After all of my bravado, a lengthy blog post, and hours of (all-too-rare) conversation with Joe convincing myself and everyone else that preschool at this age was just unnecessary, I enrolled Maya in preschool.
Ha, I know. I’m a big dork. It all came down to peer pressure.
When we got to what is essentially a mommy and me class this morning, several of Maya’s older classmates were registering. All of their mothers were asking about Maya, hoping our kids would all enter preschool together (it would be nice for Maya to stay with her little friends, right?).
At the same time Maya was hugging one of the little boys. He’d been sick the week before, and she had asked me about him all week. There she was with her arms around his neck saying, “Oh Grant, I just knew you’d be here.”
Then one of the other moms started commenting on how articulate and advanced Maya is (ooh, flattery), and how surely she will want to go to her own preschool class by next fall (good point!).
And off I marched to the registration desk. Maya is now enrolled in a three hour, two day a week class. It’s a combination academic and play focused class. Mostly she’ll pick up social skills and colds, but I’m sure she’ll enjoy it.
I still believe that all of the interesting things we do at home will prepare her for kindergarten without this class, but today I was persuaded that she would benefit from a little adventure of her own.
Besides, this will give Elliot and I some regular time alone together!
Who am I kidding... I have until July to get my deposit back. I still haven't made up my mind...
bearing witness to the fleeting moments of growing two little girls, an edible backyard, a baby-to-be, chickens, and a novel
Friday, February 29, 2008
Thursday, February 28, 2008
The Sweet Ambrosia of Sleep
Most new parents know that new babies are capable (medically-speaking) of sleeping through the night by 3 months of age. Most do not realize that the medical definition of “through the night” is five consecutive hours!
Few adults can function well on five hours of sleep… and I am certainly not among the few that can.
To make matters worse, just as your baby is developmentally ready to sleep longer stretches, outside forces begin to disrupt her sleep. I’m talking about throbbing, swollen gums (Elliot's already been teething for a month), sore thigh muscles and a low grade fever (vaccines), and the loud protests of her big sister as she fights off the Little Mermaid’s shark in her sleep.
At four months old Elliot was sleeping comfortably in her own bed from 8:30 at night to 6 or 7 in the morning. For a week and a half I gorged myself in an all-I-could-sleep buffet.
Then at 4 months, our baby needed more shots. Fie vaccines! I worried so much about the under-researched effect of the chemical cocktails they were injecting into my baby, that I hadn’t even anticipated the sleep deprivation. She hasn’t slept more than two hours in her own bed since the shots.
After her somersault off the bed last week, I certainly didn’t dare bring her into our bed while I was sleeping! Even though I’ve become a big fan of co-sleeping (oh yes the medical profession frowns on it, but the sisterhood of mothers across the globe recognizes co-sleeping as the most natural and sensible way to keep everyone rested and healthy), I’ve been up and down two or three times a night trying to teach Elliot to sleep in her bed. Between teething (she wakes every time her Tylenol wears off) and the bad habits her shots caused, no one was sleeping.
Then Joe installed the bed rail.
Now our bed IS the crib. Terrible, I know. I didn’t let Maya sleep in our bed until she was over a year old, and then it was just to coax her into sleeping longer in the morning. Elliot, however, seems sturdier to my less frightened, more seasoned mothering instincts. And I was totally shocked to find out that many of the moms I’ve confessed to admit to co-sleeping with their own babies.
When she’s a bit older I’ll buckle down and coach Elliot in the art of self-soothing. For now though, that snuggly baby body stretches out next to me, away from blankets and pillows of course, and we sleep. All of us.
I slept so much last night, I even remembered my dreams! Oh the luxury!
Fellow math-geek parents, check out Mothering Magazine’s statistical analysis demonstrating that co-sleeping is not any more dangerous than crib sleeping.
Of course, if you’re thinking of co-sleeping follow the safety guidelines (they’re at the end of this article).
Few adults can function well on five hours of sleep… and I am certainly not among the few that can.
To make matters worse, just as your baby is developmentally ready to sleep longer stretches, outside forces begin to disrupt her sleep. I’m talking about throbbing, swollen gums (Elliot's already been teething for a month), sore thigh muscles and a low grade fever (vaccines), and the loud protests of her big sister as she fights off the Little Mermaid’s shark in her sleep.
At four months old Elliot was sleeping comfortably in her own bed from 8:30 at night to 6 or 7 in the morning. For a week and a half I gorged myself in an all-I-could-sleep buffet.
Then at 4 months, our baby needed more shots. Fie vaccines! I worried so much about the under-researched effect of the chemical cocktails they were injecting into my baby, that I hadn’t even anticipated the sleep deprivation. She hasn’t slept more than two hours in her own bed since the shots.
After her somersault off the bed last week, I certainly didn’t dare bring her into our bed while I was sleeping! Even though I’ve become a big fan of co-sleeping (oh yes the medical profession frowns on it, but the sisterhood of mothers across the globe recognizes co-sleeping as the most natural and sensible way to keep everyone rested and healthy), I’ve been up and down two or three times a night trying to teach Elliot to sleep in her bed. Between teething (she wakes every time her Tylenol wears off) and the bad habits her shots caused, no one was sleeping.
Then Joe installed the bed rail.
Now our bed IS the crib. Terrible, I know. I didn’t let Maya sleep in our bed until she was over a year old, and then it was just to coax her into sleeping longer in the morning. Elliot, however, seems sturdier to my less frightened, more seasoned mothering instincts. And I was totally shocked to find out that many of the moms I’ve confessed to admit to co-sleeping with their own babies.
When she’s a bit older I’ll buckle down and coach Elliot in the art of self-soothing. For now though, that snuggly baby body stretches out next to me, away from blankets and pillows of course, and we sleep. All of us.
I slept so much last night, I even remembered my dreams! Oh the luxury!
Fellow math-geek parents, check out Mothering Magazine’s statistical analysis demonstrating that co-sleeping is not any more dangerous than crib sleeping.
Of course, if you’re thinking of co-sleeping follow the safety guidelines (they’re at the end of this article).
Wednesday, February 27, 2008
Is Preschool Necessary?
Everyone knows that parents constantly worry over their children’s physical safety. Prior to having my own kids, however, I was not told about the constant worry over even the most mundane decisions.
Maybe it’s just me, but I find myself re-evaluating my options on every choice from diapers to first foods to kid-friendly houseplants. It’s no surprise then that I’m completely fixated on whether to send Maya to preschool two days a week starting next fall.
Of course I want her to be exceptionally prepared for educational success that will carry her on to fame and fortune as a Nobel Peace Prize winner. But will preschool at three-years-old make or break her chance for that? Some parents in my ECFE group think so!
In June, Maya will turn three, and then the remarkable opportunities in the Twin Cities really open up for her. The Guthrie Theatre, the Minneapolis Institute of Art, the Children’s Theater, the Children’s Museum, the Minnesota Zoo, and the Science Museum, all offer occasional classes for three-year-olds. I’ve even had my eye on a toddler Spanish class! So even without a predictable pre-school schedule, she’ll be meeting other kids and interacting in a classroom setting.
In fact, when I look at my favorite three types of preschool options, we have it covered right here. Montessori schools tend to emphasize child-focused, child-led activities, and teachers simply help kids expand on their own interest. This morning, Maya found a can of pumpkin in the cupboard and said “let’s make this in something.” So she dumped and poured and stirred (and licked the spoon) and we enjoyed pumpkin muffins for breakfast. She also loves to wash both vegetables and toys in the kitchen sink while I cook:
Waldorf schools are so appealing to my inner hippie. They insist on reducing exposure to technology (especially TV), emphasize play with wood and cloth toys, and encourage kids to grow and cook their own food for snacks. Well between our garden and our baking, we have some of that covered. I really try to limit the noisy toys and encourage creative play, so we’re at least headed in the right direction.
Finally, academic preschools typically introduce kids to the alphabet and numbers. The alphabet song actually made it on Maya’s “I Love it” list on Valentines Day. She can also count to 20 (with some consistency), identify all the letters in her name, and identify the 2 for her own age and the 4 and the 5 for Nana (although it’s not clear that she knows they are two different numbers).
Besides, she's going to learn so much just playing with and teaching Elliot that she won't need preschool!
So for at least the next year, we’ll skip the scheduled demands of preschool and focus on fostering a love of learning that starts with creative play right here at home.
Of course my deepest fear is that this small decision will damage her chances of getting into a good college and then we’ll have her here at home well into her thirties. So we’ll probably send her to a three-day preschool program next year just to hedge our bets.
Maybe it’s just me, but I find myself re-evaluating my options on every choice from diapers to first foods to kid-friendly houseplants. It’s no surprise then that I’m completely fixated on whether to send Maya to preschool two days a week starting next fall.
Of course I want her to be exceptionally prepared for educational success that will carry her on to fame and fortune as a Nobel Peace Prize winner. But will preschool at three-years-old make or break her chance for that? Some parents in my ECFE group think so!
In June, Maya will turn three, and then the remarkable opportunities in the Twin Cities really open up for her. The Guthrie Theatre, the Minneapolis Institute of Art, the Children’s Theater, the Children’s Museum, the Minnesota Zoo, and the Science Museum, all offer occasional classes for three-year-olds. I’ve even had my eye on a toddler Spanish class! So even without a predictable pre-school schedule, she’ll be meeting other kids and interacting in a classroom setting.
In fact, when I look at my favorite three types of preschool options, we have it covered right here. Montessori schools tend to emphasize child-focused, child-led activities, and teachers simply help kids expand on their own interest. This morning, Maya found a can of pumpkin in the cupboard and said “let’s make this in something.” So she dumped and poured and stirred (and licked the spoon) and we enjoyed pumpkin muffins for breakfast. She also loves to wash both vegetables and toys in the kitchen sink while I cook:
Waldorf schools are so appealing to my inner hippie. They insist on reducing exposure to technology (especially TV), emphasize play with wood and cloth toys, and encourage kids to grow and cook their own food for snacks. Well between our garden and our baking, we have some of that covered. I really try to limit the noisy toys and encourage creative play, so we’re at least headed in the right direction.
Finally, academic preschools typically introduce kids to the alphabet and numbers. The alphabet song actually made it on Maya’s “I Love it” list on Valentines Day. She can also count to 20 (with some consistency), identify all the letters in her name, and identify the 2 for her own age and the 4 and the 5 for Nana (although it’s not clear that she knows they are two different numbers).
Besides, she's going to learn so much just playing with and teaching Elliot that she won't need preschool!
So for at least the next year, we’ll skip the scheduled demands of preschool and focus on fostering a love of learning that starts with creative play right here at home.
Of course my deepest fear is that this small decision will damage her chances of getting into a good college and then we’ll have her here at home well into her thirties. So we’ll probably send her to a three-day preschool program next year just to hedge our bets.
Monday, February 25, 2008
The First Whiff of Spring?
We’re breathing cleaner air in this house tonight. We have been having a heat wave, and the girls and I took advantage of it to air out the house and pot some new houseplants.
Really we indulged in all things spring today. Maya wore a spring-green dress. We put on a little skit for Elliot about all the animal and bird sounds that we’ll hear in the spring (quite the duet - Maya’s various bird noises were a riot!). We ate potato salad and barbeque for lunch.
We even achieved that zenith of personal success: all three of us were dressed, bundled, and accessorized at the same time. Granted we only drove about a mile, but it was a liberating, spring-like journey that didn’t jeopardize Elliot’s safety. Our little troop made quite a stir in the local nursery. All three of the unoccupied staff members dropped their watering cans and pruning sheers to help us put together a fun afternoon of gardening.
Once home, Elliot watched Maya and I plant marigold seeds, repot a parsley plant for the kitchen, and repot a jade plant for the dining room table. We spread a disposable table cloth on the floor and delighted in making a mess of the soil and water and seeds. Surprisingly, a lot of it even made it into pots! Who knows if any of it will live to see the actual spring (that’s what, two months away for Minnesotans?) But we had a terrific time smelling the potting soil, watering all the plants, giving them names, and talking about what will happen to them in the coming months. I so hope that at least one of them survives. My green thumb has historically only applied to outdoor plants!
In theory, the houseplants should help improve our indoor air quality all on their own. According to a study by NASA and the Associated Landscape Contractors of America (ALCA), many common houseplants, including my own favorite philodendron (absolutely indestructible!), improve air quality. Check out this link for the top ten houseplants.
More importantly, I opened all of our windows for 20 minutes today. Elliot, Maya, and I huddled under a blanket and read some books together while the cold air cleansed months of stale, recycled winter air. Sure it was a waste of energy, but the sinus headache I’ve sported off and on for a month has already cleared up, and Joe noticed the fresher air as soon as he walked in the door (and yes, the house had warmed up by then). Most sources advise doing this for 3 to 4 minutes at least twice every day, but when it is sub-zero, that just seemed silly. Here are a few simple tips for improving indoor air quality, like opening windows, removing your shoes, and keeping ventilation fans clean. A lot of longer lists include ditching carpet in favor of a hard surface floor with washable rugs and purchasing organic mattresses, but this list is a good set of practical strategies that don’t require remodeling (just dusting, which for me is equally daunting).
Our next think-spring activity? Track down a raincoat and goulashes for Maya and baby rain poncho for Elliot. Doesn’t that have Easter basket written all over it?
Really we indulged in all things spring today. Maya wore a spring-green dress. We put on a little skit for Elliot about all the animal and bird sounds that we’ll hear in the spring (quite the duet - Maya’s various bird noises were a riot!). We ate potato salad and barbeque for lunch.
We even achieved that zenith of personal success: all three of us were dressed, bundled, and accessorized at the same time. Granted we only drove about a mile, but it was a liberating, spring-like journey that didn’t jeopardize Elliot’s safety. Our little troop made quite a stir in the local nursery. All three of the unoccupied staff members dropped their watering cans and pruning sheers to help us put together a fun afternoon of gardening.
Once home, Elliot watched Maya and I plant marigold seeds, repot a parsley plant for the kitchen, and repot a jade plant for the dining room table. We spread a disposable table cloth on the floor and delighted in making a mess of the soil and water and seeds. Surprisingly, a lot of it even made it into pots! Who knows if any of it will live to see the actual spring (that’s what, two months away for Minnesotans?) But we had a terrific time smelling the potting soil, watering all the plants, giving them names, and talking about what will happen to them in the coming months. I so hope that at least one of them survives. My green thumb has historically only applied to outdoor plants!
In theory, the houseplants should help improve our indoor air quality all on their own. According to a study by NASA and the Associated Landscape Contractors of America (ALCA), many common houseplants, including my own favorite philodendron (absolutely indestructible!), improve air quality. Check out this link for the top ten houseplants.
More importantly, I opened all of our windows for 20 minutes today. Elliot, Maya, and I huddled under a blanket and read some books together while the cold air cleansed months of stale, recycled winter air. Sure it was a waste of energy, but the sinus headache I’ve sported off and on for a month has already cleared up, and Joe noticed the fresher air as soon as he walked in the door (and yes, the house had warmed up by then). Most sources advise doing this for 3 to 4 minutes at least twice every day, but when it is sub-zero, that just seemed silly. Here are a few simple tips for improving indoor air quality, like opening windows, removing your shoes, and keeping ventilation fans clean. A lot of longer lists include ditching carpet in favor of a hard surface floor with washable rugs and purchasing organic mattresses, but this list is a good set of practical strategies that don’t require remodeling (just dusting, which for me is equally daunting).
Our next think-spring activity? Track down a raincoat and goulashes for Maya and baby rain poncho for Elliot. Doesn’t that have Easter basket written all over it?
Saturday, February 23, 2008
Ramblings on a 4 ½ Month Old
When I was pregnant last summer, I ran into a family at the park. They were chasing after a 3-year-old boy (who was chasing after Maya) and bouncing a four-month-old girl, and I followed them around asking dorky questions about how life works with two little ones. They seemed happy to relay their experiences with getting two to sleep at night, keeping a toddler entertained while being pinned by a nursing infant, and other stories about how they were coping. They did look at me funny (wondering if I was some sort of stalker?) when I started ogling their 4 month old, declaring that between four and five months is my absolute favorite baby month.
Now here I am, smack in the middle of it. If I’m not careful, this month could get lost in the blur as we battle cabin fever and the mid-winter blues. Here is a list of all that is wonderful about our 4 month old:
1. No more tears. At least no more indecipherable tears. In fact, Elliot only cries now when she’s super hungry and tired and I’m stuck trying to get Maya’s Thomas the Train unders down with lighting speed.
2. Lots more play. She stretches, rolls (clearly – see Tuesday's post), and even scoots a bit to get at toys. She chuckles like an old man if you tickle her tummy or under her neck. She pulls her hands, and now her feet up into her mouth. She shrieks and laughs and babbles when she sees interesting toys, people, or when her foot escapes her mouth. She flails around and wiggles during dance party. And Maya, Joe, and I are all superstars in her eyes, worthy of her most energetic expressions and admirable efforts to sample our hair or fingers.
3. A schedule, sort of! She eats at more predictable times, sleeps through the night at least some of the time, and is generally more responsive to our schedule. Joe and I even get to enjoy adult-only evenings most of the time!
4. Still a baby. She’s just weeks away from crawling. If Maya is any indicator, she’ll crawl in the next 6 or 8 weeks, and then we must resume the defensive position until she’s old enough to understand (and respond to) “no.” As a baby, she loves to be snuggled, kissed, and doted on without demanding to be free to explore her little world.
Basically, this is the perfect baby month! The perfect combination of a burgeoning personality and sweet baby. Enjoy you’re weekend! I’m off to snuggle my baby while there is another pair of hands to chase Little Miss Thomas Unders.
Now here I am, smack in the middle of it. If I’m not careful, this month could get lost in the blur as we battle cabin fever and the mid-winter blues. Here is a list of all that is wonderful about our 4 month old:
1. No more tears. At least no more indecipherable tears. In fact, Elliot only cries now when she’s super hungry and tired and I’m stuck trying to get Maya’s Thomas the Train unders down with lighting speed.
2. Lots more play. She stretches, rolls (clearly – see Tuesday's post), and even scoots a bit to get at toys. She chuckles like an old man if you tickle her tummy or under her neck. She pulls her hands, and now her feet up into her mouth. She shrieks and laughs and babbles when she sees interesting toys, people, or when her foot escapes her mouth. She flails around and wiggles during dance party. And Maya, Joe, and I are all superstars in her eyes, worthy of her most energetic expressions and admirable efforts to sample our hair or fingers.
3. A schedule, sort of! She eats at more predictable times, sleeps through the night at least some of the time, and is generally more responsive to our schedule. Joe and I even get to enjoy adult-only evenings most of the time!
4. Still a baby. She’s just weeks away from crawling. If Maya is any indicator, she’ll crawl in the next 6 or 8 weeks, and then we must resume the defensive position until she’s old enough to understand (and respond to) “no.” As a baby, she loves to be snuggled, kissed, and doted on without demanding to be free to explore her little world.
Basically, this is the perfect baby month! The perfect combination of a burgeoning personality and sweet baby. Enjoy you’re weekend! I’m off to snuggle my baby while there is another pair of hands to chase Little Miss Thomas Unders.
Thursday, February 21, 2008
This Weather is Driving us Crackers!
In a desperate survey (conducted pre-“thump”), 7 out of 8 of my friends and family suggested that television may be my last frontier of defense against the cabin fever that has engulfed us.
It’s cold. Soooo cold. Common sense and a long family tradition of hibernation have kept us inside most of this week, or more accurately, most of this winter! Even Maya is starting to fantasize about spring, saying “when the snow melts, we can….” She seems focused on the prospect of wearing her little yellow shorts outside and rediscovering the culinary joys of her sandbox (“sand is yum-MY” she chants when we talk about playing outside!).
And yet, I have resolved to slash Maya’s TV time in half to a meager 1 hour (excluding a weekly family movie night that has featured 101 Dalmatians about 2 months in a row). I am inspired partly by the Center for Screentime Awareness and in part by my own parenting instinct that watching the same Little Bear show three thousand times just can’t be good for her sanity… or mine!
So what do we do now? Several friends have suggested baking, but who needs that many cookies when Dance Party is the only action we get all day? So instead, we found a great recipe for homemade crackers.
They taste just like the little sesame sticks (we buy the Good Sense brand) that you find in organic snack mixes. They aren’t as good as tomato-basil wheat thins, but they’re all natural, tasty, chemical free, and cost about fifty cents per batch depending on what type of sesame seeds you buy.
I got the recipe from Feeding Your Child For Lifelong Health, a book we depend on:
Whole-wheat Sesame Crackers
1 ½ cups whole wheat flour
½ cup white flour
1 tsp baking soda
½ tsp salt
½ cup canola oil
¼ cup buttermilk powder
¾ cup sesame seeds (not dehulled)
¾ cup water
Divide the dough in thirds and put it into little ziplock bags for no-mess rolling. Roll each third into a thin sheet. Cut the sheets into 1 ½ inch squares. Put the squares on parchment lined cookie sheets and bake for 20 minutes or so in a 325 degree oven. I’m planning to try them with cheese or toasted nuts instead of sesame seeds, just to see how the recipe can be changed.
Maya had a blast making them during Elliot's morning nap. She dumped, stirred, helped roll out, and used the pizza cutter to cut the crackers. She even put them on the parchment paper. So, they aren’t exactly beautiful, but they’re good. While she put the, um, creatively shaped crackers into wavy rows on the cookie sheets, she actually said "Mama, isn't this so fun?"
While we baked them, Maya did repeatedly ask me when we would add the sugar. She still says, “these cookies are yucky” after the first bite, but when I remind her that they’re crackers, she snarfs them down as if they were cheddar bunnies.
So for at least one day, we found a fun activity and a fun snack to help chase away our cabin fever. Without too much tv!
It’s cold. Soooo cold. Common sense and a long family tradition of hibernation have kept us inside most of this week, or more accurately, most of this winter! Even Maya is starting to fantasize about spring, saying “when the snow melts, we can….” She seems focused on the prospect of wearing her little yellow shorts outside and rediscovering the culinary joys of her sandbox (“sand is yum-MY” she chants when we talk about playing outside!).
And yet, I have resolved to slash Maya’s TV time in half to a meager 1 hour (excluding a weekly family movie night that has featured 101 Dalmatians about 2 months in a row). I am inspired partly by the Center for Screentime Awareness and in part by my own parenting instinct that watching the same Little Bear show three thousand times just can’t be good for her sanity… or mine!
So what do we do now? Several friends have suggested baking, but who needs that many cookies when Dance Party is the only action we get all day? So instead, we found a great recipe for homemade crackers.
They taste just like the little sesame sticks (we buy the Good Sense brand) that you find in organic snack mixes. They aren’t as good as tomato-basil wheat thins, but they’re all natural, tasty, chemical free, and cost about fifty cents per batch depending on what type of sesame seeds you buy.
I got the recipe from Feeding Your Child For Lifelong Health, a book we depend on:
Whole-wheat Sesame Crackers
1 ½ cups whole wheat flour
½ cup white flour
1 tsp baking soda
½ tsp salt
½ cup canola oil
¼ cup buttermilk powder
¾ cup sesame seeds (not dehulled)
¾ cup water
Divide the dough in thirds and put it into little ziplock bags for no-mess rolling. Roll each third into a thin sheet. Cut the sheets into 1 ½ inch squares. Put the squares on parchment lined cookie sheets and bake for 20 minutes or so in a 325 degree oven. I’m planning to try them with cheese or toasted nuts instead of sesame seeds, just to see how the recipe can be changed.
Maya had a blast making them during Elliot's morning nap. She dumped, stirred, helped roll out, and used the pizza cutter to cut the crackers. She even put them on the parchment paper. So, they aren’t exactly beautiful, but they’re good. While she put the, um, creatively shaped crackers into wavy rows on the cookie sheets, she actually said "Mama, isn't this so fun?"
While we baked them, Maya did repeatedly ask me when we would add the sugar. She still says, “these cookies are yucky” after the first bite, but when I remind her that they’re crackers, she snarfs them down as if they were cheddar bunnies.
So for at least one day, we found a fun activity and a fun snack to help chase away our cabin fever. Without too much tv!
Tuesday, February 19, 2008
Confessions of an Imperfect Mother: Thump!
This morning began badly. Elliot rolled off of our bed. She’s fine. As I write this, she is laughing hysterically while Joe tickles her back and feet. But it has been a rough day.
I can’t tell you how many times I have read that line in all the baby books: “Never leave a baby unattended on a bed, couch or changing table. Even infants can surprise you by rolling off.” Given that Elliot is 4.5 months old and prone to rolling over after toys now and then, I should never have put her on the bed, even away from the edge where I thought she’d be safe.
When I heard that thump, my heart just sank. I swore like a sailor (thankfully Maya doesn’t seem to have picked any of it up) as I ran over to pick my screaming baby off of the carpet. She stopped wailing after just a moment, and even though I stared at her non-stop all day, I haven’t been able to find even the tiniest scratch, much less a goose egg. A quick trip to the doctor (in -8 degree weather) proved that she was just fine.
We were lucky. She didn’t hit her head on the bedside table or my 800-page book. She didn’t suffer a concussion. Or worse. She’s just fine. We were lucky.
But throughout my day, as I physically shook from the horror of what could have happened and the guilt over letting it happen, mother after mother relayed similar stories of babies crawling away from near-disaster unscathed.
My doctor’s daughter rolled off her couch at 2 months old; her 10-month-old son fell down some stairs (that one did require stitches). My nurse’s niece somehow fell off their car, while buckled in her car seat, and landed upside down suspended in the bucket. Each story carried words of warning and commiseration.
Apparently I have been initiated into some sort of mothering rite of passage, and I responded exactly as I thought I would. I didn’t really fall apart into a puddle of tears until I was 99 percent certain that Elliot was just fine.
I can’t tell you how many times I have read that line in all the baby books: “Never leave a baby unattended on a bed, couch or changing table. Even infants can surprise you by rolling off.” Given that Elliot is 4.5 months old and prone to rolling over after toys now and then, I should never have put her on the bed, even away from the edge where I thought she’d be safe.
When I heard that thump, my heart just sank. I swore like a sailor (thankfully Maya doesn’t seem to have picked any of it up) as I ran over to pick my screaming baby off of the carpet. She stopped wailing after just a moment, and even though I stared at her non-stop all day, I haven’t been able to find even the tiniest scratch, much less a goose egg. A quick trip to the doctor (in -8 degree weather) proved that she was just fine.
We were lucky. She didn’t hit her head on the bedside table or my 800-page book. She didn’t suffer a concussion. Or worse. She’s just fine. We were lucky.
But throughout my day, as I physically shook from the horror of what could have happened and the guilt over letting it happen, mother after mother relayed similar stories of babies crawling away from near-disaster unscathed.
My doctor’s daughter rolled off her couch at 2 months old; her 10-month-old son fell down some stairs (that one did require stitches). My nurse’s niece somehow fell off their car, while buckled in her car seat, and landed upside down suspended in the bucket. Each story carried words of warning and commiseration.
Apparently I have been initiated into some sort of mothering rite of passage, and I responded exactly as I thought I would. I didn’t really fall apart into a puddle of tears until I was 99 percent certain that Elliot was just fine.
Monday, February 18, 2008
How Dance Party Saved My Sanity
Instituting “Dance Party” was the best parenting decision I ever made.
It began when Maya was a newborn. She was inclined to fuss a bit in the afternoons, so I bought an old Wilson Phillips CD and jammed out to Hold On with her…. She loved it. When she was three months old, I discovered the Broadway station on my television, and songs from Wicked, Singing in the Rain, and Oklahoma became our favorites. Then Maya found a Mother Goose Rocks album at the library. She became obsessed with its less than inspiring adaptations of mediocre pop songs, and so she was left to dance alone for a year or so.
Now, I have overcome my luddism and embraced iTunes. The resulting Dance Party play list is full of high-energy childrens' songs like “Supercalifragilisticexpialidocious” (which spell check shockingly corrected for me!), a pop version of “Zip a Dee Do Da,” and several 80s tunes that Maya has fallen in love with (“Manic Monday” and “How Will I know” were added to today’s repertoire).
On a truly manic Monday, when I can’t help but kick myself repeatedly for relaxing Maya’s basic daily rituals over the weekend, Dance Party gets us through.
Even Maya can sense when it is time to dance. At 10:00 this morning, after the third accident in a row and a huge hot chocolate spill, she just looked at me with a very serious expression and said, “Let’s dance.”
She was downstairs with her tutu on before I could say, “Excellent idea.” She even helped me spread out Elliot’s blanket, plug the speakers into the computer, and pick the first song! "Zip a dee do da" did our day start getting better. At first, Maya simply ran around and around our new cushioned ottoman (replacing the hard-edged coffee tabled seemed critical for dance party safety). After a bit, she grabbed her xylophone and started plucking out a few notes to complement our music. She even two-stepped with me. All the while, we both jumped around and sang at the top of our lungs, and Elliot squealed along with us.
I’m sure you’ve all heard the old advice (or forward?) that singing in the shower always puts you in a better mood. Dance Party is that multiplied by one hundred. We’ve done this at least once a day since the mercury plunged below 20 degrees (today it’s about 20 below!). I highly recommend this morale-boosting, heart-healthy solution for everyone else who may be suffering from the Midwest-winter blues. And most of you will get to pick your own songs… so enjoy it!
Disclaimer: 5 hours after my original post I feel obligated to remind you that Dance Party is indeed a great morale boost, but it in no way reduces the maniacal qualities of life that require the morale boost. Dance Party simply prepared me to deal with the next three accidents in a row and the next major dark beverage spill with a bit more grace!
It began when Maya was a newborn. She was inclined to fuss a bit in the afternoons, so I bought an old Wilson Phillips CD and jammed out to Hold On with her…. She loved it. When she was three months old, I discovered the Broadway station on my television, and songs from Wicked, Singing in the Rain, and Oklahoma became our favorites. Then Maya found a Mother Goose Rocks album at the library. She became obsessed with its less than inspiring adaptations of mediocre pop songs, and so she was left to dance alone for a year or so.
Now, I have overcome my luddism and embraced iTunes. The resulting Dance Party play list is full of high-energy childrens' songs like “Supercalifragilisticexpialidocious” (which spell check shockingly corrected for me!), a pop version of “Zip a Dee Do Da,” and several 80s tunes that Maya has fallen in love with (“Manic Monday” and “How Will I know” were added to today’s repertoire).
On a truly manic Monday, when I can’t help but kick myself repeatedly for relaxing Maya’s basic daily rituals over the weekend, Dance Party gets us through.
Even Maya can sense when it is time to dance. At 10:00 this morning, after the third accident in a row and a huge hot chocolate spill, she just looked at me with a very serious expression and said, “Let’s dance.”
She was downstairs with her tutu on before I could say, “Excellent idea.” She even helped me spread out Elliot’s blanket, plug the speakers into the computer, and pick the first song! "Zip a dee do da" did our day start getting better. At first, Maya simply ran around and around our new cushioned ottoman (replacing the hard-edged coffee tabled seemed critical for dance party safety). After a bit, she grabbed her xylophone and started plucking out a few notes to complement our music. She even two-stepped with me. All the while, we both jumped around and sang at the top of our lungs, and Elliot squealed along with us.
I’m sure you’ve all heard the old advice (or forward?) that singing in the shower always puts you in a better mood. Dance Party is that multiplied by one hundred. We’ve done this at least once a day since the mercury plunged below 20 degrees (today it’s about 20 below!). I highly recommend this morale-boosting, heart-healthy solution for everyone else who may be suffering from the Midwest-winter blues. And most of you will get to pick your own songs… so enjoy it!
Disclaimer: 5 hours after my original post I feel obligated to remind you that Dance Party is indeed a great morale boost, but it in no way reduces the maniacal qualities of life that require the morale boost. Dance Party simply prepared me to deal with the next three accidents in a row and the next major dark beverage spill with a bit more grace!
Sunday, February 17, 2008
Eco-Moms must Learn to Delegate
A recent article in the New York Times, For Eco Moms Saving the Earth Begins at Home, has inspired me to confront my own burn out and get back to my Eco Mom roots, but I must insist on a little help from my government.
Right after Maya was born, I started to tweak out a bit over all of the chemicals she was being exposed to, from household cleaners to hormones in milk to industrial chemicals in the sandbox. As most of you know, I signed on with Kim Carlson, the EarthSmart Consumer, to be a regular guest on her radio show “Livin’ the Green Life.” Every week I tackled a new green living question, from chemical-free sunscreen to our new refrigerator, and incorporated those choices into our life. As a family, we are definitely greener for the effort I put into that research. As an individual, I got a bit overwhelmed and burned out by all of the toxic and environmentally damaging things we needed to avoid and all of the creativity required to live green.
According to the International Herald Tribune, and several other recent publications, I suffer from eco-anxiety. To combat eco-anxiety, it seems that other moms are forming clubs, harkening back to the consciousness-raising groups of a past era, to support each other in their effort to live earth-healthy and kid-friendly lives. Giving a name to my angst has sort of empowered me to pick up where I left off on the road to green living. With two girls to raise and a bit more time on my hands, I’m thinking of rededicating myself to finding new ways to reduce our ecological footprint and better products to substitute for the traditional “better living through chemicals” variety.
However, the eco-anxiety phenomenon could easily translate into more widespread burn out and a severe loss of momentum for the environmental movement. How can we prevent this? The New York Times says that eco-moms’ clubs are effective tools to keep people motivated and moving forward toward a greener horizon, but I still have trouble seeing the impact my own individual purchases have on the dramatic environmental problems Al Gore brought to light with An Inconvenient Truth. Also, no matter how hard I work to keep my kids toxin-free, I can’t watch every toy and snack and random chunk of cardboard they put in their mouths!
So eco-moms do need to delegate.
Politicians on both sides of the isle finally seem ready to make some tough decisions, and subsequently some real policy changes, that may take some of the burden off of individual consumers. A new administration will certainly help.
It is on our shoulders, though, not simply to be smart consumers, but to demand assistance from our government. I’m talking about the whole range of issues so-called eco-moms are dedicated to: energy conservation, waste management, toxins in toys and in food, and the organic foods industry among many others. We need to elect politicians that will create and pass policies that will protect the earth and our own bodies from the “better living through chemicals” era and our own petroleum lust!
We simply can’t be expected to do it alone, no matter how individualistic our society likes to be! The burden of these decisions combined with the routine challenges of potty training and discipline and work-family balance may cause more than eco-anxiety. If I have to confront all of these issues on my own (even with other moms), I may actually just hide under my bed and refuse to leave!
Right after Maya was born, I started to tweak out a bit over all of the chemicals she was being exposed to, from household cleaners to hormones in milk to industrial chemicals in the sandbox. As most of you know, I signed on with Kim Carlson, the EarthSmart Consumer, to be a regular guest on her radio show “Livin’ the Green Life.” Every week I tackled a new green living question, from chemical-free sunscreen to our new refrigerator, and incorporated those choices into our life. As a family, we are definitely greener for the effort I put into that research. As an individual, I got a bit overwhelmed and burned out by all of the toxic and environmentally damaging things we needed to avoid and all of the creativity required to live green.
According to the International Herald Tribune, and several other recent publications, I suffer from eco-anxiety. To combat eco-anxiety, it seems that other moms are forming clubs, harkening back to the consciousness-raising groups of a past era, to support each other in their effort to live earth-healthy and kid-friendly lives. Giving a name to my angst has sort of empowered me to pick up where I left off on the road to green living. With two girls to raise and a bit more time on my hands, I’m thinking of rededicating myself to finding new ways to reduce our ecological footprint and better products to substitute for the traditional “better living through chemicals” variety.
However, the eco-anxiety phenomenon could easily translate into more widespread burn out and a severe loss of momentum for the environmental movement. How can we prevent this? The New York Times says that eco-moms’ clubs are effective tools to keep people motivated and moving forward toward a greener horizon, but I still have trouble seeing the impact my own individual purchases have on the dramatic environmental problems Al Gore brought to light with An Inconvenient Truth. Also, no matter how hard I work to keep my kids toxin-free, I can’t watch every toy and snack and random chunk of cardboard they put in their mouths!
So eco-moms do need to delegate.
Politicians on both sides of the isle finally seem ready to make some tough decisions, and subsequently some real policy changes, that may take some of the burden off of individual consumers. A new administration will certainly help.
It is on our shoulders, though, not simply to be smart consumers, but to demand assistance from our government. I’m talking about the whole range of issues so-called eco-moms are dedicated to: energy conservation, waste management, toxins in toys and in food, and the organic foods industry among many others. We need to elect politicians that will create and pass policies that will protect the earth and our own bodies from the “better living through chemicals” era and our own petroleum lust!
We simply can’t be expected to do it alone, no matter how individualistic our society likes to be! The burden of these decisions combined with the routine challenges of potty training and discipline and work-family balance may cause more than eco-anxiety. If I have to confront all of these issues on my own (even with other moms), I may actually just hide under my bed and refuse to leave!
Friday, February 15, 2008
Perfection is for Suckers!
I spent a lot of time yesterday reading and talking about Lori Gotlieb’s article in the Atlantic Monthly encouraging women who want to get married to settle for Mr. Good Enough rather than Mr. Right. Given that I just celebrated my 14th Valentine’s Day with my high school sweetheart, not a lot of the debate applies to me directly. But underneath her argument is a thread more relevant in my own life.
To what degree should we expect perfection, whether in our partners, our kids, or ourselves?
In contrast to most of my friends and family members, I refuse to strive for perfection. It takes too long (let’s face it, some days I don’t even have time to brush my teeth) and the marginal benefits decrease rather dramatically after the job is “good enough.” This is probably why my cookies are always a little too dark, my laundry is always in one machine or another, and my garden is a bit of a jungle (once those tomatoes are producing fruit, they can fend for themselves among the weeds, right?)
Most of the relationships in my life are pretty top notch simply because of my disdain for perfection. All the parenting books lecture moms on not being overly critical of dads, but it just never occurs to me to correct a job Joe has done. If it is done at all, that’s good enough (well… to be honest, Joe is more of a perfectionist than I, so he probably did it the right way anyway). I also refuse to fight with Maya over her hair and her clothes unless it is an important picture day or we have company that she doesn’t see often. Some days her hair just doesn’t get done and she wears a homemade nightgown all day. Other days she is the picture of toddler cuteness. Either way if she is happy, I am happy.
So let me give you all permission to let up a bit on the perfection binge, and take a moment to celebrate whatever is perfect in your life. Because even when you achieve perfection, it doesn’t last. It needs constant maintenance and correction (which is why marriages require constant attention and big lawns are a ridiculous waste of resources).
As I parent my second baby, I celebrate temporary perfection all the time. For example, Elliot has slept between 8 and 10 hours in a row (no snacks!) for nearly two weeks. Woo hoo! When Maya did that, I was so smug. I breathed a huge “hallelujah the sleepless nights are over” sigh and started handing out advice to other parents. A month later, when Maya decided she needed company most nights around 4 o’clock (which she still does), I was just crushed. With Elliot, I knew her perfect sleep patterns wouldn’t last, so I just enjoyed them. Even though I have worked hard to teach her how to sleep on her own, I know she won’t be immune to frequent set backs from teething or, oh, the three shots she got this week. Yes, she started waking up again. I’m not holding it against her, and I’m certainly not going to Ferberize her. I’m satisfied with kids that don’t sleep perfectly.
Another example? Maya had a little friend over today (which means I had a big friend over, yea for adult conversation!), and they played beautifully together. Until the tantrum. Today, however, it wasn’t my kid screaming and moaning like an extra in One Flew Over the Cuckoos Nest. Nope, mine was perfect. This time. And I very much enjoyed being the sympathetic, commiserating mom instead of the end-of-my-rope and embarrassed mom.
Whether in a spouse, in your children, in your home life, or in your professional life, I believe perfection is cyclical, and the unending pursuit of it will exhaust you (sometimes "good enough" is exhausting). Do your best, appreciate perfection when it comes along, and compensate for the imperfect by being a saner, more stable, and less over-worked person.
To what degree should we expect perfection, whether in our partners, our kids, or ourselves?
In contrast to most of my friends and family members, I refuse to strive for perfection. It takes too long (let’s face it, some days I don’t even have time to brush my teeth) and the marginal benefits decrease rather dramatically after the job is “good enough.” This is probably why my cookies are always a little too dark, my laundry is always in one machine or another, and my garden is a bit of a jungle (once those tomatoes are producing fruit, they can fend for themselves among the weeds, right?)
Most of the relationships in my life are pretty top notch simply because of my disdain for perfection. All the parenting books lecture moms on not being overly critical of dads, but it just never occurs to me to correct a job Joe has done. If it is done at all, that’s good enough (well… to be honest, Joe is more of a perfectionist than I, so he probably did it the right way anyway). I also refuse to fight with Maya over her hair and her clothes unless it is an important picture day or we have company that she doesn’t see often. Some days her hair just doesn’t get done and she wears a homemade nightgown all day. Other days she is the picture of toddler cuteness. Either way if she is happy, I am happy.
So let me give you all permission to let up a bit on the perfection binge, and take a moment to celebrate whatever is perfect in your life. Because even when you achieve perfection, it doesn’t last. It needs constant maintenance and correction (which is why marriages require constant attention and big lawns are a ridiculous waste of resources).
As I parent my second baby, I celebrate temporary perfection all the time. For example, Elliot has slept between 8 and 10 hours in a row (no snacks!) for nearly two weeks. Woo hoo! When Maya did that, I was so smug. I breathed a huge “hallelujah the sleepless nights are over” sigh and started handing out advice to other parents. A month later, when Maya decided she needed company most nights around 4 o’clock (which she still does), I was just crushed. With Elliot, I knew her perfect sleep patterns wouldn’t last, so I just enjoyed them. Even though I have worked hard to teach her how to sleep on her own, I know she won’t be immune to frequent set backs from teething or, oh, the three shots she got this week. Yes, she started waking up again. I’m not holding it against her, and I’m certainly not going to Ferberize her. I’m satisfied with kids that don’t sleep perfectly.
Another example? Maya had a little friend over today (which means I had a big friend over, yea for adult conversation!), and they played beautifully together. Until the tantrum. Today, however, it wasn’t my kid screaming and moaning like an extra in One Flew Over the Cuckoos Nest. Nope, mine was perfect. This time. And I very much enjoyed being the sympathetic, commiserating mom instead of the end-of-my-rope and embarrassed mom.
Whether in a spouse, in your children, in your home life, or in your professional life, I believe perfection is cyclical, and the unending pursuit of it will exhaust you (sometimes "good enough" is exhausting). Do your best, appreciate perfection when it comes along, and compensate for the imperfect by being a saner, more stable, and less over-worked person.
Wednesday, February 13, 2008
My Soapbox and Your Valentine resolutions
At Elliot’s 4 month check up, our family doctor took one look at her, naked and cooing as she grabbed her feet on the exam table, and laughed, saying “that is a thriving baby.” Elliot weighed in at 15.5 lbs (in the 90th percentile for weight) and 25 inches (in the 75th percentile for height. Then Dr. Robinson gave me an awkward lecture on body types: no one is totally proportionate – don’t try to put this baby on a diet.
This was my family doctor. She knows me, and she knows that would NEVER cross my mind. So apparently she has to say this because other nuts out there DO put their babies on diets and therefore doctors have been forced to put “no baby diets” on the list of routine commands right after “car seats are mandatory” and “don’t leave her alone with your 2-year-old.”
Does this really shock anyone? In a culture where more than half of the population is overweight and the other half obsesses about remaining underweight, is it surprising that we have taken body image obsession all the way down to infancy? Absolutely not.
So here are the Valentine’s Resolutions that I have made for you. All of you. For the our daughters' mental, emotional, and physical health, please resolve to do the following:
1) Stand naked in front of the mirror and love what you see. I’m not kidding. On first glance you may think… whoa, I’m so not ready for my Oscar dress. But that’s probably not an issue, is it? Keep in mind that once upon a time, someone held your chubby baby body in her hands and kissed your little neck rolls, your rubber band wrists, and your meaty thighs with pure delight. Now it’s your turn to revel in yourself. Your stretch marks were part of building a human being. Your wrinkles reflect each moment of joy and anguish that have made you who you are. Your extra pounds simply reflect your willingness to indulge in the good things. Whatever your issue is, figure out a way to love it. Do not walk away from that mirror until you LOVE yourself, for your mother's sake if nothing else. If you really can’t, than make a plan to change what you can’t live with.
2) Now, love others. I’ve heard more stories in the past month about mothers judging their daughters weight, sisters gloating over not being the “fat” one, strangers telling women who just gave birth a month ago that they should really try to lose the weight before it sticks. None of these stories are mine, but I do have my own. We all do. And we carry these stories around all the time, just waiting for a bad day to pull them out and torture ourselves. Who needs water boarding? I have my own grandma patting my four-months-pregnant tummy and asking how much of it was the baby. Yep, even if it wasn’t meant the way it sounded, it has stuck with me. So STOP IT. All of you. No one needs a $5 Hallmark Valentine’s Day card, but we all need a little acceptance. If you wouldn’t say it to a new friend, you don’t have license to say horrible things to your family. If you must judge, do it silently. No one needs more ammunition against themselves.
3) Try for just one day to have a positive relationship with food. We all know people (or are people) who comment during every meal, "I really shouldn't be eating this." Then don't. Or do, and go for a jog later. Or eat really well the next day. Just don't tell me or my girls that what we are eating is a bad idea, because we're enjoying it. Tomorrow, try to recognize that a really great meal nourishes the body and the spirit. Savor the flavors, aesthetics, aromas, and company with each meal on Valentine's Day. Indulge when you are hungry. Stop when you are full. I'll try it too, and just maybe we can learn to do that everyday.
Okay, I’ll jump off my soapbox. I’m off to the grocery store to tell the first new mom I see how beautiful both she and the baby are.
This was my family doctor. She knows me, and she knows that would NEVER cross my mind. So apparently she has to say this because other nuts out there DO put their babies on diets and therefore doctors have been forced to put “no baby diets” on the list of routine commands right after “car seats are mandatory” and “don’t leave her alone with your 2-year-old.”
Does this really shock anyone? In a culture where more than half of the population is overweight and the other half obsesses about remaining underweight, is it surprising that we have taken body image obsession all the way down to infancy? Absolutely not.
So here are the Valentine’s Resolutions that I have made for you. All of you. For the our daughters' mental, emotional, and physical health, please resolve to do the following:
1) Stand naked in front of the mirror and love what you see. I’m not kidding. On first glance you may think… whoa, I’m so not ready for my Oscar dress. But that’s probably not an issue, is it? Keep in mind that once upon a time, someone held your chubby baby body in her hands and kissed your little neck rolls, your rubber band wrists, and your meaty thighs with pure delight. Now it’s your turn to revel in yourself. Your stretch marks were part of building a human being. Your wrinkles reflect each moment of joy and anguish that have made you who you are. Your extra pounds simply reflect your willingness to indulge in the good things. Whatever your issue is, figure out a way to love it. Do not walk away from that mirror until you LOVE yourself, for your mother's sake if nothing else. If you really can’t, than make a plan to change what you can’t live with.
2) Now, love others. I’ve heard more stories in the past month about mothers judging their daughters weight, sisters gloating over not being the “fat” one, strangers telling women who just gave birth a month ago that they should really try to lose the weight before it sticks. None of these stories are mine, but I do have my own. We all do. And we carry these stories around all the time, just waiting for a bad day to pull them out and torture ourselves. Who needs water boarding? I have my own grandma patting my four-months-pregnant tummy and asking how much of it was the baby. Yep, even if it wasn’t meant the way it sounded, it has stuck with me. So STOP IT. All of you. No one needs a $5 Hallmark Valentine’s Day card, but we all need a little acceptance. If you wouldn’t say it to a new friend, you don’t have license to say horrible things to your family. If you must judge, do it silently. No one needs more ammunition against themselves.
3) Try for just one day to have a positive relationship with food. We all know people (or are people) who comment during every meal, "I really shouldn't be eating this." Then don't. Or do, and go for a jog later. Or eat really well the next day. Just don't tell me or my girls that what we are eating is a bad idea, because we're enjoying it. Tomorrow, try to recognize that a really great meal nourishes the body and the spirit. Savor the flavors, aesthetics, aromas, and company with each meal on Valentine's Day. Indulge when you are hungry. Stop when you are full. I'll try it too, and just maybe we can learn to do that everyday.
Okay, I’ll jump off my soapbox. I’m off to the grocery store to tell the first new mom I see how beautiful both she and the baby are.
Tuesday, February 12, 2008
Hands Like a Cat's Tail
Our cat used to tease Maya with his tail. It was amazing to watch him flick that tail around the corner of the hallway, and watch baby Maya try to snag it before he pulled it away again. It was especially impressive since most of the time it looks as if his tail is entirely independent from his body.
That exactly describes Elliot’s chubby little hands these days. She discovered them about a month ago, staring at them for hours like long-lost friends. Now she is learning that she can manipulate them, at least some of the time.
Often she simply flails them about, like the cat’s tail. On instinct she grabs whatever they collide with, mostly my hair, Maya’s hair, or any beverage I’m trying to enjoy. Her fingers are constantly curling and flexing; they move almost constantly while she is awake. Even Maya enjoys watching those dimpled little fingers explore anything within reach.
More recently she has seized control over her hands. Like our cat, she lies very still, staring at her prey intently for several moments before making a move. Then she stretches out both arms, flexes both hands, and brings them together. Usually she’s got the depth a bit wrong – the giraffe is farther away or closer than she expected. She’s a trooper though, and she just pulls those arms in a bit and tries again. She can drag the most unruly things up to her mouth for sampling, now!
In fact, I’d better go get out the vacuum and shut the cat out of the playroom!
That exactly describes Elliot’s chubby little hands these days. She discovered them about a month ago, staring at them for hours like long-lost friends. Now she is learning that she can manipulate them, at least some of the time.
Often she simply flails them about, like the cat’s tail. On instinct she grabs whatever they collide with, mostly my hair, Maya’s hair, or any beverage I’m trying to enjoy. Her fingers are constantly curling and flexing; they move almost constantly while she is awake. Even Maya enjoys watching those dimpled little fingers explore anything within reach.
More recently she has seized control over her hands. Like our cat, she lies very still, staring at her prey intently for several moments before making a move. Then she stretches out both arms, flexes both hands, and brings them together. Usually she’s got the depth a bit wrong – the giraffe is farther away or closer than she expected. She’s a trooper though, and she just pulls those arms in a bit and tries again. She can drag the most unruly things up to her mouth for sampling, now!
In fact, I’d better go get out the vacuum and shut the cat out of the playroom!
Monday, February 11, 2008
Yes, That One is Mine
Oh yes, the kid with the halo of blond hair who is spinning in circles... That one is mine... Sometimes I feel like Steve Martin in Parenthood surrounded by Rick Maranis-types who are wondering about my parenting style.
Every parent I know has a favorite story or two that illustrates just how mortifying their kid is in public. Maya is still pretty little. At two and half, she often embarrasses us with the same behavior that we applaud and adore at home. For instance, Maya is now consistently dressing herself. This is usually convenient, given that Elliot frequently decides to end her (hour long) fast around the time Maya needs to get dressed. Unfortunately her latest fashion favorite includes a red wool sweater over yellow shorts with socks featuring frogs with little pink crowns. Occasionally she likes to throw a dress on over the top of it all. It is all I can do to convince her to substitute a pair of brown pants (it is 8 degrees below today!).
You try escorting that little number to her ECFE class, where 90 percent of the other moms brought kids straight out of last week’s Baby Gap ad, and the remaining 10% at least had their shoes on the right foot.
And at her sports class last Saturday, Maya was the only kid to get bored throwing the little red bouncy balls into the baskets. She decided to play “puppy” instead, alternately licking Joe’s face and running wildly around the room with that yummy rubber ball between her teeth.
Oh, in the retelling all of this comes across as cute toddler stuff, but when you are in the moment, looking around at the other orderly children and the raised eyebrows of their parents, you can’t help but have a serious pang of parental guilt. “Next time,” I tell myself, “I’ll risk the tears and just force her into the cute little matching skirt outfit I bought last week…. Or I’ll at least make her put her shoes on the right feet.”
But I won’t. In fact, I had better reign in this parental embarrassment now. Because Maya’s only going to get better at embarrassing me (oh, I’ve heard the horror stories of loud, inappropriate observations in the grocery store). And because Maya is beginning to develop her own self-awareness. She is starting to care what the other kids in her little Friday class think, which translates into more success potty training, and um, more consideration of how she wants to dress (however unique her taste is!).
So yes, that’s my uniquely clad, strangely acting kid, and yes, as long as she’s not hurting herself or anyone else, I’ll let her do her own thing and try not to worry about how it reflects on me!
Every parent I know has a favorite story or two that illustrates just how mortifying their kid is in public. Maya is still pretty little. At two and half, she often embarrasses us with the same behavior that we applaud and adore at home. For instance, Maya is now consistently dressing herself. This is usually convenient, given that Elliot frequently decides to end her (hour long) fast around the time Maya needs to get dressed. Unfortunately her latest fashion favorite includes a red wool sweater over yellow shorts with socks featuring frogs with little pink crowns. Occasionally she likes to throw a dress on over the top of it all. It is all I can do to convince her to substitute a pair of brown pants (it is 8 degrees below today!).
You try escorting that little number to her ECFE class, where 90 percent of the other moms brought kids straight out of last week’s Baby Gap ad, and the remaining 10% at least had their shoes on the right foot.
And at her sports class last Saturday, Maya was the only kid to get bored throwing the little red bouncy balls into the baskets. She decided to play “puppy” instead, alternately licking Joe’s face and running wildly around the room with that yummy rubber ball between her teeth.
Oh, in the retelling all of this comes across as cute toddler stuff, but when you are in the moment, looking around at the other orderly children and the raised eyebrows of their parents, you can’t help but have a serious pang of parental guilt. “Next time,” I tell myself, “I’ll risk the tears and just force her into the cute little matching skirt outfit I bought last week…. Or I’ll at least make her put her shoes on the right feet.”
But I won’t. In fact, I had better reign in this parental embarrassment now. Because Maya’s only going to get better at embarrassing me (oh, I’ve heard the horror stories of loud, inappropriate observations in the grocery store). And because Maya is beginning to develop her own self-awareness. She is starting to care what the other kids in her little Friday class think, which translates into more success potty training, and um, more consideration of how she wants to dress (however unique her taste is!).
So yes, that’s my uniquely clad, strangely acting kid, and yes, as long as she’s not hurting herself or anyone else, I’ll let her do her own thing and try not to worry about how it reflects on me!
Saturday, February 9, 2008
Zen and the Art of Pie Making
Last month I declared 2008 Year of the Pies, vowing to make one pie per month all year. Apparently this is one resolution I can actually keep. As the wind blew angry sheets of snow off of our roof, I put together a pear galette with caramel drizzle.
Why is this the year of the pies? At first my goal was to master my mother’s fabulous pie crusts. I really love the idea of homey, kitchen skills being passed lovingly from mother to daughter. Realizing that one pie a year wouldn’t improve my notoriously ugly pies, I resolved to make a bunch of them this year.
Today I discovered the true joy of baking. While Joe laboriously put Maya down for a nap, I communed with our content little Elliot. She played with a few fascinating squeaky toys (yes babies are not many steps away from puppies), while I listened to the Splendid Table and methodically mixed and rolled the crust, sliced three pears and three apples, and assembled the gallete. The procedure is simple enough to let your mind wander, but satisfyingly tactile, periodically forcing your attention back to the task at hand. This is exactly what I love about yoga; both are tasks that allow you to engage your mind and body at once in an extremely relaxing way.
While I wish I could share my latest (and somewhat improved) creation with all of you, I will instead recommend a television show and a movie that will put you in the pie-baking mood as well.
I’m a huge fan of the new show Pushing Daisies. If you haven’t seen it, download an episode or two. It’s a charming (if somewhat dark) comedy about a pie maker and his strange ability to revive the dead. Mostly I like it for the pies, but the quirky mysteries that crop up each episode are entertaining. Also, the fact that he can’t actually touch his recently revived girlfriend without killing her is riotous!
A movie with, perhaps, more universal appeal is Waitress. This fantastic indie film starring a waitress/pie maker and her totally dysfunctional life is the perfect backdrop to a cold and blowing northern evening. Light the fire, kick back, and drool over her pies!
Why is this the year of the pies? At first my goal was to master my mother’s fabulous pie crusts. I really love the idea of homey, kitchen skills being passed lovingly from mother to daughter. Realizing that one pie a year wouldn’t improve my notoriously ugly pies, I resolved to make a bunch of them this year.
Today I discovered the true joy of baking. While Joe laboriously put Maya down for a nap, I communed with our content little Elliot. She played with a few fascinating squeaky toys (yes babies are not many steps away from puppies), while I listened to the Splendid Table and methodically mixed and rolled the crust, sliced three pears and three apples, and assembled the gallete. The procedure is simple enough to let your mind wander, but satisfyingly tactile, periodically forcing your attention back to the task at hand. This is exactly what I love about yoga; both are tasks that allow you to engage your mind and body at once in an extremely relaxing way.
While I wish I could share my latest (and somewhat improved) creation with all of you, I will instead recommend a television show and a movie that will put you in the pie-baking mood as well.
I’m a huge fan of the new show Pushing Daisies. If you haven’t seen it, download an episode or two. It’s a charming (if somewhat dark) comedy about a pie maker and his strange ability to revive the dead. Mostly I like it for the pies, but the quirky mysteries that crop up each episode are entertaining. Also, the fact that he can’t actually touch his recently revived girlfriend without killing her is riotous!
A movie with, perhaps, more universal appeal is Waitress. This fantastic indie film starring a waitress/pie maker and her totally dysfunctional life is the perfect backdrop to a cold and blowing northern evening. Light the fire, kick back, and drool over her pies!
Friday, February 8, 2008
Power Tripping
Admittedly, there are many aspects of Maya’s life I cannot control. I cannot (and should not) force her to sleep, to eat, or to use the potty. These are all things I’m teaching her to do.
However, my power over other parts of her life is absolute.
This week, as we traveled to play group, to the Eagles Nest, and even simply to the supermarket in an effort to stave off cabin fever, NPR’s election analysis inspired a new game:
“What’s that guy talking about mommy?” she asked so sincerely.
“The lady that is going to be our president,” I answered in a happy tone.
“Oh, I like the lady. She should be the boss.” She concluded. Does this sound like something she came up with on her own? Probably not.
Then later. “Is that guy talking about the boss-lady?” She asked.
“No honey, he’s talking about a guy named McCain. He wants to be president instead,” I said with a dark, someone’s-about-to-get-a-timeout tone.
“Oh, I don’t like McCain. He’s stinky.” She said darkly. Stinky is her nearly universal adjective to describe something horrible.
If I had overheard these little conversations between a different parent and child, touting the reverse political sentiment, I probably would have been horrified and self-righteous. “I am teaching my child independent thinking,” I would say snobbishly in my own head “kids aren’t billboards…” blah, blah, blah.
But this is my daughter, parroting my views in such adorable toddler-ese. I can’t help but love it, and of course, encourage her to repeat it to everyone we know!
The obvious problem with power tripping as a parent, is that it always comes back to bite you. Within a week, I’m guessing that she’ll reverse her position on these two candidates for "boss" simply to test my reaction. If I correct her at all, she will be so pleased with herself that she will be a McCain supporter for life. Just another young, attractive, female republican ignoring the ongoing misogynistic values intrinsic in the party and congratulating herself on refusing to be her mother’s puppet.
So I forced myself to shut down the computer before I could complete my purchase of a Hilary onesie for Elliot and a Hill-Raisers t-shirt for Maya (oh but if she wins the primary can I resist!?). Of course she’ll pick up on my views anyway, listening to Joe and I loudly rant about the crazy state of the world over dinner, maybe someday volunteering with us around the metro, but that’s different. Forcing her to eat peas will make her hate them. Teaching her how to grow them in our garden, how to clean them, how to cook them, and then offering them without a word positive or otherwise, will inspire her to enjoy them.
She’ll learn her values the way I learned mine. Not with lectures, but by example.
However, my power over other parts of her life is absolute.
This week, as we traveled to play group, to the Eagles Nest, and even simply to the supermarket in an effort to stave off cabin fever, NPR’s election analysis inspired a new game:
“What’s that guy talking about mommy?” she asked so sincerely.
“The lady that is going to be our president,” I answered in a happy tone.
“Oh, I like the lady. She should be the boss.” She concluded. Does this sound like something she came up with on her own? Probably not.
Then later. “Is that guy talking about the boss-lady?” She asked.
“No honey, he’s talking about a guy named McCain. He wants to be president instead,” I said with a dark, someone’s-about-to-get-a-timeout tone.
“Oh, I don’t like McCain. He’s stinky.” She said darkly. Stinky is her nearly universal adjective to describe something horrible.
If I had overheard these little conversations between a different parent and child, touting the reverse political sentiment, I probably would have been horrified and self-righteous. “I am teaching my child independent thinking,” I would say snobbishly in my own head “kids aren’t billboards…” blah, blah, blah.
But this is my daughter, parroting my views in such adorable toddler-ese. I can’t help but love it, and of course, encourage her to repeat it to everyone we know!
The obvious problem with power tripping as a parent, is that it always comes back to bite you. Within a week, I’m guessing that she’ll reverse her position on these two candidates for "boss" simply to test my reaction. If I correct her at all, she will be so pleased with herself that she will be a McCain supporter for life. Just another young, attractive, female republican ignoring the ongoing misogynistic values intrinsic in the party and congratulating herself on refusing to be her mother’s puppet.
So I forced myself to shut down the computer before I could complete my purchase of a Hilary onesie for Elliot and a Hill-Raisers t-shirt for Maya (oh but if she wins the primary can I resist!?). Of course she’ll pick up on my views anyway, listening to Joe and I loudly rant about the crazy state of the world over dinner, maybe someday volunteering with us around the metro, but that’s different. Forcing her to eat peas will make her hate them. Teaching her how to grow them in our garden, how to clean them, how to cook them, and then offering them without a word positive or otherwise, will inspire her to enjoy them.
She’ll learn her values the way I learned mine. Not with lectures, but by example.
Wednesday, February 6, 2008
But WHY?
These are the words that bounce continuously off the unpainted walls of our not-so-new house, loudly and with a whiny desperation that is particularly annoying: “But WHY?”
Between Joe and I, we must say it 30 times a day. That’s right. In this house the inquisition is being conducted not by the toddler but by the parents. Maya hasn’t actually entered the “why” stage yet. Why? Apparently we have a year to go before the barrage of “why is the sky blue” questions illuminate our unfortunate deficiency in elementary science.
“But WHY” has become our constant and completely ineffective response to her impromptu (and short lived) refusal to use the potty before going to open gym last week, her sudden use of American Gladiator moves on our cat, and every other confounding new thing she does.
Typically we try to be so patient, so understanding, but lately it seems that her independence and creativity have merged in the most diabolical way possible. Of course, that is not fair. She’s just testing boundaries, right? But take today, for example. I set Maya up with her big box of colors and a favorite color book in order to buy Elliot enough time to nurse and snuggle for a bit. For about ten minutes all was well. Then, just as Elliot paused to blow a few milk bubbles and smile joyfully at me with that endearing “oh good, you’re here too” smile that accompanies most of her 200 meals a day, Maya disappears.
“Maya come down here,” I calmly say, not wanting to upset Elliot who is going in for seconds.
“I’m getting Anakin a snack,” she calls, and I assume she’s into the drawer in the kitchen where we keep the cat treats… fine.
“Not too many, he could get a tummy ache. Come down here now, and I’ll help you open them.”
Silence.
“Maya?”
Silence.
Then, after a minute or so: “Don’t worry Mama, I’m just going to get the uh, um, um… the play dough.”
Crap, that’s above the counter. I have to carefully interrupt Elliot’s lunch without losing an appendage, and by the time I get upstairs, Maya is trying to figure out how to get down from the counter via Elliot’s exersaucer (not the most stable piece of furniture, given that it is shaped like a bouncing saucer!).
“But WHY? Why didn’t you ask for help?” I ask when she sees my look of horror and explains again about her need for play dough.
She just stares back at me and sweetly states the obvious. “Um, cause I just wanted some play dough for something.”
The motivation, the why, is simply lost on her. She can offer no explanation. The mood struck, and she reacted. I have to remind myself that instead of asking why, I’ll simply have to tell her how she should have pursued her little mission. And from now on, I may have to lock all of us in the playroom when Elliot needs to eat!
Between Joe and I, we must say it 30 times a day. That’s right. In this house the inquisition is being conducted not by the toddler but by the parents. Maya hasn’t actually entered the “why” stage yet. Why? Apparently we have a year to go before the barrage of “why is the sky blue” questions illuminate our unfortunate deficiency in elementary science.
“But WHY” has become our constant and completely ineffective response to her impromptu (and short lived) refusal to use the potty before going to open gym last week, her sudden use of American Gladiator moves on our cat, and every other confounding new thing she does.
Typically we try to be so patient, so understanding, but lately it seems that her independence and creativity have merged in the most diabolical way possible. Of course, that is not fair. She’s just testing boundaries, right? But take today, for example. I set Maya up with her big box of colors and a favorite color book in order to buy Elliot enough time to nurse and snuggle for a bit. For about ten minutes all was well. Then, just as Elliot paused to blow a few milk bubbles and smile joyfully at me with that endearing “oh good, you’re here too” smile that accompanies most of her 200 meals a day, Maya disappears.
“Maya come down here,” I calmly say, not wanting to upset Elliot who is going in for seconds.
“I’m getting Anakin a snack,” she calls, and I assume she’s into the drawer in the kitchen where we keep the cat treats… fine.
“Not too many, he could get a tummy ache. Come down here now, and I’ll help you open them.”
Silence.
“Maya?”
Silence.
Then, after a minute or so: “Don’t worry Mama, I’m just going to get the uh, um, um… the play dough.”
Crap, that’s above the counter. I have to carefully interrupt Elliot’s lunch without losing an appendage, and by the time I get upstairs, Maya is trying to figure out how to get down from the counter via Elliot’s exersaucer (not the most stable piece of furniture, given that it is shaped like a bouncing saucer!).
“But WHY? Why didn’t you ask for help?” I ask when she sees my look of horror and explains again about her need for play dough.
She just stares back at me and sweetly states the obvious. “Um, cause I just wanted some play dough for something.”
The motivation, the why, is simply lost on her. She can offer no explanation. The mood struck, and she reacted. I have to remind myself that instead of asking why, I’ll simply have to tell her how she should have pursued her little mission. And from now on, I may have to lock all of us in the playroom when Elliot needs to eat!
Monday, February 4, 2008
Having It ALL One Step at a Time!
I would really love to "have it all." A great career, a loving and helpful husband, clean, intelligent, and well-behaved children, great house, looks that defy pregnancy (and gravity!), and of course happiness.
I know so many women who do have it all, and until a few months ago, I placed myself firmly in the "having it all" category. I had made a few strides in my budding career (although I pursued it on a part-time basis), my phenom of a husband made life with our toddler a blast, I loved my daycare... all things that made my life a happy one.
But with number two on the way, and the responsibilities in my current position only growing, I started to worry about how I would enjoy all the individual aspects of my life, particularly my children.
When my oldest daughter was born, I wasn’t prepared to fall so mercilessly in love. It’s a helpless, hostage-taking kind of love, and I knew being held hostage by two would be exponentially more difficult. All summer, as the due date drew near, I just couldn't get my head around dividing my time between both babies and a work schedule that frequently bulged out of it's three-day-a-week waistband.
To be honest, I'm the greediest mother I know. I can't get enough time with my girls. I could blow kisses on a baby tummy for an hour straight, and I relish dinner conversation centered ever-so-seriously on whether our house cat would rather have a new kitty or puppy as his best friend.
So I've revised my goals to suit my baby-lust. There is time, hopefully, to "have it all" serially, and simply allow myself to be fully mindful and present through each phase of my life. Some of my best loved heroes suspended their own ambitions for a few years while they cared for, loved, and taught their children, and it's their lead that I'm happily following.
I am patently not hip, have never been edgy, and I am woefully romantic about parenting, so I realize that this will never be a popular blog. Instead, I intend to use this blog to achieve two things.
First, I hope to capture the quirky, fleeting, and surprisingly universal moments of young motherhood. I cry far more often than I ever did pre-motherhood, and it’s mostly over the fact that this baby that wakes me up two or three times a night, and this little girl that climbs into my bed at 3 AM will be leaving for college - silly, I know. This blog is motivation to collect their stories like ripe tomatoes in the summer garden. They seem so plentiful now, it is almost easier to let them drop, but some late November evening I’ll be so glad I saved enough to make a good marinara out of the tastiest homegrown fruit rather than relying on the bland store-bought variety.
My second goal is a bit more pragmatic. While the love is instant, the knowledge of how to parent is just not. I always feel as though I’ve come a bit late to class. From food choices to preschools to developing a social network for a two-year-old, I’m a novice. This is a tool to help me sort through the popular influences on parents, from the rushing tide of commercial advertising to the dictations of each various niche of parenting. I like to take tools from many sources (attachment parenting, babycenter.com, Mothering Magazine, my mother) and from them make decisions that are right for my family.
I hope to take advantage of my time at home to really simplify our lives, minimize our impact on the world around us, and enjoy our family life. In addition to updates about the girls, look forward to discussions about mindful living, real food, our vegetable garden, commentary on feminism and public policy as it relates to raising our girls, and maybe our adoption of urban chickens!
We're all growing up together over here: Joe, the girls, and I.
I know so many women who do have it all, and until a few months ago, I placed myself firmly in the "having it all" category. I had made a few strides in my budding career (although I pursued it on a part-time basis), my phenom of a husband made life with our toddler a blast, I loved my daycare... all things that made my life a happy one.
But with number two on the way, and the responsibilities in my current position only growing, I started to worry about how I would enjoy all the individual aspects of my life, particularly my children.
When my oldest daughter was born, I wasn’t prepared to fall so mercilessly in love. It’s a helpless, hostage-taking kind of love, and I knew being held hostage by two would be exponentially more difficult. All summer, as the due date drew near, I just couldn't get my head around dividing my time between both babies and a work schedule that frequently bulged out of it's three-day-a-week waistband.
To be honest, I'm the greediest mother I know. I can't get enough time with my girls. I could blow kisses on a baby tummy for an hour straight, and I relish dinner conversation centered ever-so-seriously on whether our house cat would rather have a new kitty or puppy as his best friend.
So I've revised my goals to suit my baby-lust. There is time, hopefully, to "have it all" serially, and simply allow myself to be fully mindful and present through each phase of my life. Some of my best loved heroes suspended their own ambitions for a few years while they cared for, loved, and taught their children, and it's their lead that I'm happily following.
I am patently not hip, have never been edgy, and I am woefully romantic about parenting, so I realize that this will never be a popular blog. Instead, I intend to use this blog to achieve two things.
First, I hope to capture the quirky, fleeting, and surprisingly universal moments of young motherhood. I cry far more often than I ever did pre-motherhood, and it’s mostly over the fact that this baby that wakes me up two or three times a night, and this little girl that climbs into my bed at 3 AM will be leaving for college - silly, I know. This blog is motivation to collect their stories like ripe tomatoes in the summer garden. They seem so plentiful now, it is almost easier to let them drop, but some late November evening I’ll be so glad I saved enough to make a good marinara out of the tastiest homegrown fruit rather than relying on the bland store-bought variety.
My second goal is a bit more pragmatic. While the love is instant, the knowledge of how to parent is just not. I always feel as though I’ve come a bit late to class. From food choices to preschools to developing a social network for a two-year-old, I’m a novice. This is a tool to help me sort through the popular influences on parents, from the rushing tide of commercial advertising to the dictations of each various niche of parenting. I like to take tools from many sources (attachment parenting, babycenter.com, Mothering Magazine, my mother) and from them make decisions that are right for my family.
I hope to take advantage of my time at home to really simplify our lives, minimize our impact on the world around us, and enjoy our family life. In addition to updates about the girls, look forward to discussions about mindful living, real food, our vegetable garden, commentary on feminism and public policy as it relates to raising our girls, and maybe our adoption of urban chickens!
We're all growing up together over here: Joe, the girls, and I.
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