Community, Kids, and Casserole

Did you know that during WWII, when this country desperately needed women to assist with the war effort, our government passed something called the Lanham Act, which provided grants to communities in support of need-based childcare.

In a matter of months, the Lanham Act enabled small communities to build the social infrastructure necessary to enable mothers to work at a time when most husbands were already engaged in the war effort.

The legislation was far from perfect, and it varied widely in implementation. But some communities used the Lanham Act to create truly revolutionary support structures for women who were raising young children essentially on their own. In most communities, the childcare was flexible enough to accommodate the wide-ranging schedules of war-time factory work. For many communities, the childcare facilities also provided hot meals for weary mothers to pick up along with their children. A few even offered cleaning services to assist with routine tasks at home.

Can you imagine how much easier work was for those lucky mothers who knew their children were well cared for during the day, had a nutritious meal waiting for them, and a clean house to come home to. Plus, they met all the other mothers in their neighborhood who were under the same pressures as they were.

Of course, the program was scrapped when the war ended, and mothers were expected to return home to their so-called “8 hour orphans.” Today, while the vast majority of women work, many of us can afford to hire our own Lanham-style infrastructure, engaging Merry Maids and Let’s Dish to help with cleaning and meals in addition to tracking down quality child care. We also expect and receive more support from our partners.

But what about the rest of us? If we can’t or don’t want to outsource the homefront, but still want to work, it’s exhausting to maintain a career, a home, and a family – even if both partners are sharing the work.

If we don’t have a partner to share the work, we’re in even worse shape, and this portion of the population is growing. Thirty years ago, almost 80% of kids lived in two parent households, compared to 67% today. Fully 30% of kids live in single parent families. Single parents make less money; in fact, fully 26% of single parents lived below the poverty line in 2000.

With staggering food and gas prices, that figure is surely going up.

How amazing would it be if we could bring back grant-giving legislation that would empower communities to rebuild the infrastructure to support single parents? We already subsidize day care, and provide food stamps. What if we consolidated this effort with the type of community-based, community building care and support that came out of some of the Lanham Act initiatives?

Parents could instead opt for healthy, ready to eat meals that could be picked up along with their children. Flexible day care facilities could accommodate diverse work schedules.

Parents would be left with a bit more time with their children and more resources to devote to their families.

Of course, I don’t have all of the details worked out or anything. There may even be programs like this in areas outside of Minnesota.

I really do keep busy during my days at home, from playing Hopscotch with Maya (teaching her number recognition and hopping skills) to pureeing squash for Elliot’s dinner, to taking care of things around the house. I realize that a lot of it could easily be done by someone else, or not done at all, but so much of what I do, most other women do in addition to working long days. I know it can be done, and I know many working parents are able to develop their own support structures.

But for those that can’t, I wish we could create community-based, supportive child AND family care systems to ease the burden.

Green, Greener, Greenest

The Sunday Star Tribune has a great insert about Living Green.

For at least the past three years, I have been reasonably committed to making “green” choices. A lot of our purchasing and lifestyle decisions are now so routine that I no longer think about them as sustainable, like recycling, buying organic milk, and using earth-friendly laundry soap. It’s just what we do.

I have a long way to go. I realize this every time I read articles like Living Green. The cloth diapers just didn’t work for us (we settled on Seventh Generation diapers as a slightly less guilty alternative to regular disposables). Rain gardens always seem so complicated. I haven’t yet resorted to putting a bucket in my shower to catch the “grey” water for my garden. And finding the little alternative stories that sell eco-clothing never meshes with my mad dash to the grocery store between Elliot’s naps.

Yet I keep reading all the green living tips I can get my hands on. Each time my favorite magazines or websites feature an article on the green living basics, I congratulate myself on the few things that we do well (which has grown a lot recently), and evaluate the remaining green suggestions to see what would be simple to take up next.

Each time I read about rain barrels, self-propelled lawn mowers, eco-clothing, and other sustainable options that we haven’t incorporated yet, I feel a bit more comfortable with the idea. The more familiar the option (like the self-propelled mower), the more likely we are to just start doing it.

Last week, Amazon’s Deal of the Day was a push mower. It arrived on our doorstep yesterday (during the freak blizzard that pelted my hydrangeas with snow). I can't wait to That’s just one more thing on the list that we can celebrate, and a lot of others that we just might try next time.

So check out the articles. Find one new thing to put on your to do list!

In the middle of a blizzard, we had a summer fashion show!

News for the Stroller Set?

Everyone knows that small children should never be allowed to watch television news programs, but I haven’t thought much about the effect my public radio addiction might have on Maya.

Until recently, I don’t think the news stories that serenade us at breakfast and lunch, in the car, and occasionally while I fold laundry have had an impact on Maya.

A couple of months ago, Maya started asking about the news. Her periodic question, “what’s that lady talk’n ‘bout, mama?” gave me the perfect opportunity to introduce her to Hilary and Obama and the concept of president (see my post on Power Tripping if you missed that little nugget).

Lately she’s been able to pick out words in the discussion, any discussion, and ask more specific questions.

At the dinner table, she often interrupts us with the indignant, “Hey, are you guys talk’n ‘bout me…. Don’t DO that!” We now have to use words like "ambulate" if we want to talk about going to the park without getting her too excited.

When the news is on, though, she’ll snatch up any random, recognizable word, giving me the opportunity connect her with the broader world.

This morning Maya picked up on a story about doctors taking cooking classes in order to give patients better tools to eat healthy,

“Medicine? Why did they say that word, Mama?” she asked.

Hmm. What does an almost-three-year-old need to know about this? I told her that the doctors on the news were helping people eat good food so they wouldn’t need the medicine.

Of course, Maya just lapped up the last of her bubble gum flavored penicillin last night, and she can’t imagine what could be better than medicine. “Medicine is good food,” she countered.

Meanwhile the story continued in the background. They were making some kind of salmon with a black bean salad. It sounded great to me, but it’s not bubble gum flavored. Instead, I got her to focus on her cereal. She’s big on this Kashi Oat Flakes & Wild Blueberry cereal, so we looked at all the different cereal bits and talked about how healthy they were making her.

Incidentally, we had run out of the cereal last week, while she was sick. “Mama, I’m goin’ to eat this ALL the TIME, so let’s get more at the store.”

There. I connected her little news question to her own life. Also, she didn't ask me to turn the news off for the rest of her breakfast, meaning I have found a way to appease the little dictator.

Now I have to pay attention, and actually turn the radio off when the really disturbing stories come on. I’d like to spare her from the fact that her friends Hilary and Obama (she always follows their names with the statement “they’re very nice”) are in a battle to see how many racists and/or sexists they can inflame against each other.

Earth Day - Shmirth Day

Does anyone else loathe birthdays?

I love the idea of them of course (not the getting older bit so much as the me, me, me theme). No, I tend to feel the love of my family and friends and the depth of my good lot in life more on a random Tuesday when the girls are tucked in and we take a moment for real conversation and a good glass of wine. For me, along with nearly everyone I know over 21, the reality of birthdays tends to be a depressing rush of schedules and expectations that never quite line up.

Earth Day 2008 has shaped up in much the same way.

Elliot in Joe's Old Chair

Yesterday, I was definitely in the mood to celebrate our connection to mother earth. It was finally over 70 degrees! We were outside nearly all day, slathered in nontoxic sunscreen (Blue Lizard has been my favorite for three years now!) Maya and her imaginary friend Butrik bonded in the sandbox over mud-pie (atta girl Maya), while Elliot rolled around on a blanket eating grass and developing a strong tolerance for common allergens. Meanwhile I raked, dug in the garden, and scouted our yard for the best place to plant my 6 new raspberry bushes.

Maya (self styled!) at play.

I felt especially mother-earthy when I nursed Elliot in the shade of a tree in our backyard while Maya chased a worm around in the flowerbed.

Today, though, I’m just not feeling it. None of us are. Maya was only marginally interested in painting the planet earth picture I drew for her, refused to make the crafty “rain stick” out of a paper towel roll and rice, and spent our entire walk to the park in her stroller eating goldfish crackers rather than scouting out birds and bugs. Apparently you just can’t force Earth Day.

My less than sunny mood is probably caused by endless MPR stories featuring the interwoven crises of environmental degradation, gluttony (in the developed world), and poverty (everywhere else). It’s hard to feel good about rededicating ourselves to compost and low flow showerheads when food riots in Cairo and environmental refugees are the problems we’re trying to solve.

I’ll let you know if I discover a more effective way to bring the global battle for balanced survival to the level of the household. In the meantime, I’m going to track down an American Elm tree with Dutch elm immunity… I’ll just celebrate Arbor Day early; it’s less depressing.

Dark Chocolate Meringue with Raspberries

Too impress our company and celebrate our good health, I baked a pie this weekend. This recipe for Dark Chocolate Meringue with Raspberries is great. Buy really high quality chocolate and fresh berries for a spectacular indulgence. This was a luxurious combination of bittersweet dark chocolate, fluffy meringue, and tart berries.

Next time I would drain the berries a bit longer, because the pie got a bit juicy and the slices lost their shape. It tasted fabulous though, and the presentation was still mouth watering. MMmmm.

Also, Pie Chef has a ton of great recipes for the adventurous pie lover (don't let the less-than-impressive website turn you off!).

Spring Fevers

Poor Maya. Just as she seemed to perk up out of her strep throat fog, she was taken out by a stomach bug.

I've had exceptionally healthy children until this month. We've literally had two trips to the doctor that weren't "Well Baby" check-ups: Elliot's tumble off the bed this year, and an urgent care trip to treat Maya's flu last year.

This means I'm terribly unprepared to deal with the stomach flu. All morning Maya's body twisted and clenched in pain nearly every 15 minutes. She looked so scared and sad when she looked at me in between pangs and said, "Mama, get me some medicine so this goes away." Of course, I couldn't do anything to help her beyond providing cool washcloths, soothing words, and an endless stream of Noggin.

Now she's more comfortable, and we're following the nurse's instruction for hydration: a teaspoon of water every 15 minutes. In a few hours she'll graduate to broth, and then maybe a noodle or two.

Yesterday I rambled on about our transition from overwhelmed-family-with-new-baby to normal life.

In my life with little kids, the "Holy Crap" or more gentile "What am I Supposed to Do Now" phase comes back to haunt me all too often!

Luckily, Elliot hasn't caught it.... Yet.

Little Fingers Painting?

What a triumph! Who would have thought that painting a tiny upstairs living room would be my Everest?


Well, it’s not that important, but it does mark another milestone for us. We’re going through the same series of transitions with Elliot that we did with Maya. The first phase, alternately titled “Just Look at Her” and “Holy Crap,” encompassed most of the first three months. That phase is dominated by overwhelming awe and love for the new little one, baffling tears (mom’s, baby’s, even big sister’s and dad’s), and constantly feeling like it’s the first day of school in junior high (in other words nervous, full of self doubt, and yet really excited).

The second phase, known as “Hey, We Can Do This," coincides with most babies' ability to sleep longer and cry less. For our family, the fourth and fifth month are all phase 2. We oscillate between "Holy Crap," euphoria over successful trips out in the real world, and contentment in the knowledge that we can accurately diagnose and respond to most of baby’s cries.

Now, with this painting project, we have entered phase three. With Maya, I referred to it as the “Wow, I Just Read the Paper” phase, but with Elliot I’m a little more advanced. The “I Just Painted A Room” phase is characterized by a lingering sense of normalcy.

I realize I’m rambling, but this is a major transition. The overwhelming “Holy Crap” feeling only resurfaces when Elliot cries in the car (my babies both HATE driving). The rest of the time, we feel like a chaotic but manageable family

So this week, we painted. I used Dutch Boy Kids Room paint (it can actually be mixed in any color, even though some stores say that it is only for pastels). This paint is low in the smelly toxic chemicals that pregnant women, babies, and young children are supposed to avoid. With the window open in that room, it was hard to detect a paint smell the evening I painted! Of course, the day after I bought my paint, I learned that Home Depot now carries an affordable brand of paint that is healthier and more earth friendly. Next time I’ll try that out.

Expert Snobbery

Okay, I’m no expert. In anything. I know a few interesting things about a lot of different subjects. I have a policy degree and an economics degree that, in combination, mean that I am well trained in cost-benefit analysis, spin, and BS.

As a non-expert, I am baffled by the behavior of the experts I’ve been dealing with lately. In the past two weeks, I have seen a doctor about Maya’s spots, a siding expert about an issue with our steel siding, and a carpenter about adding a deck to the naked patio door on the side of our house. Of these three experts, I have gotten expertly scoffed at three times.

Unlike our thorough and respectful regular family doctor, the great and powerful Doctor Z acted as if I was an over-excited parent checking on the sniffles (never mind that the strep test I suggested –thanks to grandma- later came back positive). He acted as though his diagnosis of chicken pox in a vaccinated kid was thoroughly mundane, but when I asked him if she needed to be kept back from her ECFE class, he then freaked out as if I were eager to expose a group of toddlers to Ebola.

The siding expert was a total jerk that tried to take advantage (about $15,000 worth) of my non-expert status. (Another smug expert later debunked this one.)

The carpenter was friendly enough, until I asked if he could just frame up the deck, leaving the top boards to us. Suddenly I went from a potential customer to the slow kid. Instead of USING his expertise and making a suggestion or two, he simply shrugged his shoulders and said, “I’ll give you a quote, but there is more to it than you think.”

What is going on here? Why does expertise in something give these people the right to treat me like an idiot? As the customer, aren’t I actually their boss at some level. Wouldn’t they accomplish their work better, have healthier patients or get better referrals, by making helpful suggestions rather than rolling their eyes if I ask the wrong question.

I must be working with the wrong experts. Maybe they are treating me poorly because I’m female, or because I look young, or because the tiny people attached to me make me look less educated. Whatever it is, I’m not okay with being treated this way.

So before the snobby carpenter calls back with his quote, I’m contacting someone off the Minnesota Women’s Press Directory or Angie's List. I’ve got a couple of names that sound promising, and I’ll let you know if I can track down an expert that will be a little less snobby.

Pox News

Just a quick update… We don’t have the pox! As it turns out, Maya had strep throat… actually scarlet fever. Did you know that strep throat with a rash is scarlet fever?

This is great news. The antibiotics should get Maya up off our couch in the next day or so. Plus Elliot is no longer under pox-watch, and our doctor assures us she probably won’t catch strep.

Pox News

Just a quick update… We don’t have the pox! As it turns out, Maya had strep throat… actually scarlet fever. Did you know that strep throat with a rash is scarlet fever?

This is great news. The antibiotics should get Maya up off our couch in the next day or so. Plus Elliot is no longer under pox-watch, and our doctor assures us she probably won’t catch strep.

A Pox on Both Their Heads

We’ve got the wrong kind of chickens. Maya has been sprouting spots on her face, adding one or two each day all week. Today it looked even worse, so I left Elliot with Grandma (ah, the perks of house guests), and pushed, pulled, and dragged Maya to see the doctor.

He confirmed grandma’s guess: chicken pox.

Phew…. Maya’s been immunized, so it’s not likely to get worse. She’s just a little tired, and the spots look like a heat rash more than anything else. She simply needs to be quarantined until the spots scab over (about a week or so, he said).


It wasn’t until we got home and I plucked my dimpled, grinning, spitting baby out of grandma’s arms that I realized our trouble.

Elliot isn’t due for the Varicella (chicken pox) vaccine until 12 months. Oh how I made fun of that vaccine. We all got chicken pox, and we’re fine. The medical community is getting too vaccine crazy without fully studying the long-term impacts.

Now, though, as I stare down the prospect of oozy, nasty sores popping up all over my beautiful, happy girl for a week or so, I wish there was something I could give her to spare her.

When I frantically called the doctor back and ashamedly admitted that I had forgotten to inquire about my baby, his nurse just laughed at me. "She'll get it. Give her some baking soda baths. Good luck."

The good news is that, at 6 months old, Elliot most likely has some of my antibodies floating around in her system to help her fight off the pox. Let’s hope it’s a mild case!

Through the Lens of Others

We host a lot of overnight company. Well, if you call grandparents company, which we shouldn’t. Once or twice a month, our guests help around the house, help care for the girls, and provide us with unending commentary about the perfection of their grandchildren.

When I’m busy hiding (yes, hiding) our junk piles and vacuuming the dust bunnies (dust kitties in our case – we have a fluffy black cat that drives my mom nuts!), I just remind myself how nice it is to have so many people who love the quirks and craziness of our girls as much as we do. And the loving observations of grandparents helps me see the girls in a whole new light!

Today, Grandma Pie Queen began Maya’s training with the simple but ever-popular apple pie.

What? A Dump?

According to reruns on Nick at Night, there once was a time when clever, blue collar men came home from work only to spend their evenings repairing the toaster, the television, or anything else that happened to break.

Maybe that never actually happened, or maybe small appliance repair was once a standard course in middle school. More likely the array and complexity of mechanical tools (bread machine, anyone) would make home repair a fulltime job requiring multiple degrees.

Whatever the reason, we simply don’t repair most of the things in our home. Why fix a toaster when a replacement is available for $10… and just look at all those new features!

We don’t let the busted alarm clocks, lamps, and waffle irons pile up in our closets. No, we let them pile up at the dump. Somewhere in Elk River lies my broken hand mixer.

Now that causes serious green guilt. So what’s the alternative?

I looked into it, and here is what I learned:

• Maybe your city will take it, but probably not. Only set small appliances out with your recycling bin if your area recycling includes them in their list of recyclables (mine doesn't). Otherwise, they will most likely end up in the landfill.
  
• In the Twin Cities, check out J.R.’s Appliance. J.R.’s offers curbside or dropoff recycling for pretty much anything that’s recyclable, including stereos, radios, and VCRs. According to their website, e-waste is free! Metro drop off is in Inver Grove Heights and costs about $10 for large appliances (it may be cheaper for smaller stuff)
• Not in the metro? Just google “scrap, metal, recycling” plus your city and something is bound to turn up in your area (except maybe in Veblen).
• Feeling clever? If you have some time on your hands How to Mend It provides instructions on how to mend just about anything!

It’s good for me to simply remember not to throw first and ask these questions later. Too bad I didn’t know about J.R.’s during the great cheesecake snafu of 2005; my hand mixer would be living a new life as your tire rims (or something) rather than taking up space in Elk River!

Counting our Chickens

Three or four? We have moved past our original question: Should we get some chickens? Now we are simply figuring out how many and exactly how to go about it.

When the mercury hit 68 degrees on Saturday, and half of our neighborhood was outside in shorts, I casually brought up our potential poultry adoption. The neighbor kids thought I was joking. Their moms quickly said, “I’ll buy eggs from you when you have them.”

Of course, everyone seems to know, now, that poultry is the new black (or something). The Star Tribune, Minnesota Monthly, and Minnesota Public Radio have all run stories about the growing popularity of backyard hen houses.

Last summer we attended a meeting at Unity Church in St. Paul about keeping chickens as a spiritual act. That is what really inspired us to adopt some chickens. The speaker told a compelling story about spending the summer with the kids in her neighborhood, teaching those concrete-bound urban children about the miraculous circle of life.

As farm kids, we were both hooked. Someday, we’ll do that, we told ourselves.

Why wait? At current egg prices, we’ll be able to get 3 chickens for the price of six dozen eggs; and our chickens will probably lay 300 or more eggs in the first three months. For the true beginner, interesting websites like Path to Freedom and Backyard Chickens offer great information, message boards, and design plans for a small coop.

I may be romanticizing the joy of chickens. I envision three really pretty hens pecking comically at the grass behind our garden while Maya and I harvest tomatoes and Elliot chases a ball around on a blanket in the shade. What a nice summer scene.

In reality, I grew up on a farm without chickens, so I don’t have a clue about how this will work. Joe grew up with pretty diverse aviary, including chickens, geese, ducks, peacocks and who knows what else. Therefore, he will be the resident expert. Just to make sure we won’t get stuck, we have contacted a local (and humane) chicken farm about buying laying hens from them in May. They assured us that they would buy them back in the fall (so we don’t have to winterize them – I’m a fair-weather chicken keeper) or earlier if it doesn’t work out.

So we’re keeping suburban chickens for the summer. Hopefully a few hens will help us feel a bit better about our role in the food production and consumption cycle, take full advantage of our enormous backyard, and try something new.

We still have a couple of neighbors to warn/bribe with the promise of eggs. Our city actually doesn’t have a chicken permitting process, so I’m following the St. Paul guidelines (including neighbor notification, regular upkeep of the chicken run, and maintaining a strict no-rooster policy) just to be courteous.

We still have to figure out the logistics and connect with the few other suburban and urban chicken owners we know. By the end of May, though, check back for some chicken pics!

ELLIOT UPDATE!

I frequently put Elliot in the laundry basket to keep her still if I need to run out of the room quick.

Luckily I stayed nearby today, because she stood right up!

Then she fell right down while Mama took pictures... I'm terrible!

Too soon for Mum Mums?

Elliot thoroughly enjoyed the rice crackers we gave her yesterday. When I first gave it to her, she looked at me with this scrunched up expression that seemed to say, “Really? For me?”

These crackers dissolve easily, so the minute she put it in her mouth she went a little nuts. She broke a hunk off and mushed it around with her tongue, all the while banging the rest of it on the high chair tray. By the end of the cracker, their were crumbs in the pockets of her bibs, behind her ears, and in her hair, and she was showing off her burgeoning fine motor skills by grabbing at a few larger crumbs on her tray.

When it was gone, she was supremely satisfied with herself. She even made her trademark gurgley, screamy noise that seems to indicate triumph (the noise she usually reserves for the moment when she finally drags herself close enough to Maya’s toys that she can catch them or when we help her stand up).

Unfortunately, the Mum Mums may have been a bad idea. Elliot was up most of the night making sad little moaning noises and curling her legs around her little tummy. While there should be nothing to upset her in the Mum Mums, clearly something was amiss… And I promise it wasn’t me!

Some of my family and friends think I’m too strict about not feeding random things to my babies (you know, things like whipped cream or ice cream or mashed potatoes!), but once again I’m reminded that it’s for their own good. Those little digestive systems just can’t handle very much. Check out the Mayo recommended first-foods schedule.

Tonight we’ll revert back to the organic rice cereal with a little bit of homemade applesauce, saving the Mum Mums for another week or two. This week she's graduating from one meal a day to two meals, and that’s probably enough excitement.

My Soapbox and the Narcotic Benefits of Nursing

Two days ago, NPR aired a story entitled "Study puts breastfeeding benefits in question." In it Dr. Sydney Spiesel discusses a study done about the benefits of breastfeeding. The study confirmed some physical benefits, but focused on the absence of psychological benefits for children who were breastfed.


The article got a lot of press and a lot of angry e-mails, all of which is ridiculous given the thousands of studies that demonstrate a wide range of benefits for both moms and babies who breastfeed. Some of the more celebrated benefits include a decreased risk of breast cancer in mom and baby, a lower incidence of post-partum depression for mom, and even reduced gastro-intestinal problems for baby (spit-up not included). Nearly all of the research assumes six months of exclusive nursing, which is only half of the time the American Academy of Pediatrics recommends.

I wasn’t always a Le Leche apprentice. My first memory of seeing anyone breastfeed was actually in college when Winona LaDuke came to speak to my sociology class. She nursed her toddler (aggressively, it seemed) in the middle of her presentation while my professor turned eight shades of red, and all the conservative boys in my class either ducked their heads or stared in, um, shock. This was not the best introduction to mother-baby bonding.

When I was first pregnant, I wasn’t actually planning to nurse more than a few weeks. The closer I got to my due date, however, the more research I did on the benefits of breastfeeding. The more reading I did, the more comfortable I got with the idea. Beyond the demonstrated benefits, I began to see breastfeeding as such a simple, natural part of having a baby that it must be better than formula.

At first I committed to nursing for at least three months. After that, I told myself, if it’s too hard I can just switch to formula. Well, by three months I was a total convert.

It was not difficult or uncomfortable (after the first two weeks or so), plus there were lots of uncelebrated benefits that the research didn’t dwell on:

• No late night bottle prep.
• Wherever I go, there’s the baby’s lunch.
• Guaranteed snuggle time – especially important when surrounded by a big loving family that likes to pass the baby around (have I mentioned I’m a baby hog?).
• The comforting knowledge that I can provide my baby with everything she needs. Forget the diaper bag? Stuck in a blizzard? At least the baby can eat.

All of this easily overcomes the minor drawbacks of watching your garlic and alcohol in-take, being on call 24 hours a day (that’s true regardless, I think), and (when I was working) developing an uncomfortably intimate relationship with Medela

But even if the psychological benefits for baby are overstated, I would still be one of those annoying breastfeeding super-advocates. Not because of the all of the potential long-term benefits, or because neither of my babies have been sick. Not simply because of the snuggle time it mandates (especially important with the second baby); not even because it is such a fundamental part of our anatomy.

No, I’m in it for the uppers. Every time the baby snacks, my brain releases oxytocin, mostly to remind my body to start producing the next meal. Oxytocin just happens to be one of the best feel-good hormones we have. How spectacular that our bodies provide us with a coping mechanism for the demands of being a new mom. When you’re stressed about having to wake up in the middle of the night, again, you sit down to feed baby and all of a sudden you are flooded with feel good chemicals. It’s a drug. No question about it. We aren’t just meant to breastfeed; we’re built to enjoy it.

So, all of that said, Elliot is now six months old. She’s moving on from rice cereal and applesauce to Mum Mums, little organic, dissolvable crackers. Oh how she loves them!

1... 2... ... Do I have to get to 3?

You know you’re a TV junkie when you admit to watching Supernanny. I’m not a regular viewer, honest, but I’ve seen enough episodes and previews to be haunted by the spectacularly wild children and meek parents that are the Supernanny’s fodder for scorn, pity, and instruction. I alternate between being appalled at parents that let their children get out of control and horrified by the realization that simply relaxing the rules on a holiday or a birthday can cause some serious discipline problems.

Maya received her first time-out about a year ago (when she was 1.5 years old), a childhood landmark that left her parents full of fear. Mostly, fear of being too hard on our baby. We used time-outs sparingly for a long time.

Today time-outs are a daily occurrence, usually for Maya, but often putting an abused toy or utensil away for a bit is just as effective. We have a system of warnings and 1-3 minute long punishments depending on the offense. It nearly always does the trick, both calming her down and curbing unacceptable behavior.

You may have read my post last week extolling the virtues of the Home Court Advantage and vowing to teach Maya real-world rules. I spent last week playing The Freeze Game (I shout freeze randomly throughout the day and if she freezes she gets a marshmallow) in an effort to teach her to stop in public situations (as opposed to running faster like she does now).

I am more convinced than ever that Maya’s reached another disciplinary milestone. Last year we transitioned from a baby to a toddler that only needed to hear no when she was about to touch the stove, run in the street, or hit the cat. This year we’re transitioning again to a preschooler who wants as much power and control over her own life as we can give her. She needs to hear no about a thousand times a day; and I need her to respond.

I tend to avoid conflict. Especially with Maya, since I would much rather hear her say, “mama I love you more than chocolate” a hundred times in a day than “mama don’t be mad and sad anymore.” I routinely just take things away from her (like the bottle of ranch she wanted to squeeze out all over her plate at lunch) and simply move it out of her reach.

Instead I should have told her no, warned her of the consequence, then put her in time out when she broke the rule. If I stick to that method (advocated by Supernanny and a book called Love and Logic that I have yet to read but hear is great), supposedly my sweet but spectacularly willful child can learn that all of her choices have consequences and that her parents are serious when we say no.

More importantly, I won’t be following the rules for her. She’s already the size of a four year old; she’ll be able to reach everything in another year!

I’m off to learn the art of offering choices with consequences to a preschooler without turning into “mad and sad mama.”

Wish me luck!

Maya sporting her new rain gear (before Monday's snowstorm).

Elliot can't stand to sleep for more than 25 minutes now that she can crawl after anything she wants!

Maya will only let me fix her hair if I put 5 ponytails in it!

Maya and I made birthday flowers out of her hand prints and Popsicle sticks yesterday.

Exciting News

Ameriprise has offered Joe a position in Vancouver! We have already found a beautiful, bayside home, so now we just have to pack up. I'm using my birthday money to buy a couple of sea kayaks, Maya's already enrolled in skiing classes, and Joe just bought a mountain bike, so we're all ready for adventure in one of the world's most internationally and recreationally diverse cities. Elliot said her first words today; well, she sang them anyway: Oh Canada!

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