Happy Boxing Day! And…
MISSION ACCOMPLISHED! After 10 (yes, 10) years of plugging away, an entire decade of campaigning, a demanding schedule that not even Colbert could sustain, I’m elated to say that Google reported “Boxing Day” as today’s “hottest search” in the US. While I’m not entirely clear on what “hottest search” represents, (note: DO NOT Google “hottest search”) I can only assume it means that we’ve won dear friends, we’ve won. Boxing Day is officially a thing. So while I’m tempted to drop the mic (insert: I’m lazy/I’d rather be sleeping), what would today be for you if not a day to skim through this holiday letter? So read on! You can even. Or don’t. I’ve heard that there’s a shrimp sale at the Crab Crib…
It’s only fitting that on this Boxing Day I am surrounded by boxes. Yes, we are moving yet again – this time to a 94-year-old house in Northeast Portland. Part of the plan? Mmm, nope. But so far, so good. We moved home last year thinking Portland was a quick pit stop en route to our next international adventure. Passport photos were posed for, global entry cards were secured, Visas were in the works. But it all came to an abrupt halt when our then 4-month-old unequivocally let us know that he would have none of it. We attempt to laugh about schlepping him around Asia amid his tantrum-throwing, projectile-vomiting rage, but it’s still too soon. We’d rather just Waterworld it (i.e. block it out and pretend it never happened). So like a sofa in a stairwell, we pivoted. My employer was exceptionally understanding and accommodating, and Jonny’s employer practically threw a party (as did both sets of grandparents). Are we done living abroad? Hopefully not. That chapter is certainly not closed in either of our hearts. For now though, we are Portlanders; actively reacquainting ourselves with a town we left 8ish years ago, and trying not to be the obnoxious couple that uses words like mobile instead of cell, flat instead of apartment, holiday instead of vacation, and public transport instead of anything that pretentious.
It is impossible to tie up our time living abroad with a nice little Boxing Day bow, or to explain just how challenging our year back in the states as new parents has been (visual aid: it’s like we were treading water and someone threw us a baby) but I can say that both experiences share some similarities. For example:
- You live on adrenaline. Your senses sharpen, your improvisation skills are unmatched and you rely on your gut more than you ever thought possible (or safe). You constantly walk the fine line of having the time of your life and crying in the shower from sheer terror.
- You are inundated with a new set of norms, rules, and lexicon and you quickly decide which you’ll religiously abide by and which you’ll blatantly ignore. I stole this from last year’s pregnancy comparison, so it works there too for those keeping score.
- You have at least two of everything. Two public transportation passes, two SIM cards, and two types of foreign currency in your wallet, two baby fingernail clippers, two binkies, and two onesies in the diaper bag. Two is a minimum of all the important things.
- You generally have no clue what is going on, but you have mastered the ability to fake it ‘til you make it. Added bonus: you can simultaneously give “expert” advice. Often unsolicited.
- You feel nostalgic when you least expect it. Being homesick for silly things, like the unironic amount of American flags currently flying in your hometown, strikes the same chord as missing that special smell only a newborn has. They are both as weird as they are real.
- You lack the words to describe how incredible the experience is. Which is good, because no one wants to talk about it unless they have experienced it themselves.
Since you’ve heard me wax lyrical about the nuances of life abroad in editions past, let me take this moment to get real about parenthood. First off, I’m convinced that parents have selective memory loss. Because while yes, it is incredibly rewarding, this beautiful little human we chose to create was essentially the destruction of everything we previously held dear (and still miss). Sleep? Gone. Romance? Forget it. Social life? Ha. Scuba diving? Skiing? Travel in general? Maybe you’ll read about those again in Boxing Day #20. I can only assume you’re up to your ears in Facebook posts with titles like “10 Things You Wish Parents/Non Parents Would Stop Saying” but I swear if one more parent tries to relate by assuming I ascribe to the belief that I didn’t know what real love was before my son was born, I will spiral into a tizzy the likes of Owen in Asia and throw a set of side-eyes that unmistakably express: “YES! MY LIFE DID HAVE JOY AND MEANING AND LOVE BEFORE MY CHILD WAS BORN! DID YOU FOLLOW ME ON INSTAGRAM?!” And yet all this said, I’d choose to do it all again. Because my kid is awesome. And so painfully hard. And I love him to bits. There’s no other way to say it so please pardon my French – parenting is some crazy shit.
The problem with these assumptions and presupposed rules is that parenting is not, nor should it be a one-size-fits-all experience. I’m just an armchair ethnographer, but I can safely say that Moms and Dads have been doing this for a long time and that even today, they do it differently based on where they live. For example, in Denmark, it’s completely normal to see infants alone in their prams outside of shops or restaurants while parents are inside, and in Tokyo, it’s not strange to see six and seven-year-olds riding the subway alone. Want more? Of course you do. Bedtime in Spain isn’t until after 11pm so that kids can have the social experience of participating in family life. The male and female roles are often reversed among the Aka tribe in central Africa, all the way down to suckling. Seriously. In both France and India, kids immediately eat the same sophisticated, complex, and/or spicy dishes mom and dad eat; the idea of a separate kids menu is not only foreign but repulsive. My colleague in Copenhagen explained that, for health reasons, it’s important to bundle up your newborn and let him take daily naps outside in the fresh air, even (especially?) when it’s snowing.
Global parenting trends are fascinating, but what really blows my mind is how parents around the world describe their children. This article does a better job than I have room for here (plus bar graphs!), but to paraphrase, Americans are more likely to call their children “intelligent” and “advanced” while other countries name qualities like happiness and balance. We obsess over our babies’ enrichment while Australian Mums obsess over their bubs’ easiness. I’m not saying one is right or wrong, and I can confirm that Owen is not currently parked on the sidewalk outside of the coffee shop I am sitting in, but I do believe it is foolish to parent-shame others based on cultural notions of what is “right.” And I do think it’s downright ridiculous to shame those who choose to not to have children, or assume that they don’t experience a form of love or completeness that us parents bask in on this side of the fence. And I never use the word ridiculous lightly.
So now let me take a moment to get real about my kid. He’s currently going through a lovable, happy phase, but that wasn’t always the case. In fact, the first half of his now 10-month life, he was grouchy, persnickety and demanding. There were many words I used to describe him, but “easy” wasn’t even in the outermost perimeter. His stubbornness all stemmed from one thing: he hated being immobile. Unless we were walking, bouncing, driving, or otherwise propelling him from point A to point B, he would kindly let you know that he was displeased. By screaming. This all changed the moment he discovered he could slide himself across the floor with a fancy maneuver we dubbed the penguin. Which turned to crawling, then to pulling himself up, and most recently, to walking. The little dude wants to move, and his mood has only bettered with each development.
But when he was the most frustrated, in the tender moments of each meltdown, I desperately wished I could communicate just how precious this fleeting phase of his life is. Everything is provided for him. He is warm, and safe, and loved. I wanted him to know that his future would bring endless opportunities of exploration and movement and growth, and that it is coming at him faster than a crash of rhinos, so he needs to slow his roll and enjoy the ride. But obvious language development issues aside, how could I expect Owen to understand advice I myself have trouble comprehending? How often do I hustle in a frustrated frenzy though moments I deem unimportant or pedestrian, only to miss them when they are gone? If I’m being honest, the answer is more often than not. It took seeing my son replicate behavior I know all too well to realize just how precious these outwardly dull phases are, and how inwardly rich and lasting they can be.
While we are all in different phases of our lives, and while we have all curated our own collections of norms, expectations and beliefs, the common thread among us all is that every chapter is short-lived. Relationships evolve. Babies grow. Jobs end. Addresses change. Our favorite podcasts conclude. (Why Jay, why? What are you hiding? BAH!) And all the while, the next phase of our lives is coming at us like a crash of rhinos whether we’re ready or not.
So here it is – 2014’s Boxing Day reflection is to be still and soak up this moment like you would a Bath & Body Works fizzy peach bath bomb. (If you’re in the bath right now, you’re probably feeling incredibly smug. And cold.) Here’s to enjoying the moment, regardless of how pedestrian or spine-tingling it may be. To appreciating all the people and the food and the ‘normals’ that currently surround you. Because they will all change whether you want them to or not. And finally, here’s to listening to Eleanor Roosevelt and doing at least one thing every day that scares you.
Thank you for providing me with so many of my favorite ‘normals’ over the years. Wishing you and yours a happy, balanced, and intellectually advanced 2015. Watch out for those rhinos.
