thing is, I’ve tried to set aside time to learn cooking. I’ve acquired several fabulous Le Creuset pots and pans and any number of cookbooks. I had planned, sort of, to become a great cook. Problem was, I wasn’t motivated by the right things. I never wanted to cook for the joy of cooking — I wanted to do it because, for awhile, I figured that being a good cook would make me a better mom and, yes, a better wife.
I remember hosting a play date when B was a baby, and deciding that I need to whip up an impressive lunch for the other moms. One was a vegetarian, so I did something involving grilled eggplant — I’ll skip the sad details, but the whole thing just stressed me out and left me with a bunch of soggy slices of eggplant when a crisp salad and crusty (bakery bought) bread would have easily sufficed. The preparations made me miserable, especially once I realized that I had no idea how to properly prepare eggplant.
I’ve heard similar tales from other moms. Some women, of course, love to cook. But others, like me, have found that cooking just doesn’t come naturally. And some, like me, have found themselves struggling against gender roles they thought didn’t matter. For me, all it took was a couple of moms at Gymboree extolling the virtues of all-organic, from-scratch meals to make me wish I had a bit more Martha Stewart in me — and then embark on a failed mission to lure my inner Martha to the surface. (I discussed this recently in an interview for Leite’s Culinaria, a cooking web site. The story was about the new 50th anniversary edition of Peg Bracken’s I Hate to Cook Book).
Of course, I didn’t have all that much Martha in me and, eventually, I made my peace with that.
I’m wondering, though: Have you ever felt pressure to be a good cook — or to enjoy it more than you do? — Becky
So I mentioned last Friday that there are all these studies about the relative unhappiness supposedly produced by becoming a parent. A recent article in New York magazine covered this; various others have examined this thesis from various angles (Hollee and I even take it on, briefly, in the last chapter of our book). At the core of many of these debates, of course, are discussions on happiness itself — the difference between happiness and meaningfulness, between happiness and pure joy.
Yes, we all love our children — that’s a given. And, yet, all the studies insist that overall happiness takes a nosedive after children enter the picture — and doesn’t rise to its earlier levels until they leave home. Hollee and I have our own thoughts on this, but today we want to hear from you.
Does parenthood make us happier? Or are we confusing that feeling with something else? What do you make of the assertion that parenthood reduces happiness?
Earlier this month, we headed to my cousin’s farm in downstate Illinois for a reunion of my large extended family. It was the first time I’d seen many of my Beaupre aunts, uncles and cousins since my grandmother’s funeral a few summers ago.
My children were excited to see my brother’s toddler, V — their only first cousin, a child they rarely go more than a few months without seeing — plus a whole host of second cousins, some of whom they’d only recently met, some they’d never met.
We were thrilled to be out of Chicago for the weekend, stretching our legs and spirits on the wide expanse of my cousin’s farm. As much as we love urban living, it was a luxury to find ourselves enveloped in the smells and sounds of the country — the distant rumble of the El train replaced by the soft, rhythmic whir of the ceiling fan on my cousin’s porch, that pungent city smell (exhaust fumes mixed with the wafting smells from local bakeries or restaurants) replaced by the smell of horses and nature. The breeze feels different when it blows through wide swaths of grass instead of along the asphalt.
The girls spent the day running barefoot through the yard, swimming with their cousins and reveling in the company of their favorite animals (B loves cats and K loves horses). At one point, I felt a ripple of pure bliss as I took in the scene: my brother, Peter, playing guitar on the porch while one of my cousins and her oldest daughter sang along; B sprawled contently against the house, an entire litter of kittens climbing over her, save the one who was asleep in my lap; K down in in the barn, feeding a weeks-old foal; four generations of extended family laughing and chatting. 
At one point, K rode through the yard on a horse; at another point, Pete and the girls were hanging off a tractor. There were hikes to a waterfall on my cousin’s property, platters of corn and shrimp and brats, a heartfelt dinner prayer that remembered a deeply missed grandmother, a volleyball game and fireworks as the sun sank into the horizon. I circled the farm, catching up with the aunts and uncles and cousins that I’d gone far too long without seeing.
I was struck by how nice it felt to connect. I’d been so excited about my day away from the city, and excited to see everyone — but I’d worried that too many years had passed without seeing folks. But that’s the beauty of family: many of those bonds were already in place, formed through shared history and blood. My cousins and I laughed over shared memories: Remember that time we were all at Grandma’s and you taught me me to cheerlead? Remember playing in her attic?
Late that night, back in our hotel, I couldn’t sleep and wound up dragging my sister-in-law Anya out of her room so we could sit up in our pajamas until the wee hours of the morning, drinking milkshakes and taking in the last pieces of the day. The next morning, Pete and the girls and I returned to the farm to say our goodbyes and retrieve our dustball of a souvenir (the tiny gray kitten who’d napped in my lap as my brother played guitar). Hugs were exchanged, plans were made to see each other soon.
The buzz of happiness followed us all the way back to Chicago.
In this summer of seeking re-balance, I couldn’t have asked for a better way to experience it: A day on a farm, surrounded by family. — Becky
Please tell us: What experiences have made you feel unexpectedly connected, peaceful and centered?
Happy Friday, folks. Speaking of happy, Hollee and I have been intrigued by the wealth of academic research showing that parenthood makes people less happy. Funny but not surprising: The data shows this over and over — and yet parents tend to disagree with the finding. Parenting, many of us say, fills us with joy. (Except, you know, when we’re counting silently to 10 to keep ourselves from screaming in frustration). Our first link from New York magazine explores this idea. Take a look: I’d like to talk about parenting and happiness some more next week.
In the meantime, Hollee and I wish you all much happiness this weekend. Enjoy. — Becky
Meeting working moms in Israel
More choosing to skip motherhood
Want mortgage? Don’t get pregnant
Today we welcome Chicago mom Emily Haite, who tells how liberating it can be to (temporarily) leave her busy urban lifestyle behind and simply do … nothing. — Becky
Becky e-mailed me last week to ask if I would be willing to be a guest writer for this blog. She and Hollee have been focusing lately on gratitude and happiness, and she wanted to hear from someone who could write about the fine art of doing nothing. I told her I’d be happy to, when I returned to Chicago.
Emily's daughter doing "nothing"
I was in Michigan at our family cottage and happened to be working really hard at doing nothing.
I would not have been able to write from there, even if I had wanted to. There is no computer at the cottage, unless we bring my husband’s. There’s no DSL, no cable and pretty bad cell phone reception. The inability to be “plugged in” makes it so much easier to do nothing, except “plug into” my family.
When I am at home I fill my days with a part-time job, many volunteer projects, taking the kids to multiple sport practices (some of which I help coach) and the other normal daily distractions (cooking, cleaning, shopping, etc). When I am at the cottage, we take a break from all of that.
I rarely bring any work with me. The kids participate in sports: swimming, sailing, tubing, skiing, fishing and turtle hunting. I do a little coaching — helping my daughter get up on water skis, getting a fish unhooked after fishing with my mom for the first time, and helping my son perfect his underwater sommersault (we still have to work on his underwater handstands).
Of course, I do have to deal with the daily distractions of cooking and cleaning, but we have casual meals at night, and the kids have learned how to fend for themselves during the day. We have no dishwasher, so the kids have to help with the washing, rinsing, drying and putting away of the dishes. We all work together as a family and I teach them the corny songs that my grandfather taught me at that same sink.
When I am at the cottage, I rarely get in the car. If I do leave the beach, I walk, swim, paddle or sail. Frankly, we rarely get dressed — we spend most of the days in our swimsuits.
Emily's son doing "nothing"
The freedom to not have to go anywhere or do anything is so liberating. I don’t have to yell at the kids to hurry up, because we have no place to go. We sleep late (something my youngest never does at home); we eat when we are hungry and we go to bed when we are tired.
The best thing about being at the cottage is really “being” there for the kids and for my husband. When my daughter says, “Let’s go turtle catching!” or my son says, “Let’s swim to the raft!” I can respond immediately and join in the fun (unless, of course, I am in the last chapter of a trashy novel – another “do nothing” activity I allow myself to indulge in when I’m there). We have nightly family time of playing games or roasting marshmallows.
I admit, there have been times when I’ve worried about our lifestyle there. This typically happens when we have guests come visit, and I worry that we have to return to normal eating schedules (we usually don’t eat until 8 p.m.) and my normal cleaning standards (sometimes it’s hard to see through the front porch windows).
But, the sound of the back porch screen door slamming shut as the kids run off to explore, or the sight of my husband napping in the hammock usually snaps me back into remembering that people come to the cottage to do nothing. And if they have a problem with that, they can feel free to clean off some cobwebs or wash the windows.
Please tell us: How do YOU do nothing?
This time, we have a "baby" who has no trouble sleeping ...
So, as long as we’re talking sleep this week, we have a question about helping our children learn good sleep habits. I have a friend who is in those early motherhood days (the ones I both remember so fondly and try so hard to block out). She just had her second baby, and she’s struggling to meet all his needs and deal with night waking from her toddler. She’s debating: let him cry it out (which breaks her heart), or respond immediately each time he wakes (even though that seems to teach him to keep waking up). — Becky
How did you teach your children and babies good sleep habits? Are any of you still struggling? Please talk back — we know at least one mom who would love some advice!
My goal for the week is to, well, have fewer goals. Sort of. I vow to do less and sleep more.
It’s an experiment: How will I feel if I actually get enough sleep?
It’s a bit of a bold move on my part. I routinely sacrifice shut-eye when I have a deadline to meet and, in the case of our recent round of book edits, I sacrificed quite a bit. I did all my work at night so I could preserve my time with the girls during the day. We’ve had a lot going on — you know, important stuff, like having water slide races at the pool and playing with our new kitten and practicing yoga together.
I often give these sorts of things up for work, but not this summer. That’s been my pledge and I’m sticking to it. So, when Hollee and I were faced with an impending deadline for book edits, I chose to sacrifice sleep. Every night for a little more than two weeks, I started my work when the kids went to bed (or Pete came home from work), and wrapped up in the wee hours. It wasn’t bad — I’m a night person, and I love the solitude of writing and thinking when the house is still and I’m alone in my office with the words on my screen.
But once I finished my work every night, I found that I needed to wind down a bit, so I’d read. Long story short, now I’m tired. (Which isn’t anything new — I often do this, staying up late working or reading or just doing stuff that need needs doing). Don’t get me wrong: I am not complaining. I made the choice to work all night instead of getting a babysitter all day — and I stand by that choice. I’d make it again.
But I also recognize that I need to allow my body a chance to rest, especially now that the deadline has passed. Gretchen Rubin wrote about this in the book Hollee and I keep quoting, The Happiness Project.
She pointed out how so many people don’t get enough sleep — and how many people crave more of it. ”Sleep is the new sex,” she said, quoting a friend of hers. She also quoted some studies that were interesting (though not terribly surprising):
Millions of people fail to get the recommended seven to eight hours of sleep a night, and one study revealed that along with tight work deadlines, a bad night’s sleep was one of the top two factors that upset people’s daily moods. Another study suggested that getting one extra hour of sleep each night would do more for a person’s happiness than getting a $60,000 raise …
So, that’s my goal this week. More sleep. Maybe even a daytime nap or two thrown in. I’m striving for a minimum of eight hours a night — more if I can swing it. Which, I guess, means going to bed on time. I tend to feel like I should be getting stuff done at night, but, you know, sleeping is doing something. Something I think my body probably needs.
I’ll let you know how it goes. — Becky
In the meantime, please tell us: What kind of sleeper are you? Do you get enough?
Another hot week, a new pet for the Gillespies, another big deadline — all in the past now. Phew.
Viper is also looking forward to some R&R...
I’m looking forward to doing a whole lot of nothing this weekend. Hope you have a great one — and enjoy our five bites of work/life and parenting news! –Hollee
Good Parents and Toxic Children
Parents Face Peer Pressure, Too
Is the American Family Doomed?
Hate Parenting? Maybe It’s You
Today we are pleased to welcome Priscilla Rodd, who shares the story of her unconventional childhood — and how she’s passing on the lessons she cherished to her sons and daughter. Thanks, Cilla! –Hollee
I’m the child of an era, a product of the hippie homesteader movement of the 1960’s.
Priscilla's parents, circa 1973
My father paid the midwife $50 and three chickens for my safe delivery – truly. I spent my childhood without television, video games or toilets. My mother believed in free range children, so I didn’t attend public school until sixth grade. Striking choices, and yet, our lifestyle flourished largely because of other families sharing and also learning to farm in West Virginia hollers.
My husband and I are raising three kids at a time when the cost of land prevents us from acquiring anything close to the forty-eight acres that I grew up exploring. I wish we could raise pigs, remembering how much I liked slapping their rumps and hugging their solid, prickly necks. I carry a great nostalgia for our many forts, tree houses, and shabby sheds given over to play. I wish for these things and for songs like “We Shall Overcome.”
On the other hand, I’d hoped to provide my kids with easier access to families who valued education and dreams – most hippies moved back to town before my folks, leaving me and my siblings without real peers. I wanted my children to have the choice to be normal. I am not an earth mother, and I do not have the patience to be my kids’ primary educator.
Priscilla and her family
Like many parents, I walk a tightrope. How do we hold onto instilled values but accept enough change to allow our sons and daughter to experience their society at present?
My husband and I bought a Gamecube last winter, resigning ourselves to video games but at a modest price and avoiding the newest game frenzy. We watch plenty of TV but only on VHS tapes and DVDs since we have no television reception and want to avoid the commercials. I’m resisting the asked-for Nintendo DS.
In our neighborhood, we explore the rusting railroad tracks. I walk with my children in rainstorms and let them sit in the water gushing along the curbs of our street. I encourage them to eat lemon grass and wild clover growing next to the sidewalks. I try to keep exploration alive.
My choices are not better; I see the appeal of a well-tended development. But I cherish the best parts of my unconventional childhood, as most parents do, and struggle to pass them on to my children in these dramatically different times.
Novelist and blogger Priscilla Rodd is the author of Surviving Mae West. She lives with her husband and three kids in the Eastern Panhandle of West Virginia.
