Moving gracefully through our day. Oh, how I have thrashed through that ideal, choking and muttering.
I've never been a happy waker most days. I wake up and I dread whatever lies ahead, and I tend to grouse about it. Well, at least back in my student days. Now I've spent a decade or more internalizing the "be happy and aware" ideal from my forays into Buddhism. I'm still a venerate complainer, but I've found myself willfully shifting my attitude. Why? Simply: my daughter. I do not want my daughter get caught in starting the day with a bad attitude.
I still have a tendency to wail and stomp around when I'm feeling stressed, but that is no excuse to pass it on! So I make a conscious effort to set a positive tone in the morning. For all of us.
I often wake the little girl singing "Good Morning to You" and asking after her night. Did she have a good sleep? Did she have interesting dreams? Is she excited about her day? I smile at her and look at her and listen to her stories of elaborate dreams or fretful worries. If she needs a hug, I pick her up and cuddle her. If she doesn't need a hug, I still pick her up and cuddle her and tell her I love her.
A good attitude is contagious, I'm convinced, especially if one learns it's a good way to start the day. One of many things I've forced myself to learn for the sake of my child. Ha, I must be growing up. Finally.
Things go wrong, of course they do. Things go off course, or maybe the thing I've been assiduously avoiding is now sitting on my shoulder demanding I deal with it. Gah. I don't deal well with stress. I don't act well with stress, I admit it. But I've learned to act around it. I've learned that preemptive graciousness and empathy smooths the day ahead of me.
If I treat myself and those around me with graciousness and empathy, it's much less often that I get to the point of feeling like screaming with frustration. Not that I am perfect at this, no, no, ahaha, no. But a little cheerfulness, it turns out, does set the tone for the day. I'm not talking about faking it, really, just tapping into the generousness that is there for the noticing.
As Thich Nhat Hanh might say, Smile! It's a wonderful morning!
As Dr Laura Markham at Aha Parenting might say, have empathy for yourself and others. Fill your cup.
As the interactive farm toy says on start up, Rise and Shine! It's a Sunny Day!
I've got more to give my daughter when I start our day with cheerfulness and empathy. I give it myself, first. I buckle myself in and then gather her up with a smile. If I can learn to do that, so can my daughter. And if I can do that for my daughter, I can do it for myself, too. Whoa, parenting moment.
--
Showing posts with label adventures in motherhood. Show all posts
Showing posts with label adventures in motherhood. Show all posts
Tuesday, March 6, 2012
Thursday, February 23, 2012
Super Mom Power: Micro Efficiency
This week, while moving lunch along, I suddenly noticed I was doing that Super Mom thing. Wait, that thing right there. What is that thing you are doing? I wondered to myself.
I never thought of myself being the hyper-efficient parent cooking this and cleaning that and readying that for her family, and giving that other thing a tweak in passing. What, me? Preparing daily lunches? How quaint and optimistic!
But it turns out that's what I do every day. Making breakfast, lunch, and dinner almost every day. Keeping things running smoothly and taken care of.
My life revolves around routines that keep everything moving and somewhat on schedule.
Schedule? snort! How confining, you might say. Ah, well, if you expect to get everything or even most of what you'd like to do in a day, yes, a schedule can help make that happen.
For instance, I decide we will pop by the library and then go to the children's museum the next day. But that means I need to get the little girl up early enough. I have a window of time between morning preparations and the need for lunch and nap, and I can't waste any of it.
It takes a minimum of an hour and a half - more likely two or more - to get her up, dressed, and fed and channeled before we can leave. Then it will take us about ten minutes to get to the library, and another thirty or forty minutes to find books and check out. Hurrying her along is not really an option, but channeling her is an art. This week, I managed to get our visit from arrival to checkout out to a mere twenty minutes! And she still found time to come lie on my feet several times. Libraries can be so wearisome despite the thrill of new books.
By the time we got to the museum, she'd been awake about nearly four hours and was starting to yawn. Oh, dear. I knew I she could use lunch and a nap by that point, but I pressed onward since I'd already promised the museum, and instead plied her with snacks and water on our way.
We finally got to the museum and spent about an hour running around exploring exhibits and playing, less than she'd like but almost past her endurance at that point. Then back home rather late. Ugh.
And maybe she ends up being too tired to eat much for lunch, and then I had to corral her toward snuggling and reading before her nap because if she's going to sleep, it had to be by three, or our evening is so screwed, aaaaaaaaahhhh!
Aaaand pause.
There was a period of time earlier in her life in which I was lucky to get out the door at all because of the mountain of logistics it took. Now I fit small tasks in between other small tasks. That is the real Mommy super power.
For instance, when I wake up in the morning, I dash through my own grooming and online check-in before I'll get the little girl up. I nudge her along to get up and out. I snuggle her and make sure she'll stay upright. I direct her to start taking off her pjs, which can take upwards of ten minutes if she's more excited about a toy or book. I help her choose her trousers for the day. I set them out in front of her, and say, "okay! put on your pants!" and then I leave the room and go to the kitchen to lay out breakfast ingredients. I check back in with her. She may or may not have progressed to "pants on" status. I redirect and/or start the process with the shirt, then I go open the curtains and neaten anything left out in the kitchen. I help put on socks and shoes. I help her pick out her headband and hair clips for the day, and go to fluff my own hair with conditioning oil, and then brush her hair with any remaining conditioner, which saves me yet another handwashing.
I've already put out yogurt, applesauce, any nuts, and juice and milk. I cook up whatever eggs/oatmeal/toast I have planned, and corral/nudge the little girl to climb up into her chair so I can affix big girl bib, set down remaining forks, etc. Aaaaand we eat.
Later, while she's finishing breakfast, or between refreshing juice/milk/toast/clean spoons, I read the paper, put away clean dishes and/or reload the dishwasher, restock her travel bag with fresh water and snacks for later, put out any mail, get out any coats or gear, write out a grocery list for the day, and check for any activities I need to remember. If she's really slow, I'll change the kitty litter while I wait.
It's making use of those increments between tasks that helps keep me going. And all while gently nudging her so we can move gracefully through our day rather than resorting to glaring and screaming. As I said, hurrying is not really an option. We are moving at top speed in slow motion.
I do the same thing through lunch and "quiet time" routine, hoping to get her to gear down before I lose energy and patience. Then when the afternoon energy crash descends, I gratefully watch my husband take over for a while.
The evening malaise is the biggest gap in my day. I've already started dinner prep during lunch, so I can unfocus for a while before jumping back in, but man, do I need a break. I can barely hold a focused conversation.
Then it's back into the game and the rush toward dinner, bedtime routine and evening prep. Dinner together as a family is an especially appreciated bright spot. Then while my very dear husband is taking on post-dinner, bath and bedtime routine, I'm starting a load of laundry and feeding the cats and taking out garbage and cleaning up after dinner and separating the cats and supervising teeth brushing and finding clean socks for the next day and sweeping a little and bringing up a new air filter and and and breathing between jobs.
I know Flylady encourages us with "doing something for only 15 minutes" at a time, but my Mom Days are spent doing two or three minute tasks between the bigger ten or fifteen minute tasks. It works. At least most of the day. And somehow I've turned into That Mom. Efficiency for the sake of sanity. I'm totally cool with that.
--
I never thought of myself being the hyper-efficient parent cooking this and cleaning that and readying that for her family, and giving that other thing a tweak in passing. What, me? Preparing daily lunches? How quaint and optimistic!
But it turns out that's what I do every day. Making breakfast, lunch, and dinner almost every day. Keeping things running smoothly and taken care of.
My life revolves around routines that keep everything moving and somewhat on schedule.
Schedule? snort! How confining, you might say. Ah, well, if you expect to get everything or even most of what you'd like to do in a day, yes, a schedule can help make that happen.
For instance, I decide we will pop by the library and then go to the children's museum the next day. But that means I need to get the little girl up early enough. I have a window of time between morning preparations and the need for lunch and nap, and I can't waste any of it.
It takes a minimum of an hour and a half - more likely two or more - to get her up, dressed, and fed and channeled before we can leave. Then it will take us about ten minutes to get to the library, and another thirty or forty minutes to find books and check out. Hurrying her along is not really an option, but channeling her is an art. This week, I managed to get our visit from arrival to checkout out to a mere twenty minutes! And she still found time to come lie on my feet several times. Libraries can be so wearisome despite the thrill of new books.
By the time we got to the museum, she'd been awake about nearly four hours and was starting to yawn. Oh, dear. I knew I she could use lunch and a nap by that point, but I pressed onward since I'd already promised the museum, and instead plied her with snacks and water on our way.
We finally got to the museum and spent about an hour running around exploring exhibits and playing, less than she'd like but almost past her endurance at that point. Then back home rather late. Ugh.
And maybe she ends up being too tired to eat much for lunch, and then I had to corral her toward snuggling and reading before her nap because if she's going to sleep, it had to be by three, or our evening is so screwed, aaaaaaaaahhhh!
Aaaand pause.
There was a period of time earlier in her life in which I was lucky to get out the door at all because of the mountain of logistics it took. Now I fit small tasks in between other small tasks. That is the real Mommy super power.
For instance, when I wake up in the morning, I dash through my own grooming and online check-in before I'll get the little girl up. I nudge her along to get up and out. I snuggle her and make sure she'll stay upright. I direct her to start taking off her pjs, which can take upwards of ten minutes if she's more excited about a toy or book. I help her choose her trousers for the day. I set them out in front of her, and say, "okay! put on your pants!" and then I leave the room and go to the kitchen to lay out breakfast ingredients. I check back in with her. She may or may not have progressed to "pants on" status. I redirect and/or start the process with the shirt, then I go open the curtains and neaten anything left out in the kitchen. I help put on socks and shoes. I help her pick out her headband and hair clips for the day, and go to fluff my own hair with conditioning oil, and then brush her hair with any remaining conditioner, which saves me yet another handwashing.
I've already put out yogurt, applesauce, any nuts, and juice and milk. I cook up whatever eggs/oatmeal/toast I have planned, and corral/nudge the little girl to climb up into her chair so I can affix big girl bib, set down remaining forks, etc. Aaaaand we eat.
Later, while she's finishing breakfast, or between refreshing juice/milk/toast/clean spoons, I read the paper, put away clean dishes and/or reload the dishwasher, restock her travel bag with fresh water and snacks for later, put out any mail, get out any coats or gear, write out a grocery list for the day, and check for any activities I need to remember. If she's really slow, I'll change the kitty litter while I wait.
It's making use of those increments between tasks that helps keep me going. And all while gently nudging her so we can move gracefully through our day rather than resorting to glaring and screaming. As I said, hurrying is not really an option. We are moving at top speed in slow motion.
I do the same thing through lunch and "quiet time" routine, hoping to get her to gear down before I lose energy and patience. Then when the afternoon energy crash descends, I gratefully watch my husband take over for a while.
The evening malaise is the biggest gap in my day. I've already started dinner prep during lunch, so I can unfocus for a while before jumping back in, but man, do I need a break. I can barely hold a focused conversation.
Then it's back into the game and the rush toward dinner, bedtime routine and evening prep. Dinner together as a family is an especially appreciated bright spot. Then while my very dear husband is taking on post-dinner, bath and bedtime routine, I'm starting a load of laundry and feeding the cats and taking out garbage and cleaning up after dinner and separating the cats and supervising teeth brushing and finding clean socks for the next day and sweeping a little and bringing up a new air filter and and and breathing between jobs.
I know Flylady encourages us with "doing something for only 15 minutes" at a time, but my Mom Days are spent doing two or three minute tasks between the bigger ten or fifteen minute tasks. It works. At least most of the day. And somehow I've turned into That Mom. Efficiency for the sake of sanity. I'm totally cool with that.
--
Saturday, November 12, 2011
Silly Songwriting
A Song in My Heart, Silly Lyrics on My Lips
Have I told you about my silly songwriting? While jollying my daughter along in the world, I frequently find myself coming up with songs about anything and everything in my path.
It all started with:
Yes, I have songs about going to the library, bare feet, and tortellini. I even have a song about not having a song. Sample lyric: "I'm eating my banana, but I don't have a song."
My daughter loves these songs. Sometimes I hear her singing the waffle song in her crib, which really tickles me. Not only is she reciting with precise rhythm and stress, she's approximating the tune. It makes a mamma proud.
Sometimes she requests a song. "Sing the Grandma Song!" She'll tell me. "Sing 'Barefeet.'" "Sing the banana song!" I didn't have a banana song, which is how I came to have a song about not having a song.
I don't know what exactly posses me when I come up with these riffs of silly words set to music, but when they appear, I sing them over and over to help fix them in place. I once lost a song for a week, and I was heartbroken. And then one day I fumbled for the chorus lyric and managed to recreate the whole thing. When I'm wise, I grab my voice recorder or our little Flip camera and film myself singing a snippet.
Sometimes it's just a simple repetitive refrain. Sometimes it has several verses. Sometimes the song flows straight out of my mouth in one piece. Sometimes I add on and rewrite verses for months. But in most cases, I have something I want to say, and I open up my mouth, and it comes out sung.
I've been told that they are good. Really good. Good as in Stuck in My Head And I Can't Stop Singing It good. Which I guess is good. It's an odd feeling to be internally assailed by a tune I wrote myself.
My latest was inspired about my daughter always wanting a book to read whenever she has to lie down on the changing table or sit on the potty. But not just any book, but a small book. Just a small book. Hence this song:
I find myself running it through my head repeatedly this week, an ongoing refrain. This one is pretty insidious, but no worse or less catchy than the rest of them.
I write earworms, I realize with amazement. I never suspected I'd ever have such a talent.
--
Have I told you about my silly songwriting? While jollying my daughter along in the world, I frequently find myself coming up with songs about anything and everything in my path.
It all started with:
Oh, I like to change my diaperand has progressed through any number of songs about a variety of foods, things, and places to visit.
Moo moo moo the cow says.
Yes, I have songs about going to the library, bare feet, and tortellini. I even have a song about not having a song. Sample lyric: "I'm eating my banana, but I don't have a song."
My daughter loves these songs. Sometimes I hear her singing the waffle song in her crib, which really tickles me. Not only is she reciting with precise rhythm and stress, she's approximating the tune. It makes a mamma proud.
Sometimes she requests a song. "Sing the Grandma Song!" She'll tell me. "Sing 'Barefeet.'" "Sing the banana song!" I didn't have a banana song, which is how I came to have a song about not having a song.
I don't know what exactly posses me when I come up with these riffs of silly words set to music, but when they appear, I sing them over and over to help fix them in place. I once lost a song for a week, and I was heartbroken. And then one day I fumbled for the chorus lyric and managed to recreate the whole thing. When I'm wise, I grab my voice recorder or our little Flip camera and film myself singing a snippet.
Sometimes it's just a simple repetitive refrain. Sometimes it has several verses. Sometimes the song flows straight out of my mouth in one piece. Sometimes I add on and rewrite verses for months. But in most cases, I have something I want to say, and I open up my mouth, and it comes out sung.
I've been told that they are good. Really good. Good as in Stuck in My Head And I Can't Stop Singing It good. Which I guess is good. It's an odd feeling to be internally assailed by a tune I wrote myself.
My latest was inspired about my daughter always wanting a book to read whenever she has to lie down on the changing table or sit on the potty. But not just any book, but a small book. Just a small book. Hence this song:
Give me a small book.
I want just a small book.
So give me a small book
So I don't have to wait.I sit and sit and
when I sit I sit and read
I read and read so
I don't have to wait.
I find myself running it through my head repeatedly this week, an ongoing refrain. This one is pretty insidious, but no worse or less catchy than the rest of them.
I write earworms, I realize with amazement. I never suspected I'd ever have such a talent.
--
Wednesday, February 2, 2011
Ten Minute Toddler Crafting
I've been trying to do more crafting with the little girl these days. Not only has she been missing out on the wild and messy fun side of creativity, but she hasn't had as many opportunities to practice her important fine motor skills as I'd like.
I'm finding it a little challenging. One is not born knowing how to swipe a glue stick, and I find myself being absurdly anxious about it. To which I tell myself: Oh just stop! Perfect is not the point!
My number one task: Relaxing enough to let my natural neat-freakness go while the little girl makes creative messes without my visible or audible complaint.
Her number one task: Figuring out how things fit together. You mean this goes on there? And then what? Oh, it looks pretty, yes. And then something else will stick to it? Get out!
Some of our artsy projects:
Crayons on Table or Easel
We've tried regular crayolas, washable crayons, and large, triangular washable crayolas. I like the washable aspect, but even the regular ones have been fun. We have taped pieces of paper to her little table, but now that she has an easel, that's even easier to scribble daily. And she's been wanting to learn a writing grip. She calls the triangular crayons "pens" and asks us to "help hold it." She then tells us, "Ah signing my name," which I think is a take-away concept from the book, Little Bear's Friend. (After his friend, Emily, gives Little Bear a pen, his mother teaches him how to hold it so he can learn to write his name.) We've also been practicing making "M" lines up and down and circles. (That's had minimal progress so far, but you know... baby steps.)
Round Ink-Paints
These are water soluble inks contained in a colorful ball shape with a little brush sticking out. The ball shape is supposed to be easier for little hands to hold, but she's been finding them hard to direct. The little brushes end scraping the paper sideways rather than head on because of the way she's holding them. She was also mightily interested in the brushes themselves (a stiff acrylic), and would finger the bristles repeatedly, getting inks all over her fingers. But we tried pressing her ink-stained fingers onto the paper to make finger prints, and making blobs of ink on paper folded in two for Rorschach-like designs.
Draw the Face
I drew largish circles on a piece of paper and talked her through the parts of the face, drawing as I went. She knows all the parts and enjoyed the naming parts. Then I had her try to approximate the locations on a fresh blank circle herself. Scribble, scribble. Well, maybe I need larger circles or she needs more practice. Oh, well. It was good for a few minutes at the car mechanics'.
Stickers in Shapes
This was another project I just winged after reading about it. I drew a heart shape on a piece of paper and had her place numerous small stickers inside the shape. She did not quite understand the concept of placing them inside the lines, but she had the concept of placing them, if not placing them in a particular place.
Glue Sticks and Tissue Paper Collage
I finally found the new glue sticks I'd bought, and pulled out the box of colorful tissue paper scraps I'd prepared earlier, and a piece of paper upon which to stick them. Then we had a short tutorial on how to apply the glue via stick, how to pick a piece of tissue, place it where there was some glue, and press it down. It was harder for her than you'd think. She wanted to hold the glue stick and draw with it. The glue made a pretty purple streak which faded as it dried. I had her stick her finger on it. Oh! You mean it's sticky? She did chose her own tissue pieces and where to place them, but the matching of location and sticky spot was a point of confusion, not to mention why we were doing this at all. Although the activity was mostly a mystery to her, it was a start!
Gingerbread Cookies
This was mostly an exercise in handling dough. At that time, it was mostly about squashing balls flat and rolling "snakes," and pressing currents into cookie shapes before baking.
I'm finding that when working with toddlers, it helps to not only tolerate a mess, but to prepare ahead, and to plan for a short activity. At least with us, it give the little girl maximum time to to play and explore the activity without too much frustration, and before she loses interest or gets overwhelmed. Sometimes one can move only in babysteps. At least by taking small steps, I tell myself, you eventually get somewhere different! So it's still good. And hopefully, fun!
The website Kids Craft Weekly has been a recent source of inspiration. I am wanting to make sparkly glitter bugs next, maybe in a heart shape for Valentine's Day.
Other ambitions: fingerpainting, painting with real brushes and real paint, stamping with paint, making valentines-theme crafts (colored cellophane to sticky clear paper, etc), using real glue (gasp!), and somebody was making making soft pretzels recently, so we want to, too (yum!). I have some good inspirations these days.
Now must find or make craft smock!
--
I'm finding it a little challenging. One is not born knowing how to swipe a glue stick, and I find myself being absurdly anxious about it. To which I tell myself: Oh just stop! Perfect is not the point!
My number one task: Relaxing enough to let my natural neat-freakness go while the little girl makes creative messes without my visible or audible complaint.
Her number one task: Figuring out how things fit together. You mean this goes on there? And then what? Oh, it looks pretty, yes. And then something else will stick to it? Get out!
Some of our artsy projects:
Crayons on Table or Easel
We've tried regular crayolas, washable crayons, and large, triangular washable crayolas. I like the washable aspect, but even the regular ones have been fun. We have taped pieces of paper to her little table, but now that she has an easel, that's even easier to scribble daily. And she's been wanting to learn a writing grip. She calls the triangular crayons "pens" and asks us to "help hold it." She then tells us, "Ah signing my name," which I think is a take-away concept from the book, Little Bear's Friend. (After his friend, Emily, gives Little Bear a pen, his mother teaches him how to hold it so he can learn to write his name.) We've also been practicing making "M" lines up and down and circles. (That's had minimal progress so far, but you know... baby steps.)
Pros: Immediate feedback, immediate color, immediate gratification. It does not matter how you hold it.
Bonus: Results can be used for thank you notes.
Cons: Non-washable waxy color may end up under fingernails or in odd places like books or walls or car seat straps.
Round Ink-Paints
These are water soluble inks contained in a colorful ball shape with a little brush sticking out. The ball shape is supposed to be easier for little hands to hold, but she's been finding them hard to direct. The little brushes end scraping the paper sideways rather than head on because of the way she's holding them. She was also mightily interested in the brushes themselves (a stiff acrylic), and would finger the bristles repeatedly, getting inks all over her fingers. But we tried pressing her ink-stained fingers onto the paper to make finger prints, and making blobs of ink on paper folded in two for Rorschach-like designs.
Pros: Bright, no-spill colors, very easy clean up with NO color residue.
Cons: Sometimes hard to get the ink started and not as easily directed as a pencil shape.
Draw the Face
I drew largish circles on a piece of paper and talked her through the parts of the face, drawing as I went. She knows all the parts and enjoyed the naming parts. Then I had her try to approximate the locations on a fresh blank circle herself. Scribble, scribble. Well, maybe I need larger circles or she needs more practice. Oh, well. It was good for a few minutes at the car mechanics'.
Pros: Quick and easily adapted to the materials on hand.
Cons: She may not be up to the task. (Yet!)
Stickers in Shapes
This was another project I just winged after reading about it. I drew a heart shape on a piece of paper and had her place numerous small stickers inside the shape. She did not quite understand the concept of placing them inside the lines, but she had the concept of placing them, if not placing them in a particular place.
Pros: It's easy to press stickers to stay, and it's good practice placing within a shape. Not much prep work required other than having stickers available.
Cons: One could go through a lot of stickers.
Glue Sticks and Tissue Paper Collage
I finally found the new glue sticks I'd bought, and pulled out the box of colorful tissue paper scraps I'd prepared earlier, and a piece of paper upon which to stick them. Then we had a short tutorial on how to apply the glue via stick, how to pick a piece of tissue, place it where there was some glue, and press it down. It was harder for her than you'd think. She wanted to hold the glue stick and draw with it. The glue made a pretty purple streak which faded as it dried. I had her stick her finger on it. Oh! You mean it's sticky? She did chose her own tissue pieces and where to place them, but the matching of location and sticky spot was a point of confusion, not to mention why we were doing this at all. Although the activity was mostly a mystery to her, it was a start!
Pros: Practice making creative decisions and applying the glue. Easy to prep ahead. No end result expected other than sticking things on paper.
Cons: Glue can end up in hair, on table, etc. Selection constrained by what materials one can find.
Gingerbread Cookies
This was mostly an exercise in handling dough. At that time, it was mostly about squashing balls flat and rolling "snakes," and pressing currents into cookie shapes before baking.
Pros: Edible modeling medium. Lesson in dough > cookie transformation. Did I mention it was edible?
Cons: May want to eat raw dough.
I'm finding that when working with toddlers, it helps to not only tolerate a mess, but to prepare ahead, and to plan for a short activity. At least with us, it give the little girl maximum time to to play and explore the activity without too much frustration, and before she loses interest or gets overwhelmed. Sometimes one can move only in babysteps. At least by taking small steps, I tell myself, you eventually get somewhere different! So it's still good. And hopefully, fun!
The website Kids Craft Weekly has been a recent source of inspiration. I am wanting to make sparkly glitter bugs next, maybe in a heart shape for Valentine's Day.
Other ambitions: fingerpainting, painting with real brushes and real paint, stamping with paint, making valentines-theme crafts (colored cellophane to sticky clear paper, etc), using real glue (gasp!), and somebody was making making soft pretzels recently, so we want to, too (yum!). I have some good inspirations these days.
Now must find or make craft smock!
--
Friday, December 17, 2010
Dazzled With Decorations
The tree glimmers in the dim room. I am up late drinking tea and nursing a head cold, but the sight of the tree lifts me past my discomfort.
This must be the best tree I've ever decorated in my life. Shiny colored balls of every size and hue dot the branches, concentrated in the top half, while other ornaments dangle or nestle throughout. Strings of lights wind around from the top of the high central spike down the slender shape, flashing out or peeking from behind ornaments ranging from straw stars tied with red thread and hand-pressed paper angels, to glue-and-glitter sweet gum balls from twenty years ago and my baby's hand print made just last year. And the gold foil and glitter wrapped star I made years ago presides over it all. Yes, this is the best one. Because my daughter is here to see it.
We went tree shopping earlier this week, in the middle of a bitter cold of course, because most of our tree shopping incites strange weather - last year, it was sleet-snowing on us - and after it was erected properly and the lower branches soaped (to deter cats from taking ill-advised bites out of it), we let it drink and rest.
A day later followed the wrapping of the lights. I wait to see my daughter's reaction. Kissme ites! My daughter says. Mommy made it! Yes, Mommy put the lights up. More drinks for the tree, more resting.
Today during nap time, I strung antique bulbs along the mantle and started unloading ornaments onto the upper half of the tree. First, some of my favorite glass bulbs, then certain special ornaments I want featured prominently, then the red bulbs, and the gold ones, and the old-fashioned molded glass from India, and oh yes, the set of blues and greens I picked up from the thrift shop, and oh yes! the new box of miniature reds. I leave a few of them within reach. It's not too early to learn how to treat a glass bulb gently, and if a couple of them break, oh well, they are not the special ones.
I save several boxes for my daughter to help with. I'm waiting for her to wake up and exclaim over the tree, and she does. Decor-Ay-shuns! she calls them. And I show her how to open the loop of string and place it over a branch, preferably one that does not droop, and how to hook a piece of wire onto a likely spot. She doesn't have much patience for the particulars, but she exclaims over the snowflakes, the stars, the birds, and other cunning designs of color and shape. She handles the fake cardinals with wires sticking out of their feet, the be-glittered sweet gum balls (practically antiques), the striped elfs from my husband's childhood. She rings a finger on the painted steel bell ornament from my grandfather's farm. She pokes into the bag of ornament hooks.
Bah-ohs, she keeps saying as she fondles yet another globe. Oh! Anah-oh bah-oh! I keep waiting for the balls to spring back from her hand and hurl themselves to the hearth, but they stay stuck fast to their branches.
The birds, the stars, the snowmen, all familiar characters. Angels and soldiers are a new one. She's convinced the little mouse in walnut shell is a cat. She runs away with one angel chime figure, clutching it her chest while she climbs into the recliner. We give the tree another drink. Ahter for uh tree!she says.
The rest of the evening, she's drawn back to the tree again and again to hold and inspect ornaments within reach. The colors, the shapes, the lights. It's utterly fantastic and normal, both, just like in all the books we've ever read. Iss nice, she declares. And we haven't even gotten to the icicles yet. I'm telling you; best tree ever.
--
This must be the best tree I've ever decorated in my life. Shiny colored balls of every size and hue dot the branches, concentrated in the top half, while other ornaments dangle or nestle throughout. Strings of lights wind around from the top of the high central spike down the slender shape, flashing out or peeking from behind ornaments ranging from straw stars tied with red thread and hand-pressed paper angels, to glue-and-glitter sweet gum balls from twenty years ago and my baby's hand print made just last year. And the gold foil and glitter wrapped star I made years ago presides over it all. Yes, this is the best one. Because my daughter is here to see it.
We went tree shopping earlier this week, in the middle of a bitter cold of course, because most of our tree shopping incites strange weather - last year, it was sleet-snowing on us - and after it was erected properly and the lower branches soaped (to deter cats from taking ill-advised bites out of it), we let it drink and rest.
A day later followed the wrapping of the lights. I wait to see my daughter's reaction. Kissme ites! My daughter says. Mommy made it! Yes, Mommy put the lights up. More drinks for the tree, more resting.
Today during nap time, I strung antique bulbs along the mantle and started unloading ornaments onto the upper half of the tree. First, some of my favorite glass bulbs, then certain special ornaments I want featured prominently, then the red bulbs, and the gold ones, and the old-fashioned molded glass from India, and oh yes, the set of blues and greens I picked up from the thrift shop, and oh yes! the new box of miniature reds. I leave a few of them within reach. It's not too early to learn how to treat a glass bulb gently, and if a couple of them break, oh well, they are not the special ones.
I save several boxes for my daughter to help with. I'm waiting for her to wake up and exclaim over the tree, and she does. Decor-Ay-shuns! she calls them. And I show her how to open the loop of string and place it over a branch, preferably one that does not droop, and how to hook a piece of wire onto a likely spot. She doesn't have much patience for the particulars, but she exclaims over the snowflakes, the stars, the birds, and other cunning designs of color and shape. She handles the fake cardinals with wires sticking out of their feet, the be-glittered sweet gum balls (practically antiques), the striped elfs from my husband's childhood. She rings a finger on the painted steel bell ornament from my grandfather's farm. She pokes into the bag of ornament hooks.
Bah-ohs, she keeps saying as she fondles yet another globe. Oh! Anah-oh bah-oh! I keep waiting for the balls to spring back from her hand and hurl themselves to the hearth, but they stay stuck fast to their branches.
The birds, the stars, the snowmen, all familiar characters. Angels and soldiers are a new one. She's convinced the little mouse in walnut shell is a cat. She runs away with one angel chime figure, clutching it her chest while she climbs into the recliner. We give the tree another drink. Ahter for uh tree!she says.
The rest of the evening, she's drawn back to the tree again and again to hold and inspect ornaments within reach. The colors, the shapes, the lights. It's utterly fantastic and normal, both, just like in all the books we've ever read. Iss nice, she declares. And we haven't even gotten to the icicles yet. I'm telling you; best tree ever.
--
Friday, November 19, 2010
The ShooShot
Yesterday the little girl and I went in to get her flu shot as scheduled.
I tried to prep her early so that it wouldn't be an unpleasant surprise - if I wait too long, there's not time to give an unhurried explanation, and she always does better with an explanation.
So I told her in the car that we were going to the doctor's office, and that she would have a quick flu shot, just like Mommy and Daddy had. Remember Mommy and Daddy got a shot in the arm? And she was going to get a quick shot in the leg.
She started to whine as we pulled into the parking lot. Her new vantage point gives her opportunity to recognize locations, so she clearly recognized the place.
Ah ohn't ahnt it, she kept telling me as we were getting out of the car.
Yes, I know you don't want it, but the flu shot will keep you from getting sick this Winter, honey. Mommy got a flu shot, Daddy got a flu shot. and so on, as I herded her toward to front door.
Once inside, she was distracted by the kids chairs and the books found scattered around the lobby. Eh-phant! Diff-ent chair. A delivery man wheeled a packet of medical supplies in on a moving cart, and the little girl jumped up and exclaimed over the rolling wheels. Hey there, pretty girl! he laughed.
Then the nurse called us back, and fortunately, she was one of the persuasive ones who seemed to actually enjoy talking to children. Ohh, aren't you a big girl, walking back here all by yourself. The little girl did indeed walk all the way back under her own power, then again started to whimper as we entered the room with the big clinical table.
Ohn't ahnt it. Go aht door, she told me, as she edged toward to corridor. I suppressed a giggle at the cuteness. You need your flu shot, Sweetie, I told her. It'll be quick. I'll bet the nurse even has a pretty bandaid for you.
She doesn't need to undress; you can just pull down her pants so I can get to her leg, the nurse told me. Okay, but could we sit in that chair?
I thought it'd be less traumatic if I could hold her in my lap.
And you have a bandaid? Yes? I asked, trying to distract the little girl. Sure enough, there was a bright pink bandaid. Make sure you hold her hands was the last thing the nurse told me.
The nurse swabbed, she stabbed, she was done! It was over by the time the little girl started to cry out, and the nurse slapped the bandaid on so fast that it was only later that I noticed it wasn't even over the puncture. But it was an effective distraction. The girl stopped fussing immediately. She was very good! The nurse remarked while I all but polished my fingernails on my shirt.
The checkout nurse is always exceedingly kind. She can pick out a sticker, hon, she told me. Wow! The first time she'd get a sticker!
I fished out two likely candidates and held them up for perusal. You get a sticker, Sweetie! Do you want the pink one or the purple one? The purple one with Daisy Duck. And do you want it on your shirt or your hand? Her hand. Nice sticker, was the verdict.
You were soo brave, Sweetie. The nurse cleaned your leg, and then she gave you a flu shot - ow! - and then it was all done! Oo, and then you got a bandaid... And now you have a sticker. Oh, cool!
And the whole rest of the day, I was treated to her version of the narrative.
Ah go shooshot. You did what? Oh, you got a flu shot!
Ah wen' doctors. Ah got shooshot. Ah got sticker. Ah put hit ahn ma shert now. Ah got shooshot. Awriight! Yes, you sure did, Sweetie!
I love this job.
--
I tried to prep her early so that it wouldn't be an unpleasant surprise - if I wait too long, there's not time to give an unhurried explanation, and she always does better with an explanation.
So I told her in the car that we were going to the doctor's office, and that she would have a quick flu shot, just like Mommy and Daddy had. Remember Mommy and Daddy got a shot in the arm? And she was going to get a quick shot in the leg.
She started to whine as we pulled into the parking lot. Her new vantage point gives her opportunity to recognize locations, so she clearly recognized the place.
Ah ohn't ahnt it, she kept telling me as we were getting out of the car.
Yes, I know you don't want it, but the flu shot will keep you from getting sick this Winter, honey. Mommy got a flu shot, Daddy got a flu shot. and so on, as I herded her toward to front door.
Once inside, she was distracted by the kids chairs and the books found scattered around the lobby. Eh-phant! Diff-ent chair. A delivery man wheeled a packet of medical supplies in on a moving cart, and the little girl jumped up and exclaimed over the rolling wheels. Hey there, pretty girl! he laughed.
Then the nurse called us back, and fortunately, she was one of the persuasive ones who seemed to actually enjoy talking to children. Ohh, aren't you a big girl, walking back here all by yourself. The little girl did indeed walk all the way back under her own power, then again started to whimper as we entered the room with the big clinical table.
Ohn't ahnt it. Go aht door, she told me, as she edged toward to corridor. I suppressed a giggle at the cuteness. You need your flu shot, Sweetie, I told her. It'll be quick. I'll bet the nurse even has a pretty bandaid for you.
She doesn't need to undress; you can just pull down her pants so I can get to her leg, the nurse told me. Okay, but could we sit in that chair?
I thought it'd be less traumatic if I could hold her in my lap.
And you have a bandaid? Yes? I asked, trying to distract the little girl. Sure enough, there was a bright pink bandaid. Make sure you hold her hands was the last thing the nurse told me.
The nurse swabbed, she stabbed, she was done! It was over by the time the little girl started to cry out, and the nurse slapped the bandaid on so fast that it was only later that I noticed it wasn't even over the puncture. But it was an effective distraction. The girl stopped fussing immediately. She was very good! The nurse remarked while I all but polished my fingernails on my shirt.
The checkout nurse is always exceedingly kind. She can pick out a sticker, hon, she told me. Wow! The first time she'd get a sticker!
I fished out two likely candidates and held them up for perusal. You get a sticker, Sweetie! Do you want the pink one or the purple one? The purple one with Daisy Duck. And do you want it on your shirt or your hand? Her hand. Nice sticker, was the verdict.
You were soo brave, Sweetie. The nurse cleaned your leg, and then she gave you a flu shot - ow! - and then it was all done! Oo, and then you got a bandaid... And now you have a sticker. Oh, cool!
And the whole rest of the day, I was treated to her version of the narrative.
Ah go shooshot. You did what? Oh, you got a flu shot!
Ah wen' doctors. Ah got shooshot. Ah got sticker. Ah put hit ahn ma shert now. Ah got shooshot. Awriight! Yes, you sure did, Sweetie!
I love this job.
--
Tuesday, November 16, 2010
I am on the fence about the whole daycare/pre-school thing. We found a pre-school that has a mom's morning out, with a once a week morning for kids younger than two. Oo! We said. And forgot about it. Saw it again at my church this fall. Oo! I said! Emailed about a visit to tour the program. It was fun. And there's a progressive series of pre-school programs as the children age up. Oo! I said. And promptly lost the application.
My misgivings are many, no fault of the program, really.
Will this child get up early enough for the 9:30 am start time? Sometimes she sleeps until 10.
If we get in, do we really want her to spend more and more time there? Do we have the option of fewer days, no we do not.
There are many other things going on that same morning. Storytime at the library. Tumbling at the sportsplex. Time with Mommy.
And what about the cost? It's not so pricey as programs go, but what would she get out of it that is worth that price? Who are we doing this for - her or me?
And on and on.
So I haven't sent in the application.
But, but, it's a great play-based program! It would be good for her to have more group interactions away from Mommy! And it would be fun! And give me more time to myself, maybe.
I'm realizing that I am jealous of my time with my daughter. I am lucky enough to be able to stay home with her. I'm finding I don't want to give her up.
For maybe one morning this year I could give her up, maybe, but there's that progression of time and money, and where do we stop? Maybe that's an artificial barrier, but I fear, somehow, that she will be inextricably drawn away from me, and next thing you know, she's gone five mornings a week, then off to kindy. I want my baby time! I want all of her childhood. It's too soon. Isn't this where someone is supposed to remark how growing up is harder on the parents than on the child?
Face it, missy. You do not want to give up any time with her. It's true. So until I convince myself otherwise, I am relishing every bit of baby-and-childhood I can get.
--
My misgivings are many, no fault of the program, really.
Will this child get up early enough for the 9:30 am start time? Sometimes she sleeps until 10.
If we get in, do we really want her to spend more and more time there? Do we have the option of fewer days, no we do not.
There are many other things going on that same morning. Storytime at the library. Tumbling at the sportsplex. Time with Mommy.
And what about the cost? It's not so pricey as programs go, but what would she get out of it that is worth that price? Who are we doing this for - her or me?
And on and on.
So I haven't sent in the application.
But, but, it's a great play-based program! It would be good for her to have more group interactions away from Mommy! And it would be fun! And give me more time to myself, maybe.
I'm realizing that I am jealous of my time with my daughter. I am lucky enough to be able to stay home with her. I'm finding I don't want to give her up.
For maybe one morning this year I could give her up, maybe, but there's that progression of time and money, and where do we stop? Maybe that's an artificial barrier, but I fear, somehow, that she will be inextricably drawn away from me, and next thing you know, she's gone five mornings a week, then off to kindy. I want my baby time! I want all of her childhood. It's too soon. Isn't this where someone is supposed to remark how growing up is harder on the parents than on the child?
Face it, missy. You do not want to give up any time with her. It's true. So until I convince myself otherwise, I am relishing every bit of baby-and-childhood I can get.
--
Thursday, November 4, 2010
The Monkey Goes For A Walk
So the little girl had a great Halloween out and about.
She doesn't have a concept of candy yet, although she's learned that chocolate is "Mommy's snack."
She might have a concept of dressing up; she does love wearing her bunny ears from the festival or the monkey suit I bought for her for the occasion.
She really does NOT understand what we are doing shambling through the dusk and dark, knocking on doors and dodging other pint-sized fairies and superheroes.
She does not understand the concept of presently yourself in a picture of cuteness and performing the ritual words to receive a piece of miniaturized candy in return, but she's getting there.
We've posed for the obligatory costume pictures, and the little girl is eager to move on and won't sit down. She pats the pumpkins, sniffs the mums. "Smell flower" she informs us.
As we start off through the neighborhood streets, we stop to admire a little boy's bee costume. "What does a bee say?" we ask her. She stares. "What does a bee say?" The little boy stares. "Oh, and you are a monkey," the boy's mother responds. "What does a monkey say?" my husband prompts. The little girl scrunches up her face in a grin and makes a little half-hearted grunting.
Candy and thank yous exchanged, we leave, the kiddos still awkwardly wondering if their super smart parents have suddenly lost their minds.
We follow clusters of children that detach themselves from their front doors to gather in little flocks of costumes, flying up the street.
We amble along in the near dusk, pointing out decorations and displays rather than approaching every lit door.
We pass friends we know from church just setting out with their passel of youngsters, and chat in passing. My friend wears cat whiskers and ears. "Our candy is on our front porch," she calls. "Go get yourself some KitKat bars!"
Further down the street, we hail our handyman contractor pulling his little boy in a wagon. We greet his wife and mother-in-law with smiles and handshakes, but all of our attention is on the kids anyway. His son sees the monkey costume and sings us a verse of monkeys jumping on the bed. We wave good bye - "I might be over next week after all," Paul calls, - and continue down the middle of the street following a small pack of young girls leggily dressed in either red or white dresses. I can't figure out who they are supposed to be. Dusk is falling fast into night.
A looming tower of pink and orange glowing inflated pumpkins sway in the slight breeze, and a moving spider the size of a Mini catches our eyes. It sparkles with dark glitter. Then the sounds of live old-time music beckons us across the boulevard and into the lawn party of a neighborhood church. We are surrounded on all sides by anticipatory teens, wee Elmos and princesses, and adults shepherding their charges among the garish lights. A tall Zorro with a cape ambles by. A mummy stands listening to the music, while his wife comes over with hot cider.
The cops lets another crowd across the street. It's a happening scene of every age and ethnicity swirling by. The little girl only has eyes for the band, who bathed in pink floodlights, singing in vigorous harmony, a spectacle among spectacles.
After a while, we retreated to quieter and darker streets, interspersed with lights casting strange shadows and flickering colors, beckoning us to new doorways.
On the "toddler-friendly" route, we find a friendly Italian greyhound, a little boy dressed to match his puppy, a family who recognizes us from the park, and a lavish display of spiders, real small-animal skulls, and taxidermied rodents against dramatic drapery. One woman fastens a glow stick around the little girl's wrist.
At another house, the little girl actually knocks on the door herself. The woman who answers crouches down to engage her in gentle conversation while Miss Monkey carefully looks over the bowl of candy. The little girl picks up one colorful package, inspects it, then puts it back. We laugh. I snag a sparkly zebra sticker. At another house, they press small Snickers bars on both of us parents. "To keep up your stamina," they say. We are surprised to find we need it. Some steps are steep, some sections of sidewalk are dark and confusing.
Wandering about, we see a long house with colorful lights and a yard full of halloween figures. "Oo, look!" we tell her. "Look at those pumpkins, those lights!" We stop again, and the little girl takes my husband's hand (yet again), and this time, confidently marches herself right up to the front porch where, it looks like, half the family and assorted friends and neighbors wait in a tableaux. Two teen girls, waiting for us, say "Awwww" in the sweet way that only teen girls can. "It's a monkey. What a cute monkey. She even has a banana. You want some candy, honey?" "Can you say Thank You?" we prompt, and the little girl mumbles something that makes the crowd oo again. On the way back to the sidewalk, she breaks away to investigate a smiling Dracula "I love to count my candy - a! a! a!" and we have to tackle her.
We think we've broken the shyness barrier. A porch full of strangers in strange light, and she didn't even blink, much less cower. Yes, let's walk up to another doorway, knock, and see what interesting "toys" they might have!
By this time, we've zigzagged into the far reaches of the neighborhood over cracked pavement and a street under construction, trying to find a friend's house. Headlights cut through the night, revealing other rug-rats of various ages. We finally stumble over a section of roots to cross back over the boulevard to a smoother piece of pavement. Crowds are gathering around a family's Harry Potter display. People are quiet but festive, ambling with purpose.
We are becoming foot-sore, asking ourselves why, for goodness sake, we insisted on trekking all the way over to David's house. We take a quiet, easy route home. "No hills," my husband insists.
We hear music floating down the street to meet us. When we finally draw abreast of the source of music and stare up to the high porch where a woman sways, playing mazurkas and gypsy fiddle tunes, my husband says "Okay. One more." We are drawn up and up the steep steps, the little girl determined to go to the music. A young daughter smiles and fans out the packages of Skittles as if they were a gypsy's cards. The little girl reaches for the generous bowl instead. I can see she's thinking "nice! red!" We murmur our thanks, and the woman breaks into a little Mussorgsky. The Night on Bald Mountain is floats out in fragments into the quiet as another family of children arrive.
The streets home are even darker, quieter. It's a school night, after all. Cars pass, and I'm very glad that I finally attached reflective markings to the stroller. The little girl asks for cracker, and raisins, and her water bottle. The handful of candy and glow sticks we've gathered lie tossed into the bottom of the stroller.
We visit one last house on our street, our neighbors. Their daughter is getting through the last post-excitement meltdown before bed, but she quiets and comes to the door to see us, already in her pajamas. "Yes, we had a good time going around, didn't we? But now, it's late," her mother says, turning surprised eyes on us. "We are heading home right now," I assure her. "Pumpkin!" The little girl declares. "Ahhnge pumpkin." It's not too late for most people, but late for parents on toddler time. We throw together some tomato-basil soup and grilled cheese sandwiches, and roll our little monkey straight into her pajmas. We give candy to one last set of pre-teen latinos in sparkly faery finery (half a handful each since there is so much left), and turn out the lights.
After my husband leaves, I hide the rest of the mini Milky Way darks so they won't be staring him in the face when he wakes up in the morning. The candy was not the point. The little monkey went for a Halloween walk, and it was good.
--
She doesn't have a concept of candy yet, although she's learned that chocolate is "Mommy's snack."
She might have a concept of dressing up; she does love wearing her bunny ears from the festival or the monkey suit I bought for her for the occasion.
She really does NOT understand what we are doing shambling through the dusk and dark, knocking on doors and dodging other pint-sized fairies and superheroes.
She does not understand the concept of presently yourself in a picture of cuteness and performing the ritual words to receive a piece of miniaturized candy in return, but she's getting there.
We've posed for the obligatory costume pictures, and the little girl is eager to move on and won't sit down. She pats the pumpkins, sniffs the mums. "Smell flower" she informs us.
As we start off through the neighborhood streets, we stop to admire a little boy's bee costume. "What does a bee say?" we ask her. She stares. "What does a bee say?" The little boy stares. "Oh, and you are a monkey," the boy's mother responds. "What does a monkey say?" my husband prompts. The little girl scrunches up her face in a grin and makes a little half-hearted grunting.
Candy and thank yous exchanged, we leave, the kiddos still awkwardly wondering if their super smart parents have suddenly lost their minds.
We follow clusters of children that detach themselves from their front doors to gather in little flocks of costumes, flying up the street.
We amble along in the near dusk, pointing out decorations and displays rather than approaching every lit door.
We pass friends we know from church just setting out with their passel of youngsters, and chat in passing. My friend wears cat whiskers and ears. "Our candy is on our front porch," she calls. "Go get yourself some KitKat bars!"
Further down the street, we hail our handyman contractor pulling his little boy in a wagon. We greet his wife and mother-in-law with smiles and handshakes, but all of our attention is on the kids anyway. His son sees the monkey costume and sings us a verse of monkeys jumping on the bed. We wave good bye - "I might be over next week after all," Paul calls, - and continue down the middle of the street following a small pack of young girls leggily dressed in either red or white dresses. I can't figure out who they are supposed to be. Dusk is falling fast into night.
A looming tower of pink and orange glowing inflated pumpkins sway in the slight breeze, and a moving spider the size of a Mini catches our eyes. It sparkles with dark glitter. Then the sounds of live old-time music beckons us across the boulevard and into the lawn party of a neighborhood church. We are surrounded on all sides by anticipatory teens, wee Elmos and princesses, and adults shepherding their charges among the garish lights. A tall Zorro with a cape ambles by. A mummy stands listening to the music, while his wife comes over with hot cider.
The cops lets another crowd across the street. It's a happening scene of every age and ethnicity swirling by. The little girl only has eyes for the band, who bathed in pink floodlights, singing in vigorous harmony, a spectacle among spectacles.
After a while, we retreated to quieter and darker streets, interspersed with lights casting strange shadows and flickering colors, beckoning us to new doorways.
On the "toddler-friendly" route, we find a friendly Italian greyhound, a little boy dressed to match his puppy, a family who recognizes us from the park, and a lavish display of spiders, real small-animal skulls, and taxidermied rodents against dramatic drapery. One woman fastens a glow stick around the little girl's wrist.
At another house, the little girl actually knocks on the door herself. The woman who answers crouches down to engage her in gentle conversation while Miss Monkey carefully looks over the bowl of candy. The little girl picks up one colorful package, inspects it, then puts it back. We laugh. I snag a sparkly zebra sticker. At another house, they press small Snickers bars on both of us parents. "To keep up your stamina," they say. We are surprised to find we need it. Some steps are steep, some sections of sidewalk are dark and confusing.
Wandering about, we see a long house with colorful lights and a yard full of halloween figures. "Oo, look!" we tell her. "Look at those pumpkins, those lights!" We stop again, and the little girl takes my husband's hand (yet again), and this time, confidently marches herself right up to the front porch where, it looks like, half the family and assorted friends and neighbors wait in a tableaux. Two teen girls, waiting for us, say "Awwww" in the sweet way that only teen girls can. "It's a monkey. What a cute monkey. She even has a banana. You want some candy, honey?" "Can you say Thank You?" we prompt, and the little girl mumbles something that makes the crowd oo again. On the way back to the sidewalk, she breaks away to investigate a smiling Dracula "I love to count my candy - a! a! a!" and we have to tackle her.
We think we've broken the shyness barrier. A porch full of strangers in strange light, and she didn't even blink, much less cower. Yes, let's walk up to another doorway, knock, and see what interesting "toys" they might have!
By this time, we've zigzagged into the far reaches of the neighborhood over cracked pavement and a street under construction, trying to find a friend's house. Headlights cut through the night, revealing other rug-rats of various ages. We finally stumble over a section of roots to cross back over the boulevard to a smoother piece of pavement. Crowds are gathering around a family's Harry Potter display. People are quiet but festive, ambling with purpose.
We are becoming foot-sore, asking ourselves why, for goodness sake, we insisted on trekking all the way over to David's house. We take a quiet, easy route home. "No hills," my husband insists.
We hear music floating down the street to meet us. When we finally draw abreast of the source of music and stare up to the high porch where a woman sways, playing mazurkas and gypsy fiddle tunes, my husband says "Okay. One more." We are drawn up and up the steep steps, the little girl determined to go to the music. A young daughter smiles and fans out the packages of Skittles as if they were a gypsy's cards. The little girl reaches for the generous bowl instead. I can see she's thinking "nice! red!" We murmur our thanks, and the woman breaks into a little Mussorgsky. The Night on Bald Mountain is floats out in fragments into the quiet as another family of children arrive.
The streets home are even darker, quieter. It's a school night, after all. Cars pass, and I'm very glad that I finally attached reflective markings to the stroller. The little girl asks for cracker, and raisins, and her water bottle. The handful of candy and glow sticks we've gathered lie tossed into the bottom of the stroller.
We visit one last house on our street, our neighbors. Their daughter is getting through the last post-excitement meltdown before bed, but she quiets and comes to the door to see us, already in her pajamas. "Yes, we had a good time going around, didn't we? But now, it's late," her mother says, turning surprised eyes on us. "We are heading home right now," I assure her. "Pumpkin!" The little girl declares. "Ahhnge pumpkin." It's not too late for most people, but late for parents on toddler time. We throw together some tomato-basil soup and grilled cheese sandwiches, and roll our little monkey straight into her pajmas. We give candy to one last set of pre-teen latinos in sparkly faery finery (half a handful each since there is so much left), and turn out the lights.
After my husband leaves, I hide the rest of the mini Milky Way darks so they won't be staring him in the face when he wakes up in the morning. The candy was not the point. The little monkey went for a Halloween walk, and it was good.
--
Thursday, September 2, 2010
Another Parental Episode Waiting to Happen
Where have all the friends gone?
You hear about how children will change your life. True. They also change your body, outlook, sleep patterns and attention span. Nobody tells you that your friends will - in a seismic shift - disappear. It's as if a crack opened in the ground, swallowed scores of people, and then snapped shut, leaving me to wonder what the hell happened.
Or maybe I am the one that has been swallowed alive. Swallowed by Parenthood. And I'm floating alone in this place saying, "where is everyone?" And even when I do run across a friend, the script goes, "Hi! I have three minutes to make a meaningful connection."
On top of that, I'm apparently annoying and impossible to relate to. I so love that state of being, but again, I've got about three minutes to worry about it before the next parenting episode begins.
I'm sad about my usual friends, but I'm also distracted, trying to keep up with my everyday life which has been steadily getting That Much Harder while I wasn't looking.
It's not that I'm not connected to other moms, it's just that they are not my usual set of friends. I do have a lot of people I kinda know in a friendly way. That's good, right? And I'm meeting a few new people, and they seem nice as we are exploring avenues of mutual sympathies and conversation. It just feels odd to find myself trying to get to know a new set of people who may or may not really be my new good friends, when I know perfectly well that my old friends are out there living their exciting lives. Going to concerts, staying out late, having long meaningful conversations with other people. I, on the other hand, am restricted to a few moments a day for socializing, or up to an hour of fragmented lunch time conversation. My husband and I take turns going out dancing. I've missed dancing and socializing, so I really love this, but it's still so odd to be there without him. Why yes, we are still married, we're just... parents.
My husband says I'm just in a different place in my life now. Well, nobody told me it was going to eat my old friends!
I wonder if my usual friends are not used to taking advantage of whatever moments we have. Many of my parent friends are used to working quick conversations or projects into any little space in the action. My non-parent friends are perhaps too leisurely to mesh with my sped-up life these days. By the time they are feeling like enjoying an activity, I'm all like, "Oops, that's all the time we have for that today! Gotta go for lunch and nap." Even on social arenas like FB, my frequent interactions are with friends who are at a distance, as if we've learned to not take communication for granted. If you want to keep in touch, ya gotta seize the moment.
The up side is that I am finding other people to relate to. I do have people out there who are happy to see me. But getting people to talk to me in the few moments I have... it's not been easy. Even when I am not in a hurry, my brain is scanning for trouble.
Well, some new and old things I've been doing recently:
Taking turns going dancing.
Plodding along on quilt projects. That's a seam or two per week.
Reading books (at night).
Walking to the park farther into the neighborhood so I get more exercise.
Making an effort to chat with some of the other parents I see.
Going to church services again, listening to music and sermons, seeing folks.
Attending a friend's bi-monthly play group where the little girl is comfortable with the other parents and kids.
Cooking more meals with local food.
Writing more (short) letters.
Trying to have more real conversations when I do see people I know. "Hi! I have three min- errr, seconds!"
Writing blog posts between parental episodes. "Hi! Time for bed!"
--
You hear about how children will change your life. True. They also change your body, outlook, sleep patterns and attention span. Nobody tells you that your friends will - in a seismic shift - disappear. It's as if a crack opened in the ground, swallowed scores of people, and then snapped shut, leaving me to wonder what the hell happened.
Or maybe I am the one that has been swallowed alive. Swallowed by Parenthood. And I'm floating alone in this place saying, "where is everyone?" And even when I do run across a friend, the script goes, "Hi! I have three minutes to make a meaningful connection."
On top of that, I'm apparently annoying and impossible to relate to. I so love that state of being, but again, I've got about three minutes to worry about it before the next parenting episode begins.
I'm sad about my usual friends, but I'm also distracted, trying to keep up with my everyday life which has been steadily getting That Much Harder while I wasn't looking.
It's not that I'm not connected to other moms, it's just that they are not my usual set of friends. I do have a lot of people I kinda know in a friendly way. That's good, right? And I'm meeting a few new people, and they seem nice as we are exploring avenues of mutual sympathies and conversation. It just feels odd to find myself trying to get to know a new set of people who may or may not really be my new good friends, when I know perfectly well that my old friends are out there living their exciting lives. Going to concerts, staying out late, having long meaningful conversations with other people. I, on the other hand, am restricted to a few moments a day for socializing, or up to an hour of fragmented lunch time conversation. My husband and I take turns going out dancing. I've missed dancing and socializing, so I really love this, but it's still so odd to be there without him. Why yes, we are still married, we're just... parents.
My husband says I'm just in a different place in my life now. Well, nobody told me it was going to eat my old friends!
I wonder if my usual friends are not used to taking advantage of whatever moments we have. Many of my parent friends are used to working quick conversations or projects into any little space in the action. My non-parent friends are perhaps too leisurely to mesh with my sped-up life these days. By the time they are feeling like enjoying an activity, I'm all like, "Oops, that's all the time we have for that today! Gotta go for lunch and nap." Even on social arenas like FB, my frequent interactions are with friends who are at a distance, as if we've learned to not take communication for granted. If you want to keep in touch, ya gotta seize the moment.
The up side is that I am finding other people to relate to. I do have people out there who are happy to see me. But getting people to talk to me in the few moments I have... it's not been easy. Even when I am not in a hurry, my brain is scanning for trouble.
Well, some new and old things I've been doing recently:
Taking turns going dancing.
Plodding along on quilt projects. That's a seam or two per week.
Reading books (at night).
Walking to the park farther into the neighborhood so I get more exercise.
Making an effort to chat with some of the other parents I see.
Going to church services again, listening to music and sermons, seeing folks.
Attending a friend's bi-monthly play group where the little girl is comfortable with the other parents and kids.
Cooking more meals with local food.
Writing more (short) letters.
Trying to have more real conversations when I do see people I know. "Hi! I have three min- errr, seconds!"
Writing blog posts between parental episodes. "Hi! Time for bed!"
--
Monday, July 26, 2010
The End of The Nursing
It took so long and so much effort and frustration to get this little girl nursing in the beginning. Weeks of tears and frustration. Months of tracking every ounce we could estimate. Hours of forcing her to learn how to lower her tongue and latch, how to suck, how to snuggle in and avoid distraction. How to figure out - hey! There's milk in them breasts! We watched her eyes get big over that one.
Once we got her to latch, it was eat, eat, eat. Let me show you our eat-poop-sleep diary. It was solid numbers.
See, I'd had in my head that I'd aim for nursing for at least her first six months, her first year, even two years! Why mess with a good thing, right? We'd just keep nursing for as long as it lasted. Nutrients! Antibodies! Skin-to-skin contact! No allergies for this little girl, we said.
Eventually, she started eating solid foods and we cheered her on. And still she nursed. And we did meet her first birthday with an apple muffin. And she was still nursing.
It's been a routine, a way of life. Although when she stopped requiring regular nursings, it certainly made traveling easier. No more stopping every two-to-three hours for hours of restless nursing routine.
Then she got into drinking cow's milk. She was gung ho from the start. Milk! Milk! Or as she would say, Mak! Mak! That means cow's milk in a cup. She knows what breast milk and nursing means, but it's not the way it used to be.
The last couple months, she has been nursing mostly in a wake up session first thing in the morning and the last thing before bedtime. I kept trying to hold on to the nursing because, after all, I'd worked so hard to make it happen to begin with. One does not keep nursing without a commitment to the cause. I remember one particular morning that I got myself out of bed and upright during a bout of food poisoning. It wasn't to be strong, I tell you that! It wasn't even out of guilt or obligation. It was to nurse the baby because she needed me and I wasn't about to give up nursing over a little incapacitating nausea. I persist.
And then came the day(s) that she giggled and ran from me rather than nurse in the morning. Mak! she says, and she doesn't mean me. Still I persisted. I even picked up a little nursing time in the afternoons before her nap. A new solid sleep ritual. It worked reliably, and I welcomed my shifting role. I still had my milk.
And then she missed this or that nursing and we kept on some kind of track, but it wasn't very regular.
And it has slowly occurred to me: I don't need to keep doing this. The little girl doesn't *need* to nurse any more, either physically or emotionally. She likes it, sure, but really, she's moved on.
She's been nursing a year and a half, ya'll. We've passed the point of useful antibodies.
And still I persist.
But I'm thinking I need to let go. She's ready. I think I might be too.
I worry that if I give up all but one nursing that my milk will disappear. But that's silly, as the piglet might say. Because it will disappear, someday. And then I will have to bid a brave but tearful adieu to one of my favorite mommy superpowers: the ability and the dedication to make mother's milk. Not to mention the warm snuggly feeling of the little girl on a good drowsy pull.
Not that I haven't looked forward to returning to a few currently forbidden things. Peppermint tea. Combination cold medicines. One specific medication that helps me deal with sun exposure. Fitting into my dance dresses again. Mammograms! Oo, yeah. Well, maybe not that one.
I have a feeling I will miss this terribly once it's gone. The nursing, I mean. And a little bit, not. I won't be tied to the schedule quite so tightly. In fact, those mother's aprons-strings have been loosening for a couple of months now. It won't be much longer before they inextricably loosen and fall away without my even noticing. Yeah, sure. (pause to sniffle at my keyboard)
I am so grateful that I took a few video clips of myself nursing when she was still a small baby. I just melt, seeing those small baby hands flexing as she sighs and gulps in contentment. How will I ever afford her that measure of security again?
I will have to invent new and meaningful bonds and rituals, new opportunities for snuggling and security. I will have to discover new ways to connect to the little girl she is becoming, to comfort and delight in the same Mommy-is-your-rock way. I will have to persist.
The nursing chair, our little recliner, has been moved back to into the living room. It looks nice there; we'd almost forgotten that. We brought home our new glider rocker today (new in the sense that we bought it used from craigslist), and placed it next to the bookshelf in the little girl's room. These days the little girl is all about reading books on our laps, and rocking, sometimes both at once. Or one then the other, having her Daddy rock her to sleep. He's her Daddy-is-my-rock now.
The new glider supports me as I support her, floating back and forth, rocking. "Kiss" she says, and brings her face close, smiling, then smacks her lips close to mine before pushing me away.
Mwah. Back atcha, little girl. Mommy loves you too. sniffle
--
Once we got her to latch, it was eat, eat, eat. Let me show you our eat-poop-sleep diary. It was solid numbers.
See, I'd had in my head that I'd aim for nursing for at least her first six months, her first year, even two years! Why mess with a good thing, right? We'd just keep nursing for as long as it lasted. Nutrients! Antibodies! Skin-to-skin contact! No allergies for this little girl, we said.
Eventually, she started eating solid foods and we cheered her on. And still she nursed. And we did meet her first birthday with an apple muffin. And she was still nursing.
It's been a routine, a way of life. Although when she stopped requiring regular nursings, it certainly made traveling easier. No more stopping every two-to-three hours for hours of restless nursing routine.
Then she got into drinking cow's milk. She was gung ho from the start. Milk! Milk! Or as she would say, Mak! Mak! That means cow's milk in a cup. She knows what breast milk and nursing means, but it's not the way it used to be.
The last couple months, she has been nursing mostly in a wake up session first thing in the morning and the last thing before bedtime. I kept trying to hold on to the nursing because, after all, I'd worked so hard to make it happen to begin with. One does not keep nursing without a commitment to the cause. I remember one particular morning that I got myself out of bed and upright during a bout of food poisoning. It wasn't to be strong, I tell you that! It wasn't even out of guilt or obligation. It was to nurse the baby because she needed me and I wasn't about to give up nursing over a little incapacitating nausea. I persist.
And then came the day(s) that she giggled and ran from me rather than nurse in the morning. Mak! she says, and she doesn't mean me. Still I persisted. I even picked up a little nursing time in the afternoons before her nap. A new solid sleep ritual. It worked reliably, and I welcomed my shifting role. I still had my milk.
And then she missed this or that nursing and we kept on some kind of track, but it wasn't very regular.
And it has slowly occurred to me: I don't need to keep doing this. The little girl doesn't *need* to nurse any more, either physically or emotionally. She likes it, sure, but really, she's moved on.
She's been nursing a year and a half, ya'll. We've passed the point of useful antibodies.
And still I persist.
But I'm thinking I need to let go. She's ready. I think I might be too.
I worry that if I give up all but one nursing that my milk will disappear. But that's silly, as the piglet might say. Because it will disappear, someday. And then I will have to bid a brave but tearful adieu to one of my favorite mommy superpowers: the ability and the dedication to make mother's milk. Not to mention the warm snuggly feeling of the little girl on a good drowsy pull.
Not that I haven't looked forward to returning to a few currently forbidden things. Peppermint tea. Combination cold medicines. One specific medication that helps me deal with sun exposure. Fitting into my dance dresses again. Mammograms! Oo, yeah. Well, maybe not that one.
I have a feeling I will miss this terribly once it's gone. The nursing, I mean. And a little bit, not. I won't be tied to the schedule quite so tightly. In fact, those mother's aprons-strings have been loosening for a couple of months now. It won't be much longer before they inextricably loosen and fall away without my even noticing. Yeah, sure. (pause to sniffle at my keyboard)
I am so grateful that I took a few video clips of myself nursing when she was still a small baby. I just melt, seeing those small baby hands flexing as she sighs and gulps in contentment. How will I ever afford her that measure of security again?
I will have to invent new and meaningful bonds and rituals, new opportunities for snuggling and security. I will have to discover new ways to connect to the little girl she is becoming, to comfort and delight in the same Mommy-is-your-rock way. I will have to persist.
The nursing chair, our little recliner, has been moved back to into the living room. It looks nice there; we'd almost forgotten that. We brought home our new glider rocker today (new in the sense that we bought it used from craigslist), and placed it next to the bookshelf in the little girl's room. These days the little girl is all about reading books on our laps, and rocking, sometimes both at once. Or one then the other, having her Daddy rock her to sleep. He's her Daddy-is-my-rock now.
The new glider supports me as I support her, floating back and forth, rocking. "Kiss" she says, and brings her face close, smiling, then smacks her lips close to mine before pushing me away.
Mwah. Back atcha, little girl. Mommy loves you too. sniffle
--
Saturday, March 20, 2010
Learning How to Chastise Cats
We have squirt bottles stashed all around the house in case of cat misbehavior. Since the cats engage in all sorts of neurotic and passive-aggressive behavior when I am nursing or otherwise engaged with the little girl, she gets to see and hear a lot of cat chastisement. "Bacio, no!" "Stop, cat!" "Ouuut!" "Nooooo." Sometimes, "What a sweet boy he is, yes he is." but more often, "Stop, you blankity, blank!" (No, I don't actually say that one, but I think it a lot.)
This week, we've caught the baby playing with the squirt bottle several times. The little girl can't actually get her hands around the handle to manipulate the lever, but she does hold it up by the handle and say, "sst! sst!" Why yes, honey, that's exactly how you do it. lol!
We nearly fell out laughing the first time we saw this. I supposed I should be grateful that she hasn't learned to say, "G-d-D-mn Cat!" Shhhh. I'm keeping my mouth shut.
--
This week, we've caught the baby playing with the squirt bottle several times. The little girl can't actually get her hands around the handle to manipulate the lever, but she does hold it up by the handle and say, "sst! sst!" Why yes, honey, that's exactly how you do it. lol!
We nearly fell out laughing the first time we saw this. I supposed I should be grateful that she hasn't learned to say, "G-d-D-mn Cat!" Shhhh. I'm keeping my mouth shut.
--
Sunday, January 3, 2010
Holiday Odyssey Goes On Forever
I survived Christmas and the rest of the holiday with sanity intact, and I even enjoyed myself.
We went, we shopped, we managed a few potentially stressful interactions, we enjoyed small but meaningful moments.
Christmas Eve we made it to the early service with the childrens' pageant and stayed for a communal meal between services, meeting lots of people we hadn't seen in months or longer. It was a luxury to visit and ask about other people's lives. We spent hours watching the little girl play with wrapping paper (never mind the presents), then spent an additional afternoon of fun and laughter and paper shreddings and food with family. The little girl tolerated the madness remarkably well. We are so proud of her!
I also survived (but just barely) the packing/travel madness to and from a New Year's dance weekend event with the little girl in tow. Much wrangling of the schedule, trying to catch the main events, and missing out on many other things. When the clock got close, I told my husband, "count it down for us," and he whispered the count and we kissed while the little girl snoozed on. She continued to snooze soundly through fifteen minutes of nearby fireworks. She did not sleep well through painful diaper rash episodes. We traded off dancing and got to visit occasionally with friends who ran across us and wanted to chat. How I had any brain for that is astounding. I never did get to go walking down by the ocean this trip, and I was sad about that, but not eager to extend the trip that much longer.
The whole project was another semi-miserable travel odyssey, wherein an trip that ordinarily takes a reasonable amount of time mysteriously extends by some factor of time, and any "quick stop" takes half an hour if you expected 15 minutes, or 1.5 hours if you expected an hour, or nearly 3 if you expected 1.5. I'm still trying to decide if all the aggravation of traveling is worth it these days. The time and effort expended don't seem to quite fit into the pleasure of a given goal. A number of things feel that way. I find myself narrowing down my ambitions and focus. I have only so much energy to work with.
OH! And did I mention we had half a kitchen of new cabinets installed the day after Christmas?! Yes, those same cabinets we've spent a couple of years planning, the same set that we bought more than a year ago - all finally installed by one of my mother's church friends, a master carpenter in need of work. The best present for all of us my mother could have ever thought of. Even as a partially completed kitchen, they look beautiful. We've spent so much time rearranging the new space, both of us gleeful over it all. And today, while I pulled another long day with the kiddo, Mr Sweetie went to the nearest IKEA for the rest of the kitchen's worth of cabinets for a future final installation. Another long odyssey that took nearly twice as long as hoped.
So all of this to say that this "break" has not been very relaxing, yet remarkably, it's been mostly gratifying. I still have cookies to mail and a kitchen to clean up and.... oh, did I mention that the little girl is starting to pull up on any available furniture? We are just trying to keep up with our lives! And the internet is not feeling so special at the moment. I just don't have the attention to spare.
Does that ever happen to you? I feel myself sitting back, watching the flow of interaction among my friends and interest groups online, but not yet ready to dive back in. I feel tired, truth be told. I leave my computer alone for hours at a time while I try to keep up with the latest episode of diaper rash and the little girl finding new ways to nearly endanger herself, and myself trying to beat back the leftover mess and chaos of the holidays. Even new gifts are an additional drag on my time, wanting new attention and more ambitions. I can't do it all. Anything new has to come out of something old. It's not bad to drop a few things if it means making space for new things. It's also not bad to put off new things to take care of ones basic priorities.
And although it's a cliche of the New Year to set out wishful goals and resolutions, I have a few of those too. This year, it does feel fresh, blank slate ready for a new start. Or as the lovely Oprah quote says, “Cheers to a New Year and another chance for us to get it right.” If I pick my battles and refine my vision of what I can actually do, I am hopeful I'll get it closer to "right."
Happy New Year and new decade to all my regular and random readers!
--
We went, we shopped, we managed a few potentially stressful interactions, we enjoyed small but meaningful moments.
Christmas Eve we made it to the early service with the childrens' pageant and stayed for a communal meal between services, meeting lots of people we hadn't seen in months or longer. It was a luxury to visit and ask about other people's lives. We spent hours watching the little girl play with wrapping paper (never mind the presents), then spent an additional afternoon of fun and laughter and paper shreddings and food with family. The little girl tolerated the madness remarkably well. We are so proud of her!
I also survived (but just barely) the packing/travel madness to and from a New Year's dance weekend event with the little girl in tow. Much wrangling of the schedule, trying to catch the main events, and missing out on many other things. When the clock got close, I told my husband, "count it down for us," and he whispered the count and we kissed while the little girl snoozed on. She continued to snooze soundly through fifteen minutes of nearby fireworks. She did not sleep well through painful diaper rash episodes. We traded off dancing and got to visit occasionally with friends who ran across us and wanted to chat. How I had any brain for that is astounding. I never did get to go walking down by the ocean this trip, and I was sad about that, but not eager to extend the trip that much longer.
The whole project was another semi-miserable travel odyssey, wherein an trip that ordinarily takes a reasonable amount of time mysteriously extends by some factor of time, and any "quick stop" takes half an hour if you expected 15 minutes, or 1.5 hours if you expected an hour, or nearly 3 if you expected 1.5. I'm still trying to decide if all the aggravation of traveling is worth it these days. The time and effort expended don't seem to quite fit into the pleasure of a given goal. A number of things feel that way. I find myself narrowing down my ambitions and focus. I have only so much energy to work with.
OH! And did I mention we had half a kitchen of new cabinets installed the day after Christmas?! Yes, those same cabinets we've spent a couple of years planning, the same set that we bought more than a year ago - all finally installed by one of my mother's church friends, a master carpenter in need of work. The best present for all of us my mother could have ever thought of. Even as a partially completed kitchen, they look beautiful. We've spent so much time rearranging the new space, both of us gleeful over it all. And today, while I pulled another long day with the kiddo, Mr Sweetie went to the nearest IKEA for the rest of the kitchen's worth of cabinets for a future final installation. Another long odyssey that took nearly twice as long as hoped.
So all of this to say that this "break" has not been very relaxing, yet remarkably, it's been mostly gratifying. I still have cookies to mail and a kitchen to clean up and.... oh, did I mention that the little girl is starting to pull up on any available furniture? We are just trying to keep up with our lives! And the internet is not feeling so special at the moment. I just don't have the attention to spare.
Does that ever happen to you? I feel myself sitting back, watching the flow of interaction among my friends and interest groups online, but not yet ready to dive back in. I feel tired, truth be told. I leave my computer alone for hours at a time while I try to keep up with the latest episode of diaper rash and the little girl finding new ways to nearly endanger herself, and myself trying to beat back the leftover mess and chaos of the holidays. Even new gifts are an additional drag on my time, wanting new attention and more ambitions. I can't do it all. Anything new has to come out of something old. It's not bad to drop a few things if it means making space for new things. It's also not bad to put off new things to take care of ones basic priorities.
And although it's a cliche of the New Year to set out wishful goals and resolutions, I have a few of those too. This year, it does feel fresh, blank slate ready for a new start. Or as the lovely Oprah quote says, “Cheers to a New Year and another chance for us to get it right.” If I pick my battles and refine my vision of what I can actually do, I am hopeful I'll get it closer to "right."
Happy New Year and new decade to all my regular and random readers!
--
Wednesday, June 10, 2009
Her Bad Mother, My Bad Guilt
Blogger Her Bad Mother recently wrote a terrific bad mother manifesto of sorts. How we are all collectively caught up in trying to live up to the ideal of the perfect mother. The "Good Mother." Excellent. I encourage you to check it out.
This post really resonates with me. There are so many mothering things I feel I should be doing, so many ways I don't live up to my ideals.
I loved this post in particular because it hits at the mothering side of perfectionism. I have made great strides in rejecting the perfectionism I learned from my parents, but as a relatively new mother, I'm wading through the weeds yet again, longing for a happier, shinier shore. ha! There is no such perfect shore. I know that.
I have yet to use cloth diapers as I had hoped. Yes, I'm a wimp.
I hardly ever give her a full bath. I wipe her down every day.
Sometimes I get so frustrated, I yell. OMG, I'm scarring her for life. Ack!!!!
Sometimes I ignore the fussing and crying and go pee or eat some lunch. Before I fall over.
It hurts my heart to be less than the Good Mother. But really I'm just an ordinary mother.
Or the short version, from my comment there:
This post also reminds me that noone is served by my guilt about what I haven't done or managed to accomplish. I always want to do better by my daughter. I don't think that will change. What I want is to stop beating myself up with guilt and allow myself more compassion for myself, doing a reasonably good job (most of the time) in difficult circumstances of raising a young child.
When is this ever easy? Never.
Some days I hold my shit together, not always happily, not always well, but I make it work. Some days I don't have enough reserves and I just lose it and have to regroup. Some days I'm so good, I'm freakin Mary P0ppins over here.
This parenting thing is all on-the-job training; I learn from my mistakes, and I try to not beat myself up about it. And that seems to be the key. Why hit each other with that Good Mother guilt? Why hit ourselves? Enough of that, I say.
I saw some of my husband's colleagues recently, briefly. One woman rhapsodized over the baby, how beautiful and wonderful she was, all the amazing things you get to experience as a mother, a parent. Then her voice dropped a little and she asked how I was doing at home. I said I was doing okay. Oh, I cried every day... she said. I could have hugged her. I loved that she acknowledged that this parenting job is as freakin hard as all get out (I'm censoring myself), and even though her kids were teens, she still remembered how hard it was. How hard it can be. And I told her about the first weeks after my husband went back to work that I cried every day too.
I'm doing fine, really I am. I love being a mother. I'm just trying hard to not whack myself with that Good Mother stick on those days that I don't. Blessings to all mothers!
--
This post really resonates with me. There are so many mothering things I feel I should be doing, so many ways I don't live up to my ideals.
I loved this post in particular because it hits at the mothering side of perfectionism. I have made great strides in rejecting the perfectionism I learned from my parents, but as a relatively new mother, I'm wading through the weeds yet again, longing for a happier, shinier shore. ha! There is no such perfect shore. I know that.
I have yet to use cloth diapers as I had hoped. Yes, I'm a wimp.
I hardly ever give her a full bath. I wipe her down every day.
Sometimes I get so frustrated, I yell. OMG, I'm scarring her for life. Ack!!!!
Sometimes I ignore the fussing and crying and go pee or eat some lunch. Before I fall over.
It hurts my heart to be less than the Good Mother. But really I'm just an ordinary mother.
Or the short version, from my comment there:
I'm an ordinary mom too. When things get rough, I keep repeating to myself: I'm doing the best I can. Which over all is pretty good, it's just swaddled in the guilt of not living up to the Good Mom ideal or my better self. It's a particularly sharp stick with which to whack myself with when things are going badly. My DH, though, tells me I'm a fantastic parent, and that thank god we have each other to hand her back and forth in the middle of those late-night screaming fests.
This post also reminds me that noone is served by my guilt about what I haven't done or managed to accomplish. I always want to do better by my daughter. I don't think that will change. What I want is to stop beating myself up with guilt and allow myself more compassion for myself, doing a reasonably good job (most of the time) in difficult circumstances of raising a young child.
When is this ever easy? Never.
Some days I hold my shit together, not always happily, not always well, but I make it work. Some days I don't have enough reserves and I just lose it and have to regroup. Some days I'm so good, I'm freakin Mary P0ppins over here.
This parenting thing is all on-the-job training; I learn from my mistakes, and I try to not beat myself up about it. And that seems to be the key. Why hit each other with that Good Mother guilt? Why hit ourselves? Enough of that, I say.
I saw some of my husband's colleagues recently, briefly. One woman rhapsodized over the baby, how beautiful and wonderful she was, all the amazing things you get to experience as a mother, a parent. Then her voice dropped a little and she asked how I was doing at home. I said I was doing okay. Oh, I cried every day... she said. I could have hugged her. I loved that she acknowledged that this parenting job is as freakin hard as all get out (I'm censoring myself), and even though her kids were teens, she still remembered how hard it was. How hard it can be. And I told her about the first weeks after my husband went back to work that I cried every day too.
I'm doing fine, really I am. I love being a mother. I'm just trying hard to not whack myself with that Good Mother stick on those days that I don't. Blessings to all mothers!
--
Tuesday, June 2, 2009
Small Accomplishments Presents: Sushi & Shopping
Yet another installment of small accomplishments. I not only aspire to the things on my "to do" list, I celebrate that which I have actually done, no matter how small or mundane that might be.
1. Drove half an hour to meet a friend for lunch with little Wookie in tow. She's getting better in the car, but it takes planning and strategic timing. I make sure she's been well-fed and freshly-diapered. I have the paci* and other entertainments for her. I adjust the panda mirror that lets me keep track of her status in the backseat. I adjust her coverings so she's shaded but warm/cool enough. Then I pray. It usually works. It worked today, at least on the outward bound trip. On the inward bound trip, I had to stop to readjust the paci and coverings, then gritted my teeth for the rest of it.
* What some people might call a binky.
2. I put the little Wookie in the sling facing forward. First time I've really done that. She likes looking at things these days, so I tried it. Sitting down, not so hot. She can look about, but her feet either dangle or rest on my legs. The sling configuration is not the best support for her without a bottom to hold the cloth. And her little bottom had a tendency to press into my stomach, not ideal for when I'm eating! Judgement: bears tweaking.
3. I sat the little Wookie on my lap/leg while eating. This actually worked pretty well. She can sit up, see everything that's going on nearby, yet she's past the stage of attempting to pitch herself off my lap, while not yet at the stage where she's grabbing everything in sight. I could eat soup and sushi one-handed without dropping anything on her head. Judgement: It worked! Also easy to jiggle her if necessary.
4. I calculated a tip. Trust me; I don't have all my calculating brain today (um, this year?), so I was pleased that I didn't sweat this one too much. I admit that sometimes I give a 20% tip instead of a 15% tip to avoid further calculations.
5. I took the baby into a grocery store using a store baby carrier attached to a shopping cart. This was one of those molded seats. I spent a few moments figuring out how to secure the baby and how to adjust the fittings. I did add a burp rag layer under her for padding, and another layer over her for drool interference.
6. I kept the baby mostly happy throughout the store. Thank goodness I had a list. I barreled past a number of slow-moving shoppers with only slight qualms of guilt. Pardon me! 'Scuse me! I was pretty sure they'd rather I skidded past them than have to endure a screaming baby. I even made a mommy-fool out of myself, doing that high-pitched baby-talking, smiling at her, pretending to eat her toes, and cooing at her in the middle of my cashier transaction to distract her (the baby) from any awareness of disgruntlement. Ya do what ya gotta do.
7. Breast-fed the little Wookie in semi-public. My friend asked me if I had ever BFed in public. Here! I said. This isn't public, she semi-snorted. No, but it's a step up from stripping to the waist! This was still an accomplishment because I didn't have any of my usual accoutraments, no boppy pillow, no soft blankie, no shelf within reach to store needed items, no soft chair, no novel to read. I did borrow a small pillow to help hold her up. but then she kept falling asleep! Later I punted to a bottle. Oh yeah, I also kept her happy enough so that she didn't scream (too much) in my friend's office. Yes, let's not disturb the working peace.
8. I went shopping in the drug store only holding the little Wookie. Gee, I am trying out all sorts of carrying options recently. On one arm, I had the baby and a burp rag over the shoulder. On the other arm, I had the diaper bag and carried another burp rag. 'Cause you just know you'll need another one as soon as you put it down. I probably should have gotten a shopping basket, but I just carried everything, a glutton for punishment that I am. Found hair product, teether toys, gummy bears, et cetera. Then I checked out at the cashiers without loosing my wallet, sanity, or anything else. Parenthood: the art of juggling of at least five things at once without once dropping the baby.
9. Found bath soap for Mr. Sweetie. He likes bar soap for baths, so I'm always on the lookout for inexpensive, yet good quality soap. Not too fancy, but not too drying or harsh, and unscented or only lightly scented. I found another option today, inexpensive but likely good. We'll see how it goes.
10. I folded clean laundry, brought it upstairs, and put it away. Yeah. This is nice. Sometimes I don't get down there for days. 'Twas nice to finish up that load.
11. I downloaded photos from my camera. I haven't adjusted or posted any photos in the last six weeks, but at least everything is currently downloaded!
12. Ran more soapy dishwater and soaked another round of dishes. Part of my strategy for finishing dishes. At some point, I wash the dishes. Maybe later tonight.
13. Cleared out the pile of old newspapers from the nursing station for recycling. The pile was getting kinda unwieldy. Then I put those and other newspapers out in the bin.
14. I responded succinctly to someone nagging me about a health concern I am already aware of and was taking precautions for. Maybe this is not an accomplishment. I get annoyed about being nagged about health concerns, *especially* if I have already read a lot about it. As far as I'm concerned, unsolicited health advice is between me, my doctor and my husband, although my mother occasionally gets a pass. Folic acid! Calcium! she says. Anyway, it might be just as efficient to pretend that I didn't hear it, but I wanted to acknowledge that I already knew about the issue and was not interested in taking the hardline approach they seemed to be implying I should. "Don't you know that...!!!!" Uh, yeah, thanks anyway. Mini grouse: Who are they, the nutrition police? Yes, they are! I know they mean well. Maybe my favorite New York friend is rubbing off on me a little. She suffers no fools and always tells you what she thinks.
15. I kept mostly cheerful all day. When my daughter reads my moods and responds in kind, it's incumbent on me to keep my mood (or at least the manifestations thereof) upbeat in the face of adversity, no matter how large or how trivial those aggravations may be. Oy. So this is a big one. Yay, me!!!
16. Breast-fed the fussing baby while eating a cheese sandwich and fending off a disgruntled cat with a squirt bottle. I needed at least a couple of extra hands for this, but I made it work with my available ones. Some days I do all of the above while reading a book as well.
17. Inspected the garden. Some days I hardly get outdoors, much less pay attention to the yard, so this was big too. Oo! Look at the salvia blooming! Oh, there's some more monkey grass invading the front garden bed. I even pinched a couple of tomato plants (pruning for better growth) and admired the chive buds, marigolds and blooming parsley. All plants appear to be thriving. Tomorrow, I'll water.
18. Read some books to the little Wookie. Sometimes after feeding, she doesn't want to be either upright or lying down. I'll sit her in my lap and read Boyton and Dr Seuss books, and other things from my childhood. I especially like the books with rhyming and rhythmic language. It's fun! It's language exposure! She looks at the pictures and gurgles.
19. Threw out some trash. Expired coupons, current coupons, fundraising mail, church news, city news, toy packaging. Stuff comes in, I throw stuff out.
20. Changed the onesie. The little Wookie was getting all sweaty from running around in the heat. I hope she's acclimating, but meanwhile, we all can use a change of clothing after a sweaty day. She felt so much better afterwards. As a bonus, I washed her face. She loves that! Today I was washing her to not only clean but to cool off. I got at some of the neck gunk too. Classic "neck cheese" from milk and drool blorpage.
21. Put away all groceries. Everything in its place. I made a small bowl for snacking on of dark-chocolate raisins, raw almonds and chili-chocolate-covered hazelnuts. Then I hid the rest of the snacks to slow down our consumption!
22. Noted events in the calender then deleted emails. Consolidate, consolidate, delete, delete, delete.
23. Noted recent gifts on my master gift list. Stashed gift list and thank you note cards for easy access during nursing. At some point, I will start working on thank you notes again. As with many other things, I am running weeks and months behind. I do have high standards for myself. At the moment, I am avoiding email thank yous while holding out for written notes. I hope this doesn't turn into my never writing them at all. :P
24. Swept the floor in the bathroom. I keep a dustpan and broom right by the wastebasket for just this purpose. Helps me keep up with the ongoing kitty litter, kitty hair, and random dust.
25. Brushed teeth, brushed hair, got dressed, put on earrings, looked presentable in public. This does not sound exciting, but some days, this is a big deal. Today, it was a basic manuever.
26. Washed new teething toys in hot soapy water, and put them in bags to keep clean before use. There is not only a lot of drooling going on, but more *chewing* as well. We figure we might as well prepare for future teething! The toy links are also good for practicing grabbing and chewing.
27. Pumped breast milk. This was actually last night, late. The little Wookie was running behind on nursing, but fell asleep at her usual hour. I was left with a painful ache, which motivated me to drag out our very fancy breast pump (the new one) which I have hardly used since the little Wookie figured out how to latch and nurse. Ugga-ugga-goosh-goosh. Nobody woke up while it chugged away, and I got some slight relief.
28. Put out new wipes on the changing table and in the diaper bag. Gotta have the wipes handy. I have become a fan of the cotton-supplemented K1rkl@nds brand from, you know, that big bulk shopping place. (Shhhh! :) )
29. Stayed hydrated. I have been religiously drinking water every time I sit down to nurse, and often more. I find that my body craves it, so I do my best to keep up. I've been doing a good job in the last couple of weeks especially.
That's a pretty good list. Cool! Anything else? Oh yeah!
30. Wrote another post. Yay me!
Now I just have to wash bottles and prepare for tomorrow. How about you?
--
1. Drove half an hour to meet a friend for lunch with little Wookie in tow. She's getting better in the car, but it takes planning and strategic timing. I make sure she's been well-fed and freshly-diapered. I have the paci* and other entertainments for her. I adjust the panda mirror that lets me keep track of her status in the backseat. I adjust her coverings so she's shaded but warm/cool enough. Then I pray. It usually works. It worked today, at least on the outward bound trip. On the inward bound trip, I had to stop to readjust the paci and coverings, then gritted my teeth for the rest of it.
* What some people might call a binky.
2. I put the little Wookie in the sling facing forward. First time I've really done that. She likes looking at things these days, so I tried it. Sitting down, not so hot. She can look about, but her feet either dangle or rest on my legs. The sling configuration is not the best support for her without a bottom to hold the cloth. And her little bottom had a tendency to press into my stomach, not ideal for when I'm eating! Judgement: bears tweaking.
3. I sat the little Wookie on my lap/leg while eating. This actually worked pretty well. She can sit up, see everything that's going on nearby, yet she's past the stage of attempting to pitch herself off my lap, while not yet at the stage where she's grabbing everything in sight. I could eat soup and sushi one-handed without dropping anything on her head. Judgement: It worked! Also easy to jiggle her if necessary.
4. I calculated a tip. Trust me; I don't have all my calculating brain today (um, this year?), so I was pleased that I didn't sweat this one too much. I admit that sometimes I give a 20% tip instead of a 15% tip to avoid further calculations.
5. I took the baby into a grocery store using a store baby carrier attached to a shopping cart. This was one of those molded seats. I spent a few moments figuring out how to secure the baby and how to adjust the fittings. I did add a burp rag layer under her for padding, and another layer over her for drool interference.
6. I kept the baby mostly happy throughout the store. Thank goodness I had a list. I barreled past a number of slow-moving shoppers with only slight qualms of guilt. Pardon me! 'Scuse me! I was pretty sure they'd rather I skidded past them than have to endure a screaming baby. I even made a mommy-fool out of myself, doing that high-pitched baby-talking, smiling at her, pretending to eat her toes, and cooing at her in the middle of my cashier transaction to distract her (the baby) from any awareness of disgruntlement. Ya do what ya gotta do.
7. Breast-fed the little Wookie in semi-public. My friend asked me if I had ever BFed in public. Here! I said. This isn't public, she semi-snorted. No, but it's a step up from stripping to the waist! This was still an accomplishment because I didn't have any of my usual accoutraments, no boppy pillow, no soft blankie, no shelf within reach to store needed items, no soft chair, no novel to read. I did borrow a small pillow to help hold her up. but then she kept falling asleep! Later I punted to a bottle. Oh yeah, I also kept her happy enough so that she didn't scream (too much) in my friend's office. Yes, let's not disturb the working peace.
8. I went shopping in the drug store only holding the little Wookie. Gee, I am trying out all sorts of carrying options recently. On one arm, I had the baby and a burp rag over the shoulder. On the other arm, I had the diaper bag and carried another burp rag. 'Cause you just know you'll need another one as soon as you put it down. I probably should have gotten a shopping basket, but I just carried everything, a glutton for punishment that I am. Found hair product, teether toys, gummy bears, et cetera. Then I checked out at the cashiers without loosing my wallet, sanity, or anything else. Parenthood: the art of juggling of at least five things at once without once dropping the baby.
9. Found bath soap for Mr. Sweetie. He likes bar soap for baths, so I'm always on the lookout for inexpensive, yet good quality soap. Not too fancy, but not too drying or harsh, and unscented or only lightly scented. I found another option today, inexpensive but likely good. We'll see how it goes.
10. I folded clean laundry, brought it upstairs, and put it away. Yeah. This is nice. Sometimes I don't get down there for days. 'Twas nice to finish up that load.
11. I downloaded photos from my camera. I haven't adjusted or posted any photos in the last six weeks, but at least everything is currently downloaded!
12. Ran more soapy dishwater and soaked another round of dishes. Part of my strategy for finishing dishes. At some point, I wash the dishes. Maybe later tonight.
13. Cleared out the pile of old newspapers from the nursing station for recycling. The pile was getting kinda unwieldy. Then I put those and other newspapers out in the bin.
14. I responded succinctly to someone nagging me about a health concern I am already aware of and was taking precautions for. Maybe this is not an accomplishment. I get annoyed about being nagged about health concerns, *especially* if I have already read a lot about it. As far as I'm concerned, unsolicited health advice is between me, my doctor and my husband, although my mother occasionally gets a pass. Folic acid! Calcium! she says. Anyway, it might be just as efficient to pretend that I didn't hear it, but I wanted to acknowledge that I already knew about the issue and was not interested in taking the hardline approach they seemed to be implying I should. "Don't you know that...!!!!" Uh, yeah, thanks anyway. Mini grouse: Who are they, the nutrition police? Yes, they are! I know they mean well. Maybe my favorite New York friend is rubbing off on me a little. She suffers no fools and always tells you what she thinks.
15. I kept mostly cheerful all day. When my daughter reads my moods and responds in kind, it's incumbent on me to keep my mood (or at least the manifestations thereof) upbeat in the face of adversity, no matter how large or how trivial those aggravations may be. Oy. So this is a big one. Yay, me!!!
16. Breast-fed the fussing baby while eating a cheese sandwich and fending off a disgruntled cat with a squirt bottle. I needed at least a couple of extra hands for this, but I made it work with my available ones. Some days I do all of the above while reading a book as well.
17. Inspected the garden. Some days I hardly get outdoors, much less pay attention to the yard, so this was big too. Oo! Look at the salvia blooming! Oh, there's some more monkey grass invading the front garden bed. I even pinched a couple of tomato plants (pruning for better growth) and admired the chive buds, marigolds and blooming parsley. All plants appear to be thriving. Tomorrow, I'll water.
18. Read some books to the little Wookie. Sometimes after feeding, she doesn't want to be either upright or lying down. I'll sit her in my lap and read Boyton and Dr Seuss books, and other things from my childhood. I especially like the books with rhyming and rhythmic language. It's fun! It's language exposure! She looks at the pictures and gurgles.
19. Threw out some trash. Expired coupons, current coupons, fundraising mail, church news, city news, toy packaging. Stuff comes in, I throw stuff out.
20. Changed the onesie. The little Wookie was getting all sweaty from running around in the heat. I hope she's acclimating, but meanwhile, we all can use a change of clothing after a sweaty day. She felt so much better afterwards. As a bonus, I washed her face. She loves that! Today I was washing her to not only clean but to cool off. I got at some of the neck gunk too. Classic "neck cheese" from milk and drool blorpage.
21. Put away all groceries. Everything in its place. I made a small bowl for snacking on of dark-chocolate raisins, raw almonds and chili-chocolate-covered hazelnuts. Then I hid the rest of the snacks to slow down our consumption!
22. Noted events in the calender then deleted emails. Consolidate, consolidate, delete, delete, delete.
23. Noted recent gifts on my master gift list. Stashed gift list and thank you note cards for easy access during nursing. At some point, I will start working on thank you notes again. As with many other things, I am running weeks and months behind. I do have high standards for myself. At the moment, I am avoiding email thank yous while holding out for written notes. I hope this doesn't turn into my never writing them at all. :P
24. Swept the floor in the bathroom. I keep a dustpan and broom right by the wastebasket for just this purpose. Helps me keep up with the ongoing kitty litter, kitty hair, and random dust.
25. Brushed teeth, brushed hair, got dressed, put on earrings, looked presentable in public. This does not sound exciting, but some days, this is a big deal. Today, it was a basic manuever.
26. Washed new teething toys in hot soapy water, and put them in bags to keep clean before use. There is not only a lot of drooling going on, but more *chewing* as well. We figure we might as well prepare for future teething! The toy links are also good for practicing grabbing and chewing.
27. Pumped breast milk. This was actually last night, late. The little Wookie was running behind on nursing, but fell asleep at her usual hour. I was left with a painful ache, which motivated me to drag out our very fancy breast pump (the new one) which I have hardly used since the little Wookie figured out how to latch and nurse. Ugga-ugga-goosh-goosh. Nobody woke up while it chugged away, and I got some slight relief.
28. Put out new wipes on the changing table and in the diaper bag. Gotta have the wipes handy. I have become a fan of the cotton-supplemented K1rkl@nds brand from, you know, that big bulk shopping place. (Shhhh! :) )
29. Stayed hydrated. I have been religiously drinking water every time I sit down to nurse, and often more. I find that my body craves it, so I do my best to keep up. I've been doing a good job in the last couple of weeks especially.
That's a pretty good list. Cool! Anything else? Oh yeah!
30. Wrote another post. Yay me!
Now I just have to wash bottles and prepare for tomorrow. How about you?
--
Monday, May 11, 2009
First Mother's Day
Ahh, the first Mother's Day. The other day I tweeted this:
I never know what my expectations should be. I've been getting so much attention from my dance community about being a mother. Or at least the baby gets a lot of adoring attention - you know how that goes! And I do the mother thing all day every day already. How could this day be particularly different? Do I want a chorus of angels to sing my praises? Chocolate? Extra sleep? Not saying I'd turn any of that down, you understand. But the whole flowers and special dinner thing seems a bit hollow to me. As Garrison Keillor sung recently, if you really want to honor your mother, give her equal pay for equal work. And for me, acknowledgment and sleep. And chocolate. It's all good. But I didn't know what if anything to expect. We already went out for a large, delectable meal of sushi earlier this week, and I savored every bit of it.
And then Mr Sweetie made a meaningful and funny card full of in-jokes, my favorite kind. I totally did not see it coming. Made me laugh and made me cry a little. Allow me to brag for a moment.
The front of the card had this printed on the paper:
Happy Mother's Day
Daddy helped me make this card for you!
And the inside of the card said this:
Mother's Day Gifts from [the little wookie]:
Super-power T-shirt
Smiles
Giggles
Snuggles
Adorable Glances
Tummy Time
Ummmm ... things ... in diaper
Blurples
Sleep Time
Oh, how I love those adorable glances! And um, the surprises.
So I've been getting more sleep time today. I'm trying to beat back this cold. Not sure it's working, but the sleep sure is nice. I would have liked to have had more time and energy to work in my garden, but there will be time for that when I feel better.
The super power T-shirt will be awesome too. I've talked about this enough that I should not have been surprised that he tracked it down and ordered one for me. It features a big white and gold "M" logo on it, for "super mother" or something. The slogan reads:
Hee! Isn't that the most awesome slogan? I do feel that breast feeding is one of my higher callings these days. Even my husband regularly tells me how wonderful it is, how beautiful it is to see me and the baby together, what a wonderful commitment I have made to continue.
Which leads me to....
Some of My Favorite Things About Being a Mother So Far:
Looking for ways my daughter resembles me or her father.
Warm baby snuggles around the neck.
Rows of neat perfect baby toes like a row of corn on the cob.
Seeing her smile of delight when I first pick her up in the morning.
Hearing her make nom nom noises when she first begins nursing.
Taking her out into the world and watching her wonder at music or faces or the feel of wind on her skin.
Singing to her or making silly sound effects when I change her diaper.
The narrative I put to my day. Now Mommy is going to wash your feet. I'm washing the top of your foot, and the bottom of your foot and the sides of your foot. And now I'm cleaning your little toesies! I'm cleaning between your toesies. Do you have any lint in there? Yes, you do! Okay, you're all clean. Mommy is all done!
Noting every little accomplishment or developmental change. The vocalizations, the scooting, grabbing and wrigglings.
Marveling at her being, her existence, my lovely miracle.
Marveling at how my life has changed, and for the better, since my baby is in it.
Despite the spit-up, the worry, the lack of sleep, the complete upheaval of my usual life, nothing could be finer.
--
I can't decide how I feel about Mother's Day. Being a mother is gift enough for me, but do I want to expect more and then be disappointed?
I never know what my expectations should be. I've been getting so much attention from my dance community about being a mother. Or at least the baby gets a lot of adoring attention - you know how that goes! And I do the mother thing all day every day already. How could this day be particularly different? Do I want a chorus of angels to sing my praises? Chocolate? Extra sleep? Not saying I'd turn any of that down, you understand. But the whole flowers and special dinner thing seems a bit hollow to me. As Garrison Keillor sung recently, if you really want to honor your mother, give her equal pay for equal work. And for me, acknowledgment and sleep. And chocolate. It's all good. But I didn't know what if anything to expect. We already went out for a large, delectable meal of sushi earlier this week, and I savored every bit of it.
And then Mr Sweetie made a meaningful and funny card full of in-jokes, my favorite kind. I totally did not see it coming. Made me laugh and made me cry a little. Allow me to brag for a moment.
The front of the card had this printed on the paper:
Happy Mother's Day
Daddy helped me make this card for you!
And the inside of the card said this:
Mother's Day Gifts from [the little wookie]:
Super-power T-shirt
Smiles
Giggles
Snuggles
Adorable Glances
Tummy Time
Ummmm ... things ... in diaper
Blurples
Sleep Time
Oh, how I love those adorable glances! And um, the surprises.
So I've been getting more sleep time today. I'm trying to beat back this cold. Not sure it's working, but the sleep sure is nice. I would have liked to have had more time and energy to work in my garden, but there will be time for that when I feel better.
The super power T-shirt will be awesome too. I've talked about this enough that I should not have been surprised that he tracked it down and ordered one for me. It features a big white and gold "M" logo on it, for "super mother" or something. The slogan reads:
I make milk.
What's your super power?
Hee! Isn't that the most awesome slogan? I do feel that breast feeding is one of my higher callings these days. Even my husband regularly tells me how wonderful it is, how beautiful it is to see me and the baby together, what a wonderful commitment I have made to continue.
Which leads me to....
Some of My Favorite Things About Being a Mother So Far:
Looking for ways my daughter resembles me or her father.
Warm baby snuggles around the neck.
Rows of neat perfect baby toes like a row of corn on the cob.
Seeing her smile of delight when I first pick her up in the morning.
Hearing her make nom nom noises when she first begins nursing.
Taking her out into the world and watching her wonder at music or faces or the feel of wind on her skin.
Singing to her or making silly sound effects when I change her diaper.
The narrative I put to my day. Now Mommy is going to wash your feet. I'm washing the top of your foot, and the bottom of your foot and the sides of your foot. And now I'm cleaning your little toesies! I'm cleaning between your toesies. Do you have any lint in there? Yes, you do! Okay, you're all clean. Mommy is all done!
Noting every little accomplishment or developmental change. The vocalizations, the scooting, grabbing and wrigglings.
Marveling at her being, her existence, my lovely miracle.
Marveling at how my life has changed, and for the better, since my baby is in it.
Despite the spit-up, the worry, the lack of sleep, the complete upheaval of my usual life, nothing could be finer.
--
Tuesday, April 21, 2009
Small Accomplishments
These days, I count my successes on one hand. If I get to the second hand, great! If I resort to my toes, my cup runneth over.
Eat breakfast. Oatmeal, banana, walnuts, toast, juice. I need fuel to keep myself going when I might not be able to eat for hours afterward.
Cook green vegetables. That broccoli has been calling my name.
Go for a walk in the neighborhood. All the azaleas are blooming in shades of pink, red, purple, peach and white. Pollen is floating in the air. Breezes blow both cool refreshing and warm sweaty. I work my way up and down the hills with an eleven pound baby strapped on. Slow and steady does it.
Post a blip or two. Listen a little, find a few tunes to post or "blip" on this radio station we make for ourselves. I veer wildly in what I want to find or listen to. I don't have enough time to lurk or post or even listen as much as I'd like. A little listen is nicer than nothing.
Take a bath. Give the baby a bath! She occasionally needs a good scrub down beyond the daily wiping. Oh, she doesn't like getting her hair wet at all. I, however, relish getting dunked properly.
Put the baby down at a reasonable hour. We are finding it takes some finesse to run that final feeding and settle. It's a fine feeling of accomplishment to coax her to slide into sleep.
Write a post or two. This may take me a few minutes or a few days. What I'm finding is that I will stay up later forsaking sleep for the sake of writing a little. As with many things, a little it better than nothing. This doesn't include all the writing I do in my head!
Go to bed at a reasonable hour. What time is it again? Time to stock up on sleep. Sweet sleep!
--
Eat breakfast. Oatmeal, banana, walnuts, toast, juice. I need fuel to keep myself going when I might not be able to eat for hours afterward.
Cook green vegetables. That broccoli has been calling my name.
Go for a walk in the neighborhood. All the azaleas are blooming in shades of pink, red, purple, peach and white. Pollen is floating in the air. Breezes blow both cool refreshing and warm sweaty. I work my way up and down the hills with an eleven pound baby strapped on. Slow and steady does it.
Post a blip or two. Listen a little, find a few tunes to post or "blip" on this radio station we make for ourselves. I veer wildly in what I want to find or listen to. I don't have enough time to lurk or post or even listen as much as I'd like. A little listen is nicer than nothing.
Take a bath. Give the baby a bath! She occasionally needs a good scrub down beyond the daily wiping. Oh, she doesn't like getting her hair wet at all. I, however, relish getting dunked properly.
Put the baby down at a reasonable hour. We are finding it takes some finesse to run that final feeding and settle. It's a fine feeling of accomplishment to coax her to slide into sleep.
Write a post or two. This may take me a few minutes or a few days. What I'm finding is that I will stay up later forsaking sleep for the sake of writing a little. As with many things, a little it better than nothing. This doesn't include all the writing I do in my head!
Go to bed at a reasonable hour. What time is it again? Time to stock up on sleep. Sweet sleep!
--
Wednesday, April 1, 2009
Reposting on Those Teeny Tiny Bottles
I been indulging in a bad habit recently, that of writing half a post in the guise of a comment on someone else's blog. After several occasions of this, it occurred to me that I should just write for my blog, already! I guess it doesn't cross my mind that I could write about this or that. So often I sit down to write and can only think about the boring drudgery in front of me. I need writing prompts so as to avoid endless poop reports. I am pretty sure that noone wants to read about that, tho I could be wrong.
On Twitter, one can retweet or RT an especially pithy tweet. So I'm thinking I need to RC? RP? i.e. repost and expand my verbose comments. Ya with me?
So here's one recent comment expanded into a whole post. I was responding to Mama Non Grata offering pointed suggestions on how to improve the sucky packaging of children's medications, especially small bottles, small type, and inadequate and unhygenic retrieval systems (i.e. the eyedropper that gets used over and over but can't manage to suck up the last bit of the very expensive medication).
Oh hell yeah I am with you, sister! I have been through those teeny tiny bottles with the Mylic0n (anti-gas), which my daughter goes through at a good clip. Who needs only 1/2 an ounce bottle? Insane! And for an even more outrageous price per ounce. Bottles for wealthy elves with magical sucking powers to retrieve every last little drop that clings to the bottom.
I am especially worked up about the size/price difference depending on where you find it. At some drugstores, only the 1/2 ounce bottle is available. If there is a larger, more economical size, they often seem to hide it. At a certain grocery store I frequent, the section of children's products has ONLY the expensive 1/2 ounce bottle. But if you go to the regular aisle where the children's meds lurk amongst the adults', lo and behold, there is a (slightly) less expensive 1 ounce bottle available. Not only that, but they give you an option of a dye-free med. Ya think maybe they are trying to take in more money from the less-observant consumer?
A related lesson might be that anything marketed for a specific demographic is sometimes marked up since it is "special" when in fact one can obtain the same or similar product for less if it's packaged for a different or general demographic. I'm guessing that anything targeted to a narrow demographic is overpriced. But still I get the stuff specifically for baby. I am very impressed with the Baby Aval0n Organics products, for instance. Yes, I bought the wee tiny package of wee tiny emory boards instead of finding the big ones somewhere in my cabinet. And the rather overpriced photo album that coordinates with the baby book, oh geez, I stepped into that one.
But maybe they could be less blatant about taking advantage of the new mother who is so sleep deprived that she barely has the time to blow her own nose, much less search for the more reasonably priced item. I could use a pint of the Mylic0n at a time, thank you very much.
And speaking of sleep deprived, one of my goals is to get to bed earlier. Like before midnight. I just hope I dream of something other than my baby crying or those ridiculously teeny tiny bottles. wuzzat?! ow, my breasts.
--
On Twitter, one can retweet or RT an especially pithy tweet. So I'm thinking I need to RC? RP? i.e. repost and expand my verbose comments. Ya with me?
So here's one recent comment expanded into a whole post. I was responding to Mama Non Grata offering pointed suggestions on how to improve the sucky packaging of children's medications, especially small bottles, small type, and inadequate and unhygenic retrieval systems (i.e. the eyedropper that gets used over and over but can't manage to suck up the last bit of the very expensive medication).
Oh hell yeah I am with you, sister! I have been through those teeny tiny bottles with the Mylic0n (anti-gas), which my daughter goes through at a good clip. Who needs only 1/2 an ounce bottle? Insane! And for an even more outrageous price per ounce. Bottles for wealthy elves with magical sucking powers to retrieve every last little drop that clings to the bottom.
I am especially worked up about the size/price difference depending on where you find it. At some drugstores, only the 1/2 ounce bottle is available. If there is a larger, more economical size, they often seem to hide it. At a certain grocery store I frequent, the section of children's products has ONLY the expensive 1/2 ounce bottle. But if you go to the regular aisle where the children's meds lurk amongst the adults', lo and behold, there is a (slightly) less expensive 1 ounce bottle available. Not only that, but they give you an option of a dye-free med. Ya think maybe they are trying to take in more money from the less-observant consumer?
A related lesson might be that anything marketed for a specific demographic is sometimes marked up since it is "special" when in fact one can obtain the same or similar product for less if it's packaged for a different or general demographic. I'm guessing that anything targeted to a narrow demographic is overpriced. But still I get the stuff specifically for baby. I am very impressed with the Baby Aval0n Organics products, for instance. Yes, I bought the wee tiny package of wee tiny emory boards instead of finding the big ones somewhere in my cabinet. And the rather overpriced photo album that coordinates with the baby book, oh geez, I stepped into that one.
But maybe they could be less blatant about taking advantage of the new mother who is so sleep deprived that she barely has the time to blow her own nose, much less search for the more reasonably priced item. I could use a pint of the Mylic0n at a time, thank you very much.
And speaking of sleep deprived, one of my goals is to get to bed earlier. Like before midnight. I just hope I dream of something other than my baby crying or those ridiculously teeny tiny bottles. wuzzat?! ow, my breasts.
--
Saturday, March 14, 2009
The New Normal
After the previous couple of months with a sooner-than-expected newborn, I'm starting to work my way back to some sense of normalcy. Scratch that. What I am really doing is establishing/exploring a *new* normalcy!
So instead of going dancing every Friday night, I am evaluating when the next feeding should be, or whether one of us can make it for part of the dance, and if so, which part and which week. Or what the logistics are of us both getting to go. Or just when I'll be able to crawl into my pajamas...
Instead of taking every gig that comes my way and happily packing up my schedule, I'm having to carefully guess whether I will be able to pull off traveling/working on a given day/location. And how far and how soon? And what is Mr Sweetie's schedule like so that he can come with and/or baby-wrangle meanwhile?
Instead of responding to any misbehavior, wail, or request for snuggles from the cats, I hiss or coo at them from afar, batt my eyes at them with my lap full, trail a hand over the side of the chair so that they can catch a back stroke, or ignore their fighting and shenanigans outright.
Instead of taking long hours doing errands, reading scifi novels, or digging in the yard, I negotiate when MS can take the baby so I can run by the grocery store at midnight, wrestle with the carrier and/or sling, snatch a few pages during an extended feeding, and throw bulbs and plants into the ground in 15 minutes of desperation and inspiration.
Instead of taking the evening off to go out to dinner and/or watch a video, we are taking turns eating some semblance of dinner or lunch or that long-neglected breakfast, and talk about maybe seeing the movie we've had for months *this* week. Maybe this afternoon. Maybe next month.
Instead of sleeping in on our Saturday mornings, snuggling and talking, we pass each other in the hall as we trade feeding shifts, catching fleeting, half-awake hugs and kisses in the hallway, and asking each other: what day is it again?
Instead of taking hours to contemplate and write out and edit a blog post, I either type it out with one hand in dribbles of minutes over days, or I hack it out in a rush, for as long as I can stand it, before the next big poop comes along. So much for editing.
Instead of sacking out on the couch reading the paper or a good book, weighed down by a happily purring cat, I am enscounced in The Chair with The Baby for the umpteenth feeding of the day (they all blur together), and propping my eyelids open. Or better, spending hours gazing with adoration at the baby's perfect skin, her delicate fingers, seeking her fleeting expressions or contented noises, marveling over how her hair floats over her head and changes color depending on the light, wondering who she will be when she gets older, who she will resemble more once the baby fat subsides. And hardly bearing to tear myself away when I need to sleep.
So yes, this is the new normal.
I know things will smooth out soon or eventually, but for now, it's a whole new learning curve.
Today I took the baby to a workshop I wanted to go to by a visiting expert. In the past, I'd not only be there early, but I'd help my friend organize and promote it. I'd be thinking about what I wanted to get out of it, and target a few skills to acquire, explore, and practice. Yeah, sure!
Today, I worked on a few more skills.
How to shuttle a baby in a carrier, two bags and a water bottle through the rain. Several times. I made a make-shift rain barrier by throwing my large-brimmed hat onto the part of the baby not covered by the expandable roof. I adjusted the Panda Mirror so I could monitor her situation from the front seat. I practiced asking for help.
I explored putting the baby in the sling after entering the hall and after I returned to the car. Before, she's still half asleep. After, she's still content. Maximize the sling time if at all possible!
I practiced keeping her happy and not-too-noisy during the workshop. I covered her head and cooed at her. I jiggled, I paced, I apologized. I went out on the dripping porch in the rainy mess when her volume conflicted with the lecture. And felt part fool and part mother. This is what you have to do sometimes.
I experienced the awkwardness of arriving way, way late after not only gathering the last minute items but also wandering about the county in a sleep-deprived state, spending 45 minutes driving up and down *the wrong road* trying to find the place.
And then of feeling alltogether proud and shy and conspicuous because OMG! It's the baby! Who has barely been seen in public! And she's adorable! And she's making noise! It's like traveling with a celebrity. Who does not get the social conventions. You're thrilled to be seen in their company, but not sure if other people are so tolerant of their quirks. (Mostly, people were thrilled to catch a glimpse of her.)
I also experienced the panic of having a crying baby wanting her next meal as I frantically drove home, singing to her and kicking myself for not feeding her before we headed back into the rainy mess. I tapped into skills I never knew I had, and made up a song on the spot in an attempt to calm her. Next time, next time...
Next time, I'll do better, I swear. Next time, it'll be another challenge.
I'm setting myself goals and challenges. Take the baby to the grocery store. Oo! Live on the edge, huh? Go crazy; take the baby on a hike or to the thrift store! Put her in the sling. Juggle the chores with one hand. Visit out in public. Go to a dance. And does she like to dance?
Today I danced a little with the baby in the sling, sung along with the beat telling her: You remember this, you heard this for months!, and heard advice and reminiscences from the workshop leader about when she carried her own daughter to dances and gigs. Not bad. Doable. What's next? Another outing. Another downpour. Another experience. Another challenge in the new normal.
Now I gotta go. The baby's gotta eat. After that, I might catch a nap. The oatmeal and dish water has been cold for hours. I know, I know. It's my new normal. And when I get to gaze at that little fluffy baby head and snuggle my little girl's sleepy-squirmy body, it's the best.
--
So instead of going dancing every Friday night, I am evaluating when the next feeding should be, or whether one of us can make it for part of the dance, and if so, which part and which week. Or what the logistics are of us both getting to go. Or just when I'll be able to crawl into my pajamas...
Instead of taking every gig that comes my way and happily packing up my schedule, I'm having to carefully guess whether I will be able to pull off traveling/working on a given day/location. And how far and how soon? And what is Mr Sweetie's schedule like so that he can come with and/or baby-wrangle meanwhile?
Instead of responding to any misbehavior, wail, or request for snuggles from the cats, I hiss or coo at them from afar, batt my eyes at them with my lap full, trail a hand over the side of the chair so that they can catch a back stroke, or ignore their fighting and shenanigans outright.
Instead of taking long hours doing errands, reading scifi novels, or digging in the yard, I negotiate when MS can take the baby so I can run by the grocery store at midnight, wrestle with the carrier and/or sling, snatch a few pages during an extended feeding, and throw bulbs and plants into the ground in 15 minutes of desperation and inspiration.
Instead of taking the evening off to go out to dinner and/or watch a video, we are taking turns eating some semblance of dinner or lunch or that long-neglected breakfast, and talk about maybe seeing the movie we've had for months *this* week. Maybe this afternoon. Maybe next month.
Instead of sleeping in on our Saturday mornings, snuggling and talking, we pass each other in the hall as we trade feeding shifts, catching fleeting, half-awake hugs and kisses in the hallway, and asking each other: what day is it again?
Instead of taking hours to contemplate and write out and edit a blog post, I either type it out with one hand in dribbles of minutes over days, or I hack it out in a rush, for as long as I can stand it, before the next big poop comes along. So much for editing.
Instead of sacking out on the couch reading the paper or a good book, weighed down by a happily purring cat, I am enscounced in The Chair with The Baby for the umpteenth feeding of the day (they all blur together), and propping my eyelids open. Or better, spending hours gazing with adoration at the baby's perfect skin, her delicate fingers, seeking her fleeting expressions or contented noises, marveling over how her hair floats over her head and changes color depending on the light, wondering who she will be when she gets older, who she will resemble more once the baby fat subsides. And hardly bearing to tear myself away when I need to sleep.
So yes, this is the new normal.
I know things will smooth out soon or eventually, but for now, it's a whole new learning curve.
Today I took the baby to a workshop I wanted to go to by a visiting expert. In the past, I'd not only be there early, but I'd help my friend organize and promote it. I'd be thinking about what I wanted to get out of it, and target a few skills to acquire, explore, and practice. Yeah, sure!
Today, I worked on a few more skills.
How to shuttle a baby in a carrier, two bags and a water bottle through the rain. Several times. I made a make-shift rain barrier by throwing my large-brimmed hat onto the part of the baby not covered by the expandable roof. I adjusted the Panda Mirror so I could monitor her situation from the front seat. I practiced asking for help.
I explored putting the baby in the sling after entering the hall and after I returned to the car. Before, she's still half asleep. After, she's still content. Maximize the sling time if at all possible!
I practiced keeping her happy and not-too-noisy during the workshop. I covered her head and cooed at her. I jiggled, I paced, I apologized. I went out on the dripping porch in the rainy mess when her volume conflicted with the lecture. And felt part fool and part mother. This is what you have to do sometimes.
I experienced the awkwardness of arriving way, way late after not only gathering the last minute items but also wandering about the county in a sleep-deprived state, spending 45 minutes driving up and down *the wrong road* trying to find the place.
And then of feeling alltogether proud and shy and conspicuous because OMG! It's the baby! Who has barely been seen in public! And she's adorable! And she's making noise! It's like traveling with a celebrity. Who does not get the social conventions. You're thrilled to be seen in their company, but not sure if other people are so tolerant of their quirks. (Mostly, people were thrilled to catch a glimpse of her.)
I also experienced the panic of having a crying baby wanting her next meal as I frantically drove home, singing to her and kicking myself for not feeding her before we headed back into the rainy mess. I tapped into skills I never knew I had, and made up a song on the spot in an attempt to calm her. Next time, next time...
Next time, I'll do better, I swear. Next time, it'll be another challenge.
I'm setting myself goals and challenges. Take the baby to the grocery store. Oo! Live on the edge, huh? Go crazy; take the baby on a hike or to the thrift store! Put her in the sling. Juggle the chores with one hand. Visit out in public. Go to a dance. And does she like to dance?
Today I danced a little with the baby in the sling, sung along with the beat telling her: You remember this, you heard this for months!, and heard advice and reminiscences from the workshop leader about when she carried her own daughter to dances and gigs. Not bad. Doable. What's next? Another outing. Another downpour. Another experience. Another challenge in the new normal.
Now I gotta go. The baby's gotta eat. After that, I might catch a nap. The oatmeal and dish water has been cold for hours. I know, I know. It's my new normal. And when I get to gaze at that little fluffy baby head and snuggle my little girl's sleepy-squirmy body, it's the best.
--
Thursday, March 5, 2009
Better Now Than Never
I'm taking a crash course in the Do It Now philosophy. If I have a spare moment or more, I'm learning to do those things I need to do NOW. If I wait, the moment's gone, so gather ye rosebuds, eat breakfast, write a thought, etc. while ye may.
This has necessitated a clarity about my priorities that I sometimes don't have. Such as: do I eat or sleep or spent time on facebook connecting with friends? It's not always an easy choice (I need both for sanity).
Our latest sleep book tells us that chronically lacking sleep can bring on an overtired state, in which adrenaline not only keeps one moving past fatigue, but then prevents one from resting or sleeping when such time is available.
Oh, I can feel it. Last night, I lay awake for nearly half an hour, even though I had been craving sleep for the previous 24 hours. Similar things have happened to me when I was in school, where coffee made it impossible for me to take advantage of the time I was awake. I need to use every moment I can get my hands on!
So I'm practicing using those moments where ever and whenever I find them, and using them for what I really need. What I need is always sleep, but it's also wiping down the kitchen table, washing another bottle, getting dressed, getting a bite to eat, sweeping the floor.
Here I am talking about my routines again. Heck, yes, I'm also talking about maintenance! But my usual routines are fragmented. My time is shredded. Instead of an hour or fifteen minutes, I'm working with three minutes or a half hour that may end at any moment.
And even beyond routines, how much of a post can I write in one minute? How much can I edit images in 5 minutes? How quickly can I set up the sewing machine-calculator-desktop-kitchen so that I am ready to undertake something creative the next time a spare five minutes appears?
It's a daily version of living your life as if you may die any day. I can eat now, but at any moment, the baby may wake up and demand attention.
Seize the moment! Write that post!*
*Yes, even if it takes you all week.
--
This has necessitated a clarity about my priorities that I sometimes don't have. Such as: do I eat or sleep or spent time on facebook connecting with friends? It's not always an easy choice (I need both for sanity).
Our latest sleep book tells us that chronically lacking sleep can bring on an overtired state, in which adrenaline not only keeps one moving past fatigue, but then prevents one from resting or sleeping when such time is available.
Oh, I can feel it. Last night, I lay awake for nearly half an hour, even though I had been craving sleep for the previous 24 hours. Similar things have happened to me when I was in school, where coffee made it impossible for me to take advantage of the time I was awake. I need to use every moment I can get my hands on!
So I'm practicing using those moments where ever and whenever I find them, and using them for what I really need. What I need is always sleep, but it's also wiping down the kitchen table, washing another bottle, getting dressed, getting a bite to eat, sweeping the floor.
Here I am talking about my routines again. Heck, yes, I'm also talking about maintenance! But my usual routines are fragmented. My time is shredded. Instead of an hour or fifteen minutes, I'm working with three minutes or a half hour that may end at any moment.
And even beyond routines, how much of a post can I write in one minute? How much can I edit images in 5 minutes? How quickly can I set up the sewing machine-calculator-desktop-kitchen so that I am ready to undertake something creative the next time a spare five minutes appears?
It's a daily version of living your life as if you may die any day. I can eat now, but at any moment, the baby may wake up and demand attention.
Seize the moment! Write that post!*
*Yes, even if it takes you all week.
--
Saturday, February 28, 2009
Parenting: Wildlife Edition
The scene: a small interior with wood floors and furniture.
Baby clothes lie strewn across the couch. In the corner: a combination crib and changing table. A bag of laundry hangs from the side. A trash can of dirty diapers is nearly full. A stack of rumpled newspapers sections lie on the floor.
The mother stands cradling her fussing infant.
Morgan Freeman voice narrating.
Narrator in voiceover: The mother has been nursing her child for the previous several hours. The father has been eating and resting, but now it's the mothers turn to eat. It's been a long time and she has not eaten since she woke up. She is starving.
Pan across the room. The father, wearing pajamas, is arranging a long strip of cloth around his body.
VO: The parents must arrange for the safe transfer of the baby. This is called "passing the egg."
Shot of baby being cradled in the mother's hands, being passed to the father hands.
Cut to a shot of the father inserting the infant into the sling.
VO: The mother ensures that her baby is safe before making the journey to the kitchen.
The mother helps arrange the cloth folds across his shoulders and back. Close up of the father's hand tucking the tiny foot into the folds of cloth and adjusting the material.
VO: When the baby cries, it's the Dad's turn to make the long trek across the tundra
Long shot of a baby in the sling, rocking back and forth as the father walks.
VO: so that the mother can gain sustenance to feed her young.
Zoom in on a bowl of oatmeal.
VO: The mother heads for the kitchen and forages for a hearty breakfast.
Shots of mother preparing to eat bananas and bread.
VO: There she will eat to store energy for it may be a long time before she eats again.
Shots of juice and Cadbury chocolate Easter eggs.
VO: The couple meets briefly to confer before going their separate ways.
Couple stands in hallway, speaks briefly, kisses and moves away.
VO: Until once again, the Dad starts his weary trek, across thousands of millimeters of hallway to the other side of the house.
From the back, the father lurches, shuffling down the dimly lit hall.
VO: There is no rest for the weary Dad as the Mother plays and cavorts, seeking information on information on child-rearing and house cleaning.
Fade to black with the sounds of running bath water and a baby starting to squeal and fuss.
Special thanks to Mr. Sweetie for certain seminal passages of commentary.
--
Baby clothes lie strewn across the couch. In the corner: a combination crib and changing table. A bag of laundry hangs from the side. A trash can of dirty diapers is nearly full. A stack of rumpled newspapers sections lie on the floor.
The mother stands cradling her fussing infant.
Morgan Freeman voice narrating.
Narrator in voiceover: The mother has been nursing her child for the previous several hours. The father has been eating and resting, but now it's the mothers turn to eat. It's been a long time and she has not eaten since she woke up. She is starving.
Pan across the room. The father, wearing pajamas, is arranging a long strip of cloth around his body.
VO: The parents must arrange for the safe transfer of the baby. This is called "passing the egg."
Shot of baby being cradled in the mother's hands, being passed to the father hands.
Cut to a shot of the father inserting the infant into the sling.
VO: The mother ensures that her baby is safe before making the journey to the kitchen.
The mother helps arrange the cloth folds across his shoulders and back. Close up of the father's hand tucking the tiny foot into the folds of cloth and adjusting the material.
VO: When the baby cries, it's the Dad's turn to make the long trek across the tundra
Long shot of a baby in the sling, rocking back and forth as the father walks.
VO: so that the mother can gain sustenance to feed her young.
Zoom in on a bowl of oatmeal.
VO: The mother heads for the kitchen and forages for a hearty breakfast.
Shots of mother preparing to eat bananas and bread.
VO: There she will eat to store energy for it may be a long time before she eats again.
Shots of juice and Cadbury chocolate Easter eggs.
VO: The couple meets briefly to confer before going their separate ways.
Couple stands in hallway, speaks briefly, kisses and moves away.
VO: Until once again, the Dad starts his weary trek, across thousands of millimeters of hallway to the other side of the house.
From the back, the father lurches, shuffling down the dimly lit hall.
VO: There is no rest for the weary Dad as the Mother plays and cavorts, seeking information on information on child-rearing and house cleaning.
Fade to black with the sounds of running bath water and a baby starting to squeal and fuss.
Special thanks to Mr. Sweetie for certain seminal passages of commentary.
--
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