Spoiled Only Child

A day in the life

This was written two days ago. Feeling better now, but will share anyway...

Here's how things feel right now.

I wake up with a feeling of dread about everything I need to get done.

I get Mia to school, and then spend the next six hours wrestling with the many fears and stresses that surround my work. This wrestling takes up all my time, and means that I get precious little actual work done, which makes me hate myself. I end up walking to school to pick up Mia with all the things I didn't get done swirling in my head.

I pick her up and immediately a feeling of heaviness descends upon me. I love her and she is in a sweet and enthusiastic stage right now. But still, being with her is work. On the five minute walk home, she peppers me with requests. Can she have candy? Can we do an art project? Can we go to a museum? Can we go swimming? The heaviness increases.

Every day, I have to coach her through homework and piano practice, and every day she resists it and needs to be reminded of the same things over and over and over. I get frustrated and pissy, which isn't helping.

When we're finally done, we usually do some activity or another. Whatever we do, I'm usually feeling rushed and stressed about the many things that still need to get done that night, and the ever-increasing mess in the house. I cajole her into going with me to walk the dog. I make dinner. I sit down to eat for maybe 10, 15 minutes and get asked to get up (to get her milk, to get her dessert, to get more this or that or the other thing) maybe two or three times.

By the end of the night, I hear myself talking to her and cringe. I'm constantly ordering her from here to there, telling her we need to hurry up, complaining about her messes.

I don't want to be that mom who bitches and moans about the mess each activity will make. But at the same time, her messes are immense and never-ending, and she is horrible at cleaning them up. And I am out of time and energy and patience for cleaning them all up for her. Our house threatens, every minute, to tip from "cluttered" to "squalor."

And then, before I know it, it's time to coach her through shower and teeth brushing and stories, and deal with 10 or 12 more requests for random things and her myriad delaying tactics.
And then she is finally in bed, and I have a bunch of messes to clean up.

This isn't an accurate picture. For at least part of this time, Mr. SOC is here to help. Sometimes we do fun things, we laugh or dance or take a leisurely trip to the park or go out to eat.

But what remains constant is the requests, the messes, the intense coaching needed to get her through the most routine activities. And I don't know if it's my emotional state, my stress over my job bleeding into my family life, or just that kids are a pain in the ass, but it wears me down. And some days, like today, it defeats me.

I love her, I love her not

I'd been so looking forward to this summer of more time away from Mia. I imagined my long leisurely days of full-time childcare, and all the me-time I'd have. The leisurely trips to the gym, the long meditation sessions, the time to read books and get my work done without pressure. Instead, I've spent much of this time missing Mia. Feeling lost and disoriented, wasting too much time on the computer, feeling guilty about not getting enough work done, obsessing over my to-do list and being resentful about spending so much time in this house. I've been reading blogs written by moms who are planning no end of wholesome summer activities, who are so looking forward to these leisurely days to explore and create with their children. And I'm thinking, that's what I should be doing. Not paying for summer camp so I can spend more time running errands and procrastinating on the internet.

So, in the time we have together, I've been rushing around trying to do special activities with Mia. Art projects and neighborhood hikes and trips to the pool. But there is one little problem with my special mother-daughter bonding time. It's that my kid is an evil little monster. Mia seems to be going through a Phase right now. It's been going on for a few months now, and I sincerely hope that it's almost over. It involves a lot of arguing and complaining and meltdowns and nasty, sarcastic comments and refusals to apologize. She turns pretty much everything I try to do with her into a fight. I try to take her to the pool and she has a meltdown about getting her shoes on, or over who has to carry the swim noodle. I take her on an evening walk, at her request, and she spends the whole time complaining about how itchy she is, or how her shoes are uncomfortable, or insisting on holding my hand and then yanking down on it in a way that wrenches my back, then yelling at me for holding too tight ... no, too loose ... no, now too tight. Today, she asked to go to the dog park and insisted on sitting in my lap while the dog played. But she spent most of the time complaining that my head was in the wrong spot, pushing me and jabbing me with her elbows, saying she couldn't get comfortable and yet refusing to sit in her own damned chair.

So I seem to be trapped in a cycle of desperately missing my child and feeling that I am wasting my life on meaningless child-free activities, and then being with my child and feeling either sad or full of rage about the way she is acting. This is not a good cycle, so I think I'll make a little plan.

I have another week of being mostly child-free, due to grandparents and a beach trip with a friend. I promise to spend that time taking leisurely trips to the gym, meditating, reading a good novel, writing and remembering how nice it is to have some space from my demanding and, let's face it, bratty child. I also vow to step away from the computer whenever possible. And then, next Thursday, I begin a week and a half of family vacation. In that time, I vow to be fully present with my child. Not to wish it were different, or be disappointed when she doesn't act the way I'd hoped. Just to be there with my child in the most fundamental way, helping her make her way in this big, confusing world.

Diary of a bad morning

We had a couple snow days there, which totally threw me off my regular posting schedule. But I am back.

So, yesterday the schools had a two-hour delay, and Mia and I had a lovely morning together. We worked on her homework book, had a leisurely breakfast, and then she played while I took a shower. Everything was perfect until we walked out to the car to drive to school. It's a two-minute drive and we had 15 minutes to spare. But I quickly realized that my car was covered in about a half an inch of ice, and the driveway was also covered in ice, making everything more complicated. I had to search for an ice scraper while trying not to fall on my ass, and after finally finding it, I realized it was useless. The ice was so thick that my scraper just scratched pathetically over the surface. I tried chipping it away, but realized  I would have to chip the stuff away one square inch at a time. It was hopeless. We would have to walk.

But Mia was not on board with this new plan. She wailed that she wanted to listen to her music in the car, so I told her to bring her portable CD player and listen on headphones while we walked. Huge mistake. She spent the walk complaining and crying that she couldn't hear, trying in vain to adjust her headphones correctly while she walked painfully slow. She asked me to carry the player, and then began willfully walking in bizarre patterns, wrapping the headphone cord around telephone poles and signs. It was bitter cold, and neither of us was wearing appropriate clothes for the trek. In between headphone problems, Mia would cry, "I'm cold," as her little hands turned pink from the icy wind. I was so stressed and frustrated that I grabbed the headphones from her head and confiscated the music. She howled hysterically the rest of the way, and I finally walked into school late with a crying child.

It's amazing how quickly things can go from fine to disastrous with a little kid. If you are not at your best, they will push every button and amplify your shortcomings by 1,000 percent. If you are late and just want to hurry up and get where you're going, they will dawdle and complain and have a crisis over zipping their jacket, then refuse to let you put on their hat and mittens, and then complain that they are cold (but still refuse the hat and mittens). And you will go from slightly stressed and hurried to a raging, raving lunatic who is ripping the headphones from your child's head, shouting "Give them to me!" while she screams and the neighbors look on in horror.

I was spent for the rest of the day after that. I stared at the computer for hours, but couldn't do any work. I ended up walking around Whole Foods just for the comfort of it. All the way until bedtime, I could do nothing but the bare minimum. But now it is morning again, and I have another day to try and do better.

The attack of the mutant bacteria

There have been a few times since Mia was born when I've felt like parenting required more than I had to give. Most notably, when my baby wouldn't sleep for a month. Right now is another one of those times.

Two nights ago, we discovered a boil on Mia's skin. While the lab results haven't come back yet, we are all but sure it is MRSA (staph that is resistant to common antibiotics). This marks the fourth MRSA infection in our house since the beginning of June, but the first one for Mia. It feels like we are under attack. The infections are extremely painful and take a while to go away. They require super-strong antibiotics, which caused an allergic reaction in me, and incredibly careful wound care to avoid spreading the infection. And if we thought they were miserable before, when the adults were getting them, having to deal with one on a 4-year-old has brought a whole new meaning to misery.

Mia has to soak in a bath with antibacterial soap twice a day, then we must apply ointment and a bandage — all while she makes things difficult and time-consuming in any way possible. She also must take a large dose of liquid antibiotics twice a day, antibiotics that she hates the taste of. All three doses so far have involved prolonged bouts of delaying, crying, gagging, spitting and screaming (from Mia) and near emotional breakdown (me and Mr. SOC).

In addition to all that, the doctor wants us to try and cleanse our house of MRSA bacteria. She told me a string of horror stories of MRSA "going crazy" on families to encourage me to do this. This process requires that all members of the household shower daily with special soap and swab our noses with anti-bacterial ointment twice a day. All surfaces are to be wiped with Clorox. All laundry washed in hot water. Anything that makes contact with Mia must be immediately washed--towels, clothes, the bathtub, the toilet. I'm looking around at all the things in my house that could be harboring MRSA: the dozens of blankets Mia plays with, the throws and pillows on our couch, the quilts on our beds, the razors and scrubbers in the shower, the light switches and door handles, the phones, the handles on all the cabinets. I feel so incredibly overwhelmed and hopeless.

I feel scared at the prospect of living in a world where we are plagued by painful boils caused by mutant bacteria. This stuff can be anywhere--in the pool, in our houses, on our skin, in our kids' schools, in the gym. And how are we responding? We're pumping ourselves full of more, stronger, antibiotics, and using antibacterial agents that will likely create more resistant bacteria. But what's the alternative? To let this stuff "go crazy" on my house?

And then I imagine 17 more doses of Mia's antibiotics. Seventeen more sessions of her crying and gagging while we beg and demand and reason and threaten and yell and are late for work and losing our minds — and worried that if we don't get enough of this stuff in her, she will end up hospitalized. And wondering when, and on who, the next infection will erupt. I just don't know how we're going to make it to the other side of this one. And yet, I'm sure we will.

Happy list

I have three minutes to type. I am late getting back here with some non-whiny words, but better late than never. Some good things:

• Spring afternoons at the park. Spent a lovely afternoon at the park with Mia today. It was another resplendent sunny day, and we explored a funky little playground we had never been to before. We were the only ones there, and Mia happily created a pretend world where the play structures were houses and apartments. The image of her on the hillside picking a few of the millions of blooming buttercups is one I hope I'll always remember. Also had a poop emergency, which necessitated Mia's first poop in the woods. I wiped her butt with leaves. What an adventure.
• Swimming lessons. Mia is in swimming lessons, and she is so advanced that they put her in the group for the top swimmers. She's only had two lessons and she's already doing all the stuff she had become afraid of over the winter, like swimming independently, putting her head under water and jumping off the side. I love seeing her succeed.
• Dandelions. For years, I have seen dandelions as ugly weeds that would be better off dead. That is how I was taught to see them. And then I showed Mia how to blow the fuzzy dandelions and make wishes. Now, she exclaims with delight every time she sees "a dandelion!" She has picked dozens, maybe hundreds of them this spring. We have made too many wishes to count. Have you ever examined that fuzzy globe really closely or watched the seeds parachuting on the breeze? A dandelion is perfect, a whole universe unto itself, a treasure. Mia knows that without having to be taught.
• Great neighbors. We had an impromptu cookout with a few of our neighbors this weekend. I set up a kids table on the lawn, and the three girls ate dinner out there while the grownups sat on the porch laughing and drinking beer. Then, we ate a lovely salmon dinner while the kids watched a movie. I always hoped for a life where I drank beer with my neighbors, and now it has happened. A dream come true.
• Website development. After struggling and avoiding and spending hours getting nowhere, I finally figured out how to build my own website. A real one, with hosting and a content management system and its own domain name. (Until a couple months ago, I didn't even understand what that stuff was.) My sense of accomplishment is immense. Within a couple weeks I should have a professional website and blog that I can be proud of. More details to come. You, my loyal readers, at least the handful of you who are not my real-life friends, will soon know much more about me. Like my name, and where I used to work, and what I look like. I know you cannot wait.
• The non-office life. No matter how much I whine and moan, this beautiful spring of working from my sunlight-bathed couch, exploring parks and digging in the garden with Mia and taking the first steps out of my long, deep rut--it is an incredible gift. I promise not to forget it.

Change sucks

I'm feeling a bit nauseous right now. I just dropped Mia off for her second day in the 4-year-old class. She's in the same daycare where she's been since she was 6 months old, but it feels like a different world in her new class. She looked so shy and apprehensive as I walked away, I could barely contain my tears. I can't remember the last time I felt teary about dropping her off.

There are a few issues at play here, one of which is extremely touchy. But I'm going to go there because I believe in honesty. Let's do this in a list, and we'll save the best for last.

1. Change is always hard. As I told Mia in the car this morning, it always takes a while to get used to new things and places and people. You just have to deal with the feeling that you might throw up for a while, and eventually it subsides.
2. Her 3-year-old teachers were out-of-this-world great. It was by far the best year she's had, and I knew all year that we could never expect other teachers to match them. They were ambitious and enthusiastic and warm and smart, not a combination often found in a field where the salaries are poverty-level. I had become used to dropping her off to teachers who seemed genuinely overjoyed to see her each morning. They noticed when she wore new clothes, asked what she did over the weekend, even knew all the jibbets on her Crocs. Mia ran to them, practically glowing with happiness.
3. In comparison, her new teachers seemed less than thrilled to welcome her to class this morning. Their sad attempts at "hello" just did not stack up.
4. Here is the big one: This class is full of poor kids. Mia goes to a very expensive daycare, and in all her other years, she has been with kids who can afford to attend this place. In theory, I've always lamented the lack of diversity. But for 4-year-olds, there is a state-funded program that allows poor kids to attend preschool for free. Our center gets that state funding, and it mixes the subsidized kids half-and-half with the paying kids. So you end up with classrooms that are half poor minority kids who have never been to school before, and half privileged kids who know all the ins and outs of circle time. You can tell who the poor kids are just by looking at a list of the kids' first names. In class, they're the ones crying their eyes out or stomping away from the circle saying "No! No!" They are noticeably different, and Mia told me yesterday morning that she didn't like the new "black-haired" friends. Oh my. I quickly let her know that it was "not OK" to judge anyone based on the way they look, that we're all the same on the inside, that some of the kids just aren't used to school the way she is. But I doubt that my words can touch that innate sense, which I can't help feeling either, despite all my best intentions, that these kids are not of our world. I am a firm believer in public schools and busing and whatever else it takes to keep our schools integrated and make sure that poor children have a fair shot at life. But watching your innocent 4-year-old be thrown into a world tainted by racism and poverty is hard. Mr. SOC, another staunch believer in public education, pointed out that, unlike public school, we are paying more than $10,000 a year for Mia to attend this daycare. Doesn't that give us the right to shelter her for just one more year? I know the right answer to that question, the answer my conscience dictates. And honestly, when I dropped her off this morning, all the kids seemed to be doing fine. It seemed like a happy little preschool classroom. And I trust that her new teachers know what they're doing, and that this year will go well. I don't know why I felt so sad leaving her there. I guess that's just life.

I realize I'm taking a risk in talking so openly about race and class here. But I really believe that, if we could all talk a little more openly, we might be able to make faster progress on these issues.

Could someone please give me a coherent argument about why princesses suck?

As I type this, a Disney princess balloon is floating over my head. An Ariel costume lies on the coffee table. On the bathroom counter sits an Ariel toothbrush (which turns on when you press a raised bump on her chest). And in the closet is a box of Disney princess stuff that I plan to use to adorn her birthday cake this Saturday. I bought all this stuff, and no one was pointing a gun at my head. What the fuck?

I seem to remember writing on this website, not that long ago, "I draw the line at buying Disney princess crap." Well, apparently my line was drawn in the sand. I can't even pinpoint a moment when I said, OK, I've changed my mind about the princesses. I just started thinking about what Mia would like for her fourth birthday, which was yesterday, and I imagined the look of joy on her face when she saw the princess crap, and I went and bought it. Or maybe I imagined the look of disappointment when she saw that there was no princess crap, and that was my motivating factor. Because, for months and months, she has been asking for a princess birthday party and talking about her princess cake and telling my mother specifically that she wants a Tinkerbell toy. (Is it possible that the new Disney fairy crap is even worse than the princess crap? Yes, I think it is.) So I think that having her birthday with no Ariel or Belle or Tinkerbell would have been a flat-out declaration that, no, dreams do not come true. Not even when you're four, and all it takes to make your dream come true is $50 worth of crap from Target. Suck that, kid.

I've tried to explain to Mia once or twice why princesses are not all that great. "They don't really do much," I said. "They don't work or do things to help the world. They just sit around and wait for a man to marry them." Mia didn't seem to have any understanding of why this was a bad thing. And then, seeing that I seemed set against princesses, she suggested that she could change her career aspiration to fairy. Sigh. This exchange made me see that even I was not sure exactly what is bad about the princesses. I just know that all of us Whole Foods-shopping types sneer at them, and think that of course our children will be more original or authentic than to walk around with a buxom mermaid painted on her shirt.

But what really is wrong with the princesses? They all seem like good people, polite and devoted to their fathers, interested in reading and exploring the world, ready for adventure, loving and able to sustain close friendships. No, they never have any mothers, and no one knows why, but we can't blame them for that, can we? Really, the idea of transforming from a mermaid to a human, and all that's entailed, is fascinating--and I think it has taken Mia's imagination in new directions. Some of the movies suck, but some of them are actually good films. Beauty and the Beast? A wonderful musical. Is it just that they're so ubiquitous? Is it that they're so homogenous? So skinny and busty and typical of our impossible standard of beauty? Is it that they reinforce stereotypical gender roles? Yes, they do all those things, but so do lots and lots of other children's toys and television shows and, really, everything in our culture.

Part of me hates what has become of Mia. Obsessed with pink and dresses and sparkly shoes and princesses. I feel like a failure for somehow letting it seep in, for giving in to it and, now, for encouraging it. I mean, there must be a way to keep it out. Look at Juniper. She is reprimanding other kids for their love of princesses. Surely, she didn't get an Ariel costume for her birthday. I wonder if I am helping Mia close her mind to all the different ways to be a woman in this world, encouraging her to believe that its all about beauty and glitz, planting the seeds of impossible dreams of a happily ever after kind of life. The other part thinks, for christ's sake, she is four. She's into princesses, and it makes her happy to have shiny pink things, ans what is the big fucking deal. A zillion kids go through this stage, and you don't see all the 20-year-olds walking around in pink sequined gowns. This will pass, and to resist it will only give it more power.

I've written all this and I'm no closer to a conclusion than I was before. All I know is that Mia was pretty damned happy when she put on that Ariel costume, and I think she would run away from home if the cake at her party this weekend arrived princess-free. So I guess I've made my choice without making one at all.

Serious business

There's something about kids that I don't think anyone understands until they have one. It's how serious they are about play. Things that sound completely ridiculous to grownups are life-and-death kind of important to kids. Things like which cartoon character is on the Pull-Up that they are putting on their ass. If the Pull-Up has Diego instead of Dora, and is blue instead of pink, there will be hell to pay. There will be crying and thrashing and howls of, "But it's not pink!!!" And no, the child will not understand that we were out of Pull-Ups, and Mommy ran to the store, and it was already bed time, and she was frazzled, and the store was out of Dora ones and the Disney Princess ones were not on sale. And Mommy will consider going to a different store at 9 p.m. to get Pull-Ups that have pink on them, because the meltdown will be nuclear.

Mia has this tiny pink stuffed poodle that my mother got her. It is probably 4 inches high and plays a very shrill version of "Happy Birthday" when squeezed. Every night this poodle has to be laid carefully atop a pillow in the hallway outside Mia's room, its head resting on a smaller pillow, its body tucked in to a miniature sleeping bag. It must also have an animal, a pony larger than the poodle itself, to keep it company. Now, this sounds funny, right? But if Mia were not allowed to tuck in her poodle, or if we moved the poodle from its spot, there would be a fit that would be no joke at all. We might all end up in tears.

Just last night, Mia got an Ariel sticker at the doctor's office. (Who's Ariel, you ask? The Little Mermaid, of course.) And it was sparkly and Ariel was wearing a pink dress, and Mia could have cared less that she just had stitches pulled out of her head, because she had the greatest sticker on earth!!! She was on top of the world. All night she was convinced that she was a princess, and she put on her long nightgown that brushes the floor just like Ariel's dress. (We see how well my attempts to shield her from the Disney Princesses are working.) We had to peel the sticker off her shirt and put it on the nightgown. And of course, it didn't stick very well and was lost in the bed just minutes after we turned out the light.

Before we know it, Mr. SOC is upstairs searching the room for a sparkly Ariel sticker while Mia stands in the bed, wailing pathetically, a full hour past her bed time. Soon he's yelling down to me, exasperated, "Do you know where the Ariel sticker is?" And then we are all on the hunt for the no-longer-sticky Ariel sticker. It is fast becoming a full-blown family crisis. Finally, the sticker is found, and stuck to a horse stuffed animal, after attempts to convince her that it would be safer on the bed frame failed miserably. We all breathe a sigh of relief.

But more than an hour later, I go upstairs, and find Mia wide awake in her room. As soon as I step into the room, she gives me a status update on the sticker. "I put the sticker on my pillow," she says, "because it wouldn't stick to the horsie." I nod solemnly, thanking my lucky stars that the sticker is accounted for. This parenting stuff is very serious business indeed.

Dear Mia,

This week I am working the nightshift, and to make up for not seeing you in the evenings, I took you out for a special before-school treat today. We went out for bagels and then to the park, where we rode the carousel and the train and walked around the lake. Some of the highlights were: the buzzer going off in the restaurant to tell us our order was ready (your shout of glee was so loud the whole restaurant knew our order was ready), finding a forgotten pacifier on a bench (it is now your most prized possession), letting a ladybug crawl on your finger, and saying hello to two honking geese. You were so full of wonder and enthusiasm, practically glowing with pride that you were out with your mommy on a special trip to the park on a school day. 

It was the kind of day I've always dreamed of having with my daughter, the kind of day I remember having with my own mother. At the end of the summer, she always took me out for lunch at a "fancy" restaurant at the mall, and I always got the very fancy hot dog wrapped in puff pastry. And one day when I was in elementary school, I will never forget, she pulled me out of school early for no reason at all just so we could spend some time together. I will always remember her standing at the front of the classroom, telling the teacher I had a dentist's appointment—and my delight, when we walked out of the classroom and she told me there really was no dentist's appointment. She just felt like picking me up early. I want you to have the same kinds of memories, of special time spent with me, of knowing just how much you are cherished. It's amazing how easy it is to skip doing these kinds of things, because we are so caught up in our routines of getting to school, getting meals on the table, taking baths, cleaning up, doing errands. But today reminded me just how important our unscheduled time is. Those will be the days you remember, I hope.

It's so nice to be able to think happy thoughts about you, and our relationship, because things have been really tough for the past couple months. That's part of why I haven't written one of these letters in so long, because I didn't want to write, "You are a little monster and I am going to sell you!" For weeks it has felt as if you were constantly on the edge of some crazed and irrational tantrum, looking for a reason to lose it, unable to cope with even the smallest bumps in the road. A request to change your pants or put on your coat could be met with 20 minutes of flailing, screaming and rolling on the ground, biting your own hand in fury. Every request, for more milk or snacks or help putting on your coat, came as a bratty demand or a scream. Those that weren't met immediately turned into meltdowns. 

But then about a week ago, it was if a switch flipped. You are sweet and fun to be around, constantly making lovely observations about the world, happily doing what you're asked. And I find myself thinking about you all day, melting at the memory of your sweet smile. You are my girl who loves pink with a passion, and despite my best efforts to shield you from the forces of marketing, would like nothing better than if every one of your possessions was pink and covered with the faces of the Disney princesses. (I draw the line at buying Disney Princess junk.) Colors seem to be how you process the world right now. Everything is defined by its color, every person identified by their favorite color. You are fascinated by letters, and learning to write them. You love to count things. You go up to 12, and then begin randomly calling out numbers like sixteen and twelveteen. And you are beginning to draw pictures. People with arms and legs and faces, rather than aimless scribbles or endless spirals that you called lollipops. You are growing up. I can only hope I am enjoying you enough along the way.

Love,

Mommy

Brief encounters with the law

I still haven't done my worry ritual, because it's been miserable and rainy and that does not go with my plan of standing peacefully in a garden and releasing my worries to the universe. But I wanted to share this little vignette from my weekend.

We are pulled over by a cop on a cold, gray and rainy morning. Expired registration. Who knew? (Turned out the whole problem was caused because I was delinquent on my car taxes. The outstanding bill: $1.52. Glad I have the law to keep me in line.) As we sit and sit and sit and sit, waiting for the cop to return with our ticket, Mia pipes up, "I need to go potty." Perfect. We establish that she really needs to go right now, that she cannot wait. So we try to get out of the car, and get shouted down by the cop who is about ready to shoot us and even runs up to the car and demands to see Mr. SOC's hands to make sure he doesn't have a gun. This guy is holding us prisoner in our Honda Civic with a 3-year-old about to wet her pants because of an expired registration. I love the law!

Eventually, the cop releases me and Mia from the car to go to the bathroom while he continues berating Mr. SOC and demanding to know what he is doing with his hands. We happen to be pulled over right next to the police station, so I get the officers to grudgingly to do us the immense favor of allowing us to use the toilet in their public building, and then we head back to the car in the cold rain. Mia is, as always, dawdling and looking for puddles to step in, while I am trying to get back to our warm car ASAP. After we get back to the car, my step-son describes how we looked during our journey. Me: head down, face scrunched, pulling Mia's arm, grimly determined to get out of the miserable weather. Mia: strolling along, beaming 1,000 watts. I think this scene pretty much sums up the difference in how we see the world.