The Skyteahouse

Steven Tyler, I Am Robbed of Your Wrinkles

2012-01-26T14:56:00.000-08:00

A poem-musing for today:

Steven Tyler, I am robbed of your wrinkles

Pooching your rejuvenated lips at barely legal girls

Looking ridiculously younger than you did when Janie got her gun

Why did you choose

to follow that dark path,
marked "Implant and Botulinum Toxin"?

Why deny us of your wrinkles?

Why not be the elder statesman of rock,

erudite and partyworn, the Keith Richards of the USA?

Did you fall into Narcissus's Pool, twisted up with time travel?

Did the needle and the knife tango, to dance together

a vision of a younger you which never existed before?

What did you think we wanted of you?

Hollywood grins spread thin

An egalitarian affect

Rendering aging actor and actress

Singer, comedian and show host alike

All to resemble to no one more than Batman's Joker.

When Hollywood buys into the "you aren't fine until you look like all the other cookie cutter clones", it creates its own new clone, The Joker Clone. I wish the aging celebrities and rock stars of today would stop altering their looks so invasively. I want your talent and what you look like NOW, not what you might have looked like, Joker-style, fifteen or twenty years ago. I want your wrinkles and crows feet and jowls and double-chin and sagging skin. I want to know, realistically, what people look like when they get older and I want kids to know this too, so that they don't think their own grandparents or parents are doing something wrong by having bodies that actually age. Aging gracefully has a lot to do with acceptance, not appearance and alteration. Be graceful. Let your wrinkles live on your face. It would make your grandma proud.

Blast! Foiled Again!

2012-01-25T08:52:00.000-08:00

Ah, the best-laid plans of mice and men...

and mamas.

I was hoping to take my newest library book over to the pub tonight, to tuck in a few chapters and a pint and just get out of the house. Maybe graze on a plate of tater tots, who knows? Until last night, when Kiddo's residual nightly cough from a cold a few weeks ago changed into a new cold, complete with stuffy nose and red tonsils. I was already on alert because one of his fellow preschoolers had strep. Suffice it to say, we're calling up the doctor's office as soon as they open, just to make sure this is a garden-variety cold, but I don't think it is.

To quote Jonathan Richman*, 'I have to sigh now...'.

I know I'm lucky in the big picture. The parent of a single child, this makes dealing with colds a lot easier than in families with multiples, when you have one kid who's down and the others are bouncing around the room, ready to run a marathon. What about hauling all of the kids to the doctor's office? The mom whose child had strep said that it was her older one who was exhibiting symptoms of strep, and so Mom had them all swabbed for strep, then and there. I wonder about taking three kids to the store for the antibiotics when one is horribly miserable. Ugh. Not an enviable task. Another reason I shouldn't complain is because other than the lingering cold, my son is in relatively good health. His immunity isn't compromised, he doesn't have asthma or any other condition which would further complicate a cold. In the big picture, I'm very, very fortunate.

Still, we've spent a lot of one-on-one, child-centered time lately and I was hoping for a little time to feel like I was indeed my own person. When I read that last line, there's a loving yet sarcastic voice in my head laughing "oh yeah, right, Hazie. You are never going to be your own person again. You are a mom. That kid owns you, whether you realize it or not."

Well, damn, isn't that the truth? In fact, as crazy as it sounds, I think this is what parents are supposed to feel, in the same way that a person who commits oneself to a husband or wife is supposed to feel they've grown a third hemisphere of their brain, where decisions go from 'me' to 'we' because the common good of our chosen family unit must be given first consideration.

So, today I'm expecting a trip out to the doctors, a stop at New Seasons for some chicken noodle soup for Kiddo, and maybe a trip to the pharmacy for antibiotics, who knows? I'll be having my pint of beer at home tonight and maybe immerse myself in the jigsaw puzzle I've been working on: "Backyard Birds", 550 pieces. Mama needs a little something of her own, so the puzzle stays upstairs, away from a little would-be helper. In the meantime,I'm going to keep hopeful for Friday night: I've got a date with a girlfriend that was rescheduled from a couple weeks ago, when Kiddo had the last cold. I'm hoping he'll recover enough for the weekend, because we are thinking about going to the local cat show. But if we have to wait until next year, so be it. I'll just have to keep my fingers crossed... but only metaphorically, because it's really hard to type with crossed fingers.

*The song quoted is "I'm So Confused" from Richman's 1998 album by the same name. I find this song rather apropos to this moment, because a simple task like making plans for tomorrow feels impossible and elusive when kids are sick.

The (Young) Man in the (Backyard) Wilderness--Richard Proenneke and Kiddo

2012-01-19T11:07:00.000-08:00

Sometimes, serendipity plays a bigger role in educating our kids than we would expect. Sometimes, we find a gem when we least expect it. This happened to me last month; I'd turned on the tv for some distraction while ironing and stumbled into the middle of "Alone in the Wilderness", a documentary made by Richard Proenneke. I was initially intrigued by Proenneke's narration of his life out in the Alaskan Wilderness in the winter, living in a cabin that was "a toasty 32 degrees", shoveling snow paths daily so he could make his trips to the lake, where he cut a hole in the ice for water. So unusual in its nature, this documentary sparked my curiosity and we rented it for the whole family to watch over Christmas. After bit of my own research, I've come to admire Proenekke; a World War II veteran, he moved to the remote Twin Lakes area of Alaska to retire and then did what most of likely do not have the sheer gumption for: he packed in the metal parts of tools, some bare essentials, and built himself a log cabin by hand as well as a john, a woodshed, an elevated meat storage (and I hear there was another cabin he built later). He'd crafted his own tools, handles for some of the metal tools he already owned, and then also built furniture for his cabin. This is really an insignificant description of Proenneke's ingenuity and incredible work ethic; I was fascinated with his ability to craft so many things from wood and his tireless striving to succeed out there in the very far back of beyond.

Kiddo, too, has been enchanted by this video. I've since learned that Proenneke has also made other documentaries about his time out alone in nature...he spent 30 years as a disciplined naturalist, keeping exact records of weather, temperature, flora and fauna. Kiddo never minds that, instead, he's hooked on watching the carving of logs to fit together so perfectly to make a house. He's amazed that someone can take a piece of wood and make a spoon. (I was amazed that someone could take pieces of wood and make door hinges and an operating latch mechanism with a lock.) We've talked a lot about the caribou and wolves that Proenneke mentions, and how nature's ways of survival aren't always pretty. (There is a bit of animal carnage, but that's pretty par for the course in an area where animal control doesn't come and remove dead critters.)

One moment that Kiddo has talked about repeatedly was Proenneke's discovery of a burl on a dead spruce; he removed the burl in two large sections and took it back to his cabin (strapped to his back, no less) to craft a table and a bowl out of the burled wood. Kiddo wanted to know about burls and this resulted in some researching, first in a "Nature Questions" book (no luck there) and then on the internet, where we found some explanations (burls form where trees are stressed) and images. Being able to see both the burls on the trees and wooden works crafted from burls was great; when the bark was stripped away, the beauty of irregular, chaotic grain of the wood is impressive. We've also taken the time on a few walks to notice the burls on the trees in our neighborhoods, as well as the shelf mushrooms growing on the trunks of trees--and in the fork of one older tree, actual little toadstools growing all the way up there four feet from the ground.

Our observations of nature have increased in the cold weather as we've been offering our neighborhood juncos and "Sweetie Tweeties" (the song sparrows) some seed scattered on the ground. Our thistle feeder has brought a regular pair of lesser goldfinches and the suet feeder has (for now) remained undiscovered by the acrobatic squirrels. Instead, a sweet delight, a Townsend's Warbler, with its little black mask so dramatic against its yellow head and breast, has been visiting. Two days ago, I spied what I think was an Anna's Hummingbird, with a red head instead of just a ruby throat. We haven't had any visits yet from the downy woodpecker pair we saw last year, but I'm still keeping my fingers crossed.

Kiddo's also becoming more interested in letters and words. I want to just take a minute here to say to so many parents: if your kid isn't interested in letters at four years old, don't sweat it. At the beginning of last summer, one well-intentioned person in our lives was fretting that Kiddo had no awareness of the difference between letters and numerals, and nearly-zero letter recognition. I'm glad I took the deep breath and told myself it would be fine. There's some sort of moment when they get interested in something where the lightbulb in that part of the brain clicks on automatically and it can sometimes all start falling into place. My friend Alisha has loaned me a stack of engaging 'early reader' books, which I really like. Kiddo's been looking at words and naming each letter of the word to me, all on his own. We are nowhere near learning sight words yet, but I'm delighted that he's enjoying noticing and recognizing letters, or asking me "what does PCL (or any cluster of three or four randomly selected letters) spell?" So, parents of children who aren't yet interested-- have some faith; four is a very long year and we've made it this far before five.

We've been playing games: Mystery Garden, Dinosaur Bingo and Granny's House are my three favorite board games for right now. Granny's House (from Family Pasttimes a favorite game company of mine--they make cooperative games for players of all ages) takes the team on a trip through the forest to bring Granny a basket of goodies. Along the way, the team moves forward and can collect and employ "Good Things" to overcome obstacles and challenges. This game allows for children to be creative and use a bit of reasoning--even if it's magic reasoning--to help the team along. Dinosaur Bingo is what it says it is, a bingo game with dinosaurs. Kids are challenged to observe the smaller details, since many dinosaurs appear to be generally similar but have differing features; the names on both the small cards and each player's card also allow for children to practice looking at the letters/names to get secondary confirmation of a 'match'. Mystery Garden is a game centered around a fairytale-inspired 'garden'; small cards each show one object/character that is in the Garden, when one player draws a card, the others must guess which object/character they have drawn by asking yes/no questions. I like all of these games and they are helping Kiddo in the areas of reasoning, observation, counting and deduction. All in all, good times.

I write all this to remind myself--and perhaps you, too--that we have so many opportunities to teach our children in fun ways, right at home, in some more old-fashioned ways. Especially by simply spending time with them and listening to their interests and curiosities. In retrospect, I don't think we would have had as much fun or learned as much about the burls if I'd just told Kiddo what one was. I like the exploration of a topic. I like board games by the fire, and the need to get one lit right now is nagging at me a bit, so I'd best get to it soon. If you haven't guessed it yet, I'm trying to bring some of that remote log cabin life of Proenneke's here to Portland, to our little bungalow. I like having a life where we learn to be hardy by walking to school, even if we need to put our rain pants on to do it. Kiddo's a child who can keep himself busy in the most creative ways, both indoors and out. I'm thinking Lincoln Logs are next on the gift list, perhaps for his birthday, or maybe some Kapla blocks. Not that he needs anything new--with a big potful of sticks outside, plus the stacks of other, bigger sticks, he's got plenty of building potential once the weather warms up. He's still a little man of simple means: give him those sticks, a place to dig mud and some water and voila, paradise for the young.

I'm hoping to grow more easily satisfied as I grow older, too.

Golden Moments via the Golden Globes (sort of)

2012-01-16T11:22:00.000-08:00

Yesterday I had the good fortune to head out on a late lunch date with a dear friend. We headed up to Cheese Bar for tasty eats:my head filled with the decadence of a child-free daytime moment, I ordered a small round of rich, heavenly goat's brie, a small sliced baguette and some olives which had been sitting in a citrusy chutney, bright and sharp in flavor. This, and a nice pint of New Belgian's Belgo IPA, which complemented the repast perfectly. Our conversation lingered until I felt quite sure that any further consumption of the creamy deliciousness of the brie would likely result in severe consequences, and soon our ways had parted... Until we meet again, dear friend.

Giddy with the good afternoon, I decided that I'd do something I only rarely (as in, once every few months at most)...I would try to watch a Grown Up TV Show while Kiddo was awake. I wanted to watch the Golden Globes awards that evening, which started at 5. Joe was out fixing a friend's computer, and so I began making dinner and talked to Kiddo about my plan. "I want to watch a TV show for Grown-Ups. You might see some things that are interesting or maybe something you don't understand, and if you get confused, it's okay to ask me about it."

Kiddo's first question was such a boy question. "Will there be fighting?" Well, there might be a movie clip which showed fighting. Who knows? So I told him that "maybe there will be, but I'll try to turn it off for a few minutes if we need to." He was nibbling his plate of veggies, and his attention returned to his food. He held up his red pepper slice for me to look at. "This is a 'J'" he shows me. Then he takes a bite. "It's an 'I'." Bite. "It's an 'I' still." Bite. "It's an 'O'".
Our conversation then turned to his observations of the neighborhood crow family returning to their evergreen tree, the tv temporarily forgotten.

When the Golden Globes start, Kiddo is in his room playing under a small table draped with baby blankets, pretending he is our cat going in and out of "the Gus doors". Ricky Gervais (sorry, but he's the only reason I am watching the pageantry du jour) and the audience both seem a little nervous after his antics last year. Gervais is good at finding the soft spots to poke at and I like him for not kissing up to the celebrities by compromising on what's really funny. Then, Kiddo's out in the living room and I'm in the kitchen on a commercial break, getting the skillet ready for some tofu.

Suddenly, a promo comes on for "The Celebrity Apprentice". After George Takei (cool beans!) and a few other famous faces come on, there's talk about people being thrown under the bus and then we see Teresa Guidice push a table over. "Mommy, is that a bad person?" Kiddo asks. Hmmm.... there's not a lot of room for nuance in the mind of a four-year old, and let's see, what is he noticing? That a person pushed a table over while others were sitting at it. Sorry, Teresa, but normal people do not act that way unless they are using the table to shield themselves from a natural disaster. "Yeah, honey, that's a bad person." His next question is indicative of the current state of language, because he then asks "who is under the bus?" I reassure him that no one got stuck under a bus and that no one actually threw another person under a bus and that no, no one is hurt. I try explaining that this is something adults say to each other when there is blaming going on, and that yes, it's sort of a strange thing to say.

Between the next few segments, I am tending tofu in the kitchen and popping out to see the glitz and glamour-- but not enough Ricky, sadly. I'm already tiring of this, and we're getting closer to his bedtime. I'm combating commercials by either muting them or refuting them "No, Pepsi is not the most refreshing drink. That's not true." (if you don't believe me, I must introduce you to my friend Gin and Tonic.) When magical swirls of color come down from the top of the screen, along with globs of golden-brown which plop into them, Kiddo is enchanted. "What's that?" he asks. I must now explain to my child that there is a food-substance called a 'nugget' and that the colors are different sauces for the nugget.

At this point, I'm bored with it all and bedtime is nigh, so we head in to read stories and snuggle up. Later, I'll turn on Gervais for his excellent last line, telling them to enjoy the swag bags and reminding the comers/viewers that it was nice to forget about the recession for a bit. Interestingly enough, this joke was hard to find when I researched it, the ones about celebs were far more popular, but for an evening full of the excess and glamor of the 1%, it was by far my favorite.

Now, to get ready for our friend's Oscar party in February!

Some Thoughts on Kindergarten Choice--and Choices in General

2012-01-13T11:45:00.000-08:00

This morning I had a chance to visit my son's preschool during their Morning Gathering time. What a lot of fun everyone had! Presented with journals for drawing in, each child hopped over to a table to lay their new little books down. The teachers led the children through the activities: singing songs, jingling little hand bells, and at the last, an obstacle course round the preschool space which made us all giggle as the kids crab-walked, wiggled like worms, hopped on "their happiest foot", and generally had a blast. As the group was separated by the teachers--some children were directed to make bird feeders in the art room, some to play in the main room-- I kissed Kiddo and headed back out into the day, grabbing up a newsletter as I left.

I love the newsletters which are sent home each month. There are always a few glimpses into the silly and imaginative world of the children as well as other pertinent information. Sometimes there is an article attached, often with a focus on respecting our children's time to just be kids. Today's newsletter included information on kindergarten and contained a line in this regard:

"If your child will be starting kindergarten in September, now is the time to be thinking about where s/he will be attending. For many families, your neighborhood school may be the best match. For some families, you may be looking for another setting. .... Again, remember that it is important not to involve your child in any part of this process. These should be adult decisions and discussions. ...Please give us a call if you want to talk with us about your child and school options for next year."

This is one reason I love Kiddo's preschool teachers so much--they really do understand kids. We will honor this request. Kiddo needs to enjoy his next five months or so of preschool. Kindergarten is still a long nearly-nine months away, and too far ahead for to turn his attention to it. He needs us to be mindful that we are the keepers of his childhood, and one part of childhood is that lovely ability to be completely immersed in the present moment. Therefore, we will be happy to discuss kindergarten with Kiddo when he brings it up, which is very rare, but we do not bring the topic up with him.

It's been on our adult minds, kindergarten has. I've written about school choice before, and stand by my convictions that the current situation of Too Many Choices leads us to be less satisfied with the choices we do have. I've also been seriously considering homeschooling, for so many good reasons. It may be that Joe and I will choose to send him to the local elementary school to attend a half-day kindergarten class for the first year and then reassess, but we're not done discussing this. Yet, we do not talk about this in front of Kiddo, nor do we ask his opinion on the matter.

While some parenting styles lately are trending toward more egalitarian-type relationships between parent and child (where children are allowed to call more of the shots and treated more as a peer and less as a child), I'm of the strong belief that children need us to make the decisions, to choose for them. The day four and five year olds are qualified and informed enough to make choices about their education is the day they start hatching from eggs, capable of surviving alone. Youngsters need us to be thoughtful and decisive and to know what's best for them, because they truly aren't capable of the task; just offer a five year old a cookie or a plate of carrot sticks and I guarantee he'll prove me right. I don't consult with Kiddo on what he might like to do at school (be it about the arts or language immersion programs or accelerated math and science programs) because it doesn't seem right to set the precedent that he gets a say in the matter at this age. He is not a little adult, capable of processing all this information; he's just a kid who wants to go play with his toys.

And the fact of the matter is, school is really not an experience which offers endless amounts of choice. While this could be an argument in favor of home/unschooling, let me define my statement a bit. Even if I were to homeschool, and it might be a more emergent/interest based type of teaching (I believe we can teach much of what needs to be learned through their interests, and this is what I did as a preschool teacher), nevertheless-- we must still "do school" on our school days. Certainly, a home-based curriculum would use up less time in our day, but we can't just blow off school wholesale because we 'don't feel like it'. I'd say it's similar to many adult experiences of work: even if one pursues a career they enjoy, there are still aspects of the job which are less than fun and which must be done, no matter what, even if it's sunny outside and we want to claim a personal day and go hiking--there are very real consequences to not being disciplined about showing up on time and doing the work that is expected of you.

It's not a particularly fun way of looking at the world, but then again, we live in a culture which currently--albeit falsely--allows us to believe that we are entitled to more freedoms than are realistic. Hard work and having to practice self-discipline are often perceived as things to be avoided, impositions on our grand right to basically do what we want, when we want. We see this immature point of view increasingly in the messages our pop culture reflects back to our youth: "Follow your dreams and it will happen"; "If you believe in yourself, you can do anything". I do have to wonder what happened to the values of hard work, humility and dignity*. Sure, follow your dreams, but make a plan for real life too, so that you can keep yourself afloat while working toward those goals. If you believe in yourself, you can do some things, if you work really hard to learn how to do them and make sacrifices so that your priorities are in keeping with your desired end result.

Okay, I've gone off on a tangent here, but all of that to say, I don't want to fill my child's head with false promises or hopes that kindergarten is going to be the land of rainbows and lollipops and that this experience is somehow based on his choices. Heaven forbid, what if he decides he wants to change his mind? I don't want him to feel that we are picking a school in regard to his preferences. This is why we keep our mouths shut around him on the topic. This is a top-down decision, an authoritative decision. He's better off knowing that we will make a good choice for him and we move on from there. Life isn't about having all the choices; rather, I'm going to challenge that thinking by saying that we might be better off learning how to accept and be content with the choices we do have. When kindergarten time comes, we'll do everything we can to support and encourage our little guy, but he still has to go to school.

And when he grumps, I will borrow a phrase from Mr. Monk~"You'll thank me later."

*This statement makes me nostalgic for the trade apprenticeship programs of not-so-long ago. This method of learning a trade from an established craftsman/tradesman required one to develop a higher, less-selfish set of interpersonal skills. It was expected that the apprentice would do what it took to learn a trade through which they would be able to provide for themselves and eventually their families, possibly for the rest of their working lives. I believe the US transition from being a country known for quality manufacturing to becoming one which is increasingly service-oriented has been damaging to the nation's morale as a whole. When we lose opportunities for people to feel proud of their work and craftsmanship, we lose something that is integral to who we are as a nation. Just one mama's thoughts here...

Thank You Notes: More Than Just a Thank You

2012-01-06T10:46:00.000-08:00

This one is dedicated to Betty Wheeler, my mother-in-law and, I believe, a connisseur of Thank You's.

I have a childhood memory to share with you...

It's December 28th, 1979. I am nine years old, living in Sandpoint, Idaho, waaay out in the toolies. Our property is like a winter wonderland outside: there is bright, glistening snow everywhere. We lived out on seven acres, our ranch house and stockade fence near the winding rural road and behind the house, a pasture, an abandoned old stable, and five acres of forest. We'd cut down our own Christmas tree that year, with my stepfather's Homelite chainsaw leaving fresh sawdust at the site. Our land has a small spring where deer come to drink, a burned out stump which reminded me of Pa's Bear Stump in Laura Ingalls Wilder's "Little House in the Big Woods", and endless trees. We'd decorated the conifer in the backyard with carrots and other nibbles for the deer and birds. I'm just grabbing up my snow pants to head outdoors when my mother's voice grabs me by the collar and stops me in my tracks:

"No one goes outside until your thank-you notes are finished."

Ooops. I'd had two whole days to play with the new toys, most of which I still remember: a sewing kit I would use for years, a fashion design center (which would get thrown over for the less imaginative Fashion Plates toy we'd get next year), a Newberry's 'Barbie' type doll and Tinkertoys. I remember these because I did sit down and write those thank you notes. I also remember my grandparents always giving us a box of stationary each year, perhaps not directly for such a purpose, but it was always made clear: if someone is considerate, kind and thoughtful enough to take the time to buy you a present, wrap it and send it, a thank you note was necessary.

For years, of course, my young self would have considered it more of a necessary evil perpetrated on my poor self by my mean mom. I was a kid, right? Kid deserved toys, or so I thought. I mean, we always got something each year from the Grandparents on each side, the home parents, the 'other parent' (those previous spouses who didn't get Christmas with the kids) and Santa. We also received clothes, which in hindsight, was a really great gift because they were needed and as we got older, more appreciated. When we moved to less-attractive homes in later years, sometimes playing outside wasn't so enticing, and then it was "If you don't write a thank you note to your Grandmother, we can put her presents up until you do". Parents can become a threat factory, manufacturing punitive motivations like snowflakes: they can be copious, and similar and no two will be exactly alike. We grumbled, but we wrote...

As a young adult, I fell off the Thank You wagon. Perhaps it was the teen years, when mom just decided not to press it anymore--we had bigger things to fight over. But older and wiser now, I'm of the solid belief that Thank You notes are one of the best tools we have, not only in fighting the growing sense of unjustified entitlement in kids, but also in helping our children grow their relationships with others. Think of it as a double lesson, both in gratitude and social skills.

It was my (at the time, future) Mother-in-Law who first corrected my impression of thank you notes. I'd sent one to her that I'd made by hand-- and she sent one back to me, telling me how much she'd appreciated my words and the time I'd taken to make the card. That felt good. It made me think that it would be fun to do this more often, and so I started up sending a note now and then, sometimes to a friend for inviting us to a lovely dinner, sometimes I'd send one to Joe's work, just telling him how much I appreciated him. It began to change my perspective, a bit at a time. Writing thank you notes and taking time to think of these little blessings in life given to me by others made me feel the truth of these moments: it wasn't anything to do with my deserving something, it was about the kindness and generosity and consideration that others had taken on my behalf. I believe that these notes helped to strengthen new relationships as well as to keep the warmth and care in my more established ones; to show older friends and loved ones that I was not going to take them for granted. Over the years, these notes have become just a part of who I am now, they are easily written and come from the heart. Sometimes it's an email of appreciation, just because that person is so wonderful for who they always are, and sometimes it's a nicer, more formal card, which the older relatives love and the younger people need to see. They need this modeled for them, and as a teacher, part of my philosophy is that teaching kids how good it feels to receive a Thank You can be a more compelling argument than just making kids write them. (I know, sneaky me, taking the empathetic angle like that.)

These days, Kiddo and I are working our way through our post-holiday Thank You's. Some would say that younger kids can't 'do' Thank You's. I beg to differ. When children are young, we can ask them to 'make a picture' (however they like) for Auntie or Grandma to say thanks for their gifts. Reminding our kids that "Auntie and Uncle sent you the puzzle. Let's make a picture to say thanks" is all they really need. We can write a short message afterward and read it aloud to the child. At four years old, Kiddo dictates the text, which usually goes along the lines of "Dear So and So, I love you. Thank you for...." and then I ask him to tell me one thing he likes about each gift. This is the message, he makes the picture, and gets to put the letter or card in an envelope, seal it and affix the stamp. I sit at the table, too, and write out my Thank You's on cards, so that he sees me doing this as well. Like recycling and composting, the thank you notes are becoming part of our family's spiritual practice. Much in the way that recycling and composting are about being good stewards of the Earth, these notes help us become good stewards of our relationships with others and teach us to consider their feelings before our own convenience.

I don't deny that some days, especially around the holidays, Kiddo can sound like he's a member of that famous kid's band, I Want and the Gimme Gimmes. That's par for the course with kids and young people. I won't deny that it's been a latter-day revelation to me that the concept of deserving has no true part in much of life. (This is a more egalitarian view than is often popular.) We live in a culture that is entirely too obsessed with what we supposedly 'deserve', which is one part of the reason our country is in the economic mess we are in. Many people felt they deserved a lot and got greedy with all that deserving, and what we think we deserve often comes on the backs of others, making their lives less than humane and less than what they truly deserve so that we can have more. Not everyone lives this way, but enough people do to the point that it's thrown things significantly off-kilter. When I hear that a discreet homeless-persons camp in downtown Portland is an eyesore because shoppers deserve not to be upset and confronted by poverty, I know that things are terribly skewed. I'm not saying that a thank you note is going to change the world, but if we can help our kids--and our own selves--direct our attention to what we've got, and how it isn't about our inherent awesomeness, but about the kindness and thoughtfulness of another person, it's a start in the right direction.

Fortunately, too, I've got some better tricks up my sleeve than my mother had: I don't have to threaten grounding or no toys to make my son write thank you notes; I choose to do it with him and to make it a fun, bonding time. Cups of something yummy and warm to drink, crayons and markers and stickers, cards and paper and the love, the talking, the enjoyment of each gift as we write about them~ here, at the table, we create something transient, to be mailed off, and yet something very real, which are the memories of good times together in gratitude.

You can give your child this memory gift too....

Migraine Melee and some Silver Linings

2012-01-05T10:42:00.000-08:00

Some Winter and Christmas Seasons have their own hallmarks for every family. For me, this season, thus far, has been The Season of the Ocular Migraine. Yes, I know it's not as bad as a real bona-fide full blown migraine, and if you think I'm not eternally grateful that I only get 'migraine lite', think again. It's a pain in the ass, the migraines are.(Well, actually a pain in the head, but still...) Up until this winter, they were--very thankfully--quite the rarity. These days I think it's safe to say that they are like a movie supervillian and back with a vengeance, recurring twice a week or so. Plus, they are crimping my social life. I mean, why would anyone want to go out anywhere when they are experiencing blind spots and flickering arcs of light unless they are headed to a rave?( Let's also be clear that I have no desire to go to a rave because I am not 16 and I am way past the expiration date on those sorts of activities.) Even when the lights stop and things seem normal, I'm pretty wiped for the next couple hours. I've had to cancel on a few things lately and so please, I've blown you off because of this, please don't take it personally. You don't want to be around me at those times anyway...trust me.

All of this is less about complaint and more to say: it's been a bit of a tough winter thus far. That said, there have also been some nice 'silver lining' moments

1. Pots and Pots of Tea. I don't think I need to explain this; either you get it or you don't. There's nothing in the world more perfect to me than a quiet, warm space, a cup of good tea and something deliciously interesting to read. Whether or not a migraine is involved is irrelevant. Tea makes my world go round.

2. Smartwool Socks. I spent some of my Christmas money on another pair--my second--and got the cute knee-high ones. Can I just tell you how grand and cozy and well-loved I feel when I put these socks on? It's ridiculous, but for someone like myself who suffers from cold feet all winter and who wears Keen's because they are insulated and not for fashion's sake, these socks are like a wool blanket for the tootsies. Bliss....

3.. Midnight in Paris. You might be sick of hearing how freakin' good this movie is, but guess what? It's really freakin' good. I love a movie which assumes that the audience has interests beyond the contemporary culture and an intellect beyond a fifth-grade reading level. (Most movies these days, sadly, don't.) I don't want to say too much more and spoil the lively, wonderfully fantastic plot, but if you are a fan of good classic literature, The Surrealists and the human condition in general, Woody Allen has created another masterpiece you'll enjoy. One of the more delightful movies I've seen in a while.

4. "The Big Snow" by Berta and Elmer Hader. Kiddo and I are enjoying some quieter, more in-depth books these days and The Big Snow is a perfect example of such a story. The animals in the woods near a stone house prepare for winter, each in it's turn. Will they migrate, hibernate, or stick around to fully inhabit the winter up in the cold north? When the big snow comes and the seeds and grasses are covered, what will the hungry animals eat? Told with warmth and giving real character to the animals, this story bears repeated reading. This is one of those books I find 'virtuous', because of the sense of benevolence portrayed both in the writing and in the actions within the story. The artistic depictions are loving and quaint as well; The Big Snow was published in 1948 (received the Caldecott Award, too) and bears the painterly illustration style of its time. The Haders lived on Willow Hill in the Palisades, in Nyack overlooking the Hudson in a stone house they built themselves; this story is based on real life events and their love of the animals around them.

5. "The Day the Sun Danced" by Edna Thatcher Hurd; illustrated by Clement Hurd. Primal and bright with both nature and woodcut prints, The Day the Sun Danced tells a simple story of the return of the sun after a cold winter. While the deer is asleep deep in the wood, the bear asleep in his cold den and the fox asleep in his cold hole in the ground, a small rabbit invites them to come and see something wonderful : "I know that something is going to happen. The world is going to change." Will the larger animals trust this 'foolish' rabbit? The writing is almost a prose poem with a great sense of rhythm through repetition and the story well-paced. Kiddo asked me to read this story again immediately after the first reading; it's engaging and there's enough going on to keep the relatively simple plot interesting. (Trivia: this book was published in 1965. Find it at your library. Clement Hurd is also the illustrator of "Goodnight Moon" and "The Runaway Bunny", both by Margaret Wise Brown. Edna and Clement's son is children's book author and artist Thatcher Hurd.)

6. "A Pocketful of Cricket" by Rebecca Caudill; illustrated by Evaline Ness. This year, one of Kiddo's presents was a small bamboo cage with a bamboo cricket inside of it. He loves it, and why not? There's something very mysterious and endearing about this strange zen stick cricket. Because of this, I grabbed A Pocketful of Cricket from the library. Little Jay is enjoying the last days of summer on the farm before he starts must begin his first year of school. As he sets out to drive the cattle home, he makes small discoveries which he collects in his pocket: a rock, a gray goose feather, striped bean pods and an old Indian arrowhead. Bringing the cows back, he finds a cricket and decides to adopt it as a friend. Jays attention to nature and willingness to be in the moment are pleasure and kids will relate to this way of losing track of time; the author places us directly in Jay's world. Once Jay must leave for his first day of school, but how can he leave Cricket? I loved the kindness and understanding of Teacher in this book; it is a reassuring book for children because of the way in which the story itself shows an understanding of the Child and the Child's sensibilities, and also because of the way in which a graceful, warm teacher helps to make a little boy feel welcome and successful at a new and slightly intimidating venture.

7. James Herriot's Treasury of Inspriational Stories for Children. (James Herriot, Scottish veteranerian and author of "All Creatures Great and Small".) Sometimes, a book can present great values and virtue within the story, shown primarily through the choices that the characters make and how the characters interact with each other. These stories of the country animal doctor showcase the virtues and values of hard work, compassion, sharing, caring, empathy and honesty. They focus on kinship and community and how we are all so interconnected in each others lives, if only because of a chance decision or circumstance. I love the stories in this book; Kiddo is looking at the pictures again as I write this. I've read this book over the years to the children of many of the families I've nannied for and have noticed a universal quality to many of the stories in this book. Note that one of the stories includes the death of a stray female cat; she has brought her kitten to a woman who had been kind to her and this new relationship is the focus, the death is handled in a sympathetic and matter of fact way. In our modern times, we live lives which tend to be disconnected from nature and allow our children to be shielded from some of the natural cycles of life. Herriot's stories honor the spirits of animals--young and old-- and the people who care for them.

I could go on, sharing more of these silver linings, but many things await me this morning: dishes, of course, but there's the new Roger Ebert biography sitting on the table. I'm thinking it will go nicely with a good curl up on the couch, a cup of hot tea to make the coziness complete. Happy New Year, friends, and may even your hardest seasons come with lots of silver linings to appreciate and enjoy.

On Horrible Hairwashes, Man-Eating Pigeons and Why Dogs Sometimes Seem to Be the Better Option

2011-12-08T10:11:00.000-08:00

Some mornings take it out of even the most road-tested of mamas.

Last night, I had a great time out at the pub with another mama-friend. We laughed, gave each other "they said what?" looks from time to time, and enjoyed good beers in moderation. All was well with the world.

And by the time I'd dropped Kiddo off at preschool this morning, I was wishing I'd never left the pub.

Our family has a problem some of you can relate to: horrible, hellish hairwashing for the little one. Some of you will not be able to relate because your children have well-adjusted attitudes and relationships to having water in their faces. And good for you. In fact--freakin' awesome for you. Now please take your perfect children away from me, because their mirror-shine clean hair will only reflect my sad face back to me as I embark upon a bit of a pity party.

It's a well-deserved pity party, folks. And you can come party with me, even if you have perfect children, so long as you don't have any helpful suggestions on how I can make my kid enjoy getting his hair washed. I get this hangup he's got, on a really empathetic level. As a kid, I hated getting my face wet. Even now, I can swim like a dog, with my face up out of the water. Do not mistake my claim as an exclamation of wondrous talent: I know the person at the pool with their head sticking up like Lassie looks entirely Loserville. I get it. As a mom, I have straddled the fence of relating to my kid and being completely and utterly exasperated with this screaming, clinging, crying aversion to water on the face.

Last weekend we'd tried our most reasonable last resort (aside from dry shampoo); we bought swimmers earplugs and goggles and still, the sad tears ensued. This morning, though, after Screamfest 2011 (I am so glad no one called CPS, because standing in the bathroom, holding him into the shower so Joe could finish rinsing Kiddo's hair, you would have thought we were strangling cats), I've decided to do what has been up-till-now unthinkable: we are getting Kiddo's hair cut, barber-shop style. Likely a buzz cut.

I can't tell you how heartbroken I am. This is all my own projected vanity, I realized, but damn! this is so hard! I've been his barber for the past years and everyone's loved that long-on-top fluffy mop thing he's got goin' on. So much so that people talk about his hair a lot. Which has filled me with a mixture of pride (my good handiwork and genes) and worry, because I wonder if his schoolmates and other little buddies hear their mom's gushing over Kiddo's hair and if it makes them perhaps like him a smidge less because he's getting their mom's adoration, instead of them.

But what gets deeper into the heart of the matter is the growing awareness that there are some things which I just cannot make better for Kiddo, no matter what I do. Kids are always going to have things that freak them out. All people do. I know that there are some things in this world that could potentially send me into a momentary, raving freak-out, but I'll keep that to myself and just say that I've mastered most of those triggers over the years. Kiddo hasn't had loads of time to get his head around his body's amped up sense of "I'm gonna drown" when he gets water on his face. This is just like trying to reconcile his intellectual understanding that pigeons do not actually eat people with his visceral, overwhelming fear that any pigeon who might stray by will gobble him up with an evil grin on its beak.

I think this might be one reason why my friend Linda says, from time to time, with a confused and chagrined look on her face: "Kids are weird, Hazel."

She once also told me that no one should have children 'unless they want it so bad their teeth hurt'. She's on to something there...

Sometimes I think Linda was genius to skip the whole human procreation thing and focus her time and energy on her dogs, Chickie, Danny and Jack. Her dogs are the opposite of Kiddo in so many ways. They like taking baths! They like getting all soaped up and clean! They come when called! They don't think pigeons will eat them! I don't want to trade Kiddo for the pups, (well, maybe Chickie) but when people get all uppity about other couples choosing not to have children but to open their hearts to a few pets, I don't join them in thinking child-free pet owners are selfish, self-absorbed people. Instead, I think they're pretty smart and that some aspects of the whole human parenting thing are incredibly overrated. Yes, the family name will be passed on (because there's a shortage of Wheelers in the world? Not according to the robocalls I keep getting for every J. Wheeler that's ever skipped out on their bills...). I adore my son, but some days, when it's all grumping and grumbling and dragging one's feet and Sudden Onset Dressing Dysfunction-- you know, when we "just cannot put my coat on Mama! It's too hard!" even though we did it in two seconds yesterday going out for treat-- all of this makes me think that the 'Populate the Earth' culture is blowing some serious smoke up our behinds. Rewarding? Oh yes, I'm waiting for my reward, especially after being told by my own Little Miracle that I am indeed a Bad Mommy.

I'm still waiting....

So, this weekend, it all gets clipped. I know I will have to pretend like I this is the bestest, most wonderful Big Boy thing ever, even though I am going to want to cry. The biggest reason for my tears, though, is not about Kiddo's cute hair. It's about the fact that here is a challenge in his life that I no longer know how to help or fix. My bag of tricks is upside-down, all shook out--there's nothing left in there. This is where I have to put up my hands and admit that this is something Kiddo's going to have to work out on his own. I can't do any more for him. I've tried for the last four years to make the going easy when it comes to hairwashing, but the time has come where the problem is placed squarely in his own lap. We'll see where this goes, and we'll keep trying to be positively encouraging. I love my little guy. There are so many things he is brilliant at. I don't know any other kid that has tried to make a banjo out of Tinkertoys and a hand drum. Do you?

And in case you are wondering, I can't even begin to wrap my head around the fact that we want to start swim lessons next year...and please, no helpful suggestions about that, either.

The Parent-Teacher Conference: Sitting on Both Sides of the Table

2011-11-02T18:58:00.000-07:00

T'is the season, the time of year when school closes down for a couple of days and parents are asked to come in and meet with their child's teacher. After we get done organizing our childcare around this, what's next? Hopefully, parents have some questions regarding their child's day. They might be rather benign inquiries such as "So, who has my kid been enjoying playing with?" or "Tell me about the Thanksgiving Play...Sally's so excited about this". Sometimes, though, we have questions on our minds that carry a bit more gravity, especially if our kids are struggling socially, having a harder time with the classwork, or if the teacher's discipline/homework/classroom policies don't quite jibe with ours.

I'm lucky: I get to be a mom and have had the pleasure of being a preschool teacher. In other words, I've sat on both sides of the conference table, and so I want to share a few ideas and stories which might help you make the most of your conference. Some of these suggestions may not be applicable to your child's age, level of development, or schooling situation, but I believe there are some things which are also universally helpful no matter where your child is in their schooling.

1. The Parent/Teacher Conference is that: a meeting between parent and teacher. For families with younger kids, treating it as such will help. Unless a teacher specifically wants your child present for the conference, child care during the conference is the order of the day. (Some teachers conduct student-led conferences, which focus on presentation and self-assessment. This is usually reserved for children beyond preschool.) When a young child asks why you are going to talk to their teacher, a simple answer is sufficient. "We talk with your teachers because we want to learn what happens at school. They get to tell us about your day and who you play with." This message is emotionally contained and positive and tells our kid "I'm so interested in you, I want to find out more." This is all a young child really needs to know.

2. When it comes to very young children, keep the particulars of the conference between the adults. When we go to a conference and hear things we might be concerned or upset about, we sometimes want to double-check them with our kids. With older children, it may be more age-appropriate to follow up with them. With younger children, be wary of this urge to do so; you will spill the beans that the adults are concerned and possibly still not get good information. Remember, kids of all ages may leave out their part in conflict or exaggerate someone else's part instead. (I know this, I have a kid, remember? Mine does this too.) Sometimes our children struggle with getting along in the group, or with other aspects of their day, be it educational or in regard to personal development. In my opinion, with little kids, it's not their business to know that we might be deeply concerned. Instead, it is our business to go into that conference hoping to address concerns and to work as a team, which is often very possible, with the teacher. Often, though, sharing our worries and fear with our kids only exacerbates behaviors they are already challenged with, because they so trust and believe our opinions and expectations of them. In short, unless your child has been invited into the room by the teacher, it is sometimes best to keep what's discussed during the conference exclusively between the adults.

If your child asks, you can focus on the more positive, general topics: "Miss Wendy said you really liked handing out instruments at music time." This will likely be enough for your kid, and you've saved them a lot of emotional baggage they might not be ready to handle.

3. If possible, sign up for a conference earlier in the day. Take the time off work if need be. From my own experience, no matter how much preparation I do in advance for conferences, they are physically and emotionally exhausting. Although it seems a passive activity--we aren't moving around but sitting in a chair--conferences involve lots of active listening and usually some in-the-moment problem-solving. We are using our brains constantly. Conferences sometimes require teachers to do some emotional caregiving of parents, and even if most of the interaction with parents is relatively positive, it's still draining. If your child's teacher doesn't offer daytime conferences, try to choose one of the earlier times in the evening. Teachers get a lot thrown at them during conferences and we often have limited breaks during conference times (because many parents will go over time), so scheduling an earlier time may result in a more informative conference.

4. Bring a list, but not a laundry list. Your child's teacher is usually only allotted a short amount of time per conference. Respect this, because there's another parent waiting for their turn too. You might have a lot of questions or concerns, so double check your list. Prioritize. What's most important? Make those the top of your list. Bringing the questions that mean the most to you will help you feel more satisfied with your conference than starting with the little stuff and trying to work your way around to more serious topics. In keeping with this piece of advice~

5. Don't wait until the conference to discuss immediate concerns. As a preschool teacher, if there was something important that needed to be addressed, I didn't wait for a conference to bring up the issue but would phone the parents at home and talk with them when they had some time. My son's teachers have never hesitated to call if there was something they needed to let me know about his school life. One unfortunate thing that can happen with holding onto questions or concerns is that any misunderstandings or negative emotions can build up and fester, with unpleasant results once the conference starts. Sometimes, as parents, our levels of anxiety or upset can blow a potentially-progressive conference off course because the teacher is immediately put on the defensive and a great opportunity for good communication is missed. Sadly, too, parents are sometimes similarly defensive and experiencing the same unwanted and upsetting emotions before they walk in the door. Dealing with serious concerns as they arise can help alleviate some of this tension on both sides. Teachers want an ongoing dialogue with parents, not just a relationship confined to two twenty minute conferences a year. Your child will benefit.

6. Listen to the hard stuff, even if it hurts, and then follow up. Years ago, during my first-ever round of conferences, I had to approach a mother about her toddler son's violent acting-out behaviors which were of serious consequence to our little group. As soon as I began to mention the hitting and biting, of which she was well-aware, she ripped into me with petty complaints: she was upset that the previous teacher, whom she liked, had left, and I had a different teaching style; I didn't play reggae in the classroom, and therefore was not supportive of her family, who were not, by the way, Rastafarian. As laughingly ridiculous as some of her points were, something tragic had happened: she'd refused the opportunity to work as a team and shut down the conversation. Sadly, her child would continue throughout that preschool to have negative experiences due to his aggression which was, I believe, so painful to his mother that she simply couldn't acknowledge it.

Sometimes, we are going to hear some hard stuff during a conference. I know I have. All of our children have strengths and weaknesses, and as nice as it is to hear about their successes in school, some of their challenges may be very painful to hear about. Listening to what is being told to us, even when we are upset, is valuable, because the more we can focus, the better we are able to come back to the teacher with questions. If you can't believe your ears, it's wise to ask for specific examples. It is also okay to let the teacher know that the news has come as a surprise and you would like time to think about it. Ask to follow up after the conferences are done, in the following week or so. This will give you an opportunity to process what's been said and a chance to ask better questions when your mind is a little clearer. The worst possible thing to do in this situation, by the way, is to turn on the teacher. Even when your inner Mama Bear is growling ferociously, keeping your cool is going to keep communication open and be far more productive than getting angry. I can tell you from my own experience, having my person and my intentions attacked made further communication with the aforementioned mother very tentative and strained. While we are supposed to always stay professional and be like ducks, letting water roll off our backs, teachers are human beings too. We aren't made of Teflon, so if you are furious with us, it's okay to come back to us later on when we are more able to work together as a team.

All this to say...

Conferences can be emotionally-loaded occasions. On my list of recommended books is "The Essential Conversation: What Parents and Teachers Can Learn From Each Other" by Sara Lawrence-Lightfoot. If you can read this book before your child gets too far into their educational journey, it will be to your--and your child's--advantage. I think this is one book that can give parents and teachers both a significant boost in how they perceive and conduct conferences. So often in life, much unnecessary conflict is due to a lack of information, or there are assumptions at play. When we are able to create clear pictures for each other, perceptions can change. When parents and teachers come together in the spirit of working as a team, this is when we are most able to create paths of progress for our kids. No matter which side of the conference table I sit on, helping a child overcome challenges and succeed is one of the most valuable contributions I can make to the world.

And so can you, too.

Things I've Learned as a Parent

2011-10-31T19:45:00.000-07:00

Parenting is so challenging, and as any aware mother knows, the physical changes of pregnancy are almost insignificant compared to the changes we discover in ourselves as we move through our journey of life with kids. Parenting is all about changing, be it in reference to diapers or our own minds. This morning as I lay in bed, slowly waking, I was struck with some of the changes I've noticed in my own life. Some are funny, some are more philosophical, but no matter what, one thing is clear: if you are a parent and you haven't changed--somehow or in some way--we need to check you for vital signs.

In no particular order, here are some ways my son has changed me, and some things I've learned over the last four years, for better or worse:

1. I am now the lightest sleeper ever. My brain has developed some sort of sophisticated sound-cue system which wakes the body whenever certain sounds travel through the environment: the signature 'crack' creak of my son's bedroom door; the croup Strider cough; or the early morning calls of "I'm tired of sleeping, Mama". This will, however, work in my favor once the Kiddo becomes Teenager and tries to sneak out at night. I am the alarm system in this house.

2. I never knew how much I could love sleep. This love is almost scandalous. Pre-child, staying up late was a voluntary activity. Now, if I were to ever have an affair, it would be with Sleep, because nothing looks better than the insides of my eyelids. I'd easily pay good money to have an uninterrupted ten hours of sleep.

3. I've come to see that the idea of Parental Authority is--like unicorns and centaurs-- largely the stuff of myth. Some will disagree with me here, but basically, we have about as much absolute, sovereign authority over our kids as a boss has with their employees--only we can't fire our disgruntled workers. Instead we are required to provide them room, board and health insurance and cute clothes. When we say "jump", we might not get a jump, or a "how high?", we might just get an annoyed stare with a "Why?" which will make us want to fire them for insubordination. My job is far more about persuasion than domination, although I have been known to whip out the weekly-used threat of "If you don't stay in bed, there will be no video time tomorrow" when I am tired, finished with the extended bedtime routine and ready to escape for a well-deserved Beer and a Sitcom. At that point, the Progressive Parenting part of my brain has clocked off, exhausted after a busy day, and is also ready to put up its metaphorical feet and veg out. 6:15 a.m.-7:30 p.m. is a fairly long workday for that part of my brain, and if I time out after 13 hours plus, can you blame me for grabbing the cheap threat and beating a hasty retreat?

3. The best parenting brains are like an Olympic gymnast: flexible and strong and able to change it up. Especially in regard to parenting philosophies. Who gets more advice thrown at them than a parent? How many gajillion parenting philosophies are out there, to both ends of the extreme? I remember adamantly following Attachment /Child-Led Parenting theories--until I was tired of waiting for my three year old to want to wean and sleep in his own bed. Despite all of the hypothetical "Make It Positive for Everyone" parenting philosophies and techniques, sometimes, we are going to have to make our kids do things that don't feel good for anyone. Sometimes you simply can't reason a child into cooperation. Sometimes, they are going to have to go to the doctor and get their shots or go to school when they don't want to simply because "That's the way it is". (Or, as I tell Kiddo sometimes, "We do because we do because we doobie-doobie-doo.") Sometimes empathy is all we have to offer, and their cooperation is pretty much a moot point: some things in life must be done and yeah, it kinda sucks. That said, I've learned that no parenting technique or theory is bulletproof; rather, there are no silver bullets out there that are going to solve any problem permanently. Besides, silver bullets should be reserved for werewolves, not kids. I am still learning, still having my own ideas challenged, and stretching, stretching, stretching every day as a parent.

4. I'm not the parent I thought I'd be. Remember that time in your life as a new parent of a baby, when you'd see another parent struggling with their misbehaving kid and think to yourself "I'll never do that!" Let me tell it to you straight: Oh, yeah, you will. You will do that, and then some. You will have moments in which you think "I am just about the shittiest parent in the world right now, except the ones who are in jail" and the ones who are in jail will be your sad consolation for the angry stupid thing you said to your kid. I've had those moments myself. I never thought I would threaten my son with punishments, but I have, even if only because I'd run out of the time, patience or energy to pull yet another idea out of the parenting toolbox. We all do this occasionally, and as long as I am not threatening physical punishment or abandonment or something equally scarring, this is a part of myself that I'm going to have to accept. We all make mistakes from time to time (okay, daily), and when your kid is acting like an insane crazy person and you are tired or out of brainpower to effectively parent through the crazy, you will say something stupid. You will disappoint yourself as a parent. I know I have.

5. Make your peace about not being a perfect parent now; talk to your therapist if needed, so that your kid might not need one later on. What I mean here is simply this: if I white-knuckle the ideals and the details, I am going to end up being a pretty unpleasant parent/spouse to live with. I've come to the conclusion that there's no such thing as perfection as a parent, and if we don't mess up from time to time, our kids miss out on the chance to discover what it is to be wholly human-- to make mistakes, to make amends, and to keep loving each other as we all keep growing. Imposing our desire for perfection is pretty much like wrapping your kid in a straitjacket (while the crazy person is on the outside, no less) and can considerably alter how they perceive their childhood in later years.

6. Keep in mind the core of what's important, and let that guide your family's journey together through life. My usual mantra fits here: balance is everything. Frankly, some things aren't negotiable, but we should try to keep that list relatively short and cut down to essentials. What exactly are one's family values? If it can be a short, specific list, that helps. In our house, it boils down to respecting ourselves and others and the Earth, which can encompass a lot of areas: eating well, being careful and kind to others in our actions and words, good stewardship of the planet, and taking care of one's self-care responsibilities. (This is on par for my four year old. Parents of children of different ages will have a different list, I'm certain.) Non-violent media and eating healthy are going to be two struggles we'll have to face down the line because of all the other messages our culture sends, and we're going to have to grow with our son in understanding what he needs, socially and psychologically, as he matures. I know I will be challenged throughout my son's life as to how to impart values without them becoming something he resents, and so we try to weigh our preferences as parents against what the consequences of not-allowing might be: feeling left out; being considered too "other" by peers; and Kiddo's own genuine preferences, etc. The parents who reserve "NO" for the important, serious stuff may end up having kids who feel more confident and make better decisions because the little choices have been allowed to them and there's less to rebel against. They've learned that when their parents say "no", it is more often a meaningful "no" instead of a rote one. Better for everyone.

7. Just when one area of parenting gets better, another becomes more challenging. Parenting will mess with your mind, no doubt about it. Children seem like shapeshifters some days, moving through phases with alarming speed and unpredictability. Kids do return to unresolved issues to work through them in their own way, and just when we think we've conquered a specific beast, it might come back days, weeks, months or even years later. My theory is this: kids have to learn "X" amount of stuff before we send them off on their way as young adults, and they can really only focus on a couple areas at a time. I'm not talking academic lessons either, but life's larger lessons in belonging, security, self-regulation, self-expression, assertion of one's personality while conforming to the needs of the larger group. These lessons go on forever, and we are still learning them as adults, however, we adults usually have the intellectual capacity and perspective to approach life with more objectivity than our children, who have such a sense of being in the present that objectivity is impossible for them.

8. My friends won't parent the same way I will, and that's fine. When my son was wee tiny, I so desired a cocoon of like-minded persons surrounding us, parenting in ways that supported each other. What I've learned is that I can enjoy other women and not make the same choices as they do and admire them and be fine with it all at once. This is about my own peace in my decisions and acceptance with who I am, and I think those two factors allow people to be comfortable and confident while spending time with people who do things very differently. I am lucky in that there is something in each of my friends which I admire in some way, be it because they homeschool or because they stay active in their communities or chosen professions and have figured out a way to do what makes them feel best as a parent and as a person. So often, we get busy judging ourselves and because we feel 'less than', we judge others. None of my friends parent the same way I do, 100% across the board, and that's why we all have our own kids. As long as we are all respectful about it and up front about what we want, things usually work out.

In thinking on these points, I want to say that the last one has been key to my happiness as a mom. So often much is made of friends whose relationships change drastically after a baby comes into the picture. In my life, I've met like-minded people who had similar parenting views as I did, but we might not have had much else in common. The core of the relationship has to be larger than what we do with our kids. I've discovered that some of my staunch "never gonna have kids" friends really enjoy my son in ways that most of my friends with kids don't. Perhaps it's novelty, who knows? Nonetheless, it's this broad, patchwork sense of community that lifts me up when I need it and helps me feel connected on days when I feel stuck in what is sometimes a very insular job. In earlier years, I was more comfortable keeping to myself; since Kiddo, I've expanded my friendships because of him. He is an ambassador in some ways, pushing me to get myself out there and fascinated to learn more about these new people in my life, the new friends we make as a family. That's keeping me flexible too~ stepping outside my comfort zone.

In fact, so much of changing as parents is precisely about doing what we are uncomfortable with, whether you are a brand new parent trying to get used to poopy diapers or someone like me, who had tamed that beast a long time ago but still struggles with a sometimes-paralyzing social anxiety around the large groups of people that parenting sometimes requires us to be a part of. Throughout our lives, we will be meeting new caregivers, teachers, the families of our child's friends, and new situations each and every day. We will learn that sometimes, our comfort zone is going to get squashed by someone else's comfort zone because they are perhaps older, or less flexible, or less tolerant of kids than we are. And then, we have to find a way to navigate through that, and resolve to ourselves to be more comfortable or assertive the next time that situation arises, to do what needs to be done or say what needs to be said without feeling bad about ourselves for it.

Balance and flexibility: parenting is gymnastics in so many ways. I'm going to keep working at it, though, keep trying to stay limber and learn new tricks. I might even go to bed early tonight so I can keep at it tomorrow, learning through every day, changing in so many ways.

Birthday Panties and a Three Dollar Latte-- Trying Not to Come in Last Around Here

2011-10-21T11:45:00.000-07:00

Yesterday morning I was tickled pink to open a birthday card from my sister to myself. This sister writes the kind of cards that tell you some of the good things about yourself that you like to hear. This was a truly appreciated and much-needed ego-booster shot. Thanks, sis.

Enclosed was a check. "I'm sending you the gift of $ for new underwear...remember that chat? Every mama should have wonderful, whole panties!"

Amen, sister!

In case you're wondering, "that chat" took place via email back in August and looked like this:

Sis, on shopping for her kids: "Somehow we have 3002 pr of underwear for them. Not me. I have old, ugly underwear. Not that you were wondering."

Me: "Nothing to say but "ditto on the underwear". Not that you were wondering either. Amazing, though, how I feel that a $21 3-pack of quality training pants is fine, but then I cheap out and sneer at the $10 3pack of Hanes Her Way bikini panties.....Obviously, our brains are overcooked.:)"

Not that anyone out there was wondering, but I am trying to make a point, which is this: When one is down to three pairs of decent underpants and one feels more justified in buying panties because one's sister has sent a birthday check specifically for that purpose, it must be presumed that one's priorities might not entirely be in the right places.

Or, the short version is this: Often, as moms, we take better care of our families than we do our selves.

I think I just heard a chorus of "Amen, sister!" on that one.

I do remember a time in my life when I had cute, girly underpants. Loads of them. I was also in my twenties and had time to shop for cute, silky things hung on individual hangers. Now I'm more of a "find a pack in my size and go" sort of gal. I'm a mom, and I do not have the lifestyle that allows me to go shopping leisurely for frilly things. Nor do I run those sorts of loads of laundry. If it can't live being washed on "Regular, Cold/Cold" with zippered sweatshirts and jeans, it doesn't come into the house. So, Yeay! for sensible Birthday Panties. I might even buy something with a printed pattern on them, just to show my husband that I do know how to live a little.

Still, there's that other part of the equation: the wonky priorities regarding one's personal time and space. I have sent out the memo several times, but as Kiddo can't read and has the short-term memory of a rabbit, this is of no use and sometimes the content of those memos has to be yelled at him. Like, for example, this morning. I personally believe that one's time in the shower--all ten minutes of it-- should be free of conflict and need. As in, "unless the house is burning down or your bottom needs to be wiped, it can wait". Not today.

Sent to husband, earlier today: "This morning was AWFUL. No time for tea, so picked up a latte (also b/c we needed to leave the house a little early to pull Kiddo 'out of it'. ). Let's have a meeting tonight regarding morning routines, because ours needs to be tweaked. I was getting hit through the shower curtain this morning. You are lucky I just bought a latte instead of running away to join the Occupy group downtown. While there may be some contentious downers in that group, I'm pretty sure none of them would scream at me during my morning ablutions."

That Three Dollar Latte (short, soy, tepid) was what saved my bacon and helped me to keep my head on straight. In the traumatic forty minutes it took Kiddo to get dressed this morning, I didn't have the time or space to make a cup of tea and relax. Swinging by the Huge Corporate Ubiquitous Coffee Place and spending three dollars so that I could have my head screwed on straight before dropping Kiddo off to preschool was a good call, but I still felt a little guilty about it. Leaving ten minutes early, though, did the trick; Kiddo perked up and put on his happy face, collecting autumn leaves and fallen fuchsia blossoms to give to his teachers. We even had a conversation during our walk that was not related to either electric guitars or dinosaurs. Despite the coffee, I felt more relaxed than I had since I'd woken up. We were out, we were walking to school, life was good.

I'm learning that the things I need are not going to be anyone else's priority around here but my own. My husband is pretty good in this regard, but here, I'm not really talking about him. Sometimes, on some days, I'm going to have to shout to get what I need, because Kiddo's too busy listening to his own noise. There's a method to the mad-sounding advice of "put on your own oxygen mask first, and then assist your child". Let's face it, today, if Kiddo had had his way, he'd still be in his pajamas, playing his Tinkertoy guitar, and I would be right there, rapt with attention for him and nothing else. He's four, and that's what he wants. And when I think about it, like it or not, it kind of makes sense~ four year old sense, mind you, but it does make sense.

So, I'll set my bar at a reasonable height and just say this: I don't want to come in last, nor do I need to be first. I'll be satisfied with being tied for first with Kiddo and the good husband. If we can all take turns winning, and being the one who is second or third, that's probably the best I really hope for. And a quiet shower. Every mama deserves that. Along with wonderful, whole panties, that is.

"Here We Go Gathering Nuts and May"

2011-10-17T17:36:00.000-07:00

Recognize the quote? It's Eeyore, misquoting Alice Gomme's 19th century song, set to the tune of "Here We Go Round the Mulberry Bush". You can find it in Gomme's "Traditional Games of England, Scotland and Ireland ", if you happen to have a copy handy.*

This morning, after our dishes were done, Kiddo and I headed out into a cold and misty morning to survey the dregs of the Apple Festival at Portland Nursery. I was determined to make some applesauce, and the looked-over Galas fit the bill. Of course, they are nothing fancy, you can find them at the grocery store year-round, but at 99cents a pound, that's a lot of cheap applesauce. Kiddo helped me pick some out, looking for bruises and spots. Then we headed over and grabbed up a bag of Cascade pears, one of my favorite varieties besides the D'Anjous. Inside, we stopped and picked out a handful or two of crocus corms in a variety of colors to plant along the borders of the front yard. Crocuses are one of those cheerful harbingers of spring that always make me glad to see on the cold, wet February mornings.

On our way home, we stopped beneath a chestnut tree and collected the shiny brown nuts, sometimes having to carefully extract them from their prickly hulls. This was a big, fun game for us, finding them in the street (watching for cars as we rescued them from being pulverized by traffic), seeking them under the spent lily greens in the garden below the tree, and finding a few out in the open, showy like brown marbles waiting on the sidewalk. They sit now in a bowl, waiting for me to find a "how to roast chestnuts" article online. Even after roasting and eating them, I'm sure the memory of collecting them will be the best part of it all.

This afternoon has been pretty terrific. Good sandwiches for lunch when we got home; I prepped all the apples while talking to my sister in Washington and Kiddo sprinkled them with cinnamon, then into the crock-pot they went. We worked in the front yard for nearly two hours today, digging out a now-illegal butterfly bush. They are considered an invasive plant and were placed on the Oregon Department of Agriculture's no-no list, so that they cannot be grown, sold or transported throughout the state. This has been in effect since early 2010, so we're a bit late in being law-abiding citizens, but Kiddo was so excited about the butterfly bush this spring I thought I'd give it a bit of a reprieve, if only for this season. "It's sad that you are digging it out" he told me today, and while I was sad too, this will only make sure that my relationship with the Native Plants Only gardener next door doesn't suffer.

Corn soup for dinner tonight with good crusty bread and smoked salmon. The light outside is changing, which tells me it's time to start thinking about setting the table and getting bowls out. Today was good. Really good. I'm going to savor it for a while, to think about the silly moments: spotting a squirrel digging through the composter like crazy; Kiddo still in his underwear because his pants were totally trashed after he sat in a hole full of fresh dirt; Kiddo finding leaves to bring home from our morning outing, even the ugly ones. (I suppose that's more sweet than silly.) All in all, a very satisfying day. Just as an autumn day gathering nuts and apples should be.

*I don't have a copy, just Wikipedia and a curiosity about these things.

Oh Crap! The Croup

2011-10-10T13:26:00.000-07:00

AGAIN?!

Kiddo's got the croup. A couple isolated barky coughs on Saturday night got my attention, so I wasn't completely surprised to hear him last night making seals-at-the-beach sounds as he slept. The tv schedule had promised a marathon of The Simpson's (yeay!) but delivered The X Factor (boo!) instead, so I settled in with my good book. Which was a good thing, as Kiddo coughed that terrible Strider cough and stirred enough to be upset. I was glad I could hear it, and snuggled up with him for a while.

One a.m. found me grabbing my pillow and heading down to his bed for good. The rest of the night was, more or less, pretty freakin' miserable. Despite the intermittent coughing, I'm pretty sure Kiddo got a better night of sleep than I did.

This morning, however, guess who was a pistol, running all over the place like a total crazy person? And guess who was propping her eyelids open so she could stay awake and call the doctor's office as soon as it opened?

After having a minor skirmish regarding that horribly arduous task of washing one's hands and putting on day clothes, I got into the shower and the following inane conversation transpired in my dead-tired brain:

Me: So, Croup, I see you're back to slap me around again and call me Nancy.

Croup: Yep. So what, Nancy?

Me: Well, your timing is at least considerate. Now that my seasonal crazy-making job is over, you've come to ensure that I don't want for drama in my life.

Croup: Yep. You can thank me for keeping it interesting, Nancy.

Less than an hour later, I was pulling Kiddo up the hill to the bus stop by the arm. In order to minimize Joe's time away from the office (because the wonderful doctor is crosstown and then some), we took the bus downtown and then all got in the car. Somehow, when your kid has a cold, all the gross people sucking on cigarettes seem like The Worst People In The World. Not trying to be judgy, but really? I don't force Kiddo's Music Together cds on the public, so I kinda wish they could just not light up when we are sharing a bus stop.

Speaking of the walking clueless, another epiphany I had this morning: the weary-bleary-eyed mothers at Urgent Care with croupy kids are in danger of being accidentally mistaken for the Zombie Apocalypse. At least, when I looked into the mirror, I was pretty sure there was someone staring back at me thinking "Braaaains....."

The doctor tells us that the croup is going around. Like last winter season, I'm expecting that this won't be our last time going to the doctor to get that awesome oral steroid medication before springtime. What I'm most grateful for, however, is my developing familiarity with this cough. I don't get scared any more. I know we probably have a few bad nights ahead before it's over, and I'll likely truly look like a bona-fide 100% walking undead person when all of this is done, but I didn't panic, and I didn't wait until Kiddo had a full-on bad night. Like many unpleasant things in life, knowing what you're walking into is a consolation in some way. It's bad, but you've done this particular bad before. It's like that terrible person you know you're going to see at a friend's party; you know the deal already, you know what to say and what not to say and when to say "Oh, excuse me for a minute, I see the deviled eggs have arrived" and politely excuse yourself. It's those devils we know that, in some way, I appreciate, because they aren't sudden natural disasters or industrial catastrophes. They're just little devils.

In short, I can wrap my head around Kiddo's croup. We'll get past it. Even if it does like to slap me around and call me Nancy...

Good Advice

2011-10-05T09:21:00.000-07:00

A while back, I got a call from a friend. She was frustrated, wondering what to do with some new, unwelcome behaviors she had begun to see from her child. At her wits end, she had tried many of the ideas in her parenting toolbox to no avail and was considering packing up her child for boarding school in a land far, far away. I laughed at this suggestion and suggested that my kid could have the seat on that train next to her child's, because my parenting life, too, was far from perfect. We talked for a while; I suggested a few ideas that had worked for me with other children, and then commented that I had seen this in other kids the age of her child, that it wasn't uncommon.

Later, I would come to realize that this last piece of reassurance was what she needed most. To know that it wasn't so much her, or her kid, it was just another sticky part of growing up that had been experienced by many children and that this, too, would pass. What parent wouldn't be happy, in some way, to hear that those horrid moments with their kid were being universally experienced? It didn't excuse this mother from doing her best, nor her child from needing to change how they were responding to disappointments or frustrations. (Which, I believe, is the root of much we consider to be 'misbehavior' on the part of the child.) Instead, it just gave us as adults permission to feel exasperated--and rightly so--while also allowing hope and space for the child's growth.

I recently was on the other end of this experience. Over the last two weeks, the return to preschool has prompted some rather unlovely behaviors in our own house. I called my dear sister and asked her for advice, turned to my copy of "Taking Charge"* to see what I needed to be doing, and then tried my best to correct my responses to my son's outbursts and undesired actions. What helped me most, though, was to hear from a couple neighbors that their kids, too, had regressed to two-year-old behavior in the last few weeks. Even though these revelations only happened during passing conversations, I was relieved: if our children were acting like strange aliens, at least it was from a familiar planet that many other people's kids were also temporarily visiting.

Over my time as a mother, I've become convinced that both giving and receiving advice can be, at its best, an art form. During my pregnancy I was reading one of Sheila Kitzinger's** books, "The Year After Childbirth: Surviving and enjoying the first year of Motherhood", in which she suggests not asking everyone for advice, but to be careful and find a few experienced mothers whom you trust. This is probably one of the most valuable suggestions regarding parenting that I have ever come across. Consequently, I have four people (besides the pediatrician) that I will turn to for parenting advice: Two are older mothers, whose children I previously cared for and whose mothering practices I deeply admire; two are contemporaries of mine, a close sister and a dear friend who has lots of experience with children. This doesn't mean that I won't share my parenting joys and frustrations with other mothers, but I will rarely ask others for advice because you know that old saying about too many cooks in the kitchen....

Selecting Trusted Advisors
Who to turn to for advice? I regard my son's preschool teachers with a deep sense of trust; knowing that they know, love and care for my son with genuine affection and concern. Earlier this year, when parenting challenges were beginning to seep into our marriage, we turned to them for guidance and came away from the experience feeling lifted up, encouraged, and strengthened by their wisdom. We felt embraced in their care, and our problems regarding those challenges resolved relatively quickly in part because we understood that they wanted what was best for us. If one has this sort of person in their life, this is the person to ask for help when challenges and struggles arise in our parenting; their solid background in working with children and the added objectivity regarding the situation gives us confidence as parents to follow through with making sometimes-difficult changes for the better.

Trust has much to do with how we choose our advisors. Mutual trust is invaluable in this regard, because sometimes when advice is given, in a truly respectful relationship, we may say or hear hard things which might hurt or are unpleasant, even when they are not meant to be. By this, I do not refer to one being tactless, but to the truthfulness itself. At a handful of times in my life, true friends have told me things I would rather not have heard, but were true and meant in loving concern for my betterment. Once the sting of their words wore off, I realized how much risk they took in speaking out to me and how much they must have loved me to risk my anger and to sit with their discomfort. These friends cared more about me than they did about keeping things easy for us, and in doing so, they have helped me become a better person, a better parent.

On the other side of the coin, there are persons you don't want to ask for advice, nor do you want to vent to them or share your struggles in parenting. Many grandparents (or other family members) are very supportive and have a wealth of knowledge to offer, but parents, in-laws, relatives or co-workers who regularly make critical or demeaning remarks should not be regarded as a resource. Then, the parent seeking advice may only instead feel blamed or belittled for the child's challenges instead of met in love and compassion. If you don't feel that a person genuinely accepts you for who you are, even on a good day, there's no point in opening yourself up for more harassment or scrutiny. Some grandparents or relatives would prefer to hear only the good about your child; then, leave the relationship at that and find someone else to seek for knowledge. Likewise, if you are aware that a person has a tendency to gossip with others, or seems to be competitive as a parent, always comparing their own children or parenting to those of others, this person may not be emotionally safe enough to seek out as a confidante. Trustworthiness is of vital importance when selecting an advisor.

Commiseration or Wisdom? Which do you seek?
Before seeking advice, consider what you are really wanting in that moment. Are you trying to solve a problem, or just needing to vent? It is a frustrating mistake to ask for advice when that's not what's really wanted, just as it is to give advice one hasn't been directly asked for. So if you are wanting to vent and get some empathy, a little "Can I just tell you about how awful things have been with my Usually Great Kid?" will prepare your listener for your own expectation. Likewise, some empathetic listening may be just what your friend needs when they call to tell you how their own Usually Great Kid is blowing their mind with new undesired behaviors. Being sensitive to these cues can help us considerably.

Something else to ask ourselves: Are we truly looking for another method to try, or for validation that what we are doing is, in fact, right? These are two entirely different questions. While one can usually find advice that reflects our own interests and beliefs in books (I believe that there is a book which validates nearly every type of parenting philosophy known to man), this can be a narrow way of going about getting advice, especially if we do not understand ourselves what's behind our own beliefs.

When We Ourselves Are Asked...
When being asked for advice, it helps to be thoughtful in regard to what the asking parent needs. As I mentioned before, sometimes reassurance is really what is wanted. Creative solutions can help, certainly, but it is, I think, on some deep level that we all want to feel like we are doing okay as parents. Also consider the very real limitations the individual parent has to work within: telling a single mom who works full time that she should spend more time with her child will likely make her feel worse than she did before the conversation. Guilt is a terrible emotion to carry around and we do not want to burden our dearest ones with it any more than we ourselves want it. Parents must deal with the amount of resources they have at any given moment, whether it is the amount of time they have available to spend with their children or the very real impact of income on a family. Thus, it is important to be sensitive to financial or familial situations and offer solutions which are truly accessible/available to the person who is asking for help.

Keeping your ideas or advice open-ended can also help. More than one friend of mine likes to offer gentle, open-ended, take-it-or-leave-it advice along the lines of "I don't know if this will work for you, but here's what worked for us in this similar situation." Advice like this might be offered without being asked for directly, and comes across as more of a suggestion. Less is on the line for both the giver and the recipient. Likewise, suggesting books may also be helpful. "Some parts of this book really helped us, you can try what seems right for you" is a nice way to offer suggestions without directly instructing another parent to try things your way.

The Harder Truths
Here is where some of the stickiest and hardest advice can come into play: sometimes, counseling will be the most beneficial suggestion to the person seeking advice. Sometimes, a friend may suggest seeking a counselor or parenting coach because they are at the limit of their own knowledge or of what they can give to the person needing help or advice. While it's easy to read this as a negative message or an accusation, or even a lack of interest from the friend, what we have to understand is simply this: sometimes our friends don't have all the answers. Sometimes, our troubles may be more than what they can absorb, for whatever reason, or it may be that giving us advice regarding a complex situation is more than what they feel able to do well as a friend. More often than not, we seek out our friends for validation; there are some situations where it is best to allow our friends to keep themselves in a supportive role rather than one which is directive or diagnostic. There is no shame in finding ourselves in need of a counselor; counselors do a valuable job in helping us explore our deeper feelings and beliefs about a given situation and it is both the scrutiny of these aspects of our thinking as well as understanding and accepting certain realities of the situation which help us to make the better, more satisfactory changes in our lives. In this way, we actually protect our friendships by letting our friends and loved ones be our cheerleaders and finding a good counselor or parenting coach to guide us through our more challenging work.

Advice, given when asked for, or well received, is a gift. That said, I believe that keeping ourselves aware of our own intentions when either giving or asking for advice is one of the best ways to make the most of this interaction. We should also be aware that if we are asking for advice and not getting the answers we need (or like), then it is likely time to consult a pro. Sometimes, we may not like the information we receive because we aren't ready to hear it yet. If you are finding that those who love you best, and with the best intentions for you, are telling you things you don't want to hear, it's time to look deeper as to the cause of this. This is one downfall of giving "hard truth" advice: it can hurt and sting, so it's important to do this with compassion and whatever wisdom one has, and to understand that it may be argued with or not accepted at all. If you feel this might be the case, suggesting a counselor may be better for the friendship, for the many reasons stated above.

I go into the future as a parent and friend with all of this in mind. Likely, at times, I will forget aspects of this advice I give about giving advice. Overall, however, we as women have relied on each other, our mothers and grandmothers and peer mothers, for guidance to solving problems both simple (diaper rash) or complex (acting-out behaviors). We do well to wisely turn to those who would support us, those who have gone before us as parents. We can also hopefully offer support and wisdom to other mothers and parents. This is a never-ending circle of giving and receiving, one that should be considered blessed and even, a bit, sacred. One worth guarding carefully and being thoughtful about. For as much as good advice is a gift for the receiver, it is also a wonderful opportunity for the giver to practice love and care and consideration for a dear friend. As it is to the one, let it be for the other.

*Taking Charge: Caring Discipline That Works at Home and at School by JoAnne Nordling. This book is highly comprehensive and breaks down a child's undesired actions into four classes of misbehaviors; each misbehavior is detailed and corrections specific to the misbehavior are detailed. Emphasis is given on the value of positive attention during neutral times, loving our children just for being, empathy, and listening to our child's internal reality while being consistent with boundaries and guidance. I love this book and have relied on it for more than ten years. JoAnne has been an elementary school teacher, an elementary school counselor and the co-founder of the Parent Support Center PDX.

**Sheila Kitzinger is a British natural childbirth activist and author on childbirth and pregnancy. She is a social anthropologist specialising in pregnancy, childbirth and the parenting of babies and young children. Her books are informative, enlightening and empowering for her readers. Although she lectures on midwifery she has never been a midwife. She campaigns for women to have the information they need to make choices about childbirth. She is honorary professor at Thames Valley University and teaches the MA in midwifery in the Wolfson School of Health Sciences. She also teaches workshops on the social anthropology of birth and breastfeeding. (Most of this is from Wikipedia, with my own comment on her books which I find relevant and reliable.)

A Season of Abundance

2011-09-23T10:07:00.000-07:00

Today is the first day of autumn and my thoughts are settled around appreciating the richness of this season.

On our way out to preschool, I clipped a bundle of dried brown Echinacea flowers, their once-pink petals now straggly brown and picked away, their bristly cones now the star of the show. I've brought a bunch of them indoors to rest on what's becoming a Nature/Offering table, all of those brittle stems embraced in a vintage glass container which has become a vase in its second life. For balance, a thick bundle of purple sage I'd cut yesterday sits on that table as well, the green stems plunged into a small cobalt blue creamer. (If you want a nice, full bushy-looking arrangement, gather your herbs up tight together and put a rubber band around the bottom. This will keep them from getting floppy and messy. Use an opaque vase so no one sees the rubber band or rangy-looking stems.)

I've also cut some larger bundles of native golden currant for our home and the preschool. In spring, this green-leafed plant's dainty yellow-gold flowers with red centers delighted us with their spicy scent. Now autumn, the leaves have turned a glorious red with just a hint of pink in it, some leaves still have a bit of green. The red captures my heart; this is the color I want to paint the nook where we eat our meals, separated by the archway from the main part of the kitchen. I love this red, and a Mason jar of the currant clippings sits on the woodstove which we've yet to use this season. The blaze of color is delightful. (Note to self, get that big Miller paint 'deck' of paint chips out and match it up!)

Today the garden offers up more tomatoes and fall gold raspberries to pick and more work to be done, so in a minute I'll be putting on my gardening pants and taking the tools out to the soil. But a few more thoughts of richness:

Joe and I celebrated an anniversary last night. Ten years together as a couple. We ate great Italian food (I had cioppino, in case you were wondering.) and stopped at our local for a beer and good conversation. The time to talk to each other without any interruptions was such a treat-- Thank you, Lissa, for that gift. Things have been going so well for Joe; he's started a new, challenging job last year and on Monday he received a title promotion and raise, which seems like perfect timing since preschool has started. Last night, he suggested that we up Kiddo's preschool week to four days instead of the three. I know he was thinking of me.

Kiddo, however, is reveling in having a couple of 'down' days during the week where he can just enjoy himself and play how he likes. His play is becoming ever-more complex, and this is part of my picture of abundance too. Yesterday, he'd used our two ramps and some blocks to build a marble chute (the blocks were a guardrail, to keep the marbles from falling off the ramp) which led into a bag where the marbles were collected. He asked about finding something to drop the marbles into the chute, so we got out our marble run and stacked up supports until we could build a run tall enough to deliver the marble into the chute. Then, the plastic marble run became a support for a drum set, his "electric guitar" (which is a toy acoustic guitar with the large round metal lid from his Tinkertoys over the sound hole, an old kid's watch and a plastic scoop somehow hanging from the strings as well) and several containers plus the keyboard became his 'music band'. This is why I want to keep him home as much as reasonably possible, because he is able to create and play in a way that meets some unspeakable need within himself. I love how his play flows along so organically, taking its own twists and turns, constantly creative, learning what both I and preschool cannot teach; what he can only teach himself.

Gratitude and abundance is what I feel today. Grateful for the good life our family is experiencing, the richness of our world and what's around us. I write of these moments because I want to remember them later on, when winter creeps upon us with the gray skies and rain rain rain and the earth rests as all living things must rest. That's the promise of the seasons, that we keep moving forward, that nothing is permanent, and so we do best to appreciate the present, as it is, in this moment. To be present with our eyes and hearts open to the beauty around us.

Selah.

All Aboard the Job Train

2011-09-20T14:14:00.000-07:00

Now that preschool has started, one of the nicest moments of my day is pick-up time. Over the last two weeks, Kiddo and I have settled into a sweet routine. I always bring a graham cracker with me, which is sort of a treat at our house, and we take our time walking home. Today, we noticed a toadstool growing in the shade and I was asked what a carbohydrate was. (It's "food that makes a sugar in your body", if you want the simple answer.) We generally hold off on playdates until our no-preschool days of the week, because it's been my longtime experience that many preschoolers are often tired from the work of playing with friends and need a little downtime.

We also have a helpful prop at home that I've created called a Job Train. I made this before, working as a nanny, when I had a child in care who went to preschool and was dropped off afterward. The Job Train is a paper engine and set of cars that live on the refrigerator via some adhesive magnets I stuck on the back. These cards help a child work through their after-school tasks with less adult instruction, because once a photo of the child is glued onto the engine, it is indeed the child who 'drives' the Job Train. Kiddo puts it together one or two cars at a time. Each car has a different task or two, both illustrated and printed in simple text on the car itself. "Boots" shows one card, which prompts him to 'make his shoes nice' (as he likes to say it); "Coat/Tote" indicate that these items need to be hung up; "Potty/Wash Hands", "Lunchbox/Snack (because kids big and small are often hungry after school), and "Quiet Play Time" are the other cars on our train. When all of the train has been built--which means that these tasks are complete--then Kiddo's welcome to do with his time as he pleases. He may do most of these tasks in an open order which allows Kiddo some say-so in how he gets them done. Overall, though, this prop potentially eliminates the need for me to direct him through these responsibilities.

Sometimes, too, I get a moan or complaint. I simply remind him that he can go lie down if he's too tired to do the jobs, and then do them when he's ready. If it's not tiredness but more obstinacy, I offer a pillow for him to sit on until he's ready to take care of his belongings and himself. These tasks are not beyond his abilities, and these are good habits for him to develop, because I do not relish living out the next 18 years doing every little thing for my son. It wouldn't be good for either of us. Neither am I expecting him to do all of this solo; today he was obviously tired and stated "I don't know what to do", wanting help. I gave gentle direction and the little cars were put together one by one.

I'm a big believer in downtime after preschool; by late afternoon, our kids are often maxed out. Because of this, I try to do most of the toy cleanup earlier, before I start dinner, when we're all better able to make this activity more pleasant. I try to have the shopping done before pick-up, or to schedule it after he's had a chunk of time to play independently. Again, it's my appreciation of the amount of work being in the intense social settings of preschool and primary grades that leads me to take this approach of "less is more".

So, our autumn has a rhythm of its own, at least on school days. On other days, I'm sensitive to Kiddo's need for routine and look for ways to support this. Heading out for an adventure around the same time as we leave for school can help; this time too, as I'd mentioned before, is perfect for playdates. We try to keep the same mealtimes as preschool, too, which really helps. While I do not feel a sense of total obligation to his preschool schedule, I understand that weekends can be harder when he's got less structure or feels 'thrown off' his routines, so these rhythms are optimally the backbone to our days together. So graham crackers, walks home through crunchy, turning leaves and our little Job Train all become little bits of the glue that holds our little guy's world together, one day at at time.

Packing up a Lunch

2011-09-16T11:08:00.000-07:00

One of the great things about Kiddo's preschool is that we parents can pack a good, healthy lunch for our children to take to school. Stuff we know that they relatively like and will usually eat. Personally, I prefer this to having some kind of Lowest Common Denominator high-carb lunch that some daycares and preschools serve, and I also like knowing what it is he's eating (and needs to eat later) in order to ensure he's getting a balanced menu.

Kiddo's pretty sharp at making some good food choices, so I ask for his input. Sometimes, though, he has a lot of opinions about lunch. Like this morning.

Me: "Tell me one thing you would like for your lunch, within reason." ('Within reason' is mama-code for "not ice cream, not cookies, not yogurt"; I like this code phrase, as it eliminates bringing up those items.)

Kiddo: "Carrots!"

Me: "Awesome. We can do that."

Kiddo: "I want carrots and apples."

Isn't this great? We are in Dream Child mode right now. And then I go and fumble it. Pulling down the fruit bowl, I see a nectarine which is so wrinkled it should be collecting Social Security benefits.

Me: "Would you like a nectarine instead?"

Kiddo looks at Ol' Man Nectarine and makes a squinchy face. "NO." I, on the other hand, really feel like this nectarine should go away, so I offer it again. "You could take it cut up with a fork."

"NO."

Okay, enough on the nectarine. I set it on the counter, thinking "Future Smoothie Ingredient", and get to work, peeling a perfectly-sized carrot (not too thick, not too spindly) and slicing up half an apple. I put cinnamon on the apple slices and place them into a container. Kiddo pushes his breakfast of scrambled eggs around on his plate, watching me, then inevitably announces~

"I want nectarine, not apple."

In my head, four words ring out: "Oh, no, you don't!" My mouth, however, doesn't betray me or get into the fray, but changes the subject entirely. "No more talking, now. Be quiet and eat your food." I say this with a pleasant voice which hopefully conveys the underlying message of "I am not going there with you. This will not become a discussion. Your job is to eat your breakfast, so let's tend to that now."

I continue packing. Often, Kiddo complains that he doesn't want a sandwich, so today it's three Vinta crackers in a waxed paper bag with a handful of almonds tossed in, and a string cheese too for a good protein. The carrot is rolled up in Saran Wrap, the apples in their reusable container. I realize that I have used every possible method of wrapping food, aside from foil, in his lunch. Two napkins on top (one for a place mat, one for his lap, hopefully) and the Velcro flap is closed up.

Kiddo is looking out the window, both lunch and breakfast temporarily forgotten. What's going on, so interesting out there? Joe walks in, sees Kiddo, and breaks into a couple lines of Supertramp's "Dreamer". I laugh, then remind our little guy to eat the eggs before they grow cold. Joe kisses us goodbye; he's buying his lunch at the Food Carts today, as he's meeting a friend.

Me? I'm having a sandwich and some miso soup for lunch today. Cool and cloudy, it seems like that sort of a day. I'm grateful I only have to pack lunches three days a week, for one person only. I can't imagine doing this with multiple children: my hat is off to those mothers. I think I'd be looking for a different preschool program if that were the case. One that served those Lowest Common Denominator lunches.....

What Decadence!--An Hour of Bliss

2011-09-12T19:46:00.000-07:00

Yesterday, Joe drove us downtown and gave me one of the best gifts I've been given in a while. One that I've been hankering after for a long time. An hour of sweet bliss.

Lots of women have their own idea of an hour's worth of bliss. Some would love to have lavender-scented oil rubbed into their tired muscles. (So would I.) Some would prefer having their nails done with a girlfriend, or a glass of good wine and some sushi with that friend, or an hour with whoever the Hunk-O'-the-Month is over a candlelight dinner.

My bliss was simply a trip to my personal hallowed ground, the Central Library. One hour alone amongst those who would study on their day of rest, those who would sleep in the air-conditioning. Or in my case, those men who would geek out on the computers up in the Henry Failing music and arts library. In case you get the wrong idea, I wasn't up there to trawl for men-- already have my own sexy I.T. guy at home, thanks-- but to fondle and ogle the cds.

By myself. No sounds of "Mama, I want to go see the dinosaur books!" or "Honey, are you done?" Just lonesome me with a big tote bag.

One of the best (I was almost going to write "bestest", because there is not a "best" superlative enough to encompass the awesomeness of this) things about the library is that you don't have to spend a dime to have Whatever You Want. With the exception, of course, of reference materials and rare books, I could get just about any and all the cds I wanted within the limits, which are generous indeed. Check it out:

"You may borrow up to a total of 150 items at one time. However, you may check out 15 DVDs at one time. You may also check out 15 music CDs and 15 other CDs at one time."
--Multnomah County Library

Need I say more?

What richness there was to be had! I left with a stack of sweet discoveries to spin in the cd player, some rock, some jazz. Some ladies came home with me: Ella Fitzgerald, Ruth Brown, and the Andrews Sisters (with Glenn Miller). Some fellas came along as well: some contemporaries like Martin Sexton, Paul Weller, and David Byrne with Brian Eno; some older gentlemen too, like Duke Ellington, Miles Davis ("Birth of the Cool" --how can you go wrong?) and the Modern Jazz Ensemble. Treasures like Rufus Wainwright were collected up as well. Anyone who knows me well knows that I can be brought to my knees with really spot-on vocal harmonies. When I used to sing in a choir, those moments of group harmony were something beyond spiritual, it was like being in the midst of something so incredibly other, something pure and powerful and the pinnacle of what humanity could achieve together, all voices singing their parts as though they were creating a single being, a single moment of perfection. There are few moments in my life that have knocked my heart over in sheer joy, and seeing Rufus Wainwright in concert over ten years ago is still one of those 'glued-to-the-spot/I will explode with the enormity of this swirling vocal wonderfulness' moments I'll remember all my life, along with the groove and flow of seeing Medeski, Martin and Wood, when the whole house seemed to be all part of one incredible communion.

Music is something I don't get enough variety of, just because the more I listen and learn, the hungrier I am for it. Sunday, for me, was dining in style at an exquisite "all you can hear" banquet of bliss. I also found a three-disk rare gospel set, which I am very excited to listen to. I'm not a card-carrying member of any religion, but there is something so amazing about gospel to me. There are plenty of great songs celebrating the love of people for each other; there's something so indescribable to me about man's search and passion for God and the interplay of relationship between human and creator/deity. This, to me, rivals the power of any opera as the gospel singer seeks beyond the human realm and the self to reach out toward something beyond this world, the origin; the spark.

Of course, I picked up a few books, too. But it was the Henry Failing Music Library that really captured me yesterday. I've only just begun to explore these delights. Ruth Brown sung to me in the way of classic 50's rhythm and blues as I did the dishes today. "Rockin' in Rhythm: The Best of Ruth Brown" (many of her hits were produced by Atlantic Records' Ahmet Ertegun, by the way, and three cheers to you if you know who he is) features some great liner notes too, for those like me who want to learn a bit more about this amazing singer. Tomorrow I'll be kept company by Ella Fitzgerald, singing the songs of Harold Arlen, a famous songwriter from the 30s and 40s who brought us treats like "Stormy Weather", "That Old Black Magic", "Come Rain Come Shine" and "Over the Rainbow". And who better, really, than to sing it but Ella?

Next time, I'll be looking for some Johnny Mercer and Cole Porter, some Ron Sexsmith and a bit more from the underestimated musical genius of our time, Mr. Frank Zappa. (If you've only heard "Valley Girl", you are really missing out.) I don't know how long it will be until I get another hour up in the music library, but I'll be satisfied for now. Bliss, cranked up through the house and continuing to keep me happy. Thank you, Messrs Edison and Blumlein, inventors of the phonograph and stereo records respectively. Thank you for the rest of my life.

And thanks especially to Joe, for making yesterday happen.

The Sandman

2011-09-10T13:54:00.000-07:00

"Mr. Sandman, bring me a dream
Make him the cutest that I've ever seen
Give him two lips like roses and clover
And tell him that his lonesome nights are over"

"Mr. Sandman" by the Chordettes*

Coming home from a preschool potluck picnic last night, Kiddo was covered in sand. Even taking off his shoes--without actually dumping out the shoes-- he was shedding sand everywhere. While I had gone with the thrifty (read: cheap-ass) choice of Home Depot sand for our sandbox, his preschool sandbox has Real Beach Sand, and it sticks to him like superfine baker's sugar, coating his arms. If it had been sugar, it might have been tempting to lick him clean. Being sand, however, a brush-off with a dry rag, a complete undressing at the front door, and then the bathtub were the only sane options.

We were already past bedtime, so we scooted through our night time routine. I was tired, Kiddo was wired and tired from all the fun, and so we got pajamas on (accidentally forgot to brush teeth-- oh well, thank goodness they get a second set later!) and lay down on his bed to read stories for nighttime. Books read, lights out, time to sing the bedtime song. I snuggled him into his bed.

And that's when I noticed the sand on his fitted sheet. Not just a few little grains, but half a desert's worth was in his bed. There was so much, you could actually see it. I hollered for Joe at this point for help. We always double up on bedding in case of accidents, so it was easy to pull of the first layer of fitted sheet and vinyl waterproof sheet, and Joe carried away the mini-Sahara to be shaken out while I finished up bedtime.

How on earth did so much sand get into his bed? I wondered for a few minutes, then remembered that I'd tossed Kiddo's shorts into the sink when I'd undressed him, because there was a whole inch of sand in each of his pockets. The Sand Man, that boy. He must have crawled under the covers during some point of his quiet time that day, and by doing so, dumped a bunch in bed. Another reason I never allow him to get into my bed when we watch a video upstairs in our room. I was concerned about a little dirt, but good grief!

After our lullaby rendition of "The Owl and the Pussycat", Kiddo held onto my arm. "Stay and hold me" he said. I did so for a few minutes, then told him I needed to take shower and that I'd leave the bathroom door open and the light on, so it wouldn't be so dark. Kissed him goodnight and then tended to my own freshening up. Because yesterday was gross-sweaty-hot, and stinky bed is just as bad as a sandy one. Kiddo was counting sheep when I got out of the shower. So, the Sandman did eventually visit last night. The right one, that is.

*If you think this lyric is a bit cutesy, consider what I had to choose from. The other "Sandman" song (from Metallica) features lyrics such as "Sleep with one eye open/Gripping your pillow tight." Sorry, but cutesy wins this round.

What a Woman Really Wants

2011-09-07T14:45:00.000-07:00

This Monday found me going round and round Laurelhurst Park with a dear friend, both of us working up a sweat while trying to stay in the shade. Our conversation meandered over many pleasant topics as we walked, and then she asked me of my plans for autumn once Kiddo was in preschool. Here, I faltered. I've been wanting to write a book to help new parents, but lately have been stalled by a serious question that undermines my thoughts and confidence at times, namely: "Does the world really need another parenting book?" Would my take on the subject add a new facet to what was out there? How would the work of writing add to my life, both in meaning and--at the risk of sounding completely materialistic--in monetary terms?

At the beginning of summer, it seemed that my focus and direction were designated: I would stay home while Kiddo was in preschool and write. This would be my year to "do it", to work toward this longtime goal.

That said, over the summer I've had some sort of Pushmi-pullyu* living in my head. "You must organize yourself and your writing so that you can get published, get yourself on a schedule..." played tug of war with gnawing doubts and whispers in my head: "If you don't do this, all your friends are going to think you are being a serious flake." "You always talk about wanting to write a book but never seem to do it." Ugh. Not the kind of self-talk anyone wants in their head. Yet, I couldn't escape that feeling that I must be working at something. This is to be expected, really--up until I'd gotten pregnant, I'd been working more or less steadily for 20 years without more than a couple of weeks of vacation at any given time. Even when Kiddo was little, it seemed necessary to keep working while he was home: to continue doing after-preschool care with a former family I'd nannied with; to start the preschool; and then to keep working, not only to pay for Kiddo's preschool, but also because I genuinely like that sort of work. Making the decision to close the school was a good one for our family, but lately I've felt uncertain of the structure of autumn. Where to start work on writing, when my feet didn't feel solid under me in this particular venture? I shared these concerns with my friend.

As we headed through a patch of hot sunshine, I wished aloud for time to sew some linen pants and tops for next summer. I would do that this winter, I had promised myself.

"Now, that is what sounds right, Hazie" my friend spoke. "That's something solid, something that you believe in, something just gut-instinct and intuitive. That's what's worth spending time on."

"What? The book?" I was confused.

No, she told me kindly. Not the book, but instead, taking care of myself. She was right; I have wanted these pants and tops for years, but haven't had the chance to sew them for years either. It suddenly put everything in proper context and contrast: how rewarding would writing a book feel if I was continually putting aside the long "honey-do" list I've had in my head for so long?

Still, I wasn't convinced. "But what about the book and the classes I've wanted to teach for parents?" I asked her. She smiled. "Those will wait until you are ready to do them. You said yourself you have doubts about the book. And even having thought about those things (the topics of the book) will make your work better. But what sounds right to me is for you to take care of yourself right now."

I'm not great at shifting gears, but walking home later, I felt like someone had handed me not just a "Get Out of Jail Free" card, but also a "And Go Have Marvelous Time Making Your Life Better--And Don't Feel Guilty About It" token to boot.

Explaining these new thoughts to Joe later, he was his usual wonderful, supportive self. The time Kiddo was at preschool wouldn't just afford me some sewing time, but also time to finish work on the kitchen walls and finally get them painted. The garden has been no small duty, and I have beds of bulbs to dig out and divide this autumn. The basement would produce an essay of worthwhile plans, so I shall spare you, but it was almost surprising to see that my twelve hours alone each week would be filled up with worthwhile work that would make our whole family's life better.

Just the fact that we could get the kitchen (mostly) done without Joe having to anticipate whole weekends of painting put a huge smile on his face.

So, the book still sits in bits and pieces in files on the computer. I've shared parts of it with friends, and hope to still set time aside to work at it in small chunks as ideas arise. The promise of having a house that feels usable and in order is a balm to my heart, because it has been a sore spot for so long. I love the idea that I won't hate how my kitchen looks forever, but can finish it perhaps before Kiddo's next summer break. There's lots of work to be done and Kiddo starts preschool tomorrow. I can't wait to get started.

Look out for the Lady in Linen next summer.

*In case you didn't know, the "pushmi-pullyu" is a two headed beast from Doctor Doolittle. It is a "gazelle-unicorn cross" and consequently, when it tries to move, the heads each go in opposite directions. It makes a marvelous metaphor for those well-versed in children's books.

Down the Tubes

2011-08-25T17:09:00.000-07:00

First, let me start by saying that this post has nothing to do with anything being flushed down a toilet. We did have a little incident recently which involved a small bottle of aloe, left by the sink, being poured out so that Kiddo could play with the bottle, but that's not the topic of this post, either. But what was behind the Pouring Out of the Aloe, I am dearly appreciating.

What I am celebrating today is Kiddo's sheer inventiveness. For the last day and a half, our zinc washtub has been filled with formerly-sudsy water and all manner of construction on a marble run we built for it. At the top of the three-based run sits an underwater rescue mini-sub, it's hatch door open for water to be poured into before it goes down the tubes, or rather, the marble-run sections. Water goes down a couple of pieces, and is then collected into a blue plastic bowl perched on another part. Below that is a yellow cup, ready to catch run-off. There have been several incarnations of how/where things go that I find intriguing. At one point, our wine-vacuum suction pump (you know, that plastic "t" shaped thing you use to suck the air out of wine bottles) was at the top, for "a pump" for him to pull up and push down on. As I type, pieces from his Tubation toy are being attached, since the cardboard tube he'd brought from his room did as predicted, sogging out in the water. A funnel is requisitioned from my preschool sensory prop bag. (Yes, I'm one of those teacher-parents...in my brain, living with a four year old, preschool is never out, summer or no, and the prop bag never gets put away.) He's figured out a way to wedge the tubes into the marble race and all manner of tubes are being combined, never mind that the holes in some tubes will send water flying out sideways! instead of straight down. I've suggested only using pieces which have two holes instead of three or four, which will eliminate my chant of "get a rag, please, to wipe up that wet floor".

When does it end? When does his brain stop? It's so subjective, what kids want to learn. Trace letters? Not so much. Build a working, nonsensical "fountain" which he calls a "Big Moon with Water in It" and he's busy with trial and error, adjusting and readjusting, having the time of his life and learning, I believe, what his brain was wanting to learn right now. With this downtime to play in, he's noticeably more cooperative and so much happier overall. He also seems more engaged when I ask him to do basic problem-solving. I don't believe this is coincidence.

We'll have time for workbooks and such while we go out for meals. The last day or so remind me of how busy and adult-oriented we have been. My adult brain, logical and seeking order, would tell him right now to put away many of the items he's pulled out of the bag at present, but my heart, in conjunction with my teacher-brain, understands that this is just what he needs, as he tells a cup and some chopsticks "okay, now you can play water". He is loving his world right now, and I am loving to watch his love of it.

Ten Minutes to Tell You

2011-08-18T11:00:00.000-07:00

that Packing For The Beach is too much silliness. We head out tomorrow for Seal Rock, home of tide pools and we'll have to see what else. Kiddo and I spent a morning in the garden, preparing the new beets and blue star juniper for our absence. I'll have to build a towel-tent over the beets, so they don't bake before we get back.

In the meantime, I should be folding laundry. Showers done, snack eaten, 10:50 a.m., Joe has taken Kiddo to Trader Joe's for our in-town shopping and to gas up the car. I wonder about packing for a messy kid; he's already on his second pair of clothes, having played in the 'ick' this morning. Thank goodness those were what he wore as pajamas, or I'd have ever more laundry to deal with. How many pairs of pants to take to the beach? Could I pack eighteen-thousand? Because then I know I'd have enough. I suppose three a day will have to suffice, and we'll put the rain pants on over the other ones, just to keep things simpler. Thankfully, we have two pairs of those. Endless socks, jackets, tee shirts, etc.

One thing we must buy is a proper sand shovel. I have small metal headed/wooden-handled children's shovels and trowels for garden work, but nothing that's salt water safe. Cups and scoops to pack, and baggies for collecting rocks and shells, which is by far my favorite pastime. I can't get enough of them. They'll likely go into the rain garden--oops! I meant dinosaur garden-- in the backyard on our return.

There's so much to do, and I'm so excited. This is our one 'quasi-big' trip we are taking this summer. We've rented the upstairs studio of a house, so we'll be trying something new. No range to make my tea on, but hotel rooms don't have those either, so we aren't missing anything other than half the cost. Trips to the Rogue Brewery for dinner, per our usual, will send us up to Newport in the evenings. They have a great seafood linguine I might have on both nights. We aren't even scoping around for other restaurants--why bother when the beer is excellent and the food is better than average pub fare?

Looking forward to tooling down the highway on the coastline tomorrow, getting hide-and-peek glimpses of the ocean, stopping to see what we shall sea. Kiddo's into it too, more so than years before. We'll send a few postcards out, take some pictures and do what I've been longing to do for a while: spend time as a family without the distractions of home or chores, just being in nature! Bliss!

And special thanks to our friends for house-sitting! Gus will be so happy to have company.

Repeat After Me: a Lesson from Obi-Wan

2011-08-12T13:56:00.000-07:00

Do you remember the first time you watched Star Wars? One of the coolest scenes for me, as a kid, is when Luke and Obi-Wan Kenobi are tooling around Mos Eisley with R2-D2 and C3PO in the back of Luke's landspeeder, and some Imperial Stormtroopers stop to question them. "These aren't the droids you're looking for" says Kenobi, waving his hand in a mystical way, prompting the guard to repeat after him, "These aren't the droids we're looking for", believing it himself.

Jedi Mind Tricks or useful parenting tool?

Now, I don't have the Force within me enough to do that sort of trick, but there's something to having your kid repeat what you say, especially when their little heads are off somewhere in a galaxy far, far away.

Some kids are a bit dreamy, and when we tell them something-Poof!- off it goes, into the ether. Some kids fall into a habit of having a hard time attending immediately to directions; once they know they've got our attention (we are looking at them, we just requested they do something), they distract us with what they want to show us. I'm not saying that these bids for attention are wrong, but there are times that "first things, first" is necessary. Show me how cute you are doing somersaults after you've gone potty. I'd love to hear your story about the dinosaurs, and right now, we need to get our shoes on, and I know you can't talk to me and do that at the same time, so shoes first.

What's a mom to do? Our kids love us, want to engage us, and have completely different agendas than we have, say more than 75% of the time or so. Let's face it-- I don't want to put my kid in time out for not listening the first time, and likely, neither do you. It's almost an impairment, trying to correct their 'not listening' retroactively. And sometimes, we just don't have the time.

All this in mind, I've started having Kiddo repeat me, and this is working like a charm. Dare I say, like a Jedi Mind Trick. It's easy. I make sure that I engage him first, get his attention by attending to what he's doing or thinking about, then precede my request with "You say:" and then give the request in their first-person wording. This is how it looks at our house:

Mama: "Kiddo, you have all of your marbles in the bowl. What's going on with them?"

Kiddo: "I'm giving my dinosaurs some food. The marbles are the food. They like it."

Mama: "Wow! They have a lot of food!" (interest having been shown, mutual attention toward each other) "It's time to go to the store. Would you like to pick out a dino buddy to go to the store?"
(transitioning technique here, acknowledging his play and allowing him to continue it in a different setting.)

Kiddo: "Yes. I'll bring parasauralophus."

Mama: "Great. Let's put him right here. Now you say to me: 'It's time to put on my shoes.'"

Kiddo: "It's time to put on my shoes."

Mama: "'I will put them on right now.'"

Kiddo: "I will put them on right now."

Mama: "Great. Let's get those shoes on!"

Now, while it seems cookie-cutter easy, please understand that the transition technique of extending his activity played an equal role in his willingness to cooperate. I'm being respectful of what he's intellectually engaged in. This is relatively easy to do with a little imagination, by the way, while kids are young and while they are involved in free play; children watching tv or playing games on the computer or board games with each other will require more parental help to transition away from because their attention is on something fixed, less portable. You will need to show the attention, help them finish, and only after that try the 'repeat after me' technique.

It helps to keep directions in the affirmative, and much like parenting our youngest, we want to use positive language whenever we can, so as not to reinforce the negative, because kids still mostly hear the end of what we say to them. "Repeat after me" can be helpful in refocusing a child whose actions need to change. Here are a few examples.

If the child is running around the room like a crazy person:
Not: "I will not run around the room like a crazy person."
Instead: "I will use my walking feet in the house."

If the child is taking a toy from a friend:
Not: "I will not take the toy away from him."
Instead, use: "I will find another toy now. I will have a turn when he's done."

If the child is yelling:
Not: "I will not yell and make mommy's ears hurt."
Instead, try: "I can go in my room to yell. I can use a quiet voice with Mama."

This also works well for precorrecting too. At the library: "I will use my whisper voice." At the store: "I will hold your hand or I can ride in the cart/stroller." This may help the child internalize expectations in a positive way.

Just in case some of this sounds suspiciously familiar, remember that many counselors, therapists and self-help books suggest positive affirmations because, truly, they do work if practiced regularly. Repeating positive directions is exactly the same thing, only we aren't standing in the mirror like Stuart Smalley saying: "Because I'm good enough, I'm smart enough, and, doggonit, people like me!" We're saying: "It's time to get my coat on now."

Overall, this is just one more tool in the parenting toolbox, nonetheless, it is a pretty friendly one and I like those best. Of course, if you have a kid heading for a tantrum, or if you've been experiencing a spate of power struggles, give it a few tries and then reevaluate if this is working. Some kids who are in a period of digging their heels in aren't going to be be so easily led, and may consciously work not to internalize your phrasing, but to contradict it. So, like many of the parenting tools, this won't be successful 100% of the time. However, I've found it's been working really well for us over the last few days and wanted to share while it was on my mind. We all can use a little reminding of what's in the 'toolbox', and please, feel free to share any of your favorite friendly techniques in the comments. I like to learn from you readers, too!

To Form or Inform: Technology and the Family

2011-08-11T11:12:00.000-07:00

This morning, I sit quietly with a cup of tea. The back door is open, the screen latched open too, so that Gus, our gray gentleman kitty, can go to and fro and he pleases. Out the front window I can see the purple spires of the butterfly bush and all the green of our little ginkgo tree and the neighbors yard, soft and melty through the old glass in the picture window.

All in all, I feel at peace. I have projects and at least part of a day ahead of me. My dear neighbors have taken Kiddo on a hike with them. I'm grateful for this in two ways: first, that he has some good time out in nature with people who genuinely love him and second, that I have some time to think quietly and share a few thoughts.

Lately, I've been giving some serious time and attention to thinking about technology and finding balance in this area with my family. This laptop is a tricky device in that it promises a sense of connectivity, immediately. Access to the Internet, for me, is something that I have to be thoughtful, even careful, about. This summer has been a time of reflection in this regard.

Over the last year or so, I became rather engrossed with a parenting forum. I've written posts about the forum, about needing breaks, about how to post or answer questions there. During my time teaching preschool last year, after I said goodbye to the children, I would be craving adult contact, and the forum was always available. While my friends were picking up their own kids from preschool, putting their little ones down for naps, or working and unavailable, the forum was right there, virtually at my fingertips. I believe I gave some good parenting advice.

But what I also noticed, over time, was that being on the forum was having a negative impact on my own ability to be a good parent. "Just another minute, and then we'll...". I'm not proud of this, and truthfully, I'm a bit ashamed of it. After all, I did know better, right? It's not like I'm not smart enough to understand that my son needed me more than these parents with questions did. A week or so after my son's preschool ended, it dawned on me that participating in this forum was actually making me a lesser parent.

And so, I quit. I haven't gone back since. Our summer is better for it.

My desire is always to find balance, and with the convenience of the laptop, it takes more effort to ensure that technology is put in its proper place. I'm not a complete Luddite here, however my ideal role of technology in family life is not to form, but solely to inform. Would I throw out the Internet? Never. However, my ideal role of the Internet is that it helps us as a family without shaping us. I'm hoping that nature and a life of learning, of hands-on experiences in real time, do that shaping. For example, the role of the technology in regard to our upcoming family vacation, to me, has already been played out: we've found our lodgings for the trip. We will not bring the laptop with us. We will bring my husband's cellphone, but we will not be texting anyone or making a lot of calls. I could go online again before the trip to print out tide tables, but then again, if I do that, I miss that experience of getting a guide at one of the small shops and seeing the actual people that live in the area I'm visiting. I'm sure there's an app for that (tide tables), but we are sticking with our simple pay-as-you-go phones, and I am not sure that missing the human aspect of being in a particular place is attractive to me, anyway.

This summer, I have wanted to delve into some critical thinking about how, in my family's future, we will balance the informing/forming potentials of the Internet and technology. Over the last few weeks, I read "Alone Together: Why We Expect More From Technology Than We Do From Each Other" by Sherry Turkle. This book takes the reader from through the author's concern that we, as a society, have gone from the idea that "technology is better than nothing" to the feeling that "technology is better than something". Confusing to consider? Turkle's book focuses on several aspects of the technological world: she explores the interactions of sociable robots and their ability for affect, which creates complicated relationships between both humans and these robots as well as these same humans and others. The human preference for the ease of 'relationship' with sociable robots, which demand nothing and yet perform the task of empathetic listening, is worthy of our concern. However, so is the downgrading of the human relationship, courtesy of the Internet, instant messaging and texting. I myself have found that my choice to opt out of Facebook has left me with a very impersonal email in-box most days. During a single day, I will receive perhaps four or five emails from actual human beings who know me, and up to twenty or so from various organizations.

Because I have chosen not to participate in Facebook, I think it is fair to consider myself out of the loop. While many of my friends expect that they are reading each others posts and being kept abreast of what's going on, I find myself longing for real-time phone conversations or nights out with these same people. I don't want to know the trivial, surfacey stuff fit for group consumption: I want to know the real person, the real you. And creating this boundary around technology in my life has had its consequences: I find out after others that people have their babies or that they got the job or that other things of interest have happened. No one just calls each other to talk anymore.

Perhaps we have forgotten how? Perhaps some of us have forgotten what it's like to have a good, meaty conversation with long pauses as we think of a reply, or wait until our own voice is clear enough to say "I'm sorry" to someone's telling of disappointment or to smile and giggle and cheer over the phone with them when the news is good. I have relatives who prefer texting these days, and it makes me sad, because I miss really finding out what's going on in their lives. I miss the richness of those "mundane" conversations, because before texting, I knew more about them than I do now. The end result, though, is that I don't text, and they've lost the desire to talk on the phone, which leaves us at somewhat of a social impasse, much in the way Facebook has.

What struck me, time and again, in Turkle's book, was the repeated assertion of interviewed teens and college students that they would someday have to "learn how to have a conversation". Historically, we humans first shared information through oral histories, storytelling, and conversation. There was a group history, a history within families, stories we referred to and understood collectively. I see that disappearing, the work to keep these traditions alive is considered to be novel. This should not be the case.

I'm still wondering about what my family stories will be to my son. What, when he gets older, I want him to remember about my own family. It's a complicated muddle, to be sure, but some of those stories are simple enough to tell him now. Both his mother and father were born on islands, far across the world from each other. My island was made from fire, from molten rock, and although I have been assimilated into the mainland white culture, the island is in my bones in a way that I cannot explain. The Pacific Ocean is part of me, part of my soul, in a way I cannot describe, the light on the water and in the sky so different than anything we can know here. My husband comes from a much tamer place, an island in the Atlantic, already part of the culture he would live in for the rest of his life. This is just the beginning of our stories...

I want to get outside, now, before my day disappears, but I will be coming back to this and linking this topic together in some way. Like the birds and the bees, there can't be just one conversation about the role of technology in our families, they must be ongoing, as needed, as we grow.

Lessons from the Compost Pile

2011-08-05T19:56:00.000-07:00

This morning found us happy to be alive. Kiddo was joyful, busy with a myriad of marbles. Joe was still home, so I went out to water the garden while life was cool and quiet. Thirty minutes of lugging the watering can back and forth (selective watering; I am not spending money to water the weeds) and then coming back in, kissing sweet husband goodbye as he headed out to work. We made scrambled eggs and I put the kettle on for my usual morning cup of tea, Kiddo at my heels.

"Can we go outside to pick berries?"

Certainly. We hadn't picked for a couple of days, which is my favorite way to go about berry picking-- coming at the Bushes of Plenty. I took my cup of tea out to the shady backyard, grateful for the overcast morning. That dear boy and I collected about a cup of blueberries from our little dwarf plants, which of course make smaller berries, then cozied in with the bees to pick at golden raspberries. The bees were busy pollinating our second round of berry flowers on canes that are reaching the roof of the garage these days. I think these are the tallest canes on that plant in my memory. We pick these raspberries not when they are gold, like you might find at the store, but when they are salmony pink and succulent and heavenly. Standing in the backyard, watching the bees dance on the robust lavender flowers, I felt satisfied deep down in my soul.

This morning was a gift. Berries in hand, we walked over to our awesome neighbor's house to share the bounty and drop Kiddo off for a playdate. Ang and his daughter, Wonder Girl, took Kiddo off on an adventure and I was left to my own thoughts for the next two hours. In the front garden, I trimmed off the dying daisies to make room for the fresher ones to shine. Old, spent alstromeria stems were pulled out to make way for the smaller new plants to grow, and a lot of iris greens were hacked down so I could have access to the green beans and tomatoes which are now loving the summer heat and producing prolifically. Although it was good to be able to see the ground that needed work, to see the spaces that needed tending, I felt a little sad that so much green had to go. Somehow, though, I thought that this was the beautiful thing about the process-- sometimes you have to clear out the pretty distractions to see what really needs one's attention. Consoling myself, I clipped an enormous bunch of deep purple butterfly bush flowers and brought them in and the house began to smell like a flower shop.

When Kiddo was dropped off, we ate lunch and then headed to the backyard. The sandbox was his busy haven and I addressed a task that had been nagging at me, namely getting the composter squared away. The lemon balm I had planted around it as a screen had begun to flower, and as much as I love lemon balm, it has the propensity to become a tenacious weed, so it had to be cleared out before it went to seed. Finally revealed, the two compartments of the composter were in a yin/yang disposition: on one side was the current compost pile, dried yard debris bitter and neglected atop a rich pile of organic matter; on the other, a small family of pumpkin plants had started to grow, green and lush. I pulled out all but one pumpkin plant on that one side, and then began to turn the decomposing matter onto itself. I got stuck; the brittle dried plants wouldn't mix with the brown goodness beneath. I decided not to worry about it at the present and got on to other task.

But Kiddo, sweet boy, found the goodness within. He told me "I want a worm". "Well, find one then."

Lesson Number One: Leaving a child to do it himself is the best first choice. I could have dug out a worm for him, but he was delighted in finding one himself. Then another. Then a bug that I wasn't sure was a biting bug or not.

Lesson Two: When in doubt, throw it back in. Sometimes, life is about taking chances, and sometimes, when you see warning signs, like yellow dots on the body of a curled-up something, it's good to let that little critter go. (Yellow, orange and red are nature's 'warning signs'. Heed the warning.)

Lesson Three: Perception is in the mind of the beholder. Kiddo walks up to me as I'm ripping dead clover out of the ground. "Mama!" he cries happily, holding his cupped hands out to show me, "Two worms are having a playdate!" He could have pretended the worms were fighting, or plain ol' wiggling but no, at the moment his beneficent mind had decided they were having a playdate.

Lesson Four: Alive or dead, everything needs water. This occurred to me later, when I'd taken stock of the dry debris. All living things need water. And to become 'live' soil, even the dead stuff needs water. The worms and slugs and snails aren't interested in dried up things, they want the juicy stuff. (Note to self: water your compost in summer!)

Lesson Five: Seek balance in all things. In this case, my compost pile is needing some green/brown (acid/alkaline) balance, so I'm heading up to the local coffee shop in the next couple days to get a big bag of grounds to add in.

and Lesson Six was learned earlier in the front yard, and proven again in back: Sometimes you have to clear out the pretty distractions to see what really needs one's attention. The lemon balm had been a too-effective screen. The citrusy scent and all the pretty green shielded me from seeing that the compost pile had needed my love. And even if it's only a compost pile, when we do things with love, in love, they turn out so much better, even if only in our own hearts.

Nearly ten years ago, when my life was so different than it is now, beginning to work in my garden saved me. It gave me a purpose beyond what I was for other people. It gave me a chance to be quiet and reflect, to noodle on some of the bigger questions in my life and to face my feelings head on. It gave me a chance to make something real, to carve up a yard with a garden knife because the grass roots were so thick a shovel simply wouldn't go in. Every space in my gardens has been dug out, at least once, on my hands and knees with simple tools and a will that I never knew I had. Over time, thirty-plus rosebushes--and their thorns-- have been removed, replaced by less showy plants that can feed, and heal, and are a balm to my heart and a feast to my eyes and senses. Rich compost is the best love I can give them, the most nourishment I can offer. Composting is a practice to me, a way of life, returning to the garden what it has given to me without measure. A sustenance like no other.

So, How Do You Like Them Apples Now?

2011-08-03T19:58:00.000-07:00

Never a dull life with a four year old. Kiddo and his newest eating habits are keeping me on my toes. Only thing is, I don't want to do this dance.

It starts like this: I'm packing a snack and looking for a healthy something to go with the pistachios, rice crackers and cheese I've already thrown into the snack bag. "Hey Kiddo, do you want some apple or carrot?" He cheerfully replies "Apple!" with such a smile on his face, you'd think I'd offered him ice cream instead. So, off we go to the park for a playdate. He has some apple slices, a bit of the other offerings, and later, an almond butter and jelly sandwich I'd made for his lunch. The "ABJ" is his fail safe standby, usually eaten without complaint. Later in the stroller, as he's starting off a long days journey through the winter of his discontent (yep, even in summer), he whines at me that he's hungry. I offer what I have for him--apples. So what a surprise to hear "I don't like apples! I want ice cream!"

Okay, not really a surprise. Kiddo's testing our limits--and my patience--in a number of areas these days. While I know that deep down, this isn't about the food, this testing does seem to be focused around food at times. As evidenced above, even when I'm giving him a reasonable choice, he is unhappy with his selection and makes attempts to subvert the status quo. And while I'm a mom who is happy to give her kid ice cream sometimes, our exchange was certainly not endearing me to the idea that my kid should have ice cream at that moment. I realize 'should' had nothing to do with it, and contrary to some other moments, I was not inclined to go down the Empathy Road of relating to his desire to have ice cream. Sometimes, we parents just don't have it in us. Maybe I should have, too, but once again, the 'should' had nothing to do with the situation.

At dinner tonight was a repeat performance in declaring "I don't like...". Tonight he declared that the green beans, freshly picked from the garden and perfectly steamed "don't taste good". I was ready to just eat them off his plate, right then-- Fine, go ahead and dislike these heavenly string beans which you helped top and tail. I will eat them all, gladly. Mwah ha ha! And don't complain if I have to bust out some canned ones in the winter. You had your chance, mister! Joe suggested waiting until he was finished, just in case he got hungry and relented. Fat chance of that. In the end, Kiddo readily ate the tofu and rice and that was fine.

Right now, I'm glad we are sticking to some of the structure I created a long time ago. The idea, inspired by Ellen Satter, who writes about feeding children, is simply this: put three options on a plate and make sure that two of them are something that he usually will eat easily. And then, the kitchen is closed. No special meals, no concessions that take me out of my way. This is the standard, and most of the time, it works fine. There are meals that I know he doesn't enjoy, like grilled veggie skewers, and then I'll make some corn or offer some frozen peas, which he likes, but I'm not making a whole second meal. As a nanny, I learned the hard way that it is not in my DNA to be a short order cook on a regular basis. Sick kids-- I have some flex with that, and you are going to get lots of brothy stuff and applesauce. But on a daily basis, it's "the Three and the Two" and that's that.

And you know what? If he chooses to go to bed hungry, that's okay with me too. He's not going to starve himself to prove a point. I'm not trying to serve him octopus or monkey eyes; I am aware of his preferences and know that those two choices are really not pressing any of his food boundaries, so to speak. However, when four year old is pressing boundaries in general, it sure can seem that I am indeed trying to feed him monkey eyes.

I have to be honest, most of the foods that kids like seriously gross me out. Their appalling sense of taste is brought to my attention time and again. The other night on Master Chef, kids had to vote for which they liked better: a 'nugget sandwich', deep fried and totally gross, or a grilled turkey burger. Even as a pescatarian, my vote would have gone straight to the turkey burger. Of course, the 'nugget' sandwich won by a landslide. While to me the words 'Nugget sandwich' sound like the punchline of a "What's Grosser than Gross?" slapdown, the kids loved it. Which just goes to show you that children have no taste and should not be allowed to make any culinary decisions until they understand and can execute a perfect julienne slice.

So, he doesn't like them apples. That's fine. I'm buying some strawberries tomorrow for a little diversity, and because I need a break on the digging in of heels around the apples. Lately, bananas have fallen out of favor. I think life's been a little too good these days for Kiddo, foodwise. We made that magnificent batch of blueberry zucchini bread; Joe indulged him with some chocolate bread the other day; he went to a birthday party a couple of days ago and had an ice cream cupcake-- lately, life's been filled with little, too-good treats. So, we're going to have to scale back for a while and let the pinnacle of sweets be some smoothie popsicles or other fruit-based goodies. Reestablish the baseline of what we normally eat.

It's not going to make everything better, but it's a start. And heck, I'll eat the apples. I still like them, anyways.

Blueberry Zucchini Insanity

2011-08-01T16:28:00.000-07:00

First, let me qualify the title of this post by stating up front that neither the blueberries or zukes are insane. I'm happy to be the one 'owning' the crazy.

Now, you might be asking "Hazel, what's so crazy goin' on at your place?" And then I'd point over to the oven where, on this 80-some-odd degree hot day, I am baking four mini-loaves of blueberry zucchini bread.

What on earth would have possessed me? Namely a zuke from the garden whose setting was on 'stealth grow'. That is to say, I looked at the golden little summer squash on Saturday morning and it was beautifully sized, perfect for grilling. Turn around again and Wham! we were the size of a loaf pan, which means not so good for cooking, but perfect for baking. Plus, Kiddo had picked a bowl of blueberries that needed using up. Add to that a Google search for a recipe*, and voila, a plan had formed.

I like plans. Frankly, I'm a bit adrift on those loose, unscheduled days. Last night I made up a calendar of the week, including Saturday as Joe will be off reading at a poetry gathering. Plugged in some activities: early gardening in the mornings, before it gets too hot; finishing our 'triceratops hat' (yes, I can make manifest darn near any "Kiddo Idea"); another trip to the zoo to see the robot dinosaurs before they leave... all good stuff. Then two playdates popped up today for later in the week and suddenly-- yeay!--structure. The bread prompted a walk to the store for applesauce and vegetable oil, so that filled in an hour for us. Now I just need to find a friend that's free to go out some evening this week and escape the home front. If this happens to be you, reading this, give me a call.

I might bring you some bread. Of course, you might get stuck with the 'just plain zucchini' loaf, because I didn't have enough blueberries to make the recipe verbatim, and threw some batter into one pan before folding the blueberries in. In any case, I'm sure it'll be great.

Checking the loaves in this heat is also a little crazy-feeling, not to mention Kiddo's keyboard has some pre-programmed tunes that he loves, which are making me a little nutty.

Which reminds me that the next time I make this, I might try some slivered almonds in the recipe. Mmmm....

*If you do try this recipe, check out the reviews below and hit the expanded view. People made great adaptations on the original. I used the half oil/half applesauce idea, as well as using whole-wheat flour to substitute half the flour, so it's got a little more health and oomph to it. And then I reduced the sugar by a half cup and used half white, half brown. Now I have to try the almond idea...when it's not 80 degrees outside!

Is It Preschool Time Yet?

2011-07-26T16:53:00.000-07:00

Ah, Summer. You are sweatin' me like a dog. Is it September yet? When do the doors of Kiddo's preschool open? I'll be first in line.

Some summer days, those yummy days when the sun is out but mild and the child has loads of happy curiosity and enthusiasm... wow, I love those days. Bottle'em up, dump'em in a tub and let me soak in them. Those are the popsicle days, the ones where nothing seems to disturb our little tempers and there just seems to be a constant giggle in the air.

And then, there are those other days. The kind that make you think that "summer vacation" is vastly overrated and that preschool can't start soon enough.

This morning was one of those times. Actually, up until ten minutes ago, when Kiddo's little friend arrived to play, I've had a mostly grumpy, complainy little boy in my midst. Picture, if you will, our time leaving the grocery store. The walk up to the store was fine, if a little whiny, but the time at the store was pleasant enough. Kiddo picked out some peaches to share with his friend in a day or so, when they're ripe. As we were leaving, he asked to sit in one of those horrid, ubiquitous car-carts, and that was fine--for a few minutes. Then when I asked him to come along, he didn't say anything, just sat in the middle of the seat and stuck his feet out spread eagle, one shoe poking out of each side window. Defiant body and face, wee pout that we've learned from a friend because he thinks it's cute. Me? Not so much.

We had to meet someone back at the house, and frankly, I just wasn't having any of that. Matter of factly: "You have a choice. Either you can get out of the little car right now on your own, or I will pull you out and it will be pretty unpleasant for you."

Well, at least I get points for not being afraid to discipline my kid in public, right?

He got out on his own, and the rest of the walk home was a mantra/song of "I'm tired of walking/You need to carry me/Carry me now Mama". Have you heard this tune before? I have it burned into my brain. I'm a firm believer that a little exercise never hurt anyone, and frankly, there's something about a four year old that has to ride in the stroller everywhere that is rather unappealing to me. Certainly, if you have two kids or more to manage, or need some containment, fine, but there's something about pushing around older children as if they are potentates because they just don't want to walk that just bugs me. Kiddo obviously disagrees with this concept, but I'm not looking forward to pushing a five year old around everywhere, so I'm setting some precedents now. The walk to the store isn't long, either. We save the stroller for longer outings, but this is within reason.

This summer has been a lesson in being the mother of a four year old. The little moments of dishonesty have begun, and I'm all for holding him accountable. The fibs are always small, little conveniences. Many times, he says he's done something that he hasn't in order to get a desired something (moving onto play, getting some attention). I call him on it. I ask him to double check that he's done his task, then remind him that "If I come in and it's not done, I'm going to need you to take some time on your own. Do you need another minute before I check on that?" Often, he takes me up on the offer to make sure things are done and says yes to more time. Big cleanups, I'm happy to help with, but little things like getting clothes to the washing or small self-care jobs, I believe he needs to be able to do without a lot of validation for dragging his feet.

Of course, there are the days when we are legitimately sad about some thing or another and I am a good sport, but days like today seem to drive me up a tree. Consequently, he was offered several times today that he could "use a pleasant voice like this (as I work to keep my own voice modulated and pleasant), or you can go into your room if you want to use the complaining voice. I don't like to hear it where I'm working."

Being a mom can make me feel like such a bitch, sometimes. Some days. Some days, I read some article about the joys and fleeting preciousness of our children and think "Please stuff it somewhere. It is not all roses and deep heartfelt moments. The parenting thing? Not enjoying it so much today, thanks." I thought this while working in the front garden this morning, pulling stubborn weeds and doing some serious grunt work. Kiddo was pounding chalk chunks with a good hefty rock, making a mess everywhere and yet complaining. All I could think was "Seriously? I am working my ass off and smell like a mule right about now. Please take your grumbling elsewhere."

Although, there was a lot of grumbling, so I can see how he couldn't take it all with him. Tee hee.

He's happy now, for the moment, and I'm feeling sapped out. Hard work and heat do it to me, and I'm so grateful that his little friend is over. Don't think by my typing this out that I've escaped my parenting duties; I've always got an ear out for voices, for stress and for too much quiet. In any case, the thought that preschool is only about a month away is both a balm and bittersweet. It means that he's going to keep on growing, growing up and growing away. He's going to be one of the 'big kids' at his school, a returnee. And after that, kindergarten won't be too far away. So, even on days like this, while I want to send him off to someone else's care for a few hours, I also want to hold onto him just a bit tighter, keep him a little longer. This sort of nostalgia plays mind tricks on parents all the time, and I'm sure that when the friend goes home, we might likely be right back where we started. But for right now, I'll have this soppy, soupy, goopy mama moment. For today, it's what I've got.

"La La Means I Love You"

2011-07-25T20:03:00.000-07:00

Saturday night found me with my mouth agape. I'd clicked onto OPB and found a recast of the 2007 Rochester Jazz Festival and there was Bill Frissell, closing out the show with what started out as a sweet, intricate version of "La La Means I Love You" and then ended up with a beautiful burning down of the house, or my brain, still not sure. (Yep, that's a link, because your life will be better if you check it out, and use the good speakers, not your crappy laptop speakers, otherwise, what's the point?) So good I had to share. Watch as Frissell loops himself and the drummer turns into slow-mo. I saw Frissell years ago at the Aladdin in collaboration with PICA and was amazed even then.

And if you need a hit of Old Style, check out the Delphonics singing "La la...". In the words of Eric Cartman, "Super Sweet". (and be sure to check out the comments for this YouTube selection. Quite candid!)

Are You Sure?

2011-07-22T19:49:00.000-07:00

I go online this morning and flip through my email. Five messages in the SPAM hopper, which I always check because occasionally a legit email gets stuck there. I peruse the senders: some king from a fantasy land has selected me to entrust with a preposterous amount of money, but first I need to send some of my own to his agent, acting on his behalf. Both Mexico and Canada are offering me a fantastic choice of pharmaceuticals to help with 'Lift Off" (nudge nudge wink wink). And I always look for my favorite spam from "Sexy Time"; the subject line asks "Do you want Sexy Time?", and this reminds me of an SNL skit centered around the idiosyncratic use of the English language by non-native English speakers, which is why it is my silly favorite.

Checking all the boxes, I hit "delete" and am met with this question:

"Are you sure you want to delete all five messages?"

Ummm...yeah?

These sorts of queries are almost confusing. Should I not be sure? It's spam, right? I checked the box specifically so that I could delete those specific messages. Wait, are they implying that I should be sending money to the King of Nowheresland's agent's private off-shore account? In my haste, am I missing a great deal on Levitra, something we most certainly do not (yet) need? What about Sexy Time? Maybe my life would be better if right now, at 7:30 in the morning, I did want Sexy Time after all?

Too much consideration about nothing. But the same can be said for the library website. I adore our library, but its website is also alarmist in its warnings. The library computer is kind enough to send me an email every so often, letting me know that materials will soon be due and that I can renew them online. This is lovely, and I do take advantage of these services. However, after a recent update of their system, for a while every time I went to renew books, I encountered three different screens. The first screen shows the materials and their original due dates, and it is on this screen that I hit the "renew all" button. It used to be that a second screen asked "Renew All will renew all items. Do you want to renew all items?" Are we serious? If confronted with this option, is there anyone who stops and thinks "You know, on second thought, I'd better not. Think I'll make life interesting and chance the over dues!" So then, I press "Yes", because that's a hoop we now have to jump through, making a decision twice by formalizing the first request. I am compelled to wonder how it came to this. Were there long, heated conversations with library patrons? "I did not want to renew this book! Why did your computer program say I renewed it when I had no intention of renewing?! Please, let me pay the fines I didn't get to accrue!" Not me. Renew them all. And give me an extra extension if possible, please.

So, this weird second-guessing feels like nutty caretaking from a dotty grandmother. "Do you want a sweater? No? Are you sure you don't want a sweater? Take a sweater, you might need it. I think you might need that sweater, dearie." All I can think is "I don't want the sweater. It's 90 degrees outside, Granny, so we can talk this into circles, but I'm leaving now, without the sweater, and you can lay an 'I told you so' on me later."

In the meantime, I will keep doing risky things like deleting with impunity, "Renew All"-ing and "Navigating Away From This Page". From my perspective, if we are smart enough to be operating a computer, are these warnings really necessary? Maybe. After all, maybe I'm not all that bright if I keep passing up offers for Sexy Time....

Summer Sell-Out

2011-07-19T17:41:00.000-07:00

Summer. Ahhhh, summer. Time to sell out my brain for some mindless distraction.

Somehow, perhaps from those 13 years of school--oh too long ago-- my brain has been programmed to be slightly turned off once July rolls around. I'm trying not to think too hard about anything, hence the email I sent to my girlfriend the other night:

re: Colin Firth Alert

Bridget Jones' Diary is on at 8 on channel 32. Just thought you'd want to know.

Now, where did I stash my drool cup?...
;)~....

If you want to know what that last squiggly thing is, I've now created an icon for drooling over Colin Firth. You may use it if you need something handy for any other hotties as well.

As you can see, my brain is not pondering anything too thinky, but just enjoying cute guys and other silly distractions. TV has been one of them, as well as a few tasty morsels. Come along and tour my Land O' Vices...

First off, The Legend of the Seeker gave our summer the right kind of start. Based on Terry Goodkind's "Sword of Truth" series of fantasy novels, Seeker is perfect entertainment for the D&D crowd, which is why I bought it for my husband. (If there were such a thing as a "card carrying" D&D enthusiast, he'd have a stack of those cards.) Why did I enjoy it so much? It just kicks all sorts of ass. If you liked Sam Raimi's "Zena" or "Hercules" franchises, you'll likely enjoy this. Laden in its own mythology with attractive lead characters and an undeniably sexy villain, along with decent storyline to take you along for the ride, Seeker is great for chillin' out on a summer evening. They wrapped the show up after two seasons, but we're hoping for a season three someday. Never say never. Richard Cypher, The Seeker himself, wouldn't.

Now, for something completely more drecky: "How can you watch that crap?" states my dear friend Kathee, but really, once Hell's Kitchen comes on, I just can't help myself. I'm not even adding a link for this show: either you know it and love it or you probably just don't care. Culinary enlightenment is a great excuse for watching Gordon Ramsey get all bitchy with the wannabes, who sometimes wholeheartedly deserve the criticism that comes their way. I also admit to enjoying Master Chef (which Ramsey hosts and co-judges), even if another dear friend does accuse Joe Bastianich of being a total bastard (and at times, on the show, he does seem to be one, so I'm not arguing there)... he's often right in his opinions. And no, I'm not sorry for the contestants. They all owned televisions and knew what they were in for-- it's not the first season of either show. However, on MC I am rooting for Allejandra, whose spicy combinations are usually creative and interesting. Her recipes seem individual and interesting enough to garner her own cookbook, which is part of the prize. I'd never go on the show, because I'd get flayed. Gotta be smart enough to know one's own limitations, and this totally fits the bill for mindless entertainment.

Another summer love is Annie Chun's packs of Sesame Seaweed. I can eat a whole package of those seaweed squares (okay, they're rectangles, but it just doesn't sound as good) and the total caloric intake is probably 3 calories. They're incredibly addictive...if you are the kind of person who can get hooked on seaweed. I am.

Trader Joe's Savory Thin Mini Rice Crackers Multiseed with Soy Sauce: If you like those little oriental rice crackers they sell, but are tired the ubiquitous 'chili bits', these are a delight. Same awesome taste with seeds, which are a good source of ALA Omega-3s. I could eat these by the bowl-full, they're that good.

Tanqueray Gin and Tonic (tonic? preferably Schwepps). Seriously...Do I need to say more?

Graphic Novels: I'm loving the 'reading but not reading' vacation of the graphic novel. Thus far this summer, top hits have been "The Imposter's Daughter: A True Memoir" by Laurie Sandel and "Hey Princess" by Mats Jonsson. Both showcase lead characters trying to find what it all means in a fluctuating world', the former, of her father's making, the latter, of his own. Also to add to the list is "With the Light" by Keiko Tobe, a 15 volume manga series which follows the lives of a mother Sachiko, her autistic son Hikaru, and their family as Hikaru grows up in contemporary Japan. Tobe wrote the series, inspired by a classmate of her son's, to raise awareness and educate the public about autism. Up next on my shelf is Kevin Sacco's "The Plane Story".... looking forward to this 'lighter' reading.

The other things I love about summer are all to be found outside: the daisies and alstromeria and gaura blooming like crazy in the front garden; carrot fronds waiting patiently to get big and bushy; fresh shucking peas, zucchini, and the promise of tomatoes and green beans, their dainty flowering vines curling up the poles they're planted on; lavender bringing the bees; the Japanese anemones budding, future white flowers hidden inside; the rock garden full of sedums in blooms of yellow and pink; the nasturtiums finally popping out a few apricot yellow flowers and the zinnias growing steadily. Sandbox play, bees everywhere, ladybugs all over the place (I loves you, you ladybugs you!) and sometimes, we even get some sunshine. Time to go pick a few golden raspberries and call it a day. Enjoy your summer too, and if you have any favorites, share them with us. I can't believe anyone else's list could be sillier than mine... we won't laugh at you, I promise!

The Dinosaur Deal...and Then Some

2011-07-17T09:18:00.000-07:00

For the past few weeks, Kiddo has been asking for some bigger dinosaur toys. He's got a couple handfuls of the mini ones, and has recently enjoyed some fun times playing with other people's big dinos, especially his cousin Eli's while camping and those in "The Cave" at Fossil Cartel. In preparation for the garage sale I offered him an opportunity: he could sell some of his toys and then use the money to buy some dinos he wanted. Sounds reasonable, right?

It sounded reasonable enough to Kiddo. He agreed to this idea, and kept asking when we'd get his dinosaurs. He's four, and a wait time of a week can be tough--for everyone, I was beginning to realize. The more I thought about this, the more I could see the wrinkles in this idea. What if there weren't a lot of takers for toys at the sale? What about the experience of having "x" amount of money to spend at a toy store without the math skills to back this adventure up? He's just learning about three fingers on each hand together making six fingers total. As I thought through this more and more, other aspects stood out as problematic. At four, I'm not sure it's right that a child's expectations hinge upon the market. It didn't seem quite right for him to wait all week for a lot of possibles. Truthfully, too, I did not want to do the complicated math shopping trip to the toy store with him. With all this in mind, I came up with a more age-appropriate and far simpler idea:

Kiddo would trade us his toys, pre-sale, for two dinosaurs. This seemed more cut and dry and we could get said dinos and move on. Joe and Kiddo agreed, and so our plan was set into action. Last Saturday, Kiddo had scored big-time at a garage sale with the purchase a styracosaurus for a dime. On Sunday, we asked him to chose two companions for "Styro", he wanted an triceratops and a Tyrannosaurus rex. Monday lunchtime, dear Joe was kind enough to run to the toy store: triceratops was waiting, but the only T rexs were those of the elite German Schiller descent and very expensive, so he settled for an Allosaurus. Kiddo was delighted; he didn't care that his creatures were from different periods (the ceratopsians are Lower Cretaceous; allosaurus is Jurassic), he was just so happy. From that point on, a lot of inter-period dino combat has been happening in our house, which sounds like this:

Allosaurus: I'm going to eat you.
Styro and Triceratops: Uhhhhhaaaooooohhhhhhh. (the sound of bellowing dinosaurs) Poke! Poke! Poke!

Two against one for poor Allosaurus. He's totally out of his period and now he's cornered by two roaring creatures who gore him constantly....and yet he doesn't run away. Maybe not all that smart, huh?

It is also now a house rule that we cannot play "Dino Fights" until every member of the family is awake.

Well, the universe took to spoiling my boy a bit, because yesterday during the garage sale, I gave him three dollars to go buy rocks with at Fossil Cartel, which Joe tells me he held onto in awe for the entire car ride.
As my friend Kathee and I tended our sale, Joe called me from downtown. Not only had Kiddo purchased two rocks (agatized coral and turtilla fossil jasper), but Joe had taken him to the toy store and bought him a parasauralophus. "Sucker!" I gleefully chortled into the phone. "Now you have to stop by your work so that 'parasauralophus can go to the office'." This is a nonsense rhyme question that we ask each other from time to time, and yes, yesterday, parasauralophus did indeed go to the office. Then back home to make friends with Allosaurus, who was likely delighted to have some not-too-threatening and period-correct prey.

Lastly, as my dear friend Lissa came to clear out our leftovers to sell for her church's Missions fundraiser sale*, she brought along another friend and his daughter, a playmate of Kiddo's. Said daughter brought Kiddo three more dinos to add to his collection because she had moved on past them...but she had no problem giving them a 'bath' with Kiddo, in pans of collected rainwater and stirred around with sticks, as if they were being made into dinosaur stew.

So, all that to say that within a week, we have become rich in dinosaurs. The garage sale went well; all of Kiddo's toys did sell, and most of our stuff went away forever. A few things did return to the house to be sold later (cds will head to Music Millenium, our old coffee table and funky lamp will be making an encore appearance at a Vintage Sale next month) and I think we've decided to keep the lava lamp. Silly us, but it's somehow blobby and enjoyable and we all like it. It's a little weird pretend prehistory in a glass tube, but we like it all the same. And it kinda goes with the dinosaurs, if you know what I mean.

* If you live in the Portland/Gresham area and love a good sale, or just have some things in your own house that need to move on, please come to the BRING and BUY Sale on August 6th. This is a fundraiser for East Hill Foursquare Church's mission trip to Esperanza Viva Home for At-Risk Youth in Puebla, Mexico. There will be a great selection of books, clothes, house wares, furniture, toys, games and many other items for you to purchase. Come shop for things you need or fun finds! All proceeds will help team members minister to kids in need in Mexico.

Please bring your used items in good condition to donate to the sale as well!

What: Bring & Buy Sale

Why: Fundraiser to support East Hill’s Mission Team to the Esperanza Viva Youth Home in Puebla, Mexico

When: Saturday, August 6, 2011 from 9am to 6pm

Where: Grassy area behind the East Hill Office Complex (near N Main Ave & NW 5th St in downtown Gresham)

The Weird Guy

2011-07-15T08:27:00.000-07:00

There's something to be said for not letting kids in on what's going on, especially when it's only likely to raise fears or anxiety.

Last weekend, an awesome woman I know had her house robbed. If this has never happened to you, be glad. Having your home broken isn't just horrible, it is terrifying in that it can totally destroy your sense of security, even if only temporarily. Someone's been there. In your house, in your room, in your drawers, in your kids room. It goes beyond invasive. However, what seemed most incredible to me was that she and her husband had managed to contain the situation so well that their four year old child had no idea anything bad had happened. Their upset, anger and fears did not overwhelm their parenting choices and their son had come through this event with his sense of safety and security intact. This must have taken a remarkable amount of forethought and self-discipline on the part of everyone in their small world, and what a lovely amazing gift to her child.

Yesterday, this came to mind at a helpful moment, when I needed it most. Kiddo and I had taken a walk to a place we call Quiet Park, which is the playground of a former elementary school that now houses a Head Start program. The park is nearly always quiet; people pass through with their dogs to the off-leash area, or use it to cut through to the neighborhood below. At the top of the park sits the playground and an open space ringed loosely with tree, but going down the hill, there are larger trees, more lush and beautiful, and at the bottom, a walkway between two openings in the fence. After a few trips down the slide, Kiddo wanted to see all the trees at the bottom, so he took my hand and led me down the hill. We stopped and marveled at a fat bumblebee nuzzling the white clover blossoms, then watched the graceful aerodynamics of a swallow or two, flying crazy and low through the air, hairpin-turning and awesome to watch. A woman quickly ran down the path, like she was late for something, and we talked about the flowers growing on the trees.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw a man climbing a fence a the lowest point of the park, near one of the hospital parking lots. This raised a red flag; the entrances weren't that far away, why would he go to the trouble of jumping the fence? He disappeared, then reappeared, and something just didn't seem right about him. By this point, I'd already turned ourselves around to head back up the hill to play, but something just kept nagging at me. I'd see him, and then.... he'd be gone. He was working his way up the hill toward us. We'd just reached the play structure and Kiddo wanted to play some more, and I felt terrible for saying no, but now this guy was in sight again. He'd apparently found a plastic hoop from the preschool and was banging it on a fence near the school building. I kept walking, Kiddo protesting. He didn't want to go, he wasn't done playing. What should I say to him?

This was when my friend's actions buzzed in my head. "He doesn't need to know about this weird guy, he just needs to move past the moment." Suddenly, it all seemed simple and clear: give him his two bits of empathy, and this was the right time for a distraction bribe, which I usually reserve solely for shots. "You know, Kiddo, I made us leave without giving you time to do your One Last Thing*. Thanks for coming with me. Would you like to have a little ice cream when we get home?" No explanations, just something to look forward to. My beating heart eventually slowed to its usual pace and the rest of our walk was quite fun; we got the treat of spying a crane working at the hospital, so we hunted it down and watched it work for ten minutes or so, then found an excavator too, and finally headed home to a bowl of berries topped with ice cream.

Kiddo never knew what happened, and because of this, we didn't introduce one of many of the scary things in this world that can make both children and their parents feel helpless. I'll never know if the weird guy was actually being a sketchy character or just plain old weird in a harmless sort of way. My take on it is this: erratic behavior is erratic behavior. Some people have no problem controlling their actions, some may have mental or intellectual issues or disabilities which seem outside the norm but are harmless, and I also know enough that there are some people with whom it is very difficult to conventionally reason with. I can't honestly say that even if I'd been solely with a group of adults, I wouldn't have suggested leaving or cutting a wide berth. I just knew this person's actions appeared to be unusually unpredictable, and my mama-senses said to go, so I left. That's what instinct is for. I'll never know what was really up with this guy, and Kiddo---well, he'll never know what went on at all.

*At the park or other fun places, we give Kiddo a warning that we'll need to leave and then he gets a final warning of "Go do your One Last Thing". He wasn't out of line to protest leaving -- he hadn't been given his usual transition cues, and because I needed to waver from the routine, I needed to acknowledge it.

Garage Sales: The Price of the Past

2011-07-14T08:45:00.000-07:00

Sometimes, something which seems simple is so much more complex than one could ever think.

This week, along with various dinosaur duties* and other quotidian tasks, I am preparing for a garage sale. This should be simple, right? Pull out a bunch of stuff, pop on price stickers and stick them into a box to wait for the weekend. It sounds so easy unless you decide to have a sale not to sell, but to purge. Our house has been holding a super-sized amount of certain items: glassware, bar ware (we have enough martini shakers to get a small army drunk), kid's toys, and cds are the most egregious offenders of our space. The cds, especially. We have at least a couple hundred copies of cds, nevermind the actual "in the jewel case with the packaging" stuff. I have a stack of nearly 200 for Joe to sort through tonight; I've kept all of our 'for sure' favorites, but honestly, I can't remember when I've ever heard him play some others and they have the dust to prove it.

Organizing a garage sale with another human being can be mindnumbingly frustrating. I'm more methodical; grab up one type of object, pack them in boxes so that like things are stored with like. While the old Betamax machine and the corresponding Beta tapes are nicely boxed, Joe's pile in the basement is just that-- a pile. I'll amend that, actually, and say it's an Ugly Pile. Old games (a Simpson's Game, anyone? We've never played it....why would you?), some shoes, some other crazy stuff that I haven't yet identified because I am waiting for the pile to be brought upstairs by the man himself... this is stuff that might be best presented in one of the Free Boxes. We'll have at least 2 or more, because when you are purging, there's nothing better than the stuff just being Gone.

That's the promise we've made: he'll pull out stuff he feels good about letting go of, and he has to let me price them and It's Not Coming Back Inside. A friend has been alerted to my scheme...she can haul stuff away for her missions fundraiser for next month, or it goes to the Goodwill that evening. "After the sale, this stuff shall not again cross the threshold!" I declared this to my husband like a priest at an exorcist--once this stuff is gone, it stays gone.

But what price to put on memories? Sentimental value is inflation at its worst. Looking philosophically at garage sales, here's my perspective: I really dislike going to garage sales that don't price things to move. Three bucks for a bucket of glitter glue pens? Well, okay, yeah, it's cheaper than the store, but not a garage sale bargain, in my opinion. For me, if I'm going to try making some money back on items I'm selling, I'm probably going to scare people away. Cheaper is better for us. Being able to have all of the cds contained in one area of the house is far more important than making money back on them. Having formerly worked at a record store for nearly ten years, I am quite familiar with the folly of this thinking.

Garage sale pricing is about understanding that, while you may have had an awesome time in Europe wearing that jacket, your prospective buyer is just looking for a cheap jacket-- the experiences of Paris or Barcelona don't come with it. I price with the understanding that these objects have yet to accrue sentimental value for someone else. I have a beautiful fluted glass bowl, purchased for two dollars at a garage sale in San Francisco, in which I force paperwhites every winter. There's no way you could have sold it to me for more than four or five bucks at the time of purchase, but now I have the good memories of visiting my dear friend Jen in SF, over 10 years ago, and the bowl has become a meaningful player in how we celebrate the winter, priceless to me at this point.

I am looking forward to Saturday, to letting go of so much and saying goodbye to it once and for all. The profit that come from this will first go to pay for the Dinosaur Deal (which will be the next blogpost) and then the rest will be gravy. And perhaps buy us some dinner out on Saturday night, because we are going to be beat. The real payoff is the space we'll have, hopefully not to be filled in with more clutter. More space to breathe. I have a vision for our home, eventually, and want to keep working toward it. In the meantime, it's all priced to move...

*If you were wondering, Dinosaur Duties includes making sure they have a place to sleep at night (near the bed, on their own little bed and covered with a blanket), making sure they all make it indoors after being buried in the sandbox, and getting to dry them off after their baths in the bin full of water, stones and marbles. Last night all of the dinos were washed and we read their bellies for their names and thus began the chant "Allosaurus, Made in China... Triceratops, Made in China... Edmontosaurus,Made in China". Now Kiddo thinks everything is made in China. Not true, but those German dinos are really expensive!

Leading by Example: Around the House

2011-07-11T10:11:00.000-07:00

Lately, I've been keenly aware that Kiddo is watching every little thing I do and listening to every exclamation and exhalation. Yes, even the sighs don't escape his notice. "Mama, why did you go 'hmmmm'?" I am wary of complaining, lest I teach him discontent, so often my answer is more reflective: "Oh, I'm just thinking about something" or "Oh, I'm just working out a problem right now", which seems more progressive than griping.

I am trying to get into the habit of not complaining and to instead focus on solving the problem at hand, the source of my own discontent. Complaints and grumbles seem to stay in the air and have no good purpose. Staying positively focused feels far more empowering when one is faced with the daily trials and tribulations of endless housework... the dishes that seem to reappear from nowhere; the piles of dirty clothes that seem to clone themselves just when my back is turned. Dust bunnies which regenerate at what seems like lightning speed. And let's not forget the toys, which have been possessed by the spirit of Manifest Destiny. Some days, I'm pretty sure I can hear them strategizing: "We've made it this far, to the edge of the carpet. Let us go forth and populate the fertile ground of the living room, and then let us stretch out further beyond, into the forbidding orange Formica plains of the kitchen. We shall meet a terrible foe there, the one the child calls "Mama". She shall hurl us backward, but have strong hearts, we will do our best to trip her up and vex her before she banishes us from the land there."

Having a good sense of humor helps, considerably. This summer, as I spend long day after day with Kiddo, I work to be thoughtful about modeling a pleasant attitude and willingness to do things I don't particularly want to do. Let's be honest here, not every day is a shout-out success. But being mindful of what I say and do, and the messages those words and actions send, does make things easier in the long run.

At the table: This is the first area of self-restraint. I am careful not to mention foods I don't like and not to draw attention to them. Out and about, it's easy to ask for "no lettuce, no onion" on my veggie burger, but at home when Joe's eating a salad, I keep my mouth shut. Or if someone offers something I don't care for, a simple "no thanks" is all that's needed. We have made a habit, long ago, of simply saying "oh, I'm not fond of" such and such, instead of vehemently stating how much we "hate" something, or using other descriptions of dislike. We don't force Kiddo to eat anything he's not interested in trying, and we certainly try not to set an example of unwillingness, so if we don't care for it, we don't talk about how revolting we might find it, even if it is revolting. Everyone in the world eats different things, and I want my son to taste new foods without preconceived ideas.

The same can also be said about junk food. We do have our nights of eating chips in front of the tv after Kiddo is asleep, just like most couples, and we do try to make the healthier choices in front of Kiddo while he's at the table with us. If he's watching us eat junk food on a regular basis, that's going to be what he thinks grown-ups do. By serving healthy meals and smaller sweet treats within reason, and drinking lots of water, we show him what a healthy plate looks like.

Doing our Work: The act of living inside any dwelling, even the most basic, requires work. In "On the Banks of Plum Creek", Laura Ingalls Wilder recalls how Ma Ingalls swept the dirt floor of their dug-out home every day. That takes discipline, in my opinion, sweeping a dirt floor. Having a time to do the jobs required to keep the house running smoothly requires a lot of explanations to Kiddo when he asks "Why won't you play with me?" If I mope and gripe, chances are he will think these tasks are indeed onerous and boring. Instead, I try to give simple explanations: It's nice to have clean dishes or clean clothes. The kitchen looks so good when all the dirty things are washed up. We have room to play or cook now that a space in the house is clean. Making our beds makes the rooms look more comfortable; picking up our toys allows us more room to play with the ones we want to use now. We feel better in tidy rooms, and while I'm nowhere near done on making our house tidy, the progress that is made helps.

Likewise, working in the garden requires a lot of time and dedication. With the summer heat, many mornings find me watering the garden before I've had a cup of tea or breakfast. Kiddo is invited to help, and once again, the tasks are presented as helpful. The flowers look so cheerful when they are watered, the zucchini, cucumbers, carrots, tomatoes and peas all need tending so that we might have good food. Keeping the weeds at bay is important, and so some of my time is spent not playing outdoors, but working to make sure our plants have a good growing season. Best of all is when we might bring the bounty indoors; grilled zucchini for dinner, a freshly pulled carrot to chomp or an arrangement of flowers to brighten up the room. Noticing the good things that come from our work brings a spiritual aspect to the nurturing work of tending the garden, or even taking care of the cat, who hasn't yet grown thumbs and can't feed himself.

You Do What I Do: Let me say that this is one of the areas in child rearing when leading by example is so important. If Kiddo needs sunblock on, I must wear some also. If he must brush his teeth, I'll often brush mine at the same time. Wearing a sun hat, even when I'd prefer not to, is something I must do so as to teach good self-care to my child. All of those aspects of good hygiene--washing one's hands, bathing, making sure our hair is combed and untangled--all this must be modeled by myself and my husband if our son is to develop good habits on his own.

This modeling also extends to other aspects of life. Returning library books in a timely manner shows good stewardship and that we are willing to take our turns and live by another's rules. Limiting my own screen time shows my son that there are more important, better things to do during the day. Getting exercise by taking brisk walks or hikes puts a priority on moving one's body, and sitting down to read and relax daily honors the needs of the body to rest for a while. Using a quieter voice in the common spaces or waiting for a conversation to finish instead of interrupting, being considerate when someone nearby is on the telephone shows children that they are part of a world bigger than just themselves and their own desires or agenda. Others around us need special considerations from time to time; it's not all about us.

At the end of the day... bedtime is a time for restful talk, reading books and relaxing before sleep. Our routine starts with the usual self-care tasks--changing into pajamas so the clothes we wore all day don't dirty the sheets and bed, the brushing of teeth, face washing and using the bathroom-- all these come first. Then, there are the stories, and lastly, the most important time of all, our gentle review of the day. "What did you like doing today?" I always ask Kiddo, and he never answers directly, but always turns the question back to me "What did yooooou like doing today, Mama?" And so a litany of the days activities begin, with one exception: I don't focus on the harder spots, unless he brings them up himself. Instead, it might go like this:
"Well, PeaPod, I liked watering the garden with you this morning. I liked picking peas with you, and bringing in some flowers. I liked when we walked to the store and stopped to look at the ladybugs on that leaf. I liked when you took a bath and how you made your dinosaurs ride in that plastic tub for their boat. I liked when I did the dishes and you worked next to me in the bubbles while I did the washing up in the other sink. And I liked how you got your pajamas on the right way, the first time I asked, and that you picked a really great book for story time, because I love that one too. And I love you."

Never underestimate the positive power of this sort of reflection. Even when the day is rough and we've had to use a lot of discipline or do a lot of problem-solving, right before bed is the time when he might bring those hard moments up, but not me. I'd prefer us to end the day feeling closer to each other, for him to feel secure in my love and esteem for him. Even in the midst of the daily challenges and small failures, he is still lovable, and that my first thoughts to him are not of his mistakes, but of moments he can feel proud of himself in. I believe that as long as we are giving guidance and addressing the challenges and behavioral issues 'in the moment', that the end-of-the-day positive feedback isn't a whitewash, but something that conveys trust. I know who Kiddo really is, and acknowledge who he's capable of being, and he falls to sleep, knowing he has the power to make a positive impact on our lives as a family. Loving him just for being there with me.

This has a trickle-down effect, too, for when I am ready to turn out my own light, I might be exhausted, but satisfied that we had some good moments and that tomorrow holds more opportunities to do it all over again. Some of those tasks will make me sigh, but the day will have purpose and meaning, and the next night offers up again that quiet, loving space between Kiddo and I, where we have peace with each other. It makes leading by example worth so much more than just showing him how to do what I want him to do, because I am also living the kind of life which I value for him. We mothers often put ourselves last. Leading by example put us in a loving parallel place, where we value and care for ourselves as we do our child. The goodness of our positive actions goes beyond the teaching of our youngsters, and carries over to the good which is done in our own hearts and lives.

Parents: Lead by Example

2011-07-06T14:51:00.000-07:00

A hot day in Portland, and Kiddo and I have set off on yet another Fountain Adventure Day. We stop first at Portland State University to see some small decorative fountains which can't hold much more than the pennies we toss in. Then we press on to some of the city's larger fountains, Lovejoy Fountain and Ira's Falls, respectively. At the first, a man resembling a bowl of lumpy gray oatmeal is cooling his legs. Kiddo asks to go into the water, and I tell him that we can't, but not because this guy is funky: there is a sign just a couple yards away which specifically tells people that the fountain isn't intended for wading or water play. The second large fountain we walk by used to be a popular summer swimming and wading spot when I was in high school, and it still is, despite an identical sign posted prominently. Here, it is harder to explain to Kiddo that we can't wade. The smell of chlorine is thickly present, as mothers wade with their babies and older kids swim and dip their entire bodies underwater in the large pockets and pools of the fountain. "Are they being bad people, Mama?" Kiddo asks me. Instead of giving a complex answer, I suggest a great place that is okay for wading; we just have to walk a little farther. With that said, we trudge onward to Salmon Street Springs (a sanctioned waterplay fountain on the waterfront) and my sense of having done right as a parent is intact.

So, what's the harm of ignoring the signs? To the passing glance, everything looked safe enough. Then again, there was water deep enough for a person to submerge, and no lifeguard present. Toddlers waded in their Pull-Ups, so "ewww" on that one. But the biggest harm is that one day, when Kiddo can read and sees me ignoring signs, he's going to think that he's exempt from the rules too.

I have to lead by example, and believe me, it's not always most convenient choice. Yet part of being a parent is growing up enough to put our own convenience and preferences aside for our children's betterment. Most parents would agree that being intoxicated in front of the kids is a big no-no, but there are many other things adults might do that are still just as dangerous or negatively influential as having had one too many. Some people joke that rules are made to be broken, but when some rules are broken, the results can be tragic and permanent.

Here are some areas in which we parents can positively model behaviors that might actually save our child's life:

Buckle Up. It doesn't matter if you are only driving the car into the garage, buckle up each time. Our family's practice is that the car doesn't start until we're all strapped in. When parents show the importance of this simple act, we set the example that our children should do the same. Each and every time, anywhere you go. If you have to unbuckle someone for a minute, pull over.

Hang Up That Phone on the Road. Here in Oregon, a driver must use a headset or another hands-free device to talk on their phone. This law is a joke to many drivers and is more or less routinely ignored. Worse yet, we've been told time and again that distracted driving is just as bad or perhaps even more dangerous than driving under the influence of alcohol, yet still people feel this impairment doesn't apply to them. It's other people that are more at risk, those less-experienced drivers. Above it all, are we? Do your kid (and perhaps someone else's) a favor and pull over to take that call. It only takes a minute and you might save a life...even if it's the life of your future teen driver, who will remember that "we don't answer the phone while we're on the road.".

Wear Your Own Helmet. I can't stress this one enough. If you don't wear a helmet when you are on wheels, why should your kids? Your head isn't any stronger or less vulnerable. On a recent camping trip, a father and his kids were playing a game of chase on bikes; only one child was wearing a helmet, and it was in the 'fashion-hat' position, on the back of her head so that her forehead was exposed. You might think that because you didn't wear a helmet as a kid (and you turned out just fine!) that you don't need one now. Let me ask: do you plan on the kids driving you to the ER? Don't put your children in the position of having to witness their parent seriously injured. And no, even close to home isn't an excuse. There's no invisible cushion protecting you or your children just because they're in the neighborhood or right in front of the house. This is magical thinking at its worst. Get yourself and your children a correctly-sized helmet and wear it properly. Just pack a cap in your bag if you are worried about "helmet hair". Frankly, I'm more worried about my child having a disabled or dead parent than I am about my hairdo. And for the sake of water safety, you have to wear your own life jacket, too. They're not just for kids. In bad conditions, age or experience won't prevent you from drowning. No one plans for accidents to happen--they just do.

Obey the Traffic Signals. You might be in a hurry, but jaywalking is still a big no-no. If Jenny and Junior know that mom sometimes crosses against the light because "it's fine" and she's in a hurry, they are more likely to do it too, when adults aren't present. The same goes for that already-yellow light; do you want your future teen driver blasting through 'pink' lights, risking their safety for an extra few seconds? When we slow down, we send a message that the safety of ourselves and everyone else around us is most important. We do even better when we teach our children to routinely use hand signals when biking and to mind traffic control signs. That stop sign posted over on the right isn't just for cars, so while they're young we can instill the good habits of stop, look, and listen, on foot, on the bike, or in the car.

Notice Other Signs, and Heed Them. Do you expect your children to follow the rules all the time, or only when it works for them? Older children who can read notice when we don't follow the rules ourselves. Whether the signs say "no food or drink" or "DANGER--STAY OUT" we are setting the life example that when rules are posted, we follow them. It's good to point these out to our kids, so that they know that the rules apply to everyone, even adults. No one is exempt, even if no one else is watching. Obviously, kids aren't always ecstatic about having to follow directions or rules, but if they see Mom and Dad also complying with those posted expectations--even when it might not be 'necessary' or 'convenient', they have a powerful message that those instructions are to be heeded, every time. When Mom and Dad show that they themselves aren't above the posted guidelines, it does make a good impression.

When we take a moment to make the right choices, even if it means taking longer to do something or having to jump through an extra hoop or two, we are modeling not just 'how to be' in the world, we are teaching our children how to be considerate citizens as adults. Something many of us wish more adults were. We can start now. Read the signs, heed the signs, think about what our kids are seeing from us. It's one of the smartest things we parents can do.

All-American Work Ethic

2011-07-04T15:51:00.000-07:00

This Independence Day is being honored at our house not with shows of red, white and blue patriotism or fireworks, but with a day focused on the uniquely-American phrase muttered by those with determination and a heads-down work ethic: "Git'er done".

I've been at it since 2:30 this morning, when Kiddo woke us up. "Mama," he called, "there's something stinky in my bed!" Aside from the fact that this is something no parent wants to hear at any time of day, I trudged down the stairs and into Kiddo's room. A bleary-eyed survey of the room showed no trace of anything really bad (namely, poop), the sniff test revealed nothing. I sent Kiddo to go potty and then lay down with him.

"Mama, there's something stinky." he said, face to face snuggled up with his arm wrapped around my neck.

Yeah, dude, it's your breath, I wanted to tell him. Instead, I reminded him that it was A Sleeping Time and I Wanted To Sleep. So, he nodded off and I woke in fits and starts and he drilled into me with his hard little head or ground his elbow into my ribs. At seven thirty, when he finally woke, I headed back upstairs to catch up on a little peaceful sleep, newly thankful that in our land of large and excess, king-sized beds did actually exist.

Up again and busy an hour or so later. Played puzzles with Kiddo while I drank my tea. Watered the garden, showered, made some tabbouleh for dinner (because nothing says "Fourth of July " like tabbouleh, right?), made lunch, then researched clocks for Kiddo. I've wanted one of those "Okay to Wake" clocks, with a colored light clock face that changes color at the waking time. But besides the fact that they are so ugly and received marginal reviews, the price and the shipping time were both deterrents. Nothing like a little necessity to inspire a little creative thinking, so after lunch we headed to the store for a 24 outlet timer and a blue night-light bulb. Bingo! Foolproof, other than now we will be even more cranky when Kiddo wakes us in the wee hours because of bad breath. "Do you SEE the blue light on? No. Go to sleep." stomp stomp stomp back upstairs to our own beds.

As I type, I am still in the process of turning at least 2 quarts of cherries into sauce. Rinse, sort, trim off the bad spots, pit, mix with cornstarch, sugar, lemon juice, brandy and water and bake in the oven forever. And I've still got eggs to boil for the macaroni salad. Joe's been busy, today too, picking cherries, cleaning out a problem-room of his (you know, one of those places where it all gets dumped and then forgotten), and doing dishes when my own dishpan hands look like wrinkled raisins. All this cooking requires the dishes to be washed again and again.

So, this is my snack time, sipping an iced tea with fizzy water and thinking about the spirit of the day. The United States wasn't founded on star-spangled songs or dyed-daisy flower arrangements, but on a strong work ethic. We've had to 'git'er done' for a long, long time. Today was just one day, but it's been a busy one. I'll be glad at eight tonight when the last dishes have been washed, my stomach will be full with good salads and smoked salmon, and I sit around watching something silly and enjoying the rest of the day. Oh, and eating some vanilla soy ice cream with cherry sauce. If that isn't wonderfully red and white, well then I don't know what is.

Cool Fun in the Summertime

2011-07-02T08:06:00.000-07:00

Now that it's actually starting to look like summer, what's a stay at home parent to do? Some of us don't actually want to be out in the stinkin' hot heat of the day. Some of us have more moles than a hillside in England, and so we're hoping to stave off the melanoma monster. My sister's dermatologist says that 10 a.m. to 2 pm are the times to avoid being exposed to sun on a hot summer day.

So how do we have it "made in the shade" for a chunk of time every day? Here are some ideas.

1. Buy a canopy cover for the sandbox. Or any other play area where kiddo is going to be spending some quality time out of your hair. Last year, my dad gave us one he picked up at a garage sale. This year, it sits squat over a sandbox filled with Tonka construction equipment, glass 'gems' (left by the elves), various scoops and shovels, dimetrodon and spinasaurus and weird little bugs as its only inhabitants. I built the legs about 2' shorter and so the canopy is perfectly kid-sized to provide better shade. This will cost you less over the summer than a babysitter or mother's helper. What a bargain.

2. Search the kitchen for supplies. After bringing back a couple of bags of colorful river rock from our camping trip, I put some into a plastic bin with water and marbles, and let Kiddo play with this. Add another container, and some tongs-- we have an activity we come back to over and over again. Even after the water was emptied out and the marbles moved along to the marble run, the activity of using tongs to move the rocks has been big time fun. Strainers and plastic beads or small pebbles, those small pseudo-chopstick tongs and a plastic art palette with little wells for paints... all can provide loads of fun.

3. Be a nature parent. Old Mother Nature is a provider of many treasures, all the better when the kids find them on their own. Taking a walk in a shady park, on a forested path, can be a great way to spend time outside and collect supplies later for time inside. My sister Amanda makes "woodsies" critters with her boys, using a hot glue gun to add googly eyes to assemblages of pine cones, leaves, sticks, rocks, etc. Until Kiddo mellows out, I'm more of an Alene's Craft Glue kind of gal, but having the kids find those little bits by themselves is a fun activity all on its own. Even if you don't make anything fancy from their materials, give the kids a pie pan or paper plate and good old Elmer's glue if they like, and let'em go to town.

4. Puzzle it out. This Tuesday, I wanted something to do with Kiddo for the day. Besides making currant pancakes -- a favorite at our house and a good 'time-user'-- I also picked up a five dollar puzzle of an open-mouthed Tyrannosaurus rex, 100 pieces. Now, Kiddo is not going to be able to do a hundred-piece puzzle on his own for quite some time, but I think of it this way: $5 kills two birds with one stone--it's something engaging enough for me to want to do with him and it's less expensive than a trip to the coffee shop. I'm thinking of getting an Ocean Reef puzzle the next time. And maybe a bigger 300 piece one for myself.

5. Get artsy. Or rather, get some art supplies. Play dough comes in bags, and you can make it at home, for not too much money either way. Let them mix the colors, too. Playdough is no fun if you have a lot of rules around it, and your kitchen is full of supplies for the dough play. Check out JoAnn's, where there are plenty of assembled craft wood items kids can paint with simple watercolors, for about a buck a piece. They also have loads of bead and other niceties you might want to do something with. The Dollar Store (click to read Robyn's hilarious send-up of the place over on Dim Sum and Donuts) has craft kits galore, so even if you don't want the picture of a flying flower troll with a unicorn horn on your kids wall, you can gut the kits for cheap supplies. Garage sales, too, are a good place to find the weird odds and ends your kid might like. Who knows what they can do with half a skein of polyester yarn in Harvest Gold?

6. Chill out. Smoothie popsicles, anyone? By the time they've helped to wash and cut up the fruit (totally unnecessary, but good cutting practice on softer items and a good time-user), they'll be excited to press the buttons on the blender. I use frozen berries, eliminating all the ice work, and just add enough liquid to make sure it all blends. Fill up your popsicle mold and then give them the leftovers in a cup with a spoon. Better yet, send them outside with the cup o' smoothie and let them drip under the canopy or in the shade outside. Then you might get the added entertainment of bugs or ants, coming to the 'drip site'.

7. Keep Your Cool Too. On hot days, 'Quiet Time' is a must. Some downtime in the afternoon is going to save your sanity and is much needed. Whether it's Quiet Book Time, or just shrugging your shoulders and putting a video on for a while, kids need a rest and so do we. If you can, escape to another room with something good to read and a glass of your favorite iced beverage. I like to make two cups of tea in the morning; one to wake up with, one to save for later in the afternoon.

8. Limit the Mess. There's nothing worse than trying to enlist hot, tired and cranky kids in cleaning up their stuff, so two things: make sure you do your cleanup at least twice a day, and get the 'extra' toys out. You know which ones the 'extras' are: they come out almost daily but aren't really played with. Have your co parent/partner/babysitter get the kids out for an hour and remove those pesky multi-piece extras to the basement or another cupboard. Out of sight, out of mind. Then, when they do want those items, they have to ask and make a choice about cleaning up what's already out before moving on. Rotating toys is good, because they become magically new again and you don't have A. too many choices or B. everything out on the floor of their room. Keep it manageable for yourselves and them.

Do you have a suggestion to share? Send it to me via comment and I'll add it in. Unless you are suggesting a nice cold drink after the kids are in bed-- I'm one step ahead of you on that one!

Sweetness

2011-07-01T17:59:00.000-07:00

Today, Kiddo and I went to a friend's birthday party at the Belmont Historic Firehouse. Small group. The firefighter doing the public ed piece was very sweet with the kids, friendly and authoritative. His jokes were probably aimed at elementary school kids, so the preschoolers didn't get it and the adults were a more hardened audience, but he made me chuckle a few times.

The sense of humor is back!

Kiddo went down the fireman's pole three times. Three! I couldn't believe it. He had a great time. When our guide challenged the adults not to let the kids get the best of them, I decided I'd do it. Slid down a real fireman's pole--likely from a height of 5 feet, but it still felt like a ways down to my sense of vertigo. Just went for it-- I now have a little pole burn on my forearm.

Otherwise, what sweetness. Kiddo played for over a half hour this morning with his dinosaurs; his larger wooden tyrannosaurus laid eggs (hazelnuts) on a nest and then out came all the baby dinosaurs, his little 85 cent ones. He then had the a bowl of 'food' for them to eat: beads, small acorns and pieces of a plastic straw he'd cut up. Too cute.

Glad the day is wrapping up this way. I'm happy with my boy, and Mr. "Mama can I hold your hand?" is pretty happy too.

MIA: My Sense of Humor

2011-06-27T19:55:00.000-07:00

It must be coming off all the transitions and work that's made me wonder: where the hell did my sense of humor go to?

It's probably off on vacation right now, somewhere silly, thinking "Mmmm....oh yeah, I ain't goin' back to that bitch anytime soon."

It's not that I'm a bitch, really, it's just the recent transitions and being the Parent on Duty all day kinda dries me up. Today, in the sandbox, Kiddo and friend throwing sand at each other. They didn't mean to, they told me. Uhn-uh, not buying that. I just didn't see any humor in the situation. Nor the fact that I will have to wash Kiddo's hair again to get the sand out.

Or later, when Kiddo hit Daddy and Daddy sent him to his room---cue Connie Francis please: "Whaaaaare the TOYS Are" ... oh, no. Then when Daddy lets him off to play, I intervene. Kiddo needs to check in with Daddy. "Are you okay, Daddy?" Then Daddy blows it, smiles at him "I'm fine!" Arrghhh! Cue pulling one's own hair out. Daddy needs to try it again, without the "I'm so happy you hit me, it's a delight!" look on his face. We do it over, correctly, and then make a list of things Kiddo can do when he wants to hit. Which will come in handy when Kiddo can read, in a year or two from now.

I'm really not getting much of a break these days. Haven't had a whole lot of LOL moments. I need something seriously funny to make me laugh until my face hurts. The problem is that most of my old standbys aren't so funny these days. A couple episodes of South Park out of a whole season...yep, funny. But so many comedies aren't funny, just lame. I used to love the dumb-guy Will Ferrell stuff, but he's off doing other things. Seth Rogen owes me money and time lost for the movie rentals of his past few movies. Exceptionally unfunny. Seth, I loved you, but now you make movies exclusively for for teenage boys and the ones that just can't seem to quite grow up. You've lost me.

So, friends, Romans (well, no one from Rome reads this) or any countrymen or women-- send me some funny, please. I get plenty of interesting and obscure in my email--my dad is very partial to these, sending YouTube clips on kinetic sculpture or Bruce Lee playing ping-pong with nun chucks (he does so know me), but I need a little funny. Maybe I'll watch "Zoolander" for the hundredth time tonight. The first time I saw that was at the theater with a group of people, on a date with Joe. Two of the women complained at how stupid the movie was. I think my sense of humor might be hanging out with theirs right now. I didn't like those women and I don't want to be like them. Sense of Humor--- please, come back! I'll feed you Marx Brothers movies and wacky old comedies like I used to. We'll watch Ernst Lubitsch's "To Be or Not to Be" again, with Jack Benny and Carole Lombard. I'll finally rent George Cukor's "The Women" and enjoy some Jeeves and Wooster. These aren't empty promises... but without you, I'm really nothing. At least, nothing fun.

Switching Gears

2011-06-27T11:38:00.000-07:00

It's been a week and a half since I've said goodbye to my last little preschooler. In that short window of time between then and today, I've been in a whirly sort of state, taking a deep breath and then turning around to pack us up for a much-anticipated weekend camping trip with my paternal family. It felt as if I'd just been pirouetting on one toe, round and round, for that window of time.

Now the spinning has stopped, and my feet have settled on the ground. Most of the camping unpacking is done, most of the laundry is caught up, and Kiddo is playing with Wonder Girl across the street for the morning.

Which leaves me here, now, contemplating the Big Downshift in life that's just occurred. This has been a time of many transitions: Kiddo's done with preschool for summer and needs a life which is still relatively routine and scheduled. Bigger than that, though, is that I have landed squarely in that box we call "Housewife".

First, let me say that I take umbrage with the title "Housewife". I am not married to a house, but to a wonderful person who I'd rather call "partner" most of the time. Cleaning the house, being the keeper of a house, does not appeal to my intellectual capacity. Sure, I suppose I could get really zen and be fully present when I am sweeping the hair off the bathroom floor, but I'm not sure that fantasizing instead about winning Megabucks or getting a few days to myself is bad, either. Mental vacation in any case, right?

I struggle with this change. How to meet the needs of myself, my child, my house, my garden, and in good proportion to each other. Part of this will soon be remedied with a schedule of tasks for the week, and I must figure out a new non-preschool-based cleaning schedule. I am not a fan of daily vacuuming. I do sweep some areas daily and have a tendency to want to keep things relatively picked up. It just needs a schedule, otherwise it doesn't get done until I just can't stand it and want to do it all at once. This conflicts with Kiddo's needs, too, because then he loses me to the cleaning frenzy and this is met with an appropriate amount of resistance.

All of this has me a little lost, wanting to find my identity. Wanting to escape and go have a beer out of my house with other grown-ups and forget the mess, the obligations. I'm a writer whose work has been on hold and is constantly redirected into giving advice on a forum where I can write in tidbits and spurts. How to pull out of that and do the lonely work of writing a nonfiction reference book for parents? I've shelved the book work until autumn, but might get started early again. I've been relatively quiet on this blog, in this time of flux, just trying to suss things out for myself.

So, I'm going to try the tactic of acceptance. Accepting that Kiddo is going to want me in some very intense ways this summer. Accepting that my choices as a parent make my time with my son more demanding. We're sticking with 30 minutes of screen time a day, and his favorite video fits the bill, and then he wants me. My time, my attention, sometimes my endless patience. He wants excursions that have nothing to do with running errands. Finding balance in all of this is a little tricky. I am not going to use all of my time when he's with his friends running errands because of his complaints. He's four and while I know he has limited patience, he has to sometimes work with the whole family's needs, lest he believe the sun has been abandoned by the planets and the world revolves around him, ha ha. So, we're going to have some of those struggles this summer. Each day older and he's less docile, more opinionated about what we should be doing. This is the time to firm up, to set him on the solid but not-lovely ground of "you are the child and I am the parent and I am the person who makes the decisions". Reality does bite, sometimes. Especially when you are four. Or when you are forty, too.

Another phase for both of us. I keep plugging along, trying to do the right thing. Sometimes, it happens and we are all happy. Sometimes, I try but fail miserably. So, I go back to the mistakes later, when I've recovered, and try to pull out the lessons within. I'm learning a few things about myself in the process. Imagine- I don't like going clothes shopping with a complaining child, even if I can "handle it". I'd prefer not to! These petty revelations help me to remember how I want to organize my time, and help me evaluate what I can do for myself and when it's better to wait until Joe's around to help.

It's not just about getting it all done, it's about getting it all done and staying sane.

In the meantime, I'm going to make friends with the white board and sketch out a picture of a typical week. I'm going to work toward my goal of a July 15th or so garage sale and getting the basement usable in some fashion. And I'm going to call up some girlfriends and make some dates. This summer, I'm going to get out as much as I can socially to avoid those Domesticated Blues, sung in "D for Dishwashing" Minor, with a chorus of "La la la la laundry", set to the swish-swish rhythm of sweeping the floor. It's all I can do.

Children and Common Sense

2011-06-08T15:45:00.000-07:00

One thing I can tell you about children and common sense: don't believe that they possess it until you see consistent evidence of this.

Being moms, many of us worry about this. "Does my child know, with every fiber of their being, that touching the lightsocket with a screwdriver--because they look made for each other,so it could happen-- is a dangerous thing to do?" An electrical outlet is a dangerous temptation to a growing and naturally curious child, so we put those horrible plastic safety plugs in them, even as we curse at how difficult they are to dig back out.
I was tempted by that strange set of little holes in the wall, when I was four. A cousin said "put the key in the hole in the wall". I did. Didn't take twice, that's for sure.

Our little Kiddo is four and curious too. I like that he's curious, glad that he wants to understand some of the existential stuff better than he does. He asks a lot of questions about everything: dinosaurs, trucks, pipes, bees, cell phones 'dying' (what does that mean when non-living objects 'die'?), whatever's on his mind. He's wandering all over the yard, picking up parts of plants to put in some creation made of rainwater, mud, and crushed sidewalk chalk he and his friend call "ointment". He's starting to become an equal in both initiating and following the play with his friend, and I'm excited for him.

But with this comes other concerns. Now that he is more easily led by peers, what does that mean in regard to his personal safety and common sense? Just as I was the kid with zero logic whatsoever when it came to electricity, so might he decide to do something equally dumb. This is why I'm still careful to keep the less-safe items invisible. Putting away my iron today, I noticed that I automatically hid it behind my sewing machine, under the blanket that covers the machine itself. Out of sight, out of mind. In sight, something to explore. His peers won't likely be up in my room, but the idea remains that while he is relatively safe, he's not always making his own bodily safety a consideration. Hence, the hidden items. The oven knobs that are removed and place in a bowl at the back of the counter each and every time. Or the matches, stored up high out of reach. It's all I can do to tippy-toe to reach them.

Included in this is the idea that my kid still doesn't always know what goes where or that certain everyday objects are indeed delicate. Thus, we have to guard "precious" items. Our vintage kitchen table has a porous top, so we had a piece of glass made to cover it and use an oilcloth over that. Works great and Kiddo doesn't have to hear "use a coaster" a jillion times. He can play in his room but coloring and artwork belong wherever I'm working, because he will occasionally write on things he shouldn't. He wrote on his little wooden chair with colored pencil and we decided that he could have the chair back in his room after the scribbling has been sanded off. Yes, it's his chair, but we don't write on chairs and we must make it right. We'll do it with him, and we also learned a lesson in allowing him to have colored pencils in his room. Of course, before this, we hadn't had any recent artwork adventures in the house, so all that to say, they're pretty unpredictable, those kids.

It's for these same reasons I don't let children have at-will access to scissors when they aren't available for art. I haven't forgotten my own four year old exploits, playing barber shop on myself and my little sister, then hiding the locks in a crayon box, convinced that because the hair had been hidden, no one would know. Crazy, that kid logic.

Looking back at my childhood, I think of all the times my common sense was taking a vacation in parts unknown. Ten years old, climbing a boulder in the Oregon Desert near Fort Rock while wearing flip-flops and slipping, gouging my foot open. Dumb dumb dumb dumb. Eight, pulling a twig in and out of the a campfire until someone else nearby doing the same thing burned my hand, leaving a raw wound which now is the tiniest of scars and has left me with a lifelong respect for fire. Three, maybe, and thinking "I'll pour the tea kettle" and grabbing the kettle full of boiling water from off the burner just the way I'd seen my mother doing it, scalding myself. Drinking a cup of surfboard wax remover the babysitter's son left on the porch. A whole cup? Must have tasted good....

That's why we keep the antifreeze in the garage, and why we keep the garage door closed.

So, back to my first statement: don't believe they have common sense until you know in every fiber of your own being that they do. When they are, say 25.

It's like Living in Crazytown....

2011-06-06T20:20:00.000-07:00

Sometimes, something on the Mamaworldforum makes me think that the world is not spinning correctly on its axis and all is not right.

Yesterday a woman asked a question about a friend. The friend had a child who was smearing poo on everything, and after the third time, she gave him an ice-cold shower to teach him a lesson. The question at hand: was this effective discipline or abuse?

Duh, this seemed like a no-brainer. At least to me. Ice cold baths and showers are used as means of torture, just in case you were wondering what my answer was. Even runners who do this voluntarily to relieve swelling call it torture. (And the runner in the blog I've linked into had a cup of tea and warm clothes on at the time.)

So, my mind was blown repeatedly as mother after mother chimed in saying that this was effective discipline, not abusive in any way. "Genius" and "brilliant" were used to describe this quick and immediate remedy. No, the child never did it again, so I guess that means it works, right? Out of 52 responses, 5 people 'didn't know', 18 of us felt it abusive, and a whopping 27 felt is was justified. And then, the qualifiers came out. "It wasn't abusive if she only did it for the time it took to get him clean" or "it's not like she rubbed it in his face or made him eat it" (whaaaat?!) or "there's no way your friend's water was too cold, stop judging". Other moms copped up to the fact that they had done it too. It couldn't be abuse, because it worked right?

The saddest post of all came from a woman who had been treated horribly by her parent. At the age of one and a half or two, she had been given an ice water shower by her parent, and while she 'wasn't sure' if it was abuse, she wasn't able to take a shower until she was 20.

Do I need to go on? Probably not.

Two seconds later, on a different thread, another poster wondered about her neighbors, who fought loudly, constantly, when their very young kids were home. Should she get a hold of the apartment manager or the police? So many posters suggested she not 'waste the time of the police'. Ah, yes, best to let young children deal with mommy and daddy screaming at each other all on their own. It's mindboggling, the lack of personal responsibility some people seem to have.

So, yes, it's a bit like living in Crazytown, seeing these grown human beings turn their faces away from ugliness, excusing it, qualifying it, not wanting to get involved. Which makes me wonder: what is the purpose of being the adult if not to protect the child? Why are we given the sense to understand what's right and wrong and knowingly choose to look away from the wrong, or dress it up as virtue and strength and 'old fashioned no-nonsense parenting'? In our years on the planet, haven't we learned anything about how to treat other human beings? Aren't we supposed to know better? Aren't we supposed to be the parent, the person who our child loves and trusts best?

Forgive me my rant. It's too personal for me, I know. I think about how many kids who fall through the cracks because of this attitude-- "the kid drove the parent to it". I've heard this excuse more times than it is healthy to remember, even from my own parents. Looking away, not reporting abuse when we see it, is cowardly. There's no other word for it. Just cowardly. It's hard to call the police on a neighbor. I know, because I've had to do it. But it has to be done. And we, who have the guts and conscience, will have to speak out. Even if we are called meddling or judgmental or any other host of derisive names. We, who will not make excuses for other adults, but expect them to act like adults. I will keep speaking out, even if it makes me incredibly unpopular. These little ones don't have a powerful voice, but I do. Even if I'm the last one here in Crazytown to do it, I'll keep hollering.

And Then There Were Five...

2011-06-02T15:27:00.000-07:00

I have five, just five, more days of teaching preschool left.

Five more days of my "little hippie school", my private endearment to the very in-home preschool I started a year and a half ago. I'd wanted to go back to work, with the hours I wanted to keep, and so I'd crafted myself a job---and took my family along for the ride too.

Nearing the end of this school session, knowing it's going to all end soon, I have some hindsight and perspective that I didn't have beforehand, when it was all "wow, golden opportunity" and hustling. I am very blessed, very fortunate, that this experiment of sorts has been good. Coming away from it, I feel so lucky. The families that came to me were good ones. The kids are great. They have grown up a little, in very nice ways. My time with them brought little challenges from time to time--what teacher's life doesn't?--which have become opportunities for my personal and professional growth. I choose to see those odd curve balls life throws my way as a personal challenge: what do I learn from this, and how do I do this better next time? Even if there is no next time, it's always good to have a plan.

However, there will be no "next time" of having preschool at home. Our family is ready to have our house be a home again. Having had the entirety of the common areas all dedicated to hosting school, we've had limited space to entertain. Now, Joe and I have fantasies about a new sofa that sound sensual: words like "supple", "plush" and even occasionally "leather" are used. I have daydreams of curling up on that sofa, a blanket wrapped around me, to read a book and drink a cup of tea. We are looking forward to getting the woodstove out of jail, that big ugly safety gate which borders the red sandstone hearth pad. Grown-up books will inhabit part of the built-in bookshelves the way they used to. Kiddo will have a science table for his plants and rocks and bits of nature he always wants to bring indoors, and no one will muss it while he's gone. I'll clear a space in the basement for the kid-sized school table, so our messy crafts and easel can live there, and I haven't even contemplated where all the shelves of unit blocks will go...

There are also going to be things I'll miss. The structure of the week, the rhythms of the day. Using my brain for all the social coaching and classroom management, and even the planning of activities. Greeting everyone in the morning, helping the children to say goodbye to their parents and head in to get ready for Gathering. Teaching them is so much fun. Providing rich materials to help them discover their world, to make it just one facet more interesting, increases its brilliance. Introducing the beautiful and silly world of poetry to a child is delightful. Watching their faces a couple weeks ago when they worked the magic of wax resist, marveling at how the paint 'jumped over' the crayon lines. Hearing them whoop and giggle as we floated containers in a tub of water, marked water lines and then filled the containers with marbles and stones until they sunk with impressive glubby bubbles of air. Lifting them up, amazed and a little scared, to observe a hive of bees resting in their hollow tree on a cold morning, and then hearing one child say "that's sooo cool", and knowing it was just a a providential moment they might remember forever or forget tomorrow... who's to say? I write these moments on the pages of my heart.

Yesterday, I spent nearly an hour or so with Kiddo, doing wax paper crayon melts. His was colorful. Mine was purposeful, the end results to be bees wings for the bees the children had painted at the easel earlier in the day, all yellow and black and every other mixable shade those two colors could create. I spread out the pieces of waxed paper, used a potato peeler to shave off curls of paraffin and crumbled them fine between my fingers, laid out strands of pale and golden yellow and brown threads and liberally scattered sequins over it all. These melted into beautiful sheets of thicker waxed paper, the threads reminiscent of the veins in a bee's wing.

We attached these wings today. I love for the children to have beautiful things, and while the wings took time, I knew that they would be gorgeous. They were, and the children were so proud to have made their "bees", having added bright buttons for eyes. They likely would have loved them with white paper wings, but it was a heart gift from me, those wings.

I want these children to fly on. To keep on dreaming of "going to the Milky Way to drink milk" or building skateparks or as one told me today "I want to grow up to be a baby. I start as a girl and grow to be a baby." I want them to want the impossible while they are still young and no one has told them "you can't" just yet. My biggest wish is that these children will find new preschool homes next year and know in their bodies that even though new schools are a little scary, or can make them feel a little shy, that they have done it before. They have gone into a new environment and found bits and moments of joy, friendship and community. It's not just about knowing how to stay with the group or even how to 'be' at preschool, it also about the confidence that having done a new, challenging thing before gives them.

We journey on to new ventures, these children and I. They to their summer vacations and new preschools, I to my work on the book that's been simmering on the back burner, and to a newer ambition: leading small workshops for parents. I don't know when that will be organized. Right now, though, I turn my efforts homeward, to making our home anew, to spending a sweet summer with my little boy, out in the garden tending the veggies and the weeds, at the parks, exploring every fountain downtown once again. I'll have more to offer my husband, more for myself at the end of the day. I've got ever-more educational and parenting books to read, more to learn. And oh, though, what this preschool has taught me, even about myself. I wouldn't trade the last year and a half for anything.

Busy-ness

2011-05-31T14:33:00.000-07:00

Memorial Day Weekend. No trips planned, no big gatherings. For us, it would be three whole days with Kiddo just around our usual world of errands and home. For me, it would be 4 days.

Well, more like four and a half. On Thursday afternoon, when Ang dropped Kiddo off at 2:15, I was ready at the door but not quite ready in spirit. The goodbyes were easy, but once Kiddo was in the door, his coats were flung to the floor as well as his bag. "I need you to put your tote and coats up on their hooks now, please." Typical adult response. His less-typical kid response was to make that "uhhhnnnnhhh" sound we all love so well and then take a half-hearted not-really-even-reaching swipe at me. Then, he took another soft one and whacked my leg. Nope, not doing that.

"You may not hit me. I see that you aren't being safe with my body and that you need a break in your room. I'll check in on you in a bit."

I set the timer for five minutes and dove into the computer for a little mental escape. When it dinged, I noticed he was playing happily and figured that instead of going in, I'd give him some chill-out time. Ten minutes later he trotted out.

"Mama? Did the timer go ding?"

"Yep, it already did. (holding him) Why did you need to take a break?"

"Because I hit you."

Ah, good, we were halfway there. "Right, and you are not to hit people. I don't hit you, I don't hit people because hitting hurts others. (Pause) What can you do the next time you are mad?"

He thinks for a moment: "I can hit the playdough."

"That's a good idea."

And we're back to getting things done. The computer is put away and I dive into a sinkful of dishes. Kiddo's getting his things hung up and then I see him trying to climb up on the woodbox, which is a very unsafe place for kids. On one side is a huge plate glass window, on another is a hard woodstove and metal fire tools and a gate around the whole thing. He looks at me to see if I'm watching. "Get down from there now." He gets down. and I tell him that I think he needs to take a break again, because he's doing things that aren't safe. This time he seems more upset about being sent to his room, and I decide that if we have four more days together, I don't want to start all of this time with his attention-getting behaviors escalating. This time, he comes back a little sadder.

"Hard time this afternoon, huh?" I give him a hug. I'm done being busy doing my stuff; now I need to give him some of my time, my busy-ness. "How about some watercolor painting?"

"I don't want to" he balks, starting to dig his heels in.
"Oh, well, I want to do it. I like watercolors." I begin to just model what I want us to move into; something relaxing and centering. I get the glass jars of paint out of the fridge and he tells me he wants to paint too. "Great. Will you be my helper?" He nods and I send him off to get himself a smock and a couple of plastic trays for us to work on. He carefully carries the little baby food jars of paint to the table and then we sit with our huge brushes, brushing water onto the paper, then one color and then another, watching them whirl slowly together. We do this for quite a long time; I bring out watercolor pencils to use on top of the wet paint. I draw flowers: two zinnias and a dandelion. He uses a 'caput mortem' purple-brown to draw loopy circles and roughs up the paper in one spot. Then I offer him a small saucer of kosher salt and he paints with the three colors he now has: reddish brick brown, a cadet-bluish brown and a golden graham cracker brown. He sprinkles salt on his colors. He is a pretzel maker, he tells me, making the pretzels. He "makes the pretzels" for probably 15 minutes before stopping. I've already finished my work and am back at the dishes, but there is a difference; he is happier.

We have a later snack and again, I'm back at the dishes, which are seeming to never get done. But Kiddo wants to play and asks me to stop what I'm doing. I do stop for a moment and get down low to him.

"I do need to get these dishes done so I'll have room to make dinner. And then, I would love to play with you. "

"But I don't know what to do." He looks so frustrated. "Well, let's just go take a look in your room and see if we can find a fun something-to-do while I'm finishing up. " We head in; his box of tubes peeks out from under the bed. "What if you used your tubes to build some pipes for some block houses?" I suggest.

"OKAY!" he yells happily. I put The Verlaines on the player and get to my work. An hour later, he has pipes running under a four-story house, made of unit blocks, wooden planes (flat pieces), two cardboard planes and a huge incorporation of our colored blocks as well. We have used every single piece of the unit blocks, all 84 of them. The wooden animals all stand sentry on the house which reminds me of an open-air prairie style of building. My job is just to set up the initial columns and pillars and to gently direct Kiddo so that they stay one on top of the other. Our work is so solid and true that the next day my three awesome nephews come to visit for the morning and their toys play on even the top stories of the house, but the thing never falls down. A HotWheels car drives around the second story and Lego Stormtrooper posts himself to watch out for too much fun, perhaps, and dolls and animals galore are placed everywhere possible. Marbles roll across it. It becomes a game to Kiddo to see how much he can stack on the thing.

Friday afternoon, after much clearing off of toys, it's time to disassemble. Kiddo's a little hesitant to knock it over, but after I show him which piece of cardboard to hold onto to push it down, his little boy inclinations kick in just fine and the whole masterpiece flies to the floor with a satisfying CRASH!

Saturday, too, found us creating to keep busy. In the morning, Kiddo wanted "a box for a house" and so down to the basement I went to oblige. The most reasonable box I could find might not work for what he was wanting, a house for himself. After he experimented for a while, he decided that the box would make a great house, just not for him. He wanted "windows on the top" (which was the bottom) and so some measuring was done. Before lunchtime, the box had large windows on top, one huge on at one end and a door and two windows on the other side. That afternoon we spent an hour or so gluing 'decorations' to the box of his choosing: precut construction paper 'mosaic' squares, dried leaves, triangles and sequins. A toilet-paper tube chimney juts out from the top. Truly an 'art house'.

Our day also found us at Mount Tabor park, taking a long walk from the middle reservoir up to the top loop. At first, Kiddo stopped to pick every dandelion puff and collected a bouquet of 'dinosaur necks' (the long spent stems of the dandelions). We made a 'fairy house' of flowers at the base of one tree, and then left an offering of dino necks at another. We spied someone else's altar made of bright flowers plucked from around the park. Our long walk didn't tire Kiddo out in the least, but the adults were a little bedraggled by the end of it. It still amazes me. Who else do I know who would hop down all those stairs from the very top to the road below, one jump at a time? Who else seems to think that even spent dandelions have some sort of value? Who else wants to grab chunks of dirt and touch everything?

The weekend was busy and good. Today, as we waited for his preschool doors to open, I got into a conversation with another parent and looked over to discover Kiddo on the ground, scooping out the dirt from the crack in the driveway with his fingers. His hands were filthy. Sigh. "The dirt needs to go back in the hole" I tell him, smiling, thinking 'this kid will find a way to get dirty no matter what'. "He's making a wormhole!" his sweet classmate tells me. Of course he is....

Everything Old is New Again...for Me

2011-05-20T11:20:00.000-07:00

It's no secret amongst my friends that I've made good friends with my inner Little Old Lady and often let her lead me around by the arm. She's got good taste. All those Desert Rose dishes in the cupboard? The first cup and saucer were a gift from a friend, and my Little Old Lady jumped on that. They were so cute! So her! The Django Rheinhart and Stefan Grappelli records, the jazz cds found in every stack? That's my Little Old Lady, happy as can be when they're playing. Dainty teapot, the vintage 20's glass martini shaker with sweet white cherry blossoms and matching small tumblers? Totally her style.

The more practical side of her, though, understands that technology has made a few improvements over the years. So, a Cuisinart sits solidly on the counter top and my laptop hangs out with the microwave. I think they might commiserate on how sometimes, the Younger Lady within is a little lazy and spends too much time here at the oilcloth-covered kitchen table on the computer. However, in other areas, technology has made but few improvements, and here I direct you to our newest kitchen additions: a toaster and blender.

Big deal, everyone has one of each, right? But I'll bet a lot of them suck. Ours did. Our last blender committed appliance suicide with panache: the gasket all of a sudden began to leak like crazy during a Smoothie Session and juice poured into the motor housing, which was all of a sudden sporting a crack. Frankly, I was thrilled because this was my indisputable evidence that a new blender was needed. Costco had a sale on one brand, so we did some research: the reviews weren't favorable; one person claimed he'd bought three of them and still wasn't satisfied. (Slow learner, eh?) Joe hit eBay and began warming the cockles of the Little Old Lady's heart by researching the vintage blenders. I wasn't interested in the popular beehive model: I wanted a workhorse, not counter candy. Enter our new-to-us Osterizer Cyclomatic Galaxie blender. This little chickie is a beast, with 700 watts and a glass carafe--it lives to work. This machine was made in the 60's and has a work ethic built in, I'm pretty sure. So much better than those slick, pretend-vintage pieces of junk that pretty up the place but need replacing a year or two later.

On the other side of the kitchen sits, patient and triumphant, Jeeves, our new toaster. He is a silver Sunbeam model from the 30's, something wonderful and refined. Drop the toast into the slot and it magically lowers and raises itself with dignity, hence the name*. This fancy-pants technology comes with just a lighter/darker knob and no other frills, no desperate 'ding' at the end trying to grab your attention like our old brushed nickel Black and Decker toaster oven, which is now slated for an upcoming garage sale. While the rejected toaster oven shouts like an attention-starved child "Look at me! I made toast for you! It's burned on one side, again! DING!", Jeeves is sophisticated and serene. "Your toast, madam." And it is toasted to perfection. Little Old Lady smiles upon Jeeves with benevolence. Jeeves, you awesome toaster you.

Later today, I'll go back to being my ungrateful Younger Lady, cursing the idiots who can't seem to build a weed-eater friendly for short women and their tired backs. Not everyone who works in their yard is 5'5" or taller, y'know. Older is better, and like a peasant, I have a sharp sickle to help me. The work becomes methodical and slow, but it saves my plants from getting destroyed by an indiscriminate machine. In the meantime, the Little Old Lady is happy for the oldest of the old stuff as well as the newer stuff that does work. Like the Cuisinart. Or our 92' Honda, which gets better gas mileage than a Prius and only set us back two grand. It's a marriage in our house, the old and new. Some of that marriage will be eventually given away (The beta machine and the box of video cassettes?... adios, amigos!) Some will be hopefully adopted by new families, who will appreciate them. And some will stay right where they are until they die of old age and good use and take their well-deserved place in appliance heaven. Blessings.

* "Jeeves" is one of the titualar characters from satirist PG Wodehouse's "Jeeves and Wooster" series. Jeeves is the composed, intelligent and incredibly competent valet to rapscallion scion Bertie Wooster, which should have been the name of the last troublesome toaster. In the 1990's, Masterpiece Theatre offered us a series based on the books, featuring the hilarious and incomparable team of Hugh Laurie and Steven Frye as Wooster and Jeeves, respectively. Joe wasn't sure about naming the toaster Jeeves, but with the happy associations the name brings to me, I got my way. He wanted to name the toaster Estelle, but I reminded him that he'd already bestowed that name to my funky paper lamp which is shaped like a lady from the 60's, with big hair and cat-eye glasses. Yep, we're kinda freaky like that.

The Hairy Business of Self-Acceptance

2011-05-17T16:37:00.000-07:00

Americans. We like to think we are a nation of tolerance and diversity, but we've still got a long way to go, baby.

Last week on the Mamaworldforum, a mother posted in regard to her seven year old daughter, who has always had thick, dark hair on her back. Apparently, a classmate had made a comment to the child about this--the mother didn't mention the tone of the comment, if it was an observation or teasing--but now the mother felt devastated and wondered if she should start using Nair on her little girl. Reading through the comments, which ranged from "WAX IT! That's what I'd do" (Which me wonder if this woman was a sadist) to "Leave it alone until your daughter asks for help, and then talk to a dermatologist", I felt terrible for this kid. Seven years old and already being told something about her is unacceptable. Excuse my french, but what a crock of shit.

I understand the parent's sensitivity, in wanting to protect her daughter from teasing. But what I simply don't understand is our willingness to conform in order to avoid the hurtful words of the mean and ignorant. Kids tease about everything under the sun. Even the "perfect" kids will find someone talking about them behind their backs: "Oh, she thinks she's so great, but she's really just a $#@*% . " Kids get teased for being overweight, being skinny, having curly hair, having big boobs, having no boobs, having a big butt, having big feet, a big head, sticking-out-ears, the way they walk, any lisps or stutters, wearing glasses, wearing braces, being smart, being not-so-smart.... have I covered it all? Probably not. And thank goodness there are some parents out there who say "Honey, that kid who called you Big Butt? Screw him! You've got strong, powerful legs from biking and running, and having a little backside comes with that. What do they have? A bunch of insults which show that they don't understand how a body develops."

I wonder how many girls would have loved to hear their mothers say that instead of "Well, honey, you might want to stand up straighter/lose some weight/do something with your hair to draw their attention up and away from the 'problem area'."

I grew up in a a house where self-acceptance was an elusive treasure, always out of reach. In our house, you had to be society-standard perfect, and I was a short little dumpling who was curvy and sweet, but certainly by no means perfect. I was not skinny enough. I wasn't pretty enough, my hair had no pizazz. Contact lenses, perms and frosting my hair didn't really render an improvement, but it was considered 'making an effort' and I did the due diligence of trying to please. I sunburned too easily to ever have a healthy glow; my glow ranged from ghost-belly white to radiant lobster red, but never the lovely tan my sister and mother wore. Unwanted hair was attacked with a military-style single mindedness, and one of my sisters suffered for this. Nair burned her skin, left a rash; other depilatory options were explored until finally, shaving was the only reasonable option. What probably wouldn't have been a 'big deal' for long, if left alone, had become one. Shaving like this becomes a lifelong need. But I kept trudging on, making the effort despite resenting it.

I felt this way until an enlightening weekend several years ago, when I stayed at a beach house where one of the other guests happened to be a bearded woman. Talking to this gal, I was so impressed with her sense of self and level of self-acceptance. She didn't need to shave her face because she wasn't looking for the approval of others. She was doing what she felt best for her own self, and having a chin that grew hair was just one--only one-- part of who she was as a whole person. She chose to keep company with people who could accept her for who she was, and I could see why. People who couldn't? There was never going to be any pleasing them anyway.

Fast forward to today. I've stopped shaving my legs and am happy to not be enslaved to the stubble and razor rash that used to make my life very uncomfortable. I don't miss the hours of time I used to spend in the shower trying to control the thick dark hair on my legs. When I actually calculated it, it ended up being somewhere around 36.5 hours a year. That's a lot of time I won't get back, so I've decided not to spend it there. I also figure that Gillette's gotten enough of my money in this lifetime, and it doesn't bother my husband, so everyone's happy.

There's a lot of lip-service paid to 'letting your freak flag fly', but there always seems to be that little whisper of "but not too much" that follows. We are a culture that seems much more comfortable with eccentric hairstyles, loads of tattoos and septum and face piercing than I would ever have thought to give us credit for twenty years ago, but I still see that we have our odd fetishes and proclivities about keeping ourselves and our children as homogeneous as possible. Underneath the skull tee shirts, baby mohawks, pink hair and temporary tattoos, we still want our kids to conform just enough, to fit in just enough. And as much as I dislike even saying this, chances are that our little picked-on kid has also said something unkind to a less-homogeneous-looking child themselves. If we don't teach our children how to accept themselves, if we don't show them that we think they are just fine for who they are, how are they going to learn the self-love that helps them appreciate and tolerate differences in others? What if, instead of Nair, the mothers of the hairy-backed daughters said "Hey, let me tell you about my grandmother. You have her beautiful eyes. She had a lot of hair on her body too. She came from a part of the world where women tend to grow more hair on their bodies than they do in other countries". In this way, our children could learn so much more about themselves. Sure, she still might one day want that hair removed, but really, when parents teach self-acceptance, our kids get so much more depth and appreciation for who they are as a whole person, for what makes them and where they came from, and an understanding of how the world is so full of people with remarkably different appearances. There's so much more for us to offer than just a correction in a bottle.

Strange Happenings and a Lazy Sunday

2011-05-15T10:35:00.000-07:00

"Someone left the stroller out in the rain...."

Okay, I'm not really going to make you listen to that old song, MacArthur Park. Jimmy Webb, Richard Harris--even Donna Summer lamented losing the time involved in making that soggy cake and subsequent loss of the recipe. But it came to mind this morning when Joe went out to get the car and popped his head back in, with an utterly confused look on his face. Sometime during the night, someone had taken our old-school jogger stroller off our porch and left it in the middle of the driveway. It stands on the porch now, soaking wet.

Let me just say, now, that if you wondered why we used to be religious about locking up the jogger: this is why.

Strange happenings. We leave the porch light on? Kiddo wakes up at three, yelling up to us "Mama! Daddy! Time to get up! There is light outside!" Porch light off? Wet, soaked jogger. Who would do such a thing? I'm guessing someone who thought they needed it for something. But what?

It's been more than two weeks now since we've moved Kiddo downstairs to his new bed, and life is looking up. Most nights, I get to sleep the entire night through now. So the 'cranky' factor in the house has noticeably decreased. I've always been a need-my-eight-hours sort of person, long before I had kids. We are all enjoying the more well-rested me.

Still, things seem a little off the past couple days. Little things. I posted a sweet something about Kiddo on Wednesday, and commented on another mama blog: now the post and comment are both gone. (Sorry Robyn...your sleepovers sounded much better than mine at that age.) I'm not paranoid; I think it was either a Blogspot or computer error. But weird. Outdoors, Obi-Robin and his hen have lost all of their chicks to crows. Kiddo and I saw one of the raids on the nest, and it was the first time I'd been upset with a crow in a while-- I was even more upset than last year, when they stripped our cherry tree. (They were not to blame, though, the netting should have been on it. Human error.) Kiddo's been asking some questions about it; we watched the crow carry off one of the chicks, and the other flew down out of the nest at the time, to land in a big patch of bleeding heart. I checked later to see if the chick had moved on; it had. But as I worked in the backyard that evening, doing some hand-mowing around the peas with a sickle, the drama continued. Mama and Obi-Robin pipping and cheeping loudly at the crow... the chick and mother would fly off first, the crow chasing them, Obi-Robin trailing behind. Lots of fracas and then it was quiet.

The strangest thing, though, is how lazy this Sunday has been. It was my morning to sleep in, and the raindrops on the roof were the best 'get back to sleep' aid going. Toodling downstairs at 8:15 with my pile of socks (always tossed to the floor after an hour in bed or so, then forgotten until the weekly Big Sock Roundup), I came down just in time for Joe to discover the stroller as they were heading out to Trader Joe's. Time to gaze out the window at the patch of bluebells, at the raspberries now so high they've blocked off any view of the rat and mouse holes at the base of the garage. (If I can't see them, they don't exist, right?) Time to check on the Mamaworldforum and see what everyone else in the world is getting their knickers in a twist about. We've had time to eat a lovely breakfast in relative peace, time for a conversation with my sweet sister Amanda, and time to make a horn for my little Kiddosaurus to wear. He told me at breakfast "I'm going to eat so much bread, I'll have a crust on my head". What he really meant was 'crest', not 'crust', and once I figured out he was trying more to resemble a parasauralophus and not a loaf of pugliese, we were in gear. "I have that crust for protection." he tells me. "Mama, we're going to invite me cousins over today." Ah, yes, his "meat-eating cousins", as he quotes from Virginia Lee Burton's "Life Story".

So, soon, I'll finish my tea and ready myself to make hay, so to speak. There's housecleaning to do, a horn to adjust (I've just been told), soup to be made so that we can finish the aforementioned pugliese, about an hour of filing or so waiting on my desk upstairs and somewhere in my day, time for beer and a game of cribbage and a nice drink for me and my guy. This, for me, is a lazy Sunday. Glad it's raining, for some reason. Me? Glad it's raining? Now, isn't that strange?

Children's Birthday Parties: Oh, the Horror!

2011-05-06T19:40:00.000-07:00

I've been reading Barbara Ehrenreich's "Bright-Sided: How the Relentless Promotion of Positive Thinking Has Undermined America", her calling-out of the utterly unrealistic belief that our optimism and positive energy can save the day. Loving this book for it's refreshingly objective (not negative) approach to the times in which we fool ourselves into believing something is better than it realistically is, I can now say with no shame the following statement:

I really, really don't want to take my kid to your kid's birthday party.

It's nothing personal. I like your kid. Really, I do. It's my kid I'm concerned about.

We have recently been invited to a party at a place I have never, even for a heartbeat, wanted to go.* A place I would rather my son never knew about because he might want to go there again and I will have to be Evil Mom and say "no way in hell, honey" and he will think I'm a Big Party Pooper, and he will be right. My kid is the kid who needs to be within sight lines. He is four, and I've been wiping noses for too long to think that an unsupervised four year old is a good idea. I do not want to have to crawl through myriad tunnels made for lithe munchkins, not middle-aged women who had their kids too late in life and whose knees and back do not easily forgive. I believe my feelings on this are worth a little empathy. And I know that the people planning this party didn't decide to do it at this new kid-mecca because they were out to torment me, but because their kid does like this stuff, and it is their kid's birthday. I'm cool with that. But it is one (small) reason we will RSVP with regrets.

I am the Party Pooper Mom who kindly doesn't go to your kid's party, because I know I'm going to feel like an On the Clock Bundle of Nerves until it's over. Being a preschool teacher for so long, it's my nature to 'read the room', and I will be watching my kid, for sure. But I will also be watching everyone else's kids, in part because when I am in a room of kids, that is my brain's default setting. Twenty years of work is a lot to undo for one party. And also because there will be other parents not watching their kids. They will assume that all the parents of the party are "watching the kids", and so when I see a kid I don't know doing something questionable, I'm going to look around for their parent. When that child doesn't seem to have a parent (because no one is watching them), I will then be consumed with the dilemma, "do I correct what's happening, or wait until an injury occurs?", which will cause my stomach to knot up like macrame. I will have to make some choice, and either might easily be the wrong one. I hate this sort of pressure. No fun.

However, the biggest reason I'm not taking my son to your kid's birthday party is this: Two hours of fun for Kiddo does not justify the four-plus hours of torment on my end. Kiddo can be pretty hard at birthdays; the last one he went to, he was playing fine, and then he was on the floor with another child, crying, a huge bruise forming by his eye by the time he got home. Inconsolable, my husband told me. (My aversion to these events is nothing new, thank goodness my husband is more socially daring than I am.) Kiddo gets so excited he has a hard time getting his feet on the ground and not acting totally goofy. And then, there's the sugar. Who am I to tell others "Please, in the name of all that is good and wonderful, do not serve my kid candy, cake and ice cream." when this is practically the American Standard? Maybe your child doesn't get totally freaked out on sugar, but mine does. I have seen this happen, and it is not pretty. My kid coming down off sugar is like your college girlfriend after making friends with a keg. You know, the one you didn't like to take to parties because without that beer in her hand, she was a sane human being, but one red party cup later and look out, here comes some loud-mouthed, attention-seeking trouble. That's my boy, right there, only preschool style, alternately climbing us and running around like a crazy person. It's all cute, until it isn't. And then we are left with a Quivering Mass that looks like my son, but is hard to recognize because he won't show his face. But he will wipe his nose on your shoulder, so that it gets in your hair.

So, when you invite my son to a party, know that I appreciate your remembering him. He'll come, someday. At some point, he's going to outgrow the freak-out that comes with all the novelty and excitement. His body will be more able to deal with the sugar, or we'll be more able to contain the fallout from the sweets and excitement. In the meantime, we'll be keeping these sorts of things as low-key as possible, knowing that there's plenty of time for him to enjoy Big Kid birthday parties.... when he's actually a bigger kid.

*All children's parties, unless hosted at the family home or a public park, are held at Places I Never Want to Go.

Just Two Days of Sunshine

2011-05-05T13:33:00.000-07:00

To Whom It May Concern:

So, who do I have to make nice with to get two days of sunshine in a row?

Yes, it's me again. Another pesky Portlander, bothering you for a little bit of relief from the endless rain and clouds. I realize that perhaps Big Pharma has gotten to you first, paying you to hold off on the sunshine until the Winter 2010 Prozac quota has been met. I'm willing to play ball here and offer any (yes, any) service I can render in order to get two consecutive days of sunshine. That's morning-to-morning -to-evening sunshine, or the offer is a no-go.

Thank you for your time, and for considering this trade. If you choose to accept, clear out the clouds and turn on Old Sol, please. You'll know where to find me: outside.

Now, make with the sun already!
Yours sincerely,
Overcast in Oregon

She Talks to Birds

2011-05-03T18:21:00.000-07:00

"Hello there, little one." This, my comment to the wee bushtit perched in my neighbor's vine maple.

In case you haven't figured it out yet, I'm kind of a bird geek. I love birds. Love love love them. Long before they were cool and "put a bird on it" meant sale-able.

Walking over to Movie Madness (yes, a shout out to my entertainment mecca, owned by the mercurial Michael Clark, who is lucky to have the great people behind the counter that he does-- one guy offered to buff out the dvds I rented today "if you have a few minutes". I love that place.), I spied black-capped chickadees playing in a neglected apple tree, which had been allowed to grow sucker shoots and sprawl low everywhere in full, pale pink flowery bloom. Amazingly beautiful in it's untended state. Before that, I was caught by a gray bird nearly robin-sized, with a tapered needle beak. I consult the Audubon Field Guide to the Pacific Northwest (this book would be in every family's swag-bag when parents left the hospital with newborns, if I had my way.). Checking the measurements on the robins (10"), I then browse the pages for a matching image. Townsend's Solitaire fits the bill, at 9" but I'm surprised to see that this little guy is not quite the city bird. Wonder what he's doing here?

In the meantime, we have a song sparrow out back we've dubbed Sweetie Tweetie, and we were happy to feed the juncos until the rat and mice started getting bold and stealing out in daylight hours to eat seed. They've taken up residence under the garage, so some death is going to have to happen, sad to say. We've already procured the rat trap. Rat and Mice are both cute, but I'm not unaware of the plague, so we'll be saying "adios" to them soon enough. We've also been watching Obi-Robin ("Obi" is short for "orange-breasted") and his hen having a heyday eating the worms and bugs out back. Obi-Robin catches them for his lady, who is sometimes busy on the nest, though we aren't sure if eggs are in there yet. Maybe she's just letting him do a little work while she ponders pushing those eggs out.

So, yeah, the BirdBrain in me is always busy, watching, interested. I'm thinking that maybe, one day, Kiddo will be interested too. But if he's not, that's okay. I'm happy making these small discoveries about those wonderful, colorful fliers in my neighborhood and beyond. And sometimes, yes, I'll say a few words to them too. I'm so thankful for the birds, bugs, squirrels and other critters in my environment. Well, maybe not the raccoons and opossums I encounter at night-- their glowing eyes still make me think they might jump on my back if I turn around, so I walk away from them slowly, backward. Overall, though, even though mankind encroaches on the animals, I'm glad there are a few birds who are happy to stick around.

Tonight, Bring me Phyllis and a G&T

2011-05-01T20:01:00.000-07:00

This weekend at our house should be dubbed a very impressive word: Productive.

Last Sunday, just one week ago, Kiddo started sleeping on his own bed in his own room. And if you think Joe and I are seriously enjoying having our bedroom back to ourselves at night, you aren't mistaken. Actually, not for the reason you are probably thinking so I'll fill you in: we can watch movies in our own bed at night again. As we don't have a couch at present (blame preschool here), this is really, really nice. I'm thankful, too, that our progress with getting Kiddo to stay in bed and sleep on his own has been very encouraging. Sure, there will be some tough nights ahead, and for now, I'm just grateful.

I'm also tired. Yesterday, a crisis with a server required Joe to work an unplanned couple hours in IT Guy mode. Kiddo and I went down to Saturday Market and enjoyed the fountain; bought a piece of raindrop-shaped aqua-green glass for his bedroom window. It was great until the bucket drums kicked in. Then we met up with Joe for the old switcheroo: he took Kiddo out for more fountain adventures and I headed for the Holy Mecca of My Portland, The Central Library, and worked for part of the afternoon. One of those disappointing days when half the stuff they said was in at the this library was not in fact findable, but I still managed to hurt my shoulder with my tote bag stuffed with books. Afterward we raced to pick up birthday treats for a dear friend I was going out with that evening. Today I had burned up my brain earlier figuring out the lesson plans and then realizing that Mother's Day was coming up and some things would need to be tweaked. Hours of garden work was done, and I borrowed Ang's daughter to come and play, keeping Kiddo busy. Lovely. We've done the week's shopping, folded three loads of laundry together as a family. This was really fun, actually, all of us sitting near on the rug, Kiddo folding the small terrycloth washcloths in his way, refusing to let anyone fold them. "This is my important job" he says. And so it was.

So I'm tired now, and instead of watching the plight of some on-the-brink animal on Nature, I'm going to enjoy the Simpsons, and then watch my dvd pick "Goodnight, We Love You: The Life and Legend of Phyllis Diller". Anyone who is dubbed the "world's worst housewife" qualifies as interesting to me. That's what I originally loved about Roseanne Barr, who always reminded me of Carol Channing's slightly sarcastic debunking of ads glorifying housework on the "Free to Be- You and Me" record, back in the day. Plus, I saw the last few minutes of it waiting on line at the video store a few years ago and was intrigued. So, a nice cold fizzy gin and tonic and I'm settling in for the evening, sprawled out on my own bed, in my own room, alone at last. Ah.... the weekend begins...

a nice ps- I fell asleep 40 minutes into it. Interesting, but obviously, tiredness won out--which is always the danger of watching movies in bed. But Kiddo slept all night, and that's good good good!

All In It's Own Time

2011-04-26T15:00:00.000-07:00

I really should be out in the front yard right now. The winter daphne and pink helleborres, the pale yellow daffodils are all beginning to fade, yet the fluffy white cherry blossoms and my bright tulips are now stealing the show. The native bleeding heart, bluebells and rosemary stand solid in their supporting roles. Sometimes I think: Wouldn't it be great if I could choreograph my life as well as my garden?

I've sat here for the last twenty minutes, trying to share the haphazard mess that was my weekend, so that some bright message might emerge from this. What? I'll save you the rehash and just say that I am glaringly aware these days that life does not seem to be organized in the least. Life feels like a Pollock painting right now--- sblobs and lines and dashes of this and that, all glooped up on each other. I'm not a big fan of Pollock, I'm more of an organized person when it comes to art, and thus, I like life to have a little more delineation and form. Sunday was a lesson in Rolling With The Punches, as I watched my lesson planning time dwindle away due to my husband's beard needing attention (an hour and a half in the bathroom? Seriously, you'd better be building something in there.... Like a new bathroom) and the Easter Bunny. Roast that rabbit, for real. I'm a vegetarian, but I swear, that Bunny better not bring chocolate* to my house again or andouille sausage, here we come.

Monday, too, was another test: How Far Can We Stretch This Day? From getting a fire started first thing in the morning because the oil ran out on Saturday, to reorganizing Kiddo's room so he could start sleeping in it that night (weeks worth of work done in hours), to readying the house for preschool, I kept chugging on until I just couldn't any more. And to that end, I will now have four loads of laundry waiting for me to fold tonight come 7ish. Plus, Kiddo needs a hair wash, so that has to be fit in somewhere.

So, I should be in the garden, but it's drizzly and rainy again. See? Somehow, my timing is off, but I'm still getting it all done. I'll check on our recently planted peas, which we'll train to grow on our forsythia. I've still got time to prune it before the sprouts begin to creep upward on the stick and twine frame below. For now, I think I'm going to make a cup of tea and enjoy the silence while Ang still has Kiddo in his care. Only an hour and seven minutes of "me" time left. There are dishes to do and so much more, but this is the first time I've had to relax on my own since before the weekend. Funny how those things are.

*This was the chocolate that set off the Fred Meyer Freakout, wherein Kiddo tried to climb up his father's leg in the produce section, and when Joe tried to hold him at arm's length, Kiddo tugged away-- face first into a produce sign sticking out, hitting right below his right eye, which became a lovely shade of purple--kind of like my tulips--within minutes.

Get on the Bus, Already!

2011-04-19T19:49:00.000-07:00

The other morning, Kiddo and I took the bus down to the grocery store. He likes these rides, and we have fun together on our Bus Adventures. Even at the sophisticated age of four, he'll still relish the time to sit in my lap and talk about what we see out the window as we sail down Portland streets.

Our children need us to teach them how to use public transit, and for youngsters, riding with a parent is the best way to go. When it comes to my son, I feel like it's my civic duty to make sure he knows the drill so that when he's older, he'll have the experience and confidence he needs to get where he needs to go--when he's old enough to go alone. I myself grew up in Honolulu, and as a young child, rode buses all over Oahu with my mother and sister. Moving to the mainland at the age of 6, we became a two-car family, but when we moved to Portland in my late teens, using the bus was no trouble because I was so comfortable with it.

Riding the bus with kids is actually easier than it looks, and here are some pointers for getting around town without the car:

1. Get a decent umbrella stroller that folds up easily. This can cost as much or as little as you choose. We 'splurged' on a Chicco that held up well for a couple years; it was purchased on sale with a coupon, and was about $60 or so. Umbrella strollers aren't built to last, but they are made to collapse with relative ease. An umbrella stroller and a backpack will make things much easier in getting on and off the bus, and will save you the frustration of trying to collapse one of those behemoth plastic strollers after you board.

2. Wear your little one, if you can. Wearing my son saved me so much work, so if your baby is still happy to be on your front, consider wearing them. It'll also keep your hands free for holding bags, paying the fare and possibly holding onto the umbrella stroller you'll use when you de-board.

3. Buy your fare in advance. Likely, your local transit service providers sell tickets and passes at grocery stores and other more convenient locales. I purchase a book of tickets at a time and have found it to have some real advantages: I never have to look for fare; if rates increase, they'll still honor previously sold tickets, so I'm not surprised on the bus; I only have one ticket to hold and don't have to coax bills and change into a farebox. Altogether easier by far.

4. Keep kids on their bottoms at all times. We have to teach our children bus safety. Because drivers must deal with unpredictable traffic, buses have the potential for fast, quick stops which can cause accidents if children aren't seated on the bottoms. Looking out the window is best done from an adult lap. While parents want to let their children see out the window, it's important for them to understand that they must be seated. For our little ones, looking out the window is best done from an adult lap. The drivers don't have time to tell you to make your kids sit down if they must stop short. Parents are best at ensuring their own child's safety.

5. Give them a snack while you are waiting at the stop. The bus is plastered with signs that ask us to keep food in containers, so modeling this now is a great way for them to know this rule later. We try to pack travel-friendly snacks: nuts, string cheese, apple slices, water bottle, and have these in the time getting to/waiting at the bus stop. Fed kids are happy kids.

6. Bring a few books. Our backpack always has a couple of Frog and Toad books and a magna-doodle-type drawing toy these days. Sometimes the wait seems a little longer or occasionally a bus is delayed at a stop. Fidgety kids are often better read to than anything else. It takes their mind off the world around them and helps them center a bit.

7. Handle those awkward social moments as appropriately as possible. Several months ago, my then three-year old son pointed at two very rough-looking homeless men and asked me "Who are those people?" in a loud voice. "Oh, well, they're passengers on the bus,just like you and me and everyone else riding." Neutralize what you can, ignore what you can, and sometimes, just nod and say "oh" when people who don't know you tell you way too much about themselves. Kids are sometimes magnets for people who might behave atypically; sometimes we have to be protective and sometimes we should have compassion and kindness. Be open to both.

8. Lastly, choose your bus times well. I mean this in two ways: check the bus schedule (to make sure when and if you have a return bus) and check your kid. Some days are just not going to be bus adventure days. When the kids are tired, squalling, or there's a lot on your own list of things to do, this won't be the best experience for anyone. Choose trips for days when you have more time to get things done, less of an agenda, and more patience for the child, the bus passengers (there's a certain amount of giving up control of one's environment when you step onto a bus) and the bus itself.

Happy Riding!

Eww... Baby's got the Car Keys

2011-04-18T20:38:00.000-07:00

Long before I became a mother, I knew never to give baby the car keys. This was before your kid could lock you out. Besides even the possibility of losing the keys. It was just gross: locks are dirty with grease and grit and keys go into locks, therefore, keys are dirty and sticking them in one's mouth is about as gross as sucking on a penny from off the street.

Now Ellen at Mama's On Call gives us a new reason not to let your baby have the keys: their brain. Read about it. And don't let baby have your keys.

Come to think of it, don't let them have your smartphone to suck on either. That's not a smart idea at all.....

Restorative

2011-04-10T19:33:00.000-07:00

Today, I felt blessed.

Traveling on a Greyhound bus from Hood River on an overcast afternoon, I felt restored and at peace. The Columbia River Gorge is one of the most majestic places in my world. Strong hills shoulder the wide, high Columbia on both sides, and there is something so grand and powerful, something beyond time here. I know that this area was not always like this, but it feels so permanent to me. There is no other place like it.

I spent a lovely 25 hours with my dear best friend sister Amanda in Hood River. This was our second annual weekend retreat and we used our time well, pouring our hearts out to each other, our ideas. Eating good food at a lovely restaurant and staying at sweet old hotel, where the space heater made us blow a fuse and we listened to a tour of ghost stories in the dark, waiting for the desk clerk to finish thrilling the other guests so she would come and toggle the switches in the fuse box. We visited toy stores-- the preschool teacher and homeschool teacher--critiquing certain products and sharing our delight in others. I learn so much from her, as a teacher, wife and mother. She is model for me in so many ways, yet she stays humble and honest and grounded in who she is. I love her for her unique, inventive suggestions and for her loving, unconditional support. Between times and in travel, I read my novel and just enjoyed those few moments of being in a new space, alone with my thoughts.

A lot has happened this year, and some of it has been hard. Even during my spring break, I felt like I had my nose to the ground, dutifully working toward something--- what? It wasn't as enjoyed as it could have been. This short trip, however, brought my head up to look around me. Perhaps spring has begun later for me than the daffodils. My head and heart have been in a hard, somewhat dark place for part of the year, and I'm starting to sense some balance now. Lately, my thoughts, effort and energy haven't been used as well as they could have been, and I've been a bit stuck in the mud. I've been worried about some of the wrong things and getting trapped in the anxiety of others. Today, traveling next to an older gentleman and staring out the window at the beauty beside me, I felt like this old shadow could be flung off, that things could be turning around to something calmer, more peaceful. More in balance with what I want from life.

Life is work and progress. I've got work to do tonight; laundry to fold and some brainstorming for next week's lesson plans. This will easily get done. I'm happy to spend time with my family tomorrow. To cut my husband's hair before he leaves for work; to slice up strawberries for Kiddo's snacks and prep the house for preschool on Tuesday. And I'm also going to take time for something else. I'm going to cut flowers and set them on the woodstove in my mentor corner and ask for more mentoring voices to come into my life, because I am needing this right now. I need more ideas, more perspectives. We will take a walk, rain or shine, and notice all the green growing glowing-green things out in the world. And hug on Kiddo. I feel a little fuller-- more patience, more empathy, more perspective. We're meant to be lights in the world, and I've more work in it to do.

Just in a Day...

2011-04-05T16:27:00.000-07:00

Is this a guide to keeping sane?

Leave the house at 2:20 pm to hit the grocery store for dinner. Take along some ice packs for the fish and a good book. ("Someone at a Distance" by Dorothy Whipple. She's been called the literary heir to Mrs. Gaskell, and if you've read Gaskell's "Daughters and Wives" you'll know that's a good thing.)

Pick up the best-looking fish you can find. Today it was the rock fish, fresh and gorgeous. Procure some beets because that bottle of lemon balsamic vinegar has been singing to you from it's place by the stove near the olive oil, and you know you'll cook'em up tomorrow. Grab some strawberries too, so your little boy is happy with his lunches.

Pay for all the stuff. Place the fish between the ice packs. Now walk (don't run, because they don't open until 3) to Belmont Station's Biercafe. Enjoy the threatening clouds, the music on the ipod (a mix of Crowded House, Steely Dan and The Flight of The Conchords. Apparently the ipod is feeling sophisticated and lowbrow all at once). Smile at the older gentleman who tends the gardens for Portland Nursery as you pass, even though his back is to you because he's busy working the soil.

Go order some good beer. Beer Chips will accompany such beer, any beer. The first is a glass of some Dogfishhead wonderfulness called Theobroma, which sports chocolate nibs and chiles but reminds me of mead, so there's something to be said for subtlety. Next is a small glass (yeah, really small) of the Flat-Tail barrel-aged Lickspiggot Barleywine. Yum. Read the best parts of the Mercury (the letters, "One Day at a Time", which is the only reason I pick that rag up, and "I, Anonymous", which I have yet to contribute to. One day....)

Walk home in the rain, and pretend it's not raining because, really, you aren't getting soaked, just a wee bit wet. Help someone. Today, a fellow with a loaded up pickup lost part of his load-- some sort of undefinable machine the size of a sander and a bucket with holes punched in all over it. While traffic from Burnside slowed --hey, a big thing that could take out their low end is in the road-- a woman coming from Stark didn't want to wait for me to move the bucket and nearly took her rims out on the curb 'going around'. I grabbed both and ran across the street so the owner could retrieve them. "I've never had this happen before," he said, and I believe him. Pickup Guy and I did have a laugh that the woman who couldn't wait for me to move the stuff out of the road was now sitting at the red light anyway.

Get home well before the kid. It doesn't always work like this, but Ang said he'd be a little late dropping Kiddo off. They were still at the playground because everyone had to use the bathroom. Well, now, that works in my favor now, doesn't it?

Type on your blog. Yep, these little occurrences are fun for you. You aren't sure if they're fun for anyone else, but you don't care. It's a reminder that sometimes, some things go right.

Just as you thought they should.

ps-- and this magical spell was broken about 2 minutes after Kiddo came home. So, pro'lly good I'd had a beer beforehand!

Listening With One's Heart

2011-04-03T09:48:00.000-07:00

Yesterday morning, I cut Kiddo's hair. It's one of those Mama haircuts that have to be worked on over a couple days to smooth out. Add to this,he's got some curls and when I cut his hair wet-- Sproingg!-- up goes the hair when it's dry.

A single-dad friend of ours had brought his daughter over for a playdate. He and Joe were commenting on the drying haircut... "Now he looks like Thomas Dolby" said my husband.

"She Blinded Me With Science". echoed our friend.

"More like 'He Blinded Me With Whining'" I butted in, setting the kettle onto the stove for a big pot of tea for us.

Fact of the matter-- we are on Day 7 now of WhineFestAthon. The Flying Ants that appeared for two days, threatening him with their mere presence (nevermind that they don't bite) have kept him afraid of working in the garden, which sucks big time for me. I've still peas to get into the ground. I didn't see a bug anywhere yesterday, but he refused to go out. Things are slowly improving, but wow! I think I get a trophy for keeping my cool this last week. A couple times I've had to "go take a break, because I'm all done with having whining company". This as he was assembling a puzzle, holding the piece that should go into a place, looking at it, and then grabbing something completely incongruous and trying to connect it incorrectly, with a soundtrack of "Unnnnhhhhhhh! IT WON'T WORK HOW I LIKE!!!"

This was when I needed to go out of the room and stare at a wall and wonder if maybe being a little hard of hearing might work to my advantage. I've thought recently about hearing aids, but now wonder if the opposite would be more beneficial to my sanity-- if I could just opt for silence instead, sometimes.

I'm being patient because I know there are some deep-seated things going on. He's turning four soon, as I've mentioned before, and this is fairly common. He's also had some big stuff come up-- a younger sibling of a playmate at his preschool unexpectedly died, and the children are processing this at school as they play. We've talked about how animals and people have their time on earth, and we've always held to the line that people live a longer time than cats and dogs. This event, the death of the baby, was not in keeping with what we had told him previously, and my only answer to him is still "I don't know why he died. His body stopped working."

"But why?"

"We don't know, honey. I do know, though, that you are fine and healthy and we love you and you are going to live a long, long time, just like Mama and Daddy."

Is this a false reassurance? Maybe yes, maybe no. Is this hopefully going to reduce some of his anxiety? I'm hoping so. It's also time to find some good books on the subject, one comes to mind which discusses how there is a life time for every living thing, and a time when it dies, and that this is somehow beautifully intertwined to the order of the universe.

Keeping all this in mind, I have more patience for my son than I would on the average day. More compassion and empathy. We are still all figuring this out. Lessons regarding death are more welcome when they come through emotionally-removed natural expressions such as insects, plants and flowers. These closer, more personal lessons are deeply conflicting and bring this crisis of understanding into close-up view. I can't pretend to know what my son needs to learn from this, or needs to hear, all I can do is give him lots of hugs and snuggles and lap time when he asks for them. What I can do is not dismiss the pain and upset he's wrestling with: growing, a new stage of independence, and then this event which makes him need us all the more. I'm trying to be present with him in this strange space of his life, to just be strong and reliable and empathetic. The terror at the flying ants is symbolic, a stand in for something less tangible and so abstract-- how can a child of not-yet-four wrap his head around a mystery adults still ponder, sometimes with deep fear?

So we go forward. I might be blinded and deafened by the whining, but my heart isn't impaired. All I can do is love on him as much as I can, and take a break to stare at the wall from time to time, knowing I'm just doing the best I know how.

Meeting Them Right Where They're At

2011-03-31T16:00:00.000-07:00

1:20 today and I said goodbye to my preschool families, locked the back gate behind me and went inside, leaving the door open to get some fresh air into the house. Fed the cat, set dishes in a bubbly sink to soak, threw the pile of preschool laundry into the washer and tweaked the knob to start the machine, then back upstairs to wash dishes, contemplate where drying artwork should go, and checked the email. Well, maybe I checked the email first, before the dishes, but everyone else gets a ten minute break every four hours, and I needed one. Somehow, two-thirty rolled around and so I took my snack of tea, crackers and goat's brie out into the backyard and sat on a huge cedar round and basked. I listened to the repeated melodic chirps of Sweetie-Tweetie, the song sparrow who perches and sings in the neighbor's yard. I pondered the beetles and bugs running through the grass, sun shining on their black enamel backs. Our big Gus Kitty came out and sniffed the air, content to just enjoy being quiet.

It's an exercise, I've decided, in meeting everyone where they're at. My husband's tired, and I plan on sending him off to a gathering this weekend, sans child. I would love to go, but plan on staying home. Kiddo's like Velcro these days, transitioning to four and whiny as anything but still needing lots of Mama love. Two of my three in my preschool have new babies coming to their houses; one has arrived, and one is due in a week or so. I see their additional need for independence, space and down time. This is one reason I love running a small program: sometimes, children experience preschool as a break from home and need quiet places to play and work alone. Being aware of all these changes is important, and being thoughtful about how to go about helping children who need a little more creative thinking from us at these times is good for me. It eases my interactions, infuses them with more understanding and patience than I might have.

I know what I need too. I'm a bit tired and looking forward to a night out with a girlfriend. We are going to go drink something good and laugh at ourselves and those things that are just bugging us. I'm trying to meet myself where I'm at too, and so it won't be a late night. Being patient with my son can really take it out of me, and I'm needing a bit more sleep. But somehow we are making it. I love the kids I work with, I love my son and very much love my husband. So, I'm trying to be mindful in making sure we're all being taken care of. It feels like a big group-hug of good intention and some sort of spiritual practice right now. Let's hope I can stay successful with it.

What a Day

2011-03-28T23:08:00.000-07:00

Sometimes, life really throws one at you.

I woke this morning to some distressing news-- not mine, so I'm not sharing-- and was left feeling the brunt of it for most of the day. Factored into this was some sad news from last week, and the pressing affairs of the day: I had a little boy who was wanting possibly more of me than I possibly had, and a house to transform from "Spring Break" to preschool.

Somehow, dammit, I managed to pull it off. But it wasn't because it was easy.

Paramount to the day was Kiddo's demeanor. Frankly, it was because he was needing a ton of emotional support and attention that my day took the turns it did. I planned to give him plenty of space and room and lots of my time this morning. We did puzzles. He ate and ate and ate, the hallmark of a growth spurt, and was by turns happy and restless and tearful, whiny, angry.

I think he hated having to go back to the status quo. He's gotten a lot of individual attention, which he feeds on. I could see that the mere fact of my doing dishes after taking my shower was too much for him. We got outside a.s.a.p. to run some errands. He didn't want to walk up the big hill on the way to the nursery, so I instead suggested that we walk to the grocery store with the smaller hill first instead, and hit the nursery on the way home to look at fountains and buy seeds. This actually worked perfectly with my plans; a fresher Kiddo does better at the grocery store, and should I have to leave the nursery due to his not minding-- (because you know, I will take you out of there)-- this wouldn't be critical stuff I wasn't buying. Prescience is a lovely thing, because this was exactly as the end of our nursery visit played out. After finding a Bowles Mauve wallflower I'd wanted for a while, Kiddo wasn't able to stay with me, and so I made good on my word and left without the seeds. We'd seen the fountains and he'd known what would happen in advance. In my opinion, this was his way of saying 'I'm done', so I paid for the wallflower and we went home to order seeds from the catalog and have a snack.

5:15. One playdate later, the new plant, well...planted, and Kiddo is in big, noisy tears. He tells me he scraped his finger on the fire hydrant when he and his buddy were piling pulled-up grass onto it, to make a nest for spiders. By the way, the whole block can hear about this horrible scrape. It must have a band-aid! He is consoled, he's gotten the hands washed in perfectly-modulated warm water, the neosporin gently applied with QTip, the bandage gently applied, and he's calmed down. Until I notice another cut on his hand to put neosporin on and then suddenly--"Owwww! Owwww! Mama! It needs a band-aid! It hurts...."

We are sooo tired. But I get out a snack; some pistachios, some carrot and hummus. And when he doesn't finish the carrot or hummus, I still put some asparagus salad on his plate, some sole too, and just tell him to eat until his tummy is full. We are past falling apart by this time, and have caught our second wind, both he and I. I have kept my cool the entire time, he's pulled it together at moments when I wasn't sure he would, and we are still chugging along.

Finally, now, half-past ten, I've cleaned the bathroom and vacuumed the school area. I've lost a game of cribbage to my dear husband, have drunk a glass of wine. What a perfectly crappy day. And yet, even in the midst of all the whining, I was still able to use my 'friendly voice'. To ignore all the window-dressing and to get to the point: getting my "want you to hold me", tired, "need all your attention now" kid to come to ground, gently but firmly, to get the stuff on the list done (only one thing wanting) and to just get through the day without falling apart. One of us made it. The other one is asleep right now. Think I'll join him.

Celebrating the Little Milestones

2011-03-10T14:27:00.000-08:00

This morning, I got the surprise in my life. In the best way possible.

We were getting ready for the walk to my son's preschool, and I'd asked Kiddo to put on his zip-up fleece jacket that he wears under his raincoat. I'd run in to use the bathroom and when I came out, Kiddo was standing in the hallway with the biggest grin.

"Mama! I zipped up myself!" he crowed triumphantly.

"Wow!" I couldn't keep my own smile off my face. "I am really impressed! You really worked at that!" Kiddo's almost a month shy of turning four, and this was the first ever time he'd done this at home. I didn't mind helping him-- and I don't have any magical ideas that he'll never need help with zippers again-- but this was big stuff. We had to honor this.

"Let's take a picture" I said, grabbing the camera and then setting it down again. "Here, we need a sign so we know what to remember." Living in a preschool, paper and markers are always within reach and so I quickly wrote "First Time Zipping Up Fleece at Home" and he held it up. Click! Captured for eternity.

I showed him the picture and then there were two happy Kiddo faces: one on the camera, and one right in front of me.

We make a big deal out of birthdays, kindergarten, the days our babies took their first steps or uttered their first words. I think, though, that the little milestones deserve recognition, because they do require our children to really stretch themselves and persevere through those little challenges of self-care and becoming more independent. Kiddo is doing a lot of work these days. He's learned how to blow his nose, which is huge, and his teachers are really stretching him as they help him learn how to play in groups. He's sometimes very tired in the evenings because he's being asked to move out of his comfort zone of independent play and really work with other kids. This manifests itself, some mornings, in foot dragging and "I don't want to go to school today" and mostly, a lot-- and I mean a lot-- of being held by me. Like a toddler, he ventures out into his world apart from me, and then needs to reconnect in a big way. I'm trying to be patient with it, because I see this is really hard for him right now.

So, today, his work of zipping up his coat was especially meaningful. He hadn't wanted to go to school, and he got ready anyway. He likes to be more dependent on me, wanting me to do things for him, and yet, he did it anyway. He doesn't like to always apply himself to trying those fine-motor challenges, and he still got that coat on and zipped all on his own.

"I hope you feel proud of yourself. This is a big deal, sweetie." I hugged him and then we got our boots on and headed out into the rainy day, one big/little milestone down, and so many more to go.

All You Teachers....

2011-03-09T21:59:00.000-08:00

Although I've been out of the poetry loop for a while, sometimes someone comes along that knocks my woolen slipper-socks right off!

Here's a poem for the profession by Taylor Mali. Thanks, Peg, for sending me to this poetman!

I (heart--big, big heart) my teacher friends. All of you. If I could paste a lovey-smiley face in here, I would. But I'm just too stupid on the computer.

And Amanda, even if you are busy, you should read this. It's for you. Love ya!

PS- For those who love language and want more, here's another lovely thing. Don't worry, it's on YouTube, but you can still read it.

Dramapedia

2011-03-01T15:46:00.000-08:00

It's that time again. Time to wave goodbye to the Mamaworldforum for a while.

I've been toying with doing this for the past few weeks, really. But today, I just felt surly about the whole damn thing. There have been a lot of obnoxious posts on recently-- my favorite was the self-designated Mother Goddess who had a rather scorched earth approach to those who didn't breastfeed their children up through the time they received their PhDs. Okay, I'm exaggerating by a few years, but it was that kind of crazy! And I'm having a hard time with all the punitive parents, who advocate teaching babies how to behave by hitting and slapping them. "A sting on the hand" is a frequent suggestion of one poster. I'm always tempted to ask her "What sort of sting? Do you carry a bee around with you? Do you think your kid is so stupid you have to hit them to teach them, or are you just that impatient that you can't be gentle?"

See, told you I was feeling surly.

I also see things I don't want to see. Like a young mother trying to start a business, yet her potential ad reads like a child with a cellphone wrote it. Or the mother who wondered if the daycare should be restraining her daughter, screaming and crying, in a high chair for an hour at a time because the three year old wouldn't nap. Or the young mom whose husband's tactic to teach their baby not to bite is to bite him back. Or the parents who were so mad at their son for messing his pants that they told him Santa wanted the Christmas gifts back because he wasn't 'being good.' Or parents who think they can punish their child into minding. This is all an ache on my heart.

There are stories of bad caregiving, by nannies and grandmas and husbands. There are people who get sucked into other people's dramas and want to butt in, and fortunately ask for advice before doing so. Whether they take this advice, I don't know. There are also the usual hot fire questions: " Is TV bad for my 3 week old" and "to circumcise, or no?" and then I roll my eyes and wonder aloud: "Really? You don't know how to use Google? You don't know how to make up your own mind about this, so you are asking a group of strangers, some with questionable levels of intelligence?"

Oooh, surly strikes again!

And there's the endless parade of potty problems. It really does deserve its own website. Pottypedia, maybe?

I could go on, but the point of this is to say that it's time to put my energy in other directions for a little while. So, I'm going to go do that now. And any of you Dramapedia ladies want to leave a comment, feel free to do so. Some of you, I will sorta miss. Some---oh, not so much.

Personal Responsibility, Preschool-Style

2011-02-26T09:45:00.000-08:00

I wonder how long it will take Kiddo to get dressed this morning. Five minutes ago, I pulled out his day clothes, put them on the bed in his room, and told him "don't come out of this room until you are dressed".

"But Mama, I want to watch the barn video." He snuggles his way onto my lap.

"Yes, you may" I tell him. "You can watch it just as soon as you are dressed. You can do it as fast or as slow as you like." I give him a squeeze. "Come on out when you're done."

And I walk out the door.

Three minutes later, he is calling for me. I ignore this ploy for attention. He knows how to dress himself and I'm not getting sucked in. Then he screams for me. I go near his room, and stand in the hall. I'm not going in.

"Maamaaa! Come in here!" he yells at me. I am not going to address the screaming, and why we don't scream at other people, because that's just giving him more attention. Instead, I ask for correction.

"Try that in a friendly way now, please."

"Mama. I want you to come in with me. I want to get my feet into this sock." He is cramming two feet into one sock, and this is so ridiculous I want to smile but don't. He knows this isn't doable. Perhaps he's thinking 'If I do something really boneheaded, Mama will think I'm incapable and dress me'. Who knows what he's thinking?
No dice today though.

"I think you know that isn't going to work. Come on out when you are dressed."

"But I want some company!" He says this as though he's otherwise unable to dress without an audience. As though as it's as elemental to the process as underwear.

"Yep. Get dressed and come on out for some company." I walk away.

He's quiet, then two minutes later, he comes out, struggling with three layers on his legs-- he wants to wear his pajama pants, and has even changed his underwear and put his pjs back on, with the jeans I asked him to wear over those. "I want you to fix this." he whines at me. I tell him that he knows he has too many pants on for right now, and that he needs to go to his room and fix it. Suddenly, as if by magic, his pants are pulled up and are fine. I send him to his room to finish dressing. He comes back with a shirt on and one sock on, one sock off. "Go back and finish getting dressed." I don't even look at him for more than a second.

And now he's done, happily watching a video about tractors and combines. It was a lot of work, in some ways, but it wasn't in others. We're keeping on our path of having him dress himself (parental involvement somehow turns it into a "look-at-me" circus), and I kept putting the responsibility on him. He was in charge of when he could watch the video--sooner or later-- and when he could have company. He could correct what he was doing to facilitate the process by deciding on two socks for two feet and to pull up his own pants instead of feeding into self-made problems. He corrected the tone of his voice because he wanted to communicate more than he wanted to scream. If I'd addressed each of these issues separately, he would have received a lot of negative attention, and I would be feeling a bit less relaxed than I am now.

It's never too young to teach a little personal responsibility!

Snow Day

2011-02-24T15:14:00.000-08:00

There is no preschool today. Kiddo and I have the luxury of sitting at the table, he with his toast, I with my tea, a small lit candle between us. It is dim in the kitchen and we look outside to the luminating sky, the pale whispers of snowflakes on the gray morning air.

We play this morning, like Peter*, calling across the street to find a friend to walk and play with. They are two peas in a pod of silly and childishness. They scoop snow from every place and want to put it in their mouths, they dash balls of snow to the ground, and when it is nearly all melted too fast, they throw dirty snow at each other, and two mothers stand by, shaking their heads and laughing at lost causes.

Kiddo's across the street, playing, and so the snow begins again. Put the kettle on for tea, put the stereo on for some Monk, "Straight, No Chaser", and "Locomotive" greets me like the kind of friend that you want to see at a train station, one you haven't seen in a while, but can slide right back into that rhythm and rapport with. I love that song, that traveling song. I see the snow climbing up on top of itself, climbing to become something on the boughs of the plum tree in the backyard, something present and real and now something part of the tree itself, if only for the moment. It highlights the shape of the branches, reaching out and up in it's little dwarf tree fashion.

The hemlocks in the side yard are looking postcard perfect and the choke cherries stand stark in the white snow, their straight rigid stick-fingers reaching up to the sky between two kitchens, mine and my neighbors.
Sandbox covered, the big turquoise blue ball wears a wig of white, like some discarded old-man Muppet head. Big fat flakes fall now, and it's better than television.

I'm off now to sip my tea and stare out the window.

*From Ezra Jack Keat's "The Snowy Day" ..."Peter called to his friend from across the hall and together, they went out into the deep, deep snow."

Cutting the Cord

2011-02-15T19:14:00.000-08:00

Reading at bedtime tonight, Kiddo on my lap, his pajama shirt pulled up to show his little boy 'pregnant belly' look. I stick my finger on his bellybutton, and kiss the top of his head.

"Mama, where's my cord?" he asks.
"Your umbilical cord?"
"Yes. Where did it go?" We've been talking a little bit about bellybuttons and umbilical cords lately. How when Kiddo was a baby in Mama's tummy, he could not breathe fresh air or eat good food, so that Mama gave him these things through the cord, in the blood that went through the cord.

"Did another baby use it?" he asks.
"No, just you. Each baby gets their own cord. When you were born, you came out of Mama's belly and then you could eat and breathe all on your own, and so you didn't need the cord anymore."

"So where did it go?" Kiddo's not giving up.

"Well, the woman who helped you to come out, she saw that you didn't need the cord and she took it away with her." I'm trying to figure out how to explain the idea that some things don't just get put into the trash when Kiddo comes up with yet another option that cracks me up:

"Mama, did she put it in a "Free" box?"

"When I'm Ready For Some Company"

2011-02-12T07:05:00.000-08:00

Early. Too. If you read yesterday morning's post, you'll know I'm running at a slight sleep deficit. While yesterday afternoon went surprisingly well, it was to be another early a.m., with Kiddo rising at early 5ish and begging for 'someone to hold him', then chatting Joe up, twisting around, etc. At 6 he made it clear that he "wanted to go downstairs" again. I'd told Joe he could sleep in, so I took Kiddo down.

But I was feeling pretty grumpy about the whole thing. I got him a dish of dry cereal and raisins, and then gated him into his room and the hallway. He was happy, and I explained to him that I needed to rest and was going back upstairs. But two minutes after laying down, I got up again, grabbed a magazine by my bedside, and headed downstairs. Too many bad thoughts about choking hazards and other mischief warded away any further sleep.

I've been stumped by this early-to-rise thing for quite a while. I love my sleep. Love it to pieces. I do so much better with it. Parents of children this age really need their sleep. It helps us deal with the ups and downs of the day so much better; we can think clearly and more proactively. It seemed, though, that my son, through no real bad fault of his own, was continually stymieing the best thing for our relationship: a well-rested Mama.

So I'm trying a new solution today. Taking my own version of a time out; I went into the kitchen, and closed the door. Kiddo wanted me to come in, so I explained it simply "My body still wants to be resting, and I am feeling pretty grumpy because you didn't let me sleep. I'm tired, so I'm going to go have my tea and I'll come get you when I'm ready for some company."

How's it working so far? Well, I've had to help him in the bathroom, and I let him take a few toys off the shelves from the preschool area to work in his room. I've explained to him, without anger, that I need to have some time alone right now, until I don't feel grumpy any more, and I keep using the phrase "I'll come get you when I'm ready for some company." If I have a point to prove, it's only that Mama doesn't have to come down and turn on the fun machine just because he's up before the birds. Mama is a person who feels he's old enough to understand leaving people alone when they need to rest.

I told him that I'd come get him in 5 minutes. Overall, it's actually been about 30 minutes so far since he's been up. I'm not upset any more, anyways, and that's the bigger piece of it: taking the break I need, so our morning doesn't get off to a rough by being cross with him, which I think is pretty understandable for a tired parent to feel. When I tell him I'm ready for some company now, I'll be able to do it with a smile.

Where's My Damn Cape, Already?!

2011-02-11T11:38:00.000-08:00

They say that no good deed goes unpunished. The mama-twist on this?

No good time goes unpunished.

Last night, I went out for the first time in three weeks. A dear friend and I settled ourselves in at the pub, had a couple pints, drank very responsibly over the course of four hours (we had fries, too) and chatted away on all manner of things. We left relaxed, but certainly without a buzz on, and I rolled into bed at 11, confident that Kiddo's recent tendency to sleep in until 6:30 would work in my favor.

Wrong. Wrong. Wrong.

At 4:30, Kiddo called out "Mama, I need you to hold me." I told Joe to just put Kiddo on our big bed. Big mistake. At 5:30 I'd spent the last hour with Mr. Wiggles, who was not a cooperative co-sleeper, while Joe snored away, oblivious to my rather grumpy and envious thoughts about the snoring. At this point, I told Joe to take Kiddo onto the little bed, but neither of us got any sleep. Instead, Kiddo wanted to "get up and play", to "go downstairs and eat", anything but sleep. At six, I grudgingly begged to sleep for another hour and promised Joe he could sleep in tomorrow. Ah... at least the chance for one more hour of sleep. I was lucky, right?

Oh, no. Not so much. My next hour of sleep featured a dream in which I was running around my house, half dressed and doing some remodeling work, only to have my son's entire preschool group of parents and teachers show up, angry at me for having dropped the ball on some project they were doing for a hospital. I won't go into all the details, but it was not a relaxing sleep. Waking from this, I rolled out of bed and headed downstairs to make a cup of tea. I had time for this luxury-- tea first, breakfast later-- because I wasn't teaching today. But looking across the table at Kiddo, my heart sank. His hair was dirty. How could it get so dirty overnight? I couldn't send him to school like this, so I grabbed up the towels, cleared the counters (because we still wash his hair in the kitchen sink, beauty shop style, to avoid hysterics) and shampooed Kiddo's head. Threw the wet towels down to the basement laundry pile, bolted my breakfast and jumped in the shower. It was 8:15 and we needed to be getting ourselves ready by 8:30 at the latest.

I'm very quick in the tub when need be, and was able to deflect Kiddo's questions about the toys he kept bringing into the bathroom. "How does this fit, Mama?" I assumed he was talking about the pegboard he was playing with. I refused to look at the toys, explaining that "Mama has to hustle so we can get to school on time" and kept on with the shower. And then, at around 8:20, it hit me-- no one had made Kiddo's lunch.

Sh*t, sh*t, sh*t. (I didn't say it aloud, but believe me, it was a mantra floating through my head.)

I raced through getting dressed and dried, thanking whatever stars had aligned that Kiddo hadn't planted himself in the bathroom this morning as he sometimes does. I had enough to deal with besides more three-year-old observations on "Mama's Sliding-Down Boo Boos", which is what you get when you're forty and had nursed the precious bundle of joy who would later make such, um, unflattering observations. I began to direct Kiddo through his getting ready for school. "Go potty, please." Only my son can figure out a way to pee sloooowwwly, I am sure of this. "It's time to get on your fleece jacket, now." I am flying around the kitchen, grabbing leftover pasta and grating Parmesan onto it before packing it up in his lunchbox. The jacket is still not on, Kiddo just standing there. AM I SPEAKING ESPERANTO, CHILD? "Get your jacket on now." I am now peeling a carrot, and he is still fiddling around. This is where I am starting to slide a bit. It's now 8:35 and we have five more minutes and at the rate he's going.... The voice raises, and I forget everything good in the world-- the robins that have returned to the neighborhood, the sweetness of the newly-budding plants beginning to bloom, the joy that comes with having a family --- "Put your damn coat on right now!!" I growl, giving my son the evil eye as I cram a napkin, fork and place mat into his lunch bag, toss the whole thing into his tote, and begin to get my own coat on.

"Mama, why is it a 'damn coat'?"

Really??? This is your question? Not "Mama, how many more minutes on the clock before you blast off like a rocket and begin orbiting the earth?"

Our walk to school seemed better, we'd both gotten out the door on time after all, and were able to take our time. Things were looking up. Or so I thought. Because when we got to school, he was playing too rough with the little friend he's supposed to have a play date with this afternoon.

And then, horror of horrors, he spit at her.

I just about died, but Mama can't die on the job, so instead, I used my stern voice and had him check in with his friend, who looked deeply offended-- and with good reason. Thank goodness the child's adult is a lovely, no-nonsense woman who trusts me enough to know that this isn't tolerated. I still have no idea where he saw this spitting thing and got the idea in the first place, but I knew there were no hard feelings, because the nice woman offered me a ride when she saw me walking toward Hawthorne so I could get some dinner shopping done.

And now here I sit, too tired to do much else. No good time goes unpunished. I have taken very good care of Kiddo and Joe over the past three weeks of their both being sick. I have made home-cooked dinners nearly every night, so they could get better. Nothing out of a box. I have taken out the garbage and recycling to help the Big Guy out, and have made lots of time for transitions and fun so that the Little Guy could keep feeling better. I have proactively parented and partnered as well as doing my professional job. It all feels a bit taken for granted right now. If I'm supposed to be Supermama, where's my damn cape already?!

At least I'll get to sleep in Sunday.

Get Your Kindergarten On!

2011-02-09T15:19:00.000-08:00

Okay, some of us are starting to get our kindergarten on. And our kids aren't even four yet.

Today I received an email from a dear friend who typed "Neurotic" in the subject line. Inside the email was a link to a site which helps to best gather and assess information from the schools they visit, so that they can make a more informed decision. Here in Portland, I understand why parents need help. Some of this is fallout from the GWBush Era's No Child Left Unabused (oh, wait, I meant to say "Left Behind") policy, which opened up the entire PPS system to a world of now-overwhelmed parents. Instead of fixing failing schools, parents can just (hopefully, via lottery system) transfer away to something better*. What sounds like a solution only causes more problems as successful schools struggle to keep their classrooms of children adequately staffed and funded. Adding to the confusion are all the specialized magnet schools: the environmental school, the arts schools, the vocational schools, independent study schools, language-immersion programs... And then add in all the parents who are educated and feel entitled to their child also receiving a top-notch education.

And I haven't even touched on the charter schools.

No wonder my peer moms are sweating this one. Some of them don't care for their neighborhood schools, and understandably. Some are, or will be, working parents and will need a school which provides before-and-after care programs. And some just think that there's a better match out there for their young one. Thus, we are left with a situation of So Many Choices~So Little Satisfaction. Not enough to go around, anyway.

I'm skipping out on all of this, for the time being. Kiddo might be predisposed to public engineering (or a career in sanitation) with all of his wonderment at fountains, storm drains, all things water, and recycling trucks galore, and while I think my son is absolutely grand, he is perfectly, averagely perfect for our local neighborhood school. He is not a budding Picasso, so we don't need to sweat the Buckman lottery. We keep a garden here at home and are environmentally aware, having thoughtful conversations about those sorts of topics no matter where we go, so I don't know that the extra time walking to and from Sunnyside Environmental School is going to feel entirely necessary. Being the person that I am, I'm not interested in spending my next 8 years in committees and fundraising, so while a second language would be nice, I think that can wait until middle or high school for a more intense course. We are fortunate (yes, I am aware that this is a question of "Fortunate") to live in a neighborhood that hosts a top-notch academic school, and one which rates above average in the state. So, even though people tell me that the kindergarten building looks like a bunker, I'm not just looking at his kinder-year, I'm looking at the following eight years as well. (It's a K-8 school.)

What do I see for my son's future at the neighborhood school? Strong academics, and I'm guessing I'm going to be spending a lot of afternoons at the kitchen table, helping Kiddo with his homework. But that's not just what school is about. It's also the connections we make when we're there. I'm hoping that Kiddo will have Neighborhood friends to play with. Other kids to walk to school with. I'm looking forward to having a neighborhood community of parents whose kids can come over and play and who don't live crosstown. When I was a kid, I attended 14 schools. I recognize how important a sense of community is, and this is something I want to give to my son. We'll likely pay out separately for specialized music lessons or whatever other thing he wants to learn or do, but so do many families. I don't expect the neighborhood school to accommodate the interests of each child and support their growth in areas outside of academia. I personally am more intent on Kiddo's school providing recess times, not band. There's only so much money to go around, and the schools cannot be all things to all people. If I were the type of parent to expect school to fit my child's interests, I'd be over there today, lobbying for a large, deep sandbox and access to water and hoses.

I think it's the parent's responsibility to encourage, nurture and provide opportunities for their kids outside the school setting. Just like I think it's a parent's job to teach children about morals, sexual health education, hygiene and so much more. Teachers can't do it all, nor should they.

And I'm going to stick my neck out here to say this: I have noticed a trend over the past several years in how some parents perceive school. Even in solid neighborhoods, some parents are hell-bent to get their kids into the more 'hip' schools, some for no other reason than just because their friends' kids go there. I have heard grown adults talking about the 'cool schools', because they liked the 'kind of parents' whose children attend the school. I feel like sometimes sitting them down and telling them "Hey, listen, this really isn't about YOU." School should be where our children go to get their needs met, not the parent's. I'm not saying we shouldn't advocate for quality education for our kids, but this doesn't need to be an extension of our own ego trip. Portland is very into it's own stratified "hipness" in some insecure way, sometimes, and I consider these comments as a byproduct of that odd quest for being part of Portland's Coolest, not as a thoughtful conversation about education. Nonetheless, the thought of considering schools while using the same vocabulary as one would use while window-shopping on some trendy neighborhood makes me cringe.

I'm fortunate, too, that I only hear those inane conversations from people I see in passing, not the core group of parents that I know. They are all wanting the best for their kids, and trying to figure out which packages it might come in. I hope that one day, we will live in a Portland where all the neighborhood schools are academically strong, diverse, well-staffed and well-funded. That wasn't the Portland I lived in during high school, though, and it's not the one I've inherited as a parent. A lot of folks have a lot of thinking to do, and they're being responsible, taking their time. I'm just glad I'm so blessed. Maybe considering less choices will make me more happy... I won't really know until a couple years from now, though.

*Isn't this how ghost towns are created, better opportunities elsewhere?

In the Seven Minutes I Have On the Timer

2011-02-07T16:00:00.000-08:00

...while Kiddo's upstairs with Joe, home early with an ear infection.

1. I am the only person in my house currently not invited to the amoxicillan party.
2. I am tired of filling up itty-bitty tubes of Elmer's glue. They are child-hand-sized, and good for portion control, otherwise some of our art projects would take eight weeks to dry. But I really hate filling them up!
3. I wish my son could just 'drop the poop'. By this, I mean that he talks about poop constantly. Today, he wanted to "walk by the dog-poop house" on the way to the QFC. And when we got close to it he yelled happily "THE DOG POOP HOUSE!!!" Just in case we didn't know.
4. I love Valentines Day, and love sharing it with the kids. They are so excited. This is one holiday we can celebrate at school: non-denominational, no dead turkeys, nothing scary... and no drinking. I'm not sure we could do an 'authentic' Saint Paddy's at preschool. Give them green juice? Nope, Valentines is the best, because it's all about the love...
5.I have preschool dishes still to wash and laundry to move, a bean bin to stow. And my timer went ding, so off I go!

“But Mama, I don’t Like It!!!”

2011-02-06T08:06:00.000-08:00

Mealtime Rules for the Grown-Ups:
1. Always serve two things on the plate we know Kiddo regularly will eat.
2. Ignore “I Don’t Like It”s. They are less about the food and more about something else. No substitutions for this reason.
3. If he doesn’t try it, let it go. He’ll try it when he’s ready.

Mealtime Rule for the Kiddo:

1. If you can’t eat it without a great big fuss, go take a break and come back when you can. Nobody’s forcing you to eat anything.

Always seeking balance. If it’s not the first job of any mom, it’s surely one of primary importance. Kiddo’s had a stressful time lately. He’s been on amoxicillin for a week now, and fortunately for him, he’s got a mama who’s already relatively familiar with what to feed a kid who’s taking this antibiotic, which tends to be pretty rough on a little kid’s tummy. So, there were lots of soda crackers and applesauce at the beginning of the week. Noodles and capers are a favorite, and the trick with amoxicillin is to give the medication on a starchy stomach, which seems to help children better tolerate it. Meals were very Kiddo-focused for most of the week, which was fine with me as he usually eats earlier in the evening than Joe and I do. So when I made noodles and capers for him first, whilst cooking the broccoli and salmon, it was no big deal. He ate a bit of the other foods as well, and everything was fine.

By the time Friday rolled around, the cupboard was bare so I went shopping for some soup fixings and a few of his favorites: fresh blueberries and some of Milton’s Graham Crackers, which are small and heavenly, especially with almond butter on them. When I picked Kiddo up from preschool with a surprise snack of grahams, he was pretty darn happy. Afternoon snack time was some fresh blueberries and a couple tablespoons of soy yogurt. “After this” I told him “we should pick a veggie. You can have carrots or red pepper.” I offered, choosing two readily-eaten foods. It was snack time, and I don’t mind giving him a “you choose it and you can get it out of the fridge” opportunity, which he usually loves. He asked for red peppers and hummus; while I was making this up for him, he got down from the table to play, and so they went back into the fridge for future consumption.

Two hours later, Kiddo had played happily outside, helped me to make the soup I was going to serve for dinner (he’s a great Cuisinart button-pusher!), and was now loudly complaining of being hungry. Since the snack veggie plate had gone untouched, I served this first, along with a piece of good crusty bread and butter. Our house rule is to serve two things I know he likes at each meal; I know he’s not exactly wild about soup, but I served some of this with the broth strained out, so he just had the potatoes, carrots and other veggies he’d helped to prepare.

So I was a bit surprised to hear--

“Mama! I don’t liiiiiike red peppers!”

Okay, well, not that surprised. I often hear “I don’t like” such and such food, which he readily eats otherwise. I routinely ignore this statement, and he usually eats up the food just fine. Tonight, though, the whining continued. “I don’t like this hummus!” “Um, you did yesterday!” I thought to myself, but said nothing. Tonight he was digging his heels in. Perhaps he was tired. Perhaps he was just in the mood to see how far Mama’s patience would stretch, to see if I would put on my SuperMama cape and fly to the rescue and make him some separate dinner. Unh-uh. I wouldn’t budge.

“Well, you have plenty of food in front of you. Just eat what you like.” I wasn’t going to engage in discussing this with him. As I’ve written before, we do have a No Bite Rule in our house, which is to say that if you find it repulsive, I’m not going to force you to eat it.

Still, he fretted loudly and often. He said he didn’t want red peppers, he wanted carrots. While my internal reply was “yeah, right”, I kept my mouth shut and kept chopping up pickles for the tuna salad until enough was enough.

“You know, you don’t have to tell me what you don’t like. Just eat what you do like.” I was trying to stay even-tempered but frankly, I was tired too. It had been a long day. There’s a reason I call that window between 4 and 6 pm ‘the witching hour’—this is the time of day when they will complain long and loud about imaginary offenses, mainly because we are all tired. But when he began to scream at me about how he “DIDN’T LIKE RED PEPPER, MAAAMAAA!”, I knew the time had come to take a break.

“I see you don’t want to eat right now, and I need to make some tuna salad for our sandwiches for dinner. So I need you to go take a break and play in your room until you are ready to eat what I have for you.” I picked him up and carried him, crying, to his room. “You come on out when you are ready to eat what I have for you” I repeated, reassuring him that this was not a punishment, but that I could see he needed a break.

Three minutes later, he returned. He looked exhausted, but really had tried to recompose himself. “Mama, could I have some tuna salad please?” Ah. What a blessing. “Of course you may. Go sit down. Do you want it on crusty bread, or soft bread?” (The crusty bread was my vice, a loaf of fresh sourdough; the soft bread was a multigrain spelt.) I made it the way he wanted, on spelt, and he was so happy to eat it. Tuna, mayo, and pickle, the favorite of son and husband alike. I was just grateful I hadn’t put celery and red onion in instead. He gobbled it up just as Joe walked in the door.

The rest of dinner went without incident, but all of this reminded me that sometimes, considerations need to be made. I’d somehow forgotten that Friday is the hardest day for Kiddo. He had been in preschool for four days and was just wiped out. Finding balance would mean finding a very Kiddo-friendly meal for Thursdays and Fridays. Save the more challenging meals for earlier in the week, when he had plenty of downtime, or even better, weekends. Kid-friendly doesn’t necessarily mean mac-n-cheese, either, but something friendlier to him.

So tonight, we are having gnocchi and fresh sole— both of which he loves, and broccoli. I’m not sure he’ll eat the broccoli--maybe he’ll eat the tops. And I’m aware that he’s still stressed and that I have to soften my hard line. To be honest, I’m glad I stuck with it last night. Kiddo was able to find what he needed on the menu, and I was able to see where I needed to flex a little more. It’s all a little touch and go, and sometimes menu-planning requires mutual respect—he needs to eat what’s on the table, and I need to make a more kid-oriented table a couple nights a week or so. Finding balance isn’t bad… It’s just a constant parental discipline.

You Give Me Fever

2011-01-29T12:27:00.000-08:00

I wish this were a post about how hot Joe is, but when Kiddo is running a temperature of 102+, that's just about the farthest thing from my mind.

If you peeked into our house, you'd see some disturbing things. Like my hair. It's 12 noon and I haven't yet showered today, so I'm wearing a hat, so as not to scare myself when I pass mirrors. I was alone as nursemaid from 7 a.m. until 9p.m. yesterday, when Joe came home from work. I had a better attitude yesterday, partly because I had a mission to get out and pick up videos* and soup, and because I only had one person yapping at me. The adults switched shifts around 10 or so; Joe slept with Kiddo until 5, when fever #3 dropped in. We gave him Motrin, which completely hit his "ON!" button, and by 5:15 he was begging to go downstairs and play. Temporarily playing the role of Angel of Mercy (not a character people usually associate me with), I took Kiddo downstairs and kept him fed and busy reading books until I was nearly falling asleep at 7:30, and so we switched, and I went back to bed until 9.

My second act of benevolence of the day was coming back down at 9, because believe me, I could have slept longer.

Yesterday, Kiddo was relatively tired and docile, which I personally appreciate in a sick kid because it makes my job easier. I'd rented a Reading Rainbow dvd on the topic of "Music!" and the original "World of Beatrix Potter" Volume One. Lavar Burton, how I miss thee! That show was one of the best on PBS. The scene with Peter Rabbit being chased by Mr. McGregor was a bit overblown in regard to tension, but Kiddo seemed to enjoy it. Today, though, Kiddo says he wants to take a "not mean video" upstairs and wants nothing to do with either one, which means that we are back to Mr. Rogers again. sigh. (I love you, Fred Rogers, but mind-numbing repetition is not a friend of the nursemaid!)

And the dishes await, but this is the first moment I've had to myself in a while. Joe's at the store, picking up yet another new digital thermometer-- do they make them from used goods, or what!--and a short list of Trader Joe's necessities. Like hummus. We can't go out tomorrow for our date, but I can have some hummus and pita, which makes me extremely happy and satisfied in some weird way. Hard to explain.

Sometimes I wish for another reality. Like, say, my kid would blow his nose well, instead of sniffing constantly and coughing on it. How gross is that? Or if he only liked spicy foods like hot and sour soup or Kim Chi. Perhaps this is very flawed thinking, but they always helped me feel better. He's even reluctant to eat chicken noodle soup right now, or drink water, and I'm actually bribing him with 2T servings of kefir (thanks for the suggestion, Alisha!) to get the other stuff in his stomach. The kefir is a big hit, even if he only takes 2 sips of it, I'm going to milk this one until I can't. And serving after serving of applesauce with powdered probiotics mixed in.

As I mentioned before, Joe and I had planned a date for tomorrow-- one of Kiddo's Honorary Aunties had offered to watch him, but she's also living in a house with very new twins, so we can't have her carrying the plague back to the babies, now, can we?

Add to this, I am ready to just disinfect myself. I have been coughed all over so many times it's like I have a protective coating of germs on my face and hair. When he's snuggled up next to me I duck down when he begins to cough, which I am sure is contributing to the big Fashion Don't Coiffure on the top of my head.

Best stop posting now-- don't want to use up my entire sense of humor on this! Having a sick kid can be misery at times, but he's still sleeping, so I'm going to Woman Up and get them damn dishes done. Even if a clean kitchen has no affect on Kiddo, it'll do me some good.

*What does the nursemaid pick for vids? The Social Network, which I am dying to see if only to reinforce my bias against Facebook, ha ha; Patti Smith: Dream of Life because Patti is one of my #1 Hero-Goddesses and is such an incredible inspiration of what can happen when a person with integrity and creativity pursues their passion; and the first season of The Ricky Gervais Show, simply because I am in dire need of "having a laugh", and he makes me laugh so hard. Just about one of the funniest, most genius guys out there. "Let the mocking begin!" (acknowledgements to Tia for that one!)

In the Toy Aisle

2011-01-25T20:10:00.000-08:00

Yesterday, Kiddo and I caught a bus and took a trip downtown to meet Joe for lunch. I love bus trips with the little guy. Sure, he's nearly four and weighs so much more than he used to, but on the bus we get the snuggle time life at home doesn't always make time for. We have our same old landmarks we talk about each time: the brightly painted Cuban restaurant which he calls "the colorful building"; all the roadwork equipment on lower East Burnside; the Burnside Bridge itself, spanning the Willamette; the 'beautiful gate' of Chinatown; and the grand destination, Carwash Fountain across the street from Big Pink, looking pinker and mauvier in the fickle sunlight.

We ran a few errands--made copies for preschool, stopped at Peets for the requisite tin of Malty Assam-- and then met up with Joe at his office to eat lunch in the breakroom. Kiddo is certainly my husband's child, they both chatty and friendly to no end, and Little Mister is quite the mini-celebrity there. After finishing my foodcart bowl of beans and rice, we headed out to search for my new mystery item: reasonably-priced cloth napkins. Stopping at Ross, my quest was met with disappointment, so we walked over to the toy section, as a few toys had caught my eye. They were too young for Kiddo; not that he'd know. He kept asking for toys that we'd had long ago and he'd lost interest in. Others were cheap plastic crap versions of better toys that we actually did have, and I reminded him of this. Then something in the next aisle caught his eye.

An Ironman toy.

Ironman? Really? I know the toys exist; I haven't seen the movie, but it's also likely that no child should either. I thought of the Black Sabbath song, and how, um, unhappy it was. The cover of the box showed a picture of Ironman in full close-up.

"I want that." said Kiddo, pointing to the box. Then he paused a beat and added "What is it?"

"What do you think it is?" I countered.

"I don't know." He still had that "I want that" look, so I asked him a question.

"Look at the face. Does it look happy, sad, or angry?"

Kiddo thought. "Angry."

"Yeah, he kinda does. You know, honey, we don't buy angry toys. They don't play nice." Then, miracle of miracles, out of the corner of my eye is a Matchbox-sized "John Deere" construction set, complete with dump truck, excavators, bulldozers, the works. 7 pieces, $8. Reasonable to me.

"Wow, look at this" I handed him the box of machines. "We could take this home and put rice in the bin, and you could play with these. Would you like to do that?"

"YEAH!"

Score one for Mama, one for John Deere. Ironman? I hope not to have to see you for a few more years. You might be some kind of ass-kicking bad-guy fighter, but I'm still the one who holds the wallet. And today, Kiddo came home all hot to ''play machines in the rice" again. I don't even know what he can do with a grumpy-looking plastic doll. Do you?

The Go-Between

2011-01-16T13:50:00.000-08:00

This morning, another rainy Sunday in Portland, and I'm up with the birds. Okay, before the birds. The birds are allowed to sleep in because of winter's tardy sunrise. It's the wrong season for chicks to be in the nest, and so the wake-up call of the crows is rather late in coming. For me, my little chick is peeping in the black six o'clock morning. It's my morning to take Kiddo down and let Joe sleep in, and the next hour and a half of my life is spent hissing "SSSHHHH! Daddy's sleeping. You need to be quiet." like a snake with a broken tongue... SSSHHHH...SSSHHHH. Waking up with a cup of tea, making a pot of rice to eat with the eggs I plan on making later for breakfast, and trying to keep a lid on the noise. Joe came down and Kiddo pounced on him, ready to play, happy to make all the big sounds he was containing within, stomping and 'woo woo'-ing himself as he pretended to be different things.

We talked about our day, the plan of it: Joe wanted to get a run in, and then do some shirt shopping at the mall. While I hate the mall, I knew the optimum plan would be to get there by 10:30, because we need to be heading home to eat lunch by 11:30 or Kiddo is stretched too far. Joe, with his ability to be a food camel and go for hours without eating, often forgets that he possesses a magical ability our son doesn't. Once again, I telegraph the needs of the one to the other, and our morning begins in full swing.

Later, on the way out of the bathroom, I hear my husband on the phone with his folks, talking about recent events in the news. A reminder to him: "Be mindful of your audience." He looks at Kiddo, playing nearby with a Tinkertoy crane we built earlier and then changes the subject of the conversation. Ten minutes pass, and I remind him of what he had planned earlier. He wraps up the call, thanks me (because this is my job, keeping the family running) and hops in the shower.

Why did we all go to the mall? I still don't know. Joe heads off to shop; I've already made a plan to just walk around with Kiddo and see what we shall see. The mall is waking up, we are taking advantage of the church-time lull of Sunday morning, and it is pleasant for a change. The busy, angry shoppers aren't here yet, more the agnostic early risers, families, the pace is slow. We walk over to the bridge that spans the ice rink, and watch the crowd of mostly-mature skaters practicing ice-dancing, partners in arms, waltzing over the cold slick floor of the rink. It is oddly sweet. Two ice dancers lead, then a woman repeating the steps of the female skater of the pair, and then a small row-of-ducklings pack of older girls following still, watching their teacher and doing as she does. It is remarkable to watch, but Kiddo is ready to move on. We meander into a bookstore, where I search out a copy of Vanity Fair, only to discover Justin Bieber on the cover, which forces me to reconsider my purchase entirely. Instead, we descend the glass-towered elevator and spend my fun money on two rides on those 75cent kiddie ride machines--a firetruck and a race car. Kiddo's more comfortable in the race car, sitting down into something likely feels more secure. Then we wander over to the pretzel shop, where a kind-faced girl making pretzels sells us one plain one, taking the money from Kiddo and telling us to 'be careful, it's hot'. I ask her if we can watch her for a moment, and she makes a pretzel and we go. Passing by the photo booth, Kiddo wants to go in. Why not? For a moment I'm reminded of Patti Smith and Robert Mapplethorpe taking the day on Coney Island* and I'm amused at the thought of treating the mall as not a place of commerce, but our own personal amusement park. Rides, pretzel, photos.... not much different.

We head back to meet Joe, finishing our pretzel as we walked. I look at my clock. 11:20. "Mama, I'm hungry", my little guy says to me.

Well. Right on time.

*Reading Patti Smith's "Just Kids", a chronicle of her friendship with Robert Mapplethorpe. Shine on, Patti. Wonderful.

At the Heart of This Tragedy

2011-01-11T15:08:00.000-08:00

Last Saturday, a terrible thing happened.

I don't think I need to state what that was. You know. And it is hurting all of us-- so many of us--at once.

What happened on Saturday is saturated in confusion and anger, in so many ways. It might not be for months, maybe longer, before we find out something resembling the whole truth about Jared Lee Loughner. What he was wanting to prove. What he was thinking he'd fix. What pushed him over the edge. What we have right now, though, are angry voices everywhere. The extreme actions of someone with extreme beliefs are causing more polarization amongst those of us who remain frustrated, sucker-punched and hurting. And so the discussion turns to if we should blame icons of cross hairs on political maps or The Communist Manifesto*. Everyone is scrambling to shout "This guy was not one of US!", as if there are any blameless sides to be had.

And no one seems to be--ever-- reflecting on the collective culture of violence and death which stands to threaten us all.

We can talk about being a nation of peace, but we seem to relish war and offense on a regular basis. Our televisions and movies are full of it; showcasing the most base and vulgar human beings in our country and making celebrities of people who act out angrily, yet continue to be popular for their fighting and outrageousness, glorifying it. Daily, children play video games which depict people doing horrible things to each other in realistic settings, and thus these acts are normalized for them. Intention is everything, and allowing our children to make the choice, even in play, to hurt, slap, fight, shoot and kill teaches them to become familiar with that feeling of intention. Even if they would never do anything physical to anyone else, they do come closer to the actual act than if they'd never done it to begin with. I'm old school: I'm still appalled that a person called a 'retailer' would make a conscious decision to sell this sort of product, knowing they're peddling the promise of violence for filthy profit. I'm appalled that an adult would want to spend their time this way, or feel that this is an allowable use of their time. I'm not talking battling mythical creatures or children pretending to fight dragons, I'm talking about human characters brutally killing one other.

Even the most innocuous talk radio, NPR, the most calm and reasoned in the mainstream, has whole days of litanies about who was wounded, maimed, killed, here, overseas, in your own backyard. The word 'dead' peppers the daily news often enough that I can't listen to this station when my son is present. How can he experience the world as a safe place when the news is an endless retelling of violence? They must report, and so we parents quickly turn down the volume, cheerfully blabbing away at our kids, hoping they haven't heard "Six people dead and more than a dozen injured...", and that they didn't see that moment of terror and sadness on our faces.

I don't understand this at all. I don't understand the rhetoric and noise of a culture that plays at normalizing violence and then acts horrified when it happens. I know there are many, many families who teach peace who are trying to explain this to their children, those which are old enough to understand that what happened was so incredibly wrong and frightening. These are the same conversations we will have with our children when police shoot a mentally ill person, or when one country practices flat-out genocide, or pictures of prisoners being tortured appear on the newsstand. We are doing our best to keep our kids heads afloat, teaching them to dog-paddle through this morass of rhetoric and finger-pointing to say "Keep striving to do what's right. Keep what is best about your humanity. When violence is used, no side ever wins. Ever. We can do better. We should be better than this."

I think of Mr. Rogers, and how he understood the necessity--for the fate of the world-- to teach our children to master their anger. To choose the higher path, whenever possible. To be "the master of the mad that you feel". Extremists are those who fall through the cracks... they might be educated, but what they missed out on was that one critical piece of social development: to think before one acts. To consider what's right before one does. This lack of skill doesn't know a political party or position: it adopts one as justification for its actions. Fuel for the fire, heat for the anger. The tendency for the anger to be in control is always there for some, and the helplessness underlying that anger must be enormous. People who feel competent and confident within themselves know how to enact satisfying change in their lives without hurting others to gain a sense of power. Extremism has nothing to do with a love for anything; there's nothing in these acts other than acute fear.

Fear, too, is on the march. Last year, Steven Colbert nicely jested us about it, to get us used to the idea, but the fact is that there is a lot of fear out there. The surveys on politics and religion from both the Pew Charitable Trust and the Public Religion Institute confirm this; people are becoming a little more wiggy about things we used to not sweat so much. Yet, as a parent, it's my job not to translate that fear to my child, to instead contain those feelings and to teach him that fear is nothing more than a feeling, even a terrifying one. How we react to those fears--in anger, or in search of more understanding, even as we hold our sorrow too--will teach our children to be braver, to make the higher choices and to put themselves in charge of their feelings, instead of the opposite. In the weeks and months ahead, as this case goes forward to trial and we try to reconcile ourselves to the idea that this was an isolated incident, let us forget the finger-pointing and instead move forward, mastering the mad that we feel and being willing to love and grieve with each other, despite our differences. It is all we can do.

As my husband said, as the first of this firestorm began: "With a position of responsibility comes the obligation to speak responsibly." We, as parents, must do this. Let's hope all of our leaders can follow this example.

*By no means a go-to book for liberals or lefties, at least not the ones I know, so I'm not sure how that got dragged into the conversation, other than the desire to blame and sensationalize and disassociate.

Let's (Not) Talk About Sex

2010-12-29T14:30:00.000-08:00

Yesterday, while checking in on that spectacle-in-motion known here as the Mamaworldforum, I came across a question that left me feeling a bit, well, dirty. Not sexy dirty, but more like Maybe If I Scrub My Brain Long Enough I Won't Be So Disgusted dirty. I'm not even going to provide a link to the post here, because dear reader, I don't want to put that special Ick into your brain which was put into mine.

Let's just boil it down to this: after an introduction, which was an abhorrent attempt at cutesy euphemisms, the "question" was the equivalent of a straw poll of this lovely topic: "Do you do it when you're on your period?"

Need I say more?

Am I missing something here, some new "oh,we are so liberated by Sex and the City" sort of thing, where we all sit around and discuss the intimate details of our personal lives with Total and Complete Strangers? This is something we all have our personal feelings on, as are many aspects of sexuality, but frankly, I don't want to know anyone's answer to this question but my own. It's none of my business, and it was none of the business of the person who posted the question.

Yet, time and time again, women posted personal replies. Some even disagreed with my polite assertion that this was a "bit of an intrusive question" to be asking on this forum. "People ask questions about sex on this site all the time" some defended. Yes, they do. And while I'm not particularly upset by questions regarding "how to get my husband interested in more than football, hey hey" or "How long after baby before we can resume intimacy" or even "What should I expect when I resume sex after birth?", I didn't think this question qualified. Those other sorts of questions are par for the course of a new mom's group; this one in particular, I don't believe, would ever be broached in that sort of setting.

For me, all of this begs the question: Where has our sense of decorum gone? When did we all decide this was okay, to ask questions online one would hardly ask amidst the girlfriends? I'm hardy a prude: I've had women's health issues over the past several years and have had to be pretty candid with my health care providers. After I had my son, some of the usual questions did come up, and even there, I limited asking advice about these issues to one peer mother whom I trust very, very much. I am not ashamed of sex, nor of my body. Nonetheless, I find that when it comes to talking about matters of an intimate nature, the person I should be most interested in talking to is my partner.

Perhaps this is way too old school for this newer world of people who trumpet their most recent hookups on their Facebook page and seem to have no problem oversharing about every little thing. Maybe sex has become just another topic of conversation for a lot of people out there, and so that's why these women have no hesitation when it comes to telling all with their name attached above, for all the world to see, as well as a link to click on their photo and profile. I see this as a folly of a sort, because none of this ever goes away. Marketers use this information we post to collect a profile of us. People who know us read this information and make their own decisions about what we write, and what they think of it.

Even in pleasant conversation with the girls, we might be extolling the physical attributes of our favorite screen gods-- or even recounting a hot scene in a movie-- but somehow we are able to pull on the reins before letting the horses run entirely free. We understand that we don't need to tell each other every little thing. Those moments are a sweet, precious secret between ourselves and our lovers. A funny anecdote now and then is fine-- like when one girlfriend and her husband were almost caught by her mother-in-law-- but overall, we just don't need to know that about each other. I don't think we even want to know that about each other.

Or is it just me?

Quiet Play Time

2010-12-27T14:41:00.000-08:00

Twenty minutes of quiet play time. Okay... so Mama fudged a bit with the timer, and it's actually 25 minutes, but you aren't going to tell him, are you?

Each day is so different. We've had a wonderful morning, Kiddo playing with his Tinkertoys and working with markers while I folded laundry and washed up dishes. He helped playfully, handing me things from the laundry basket, and waiting until I was finished with one thing before I fulfilled his various requests. Thelonious Monk played in the background, performing with a Big Band and I wondered what our day held.

Kiddo drew me to the window. "Look, the moon" he said, pointing to an overcast pearl sun. It was due to rain, yet I still felt compelled to get outside. Took a shower and then asked Kiddo what he'd like to do today. "I want to go to sushi." A boy seriously after my own heart. It was misting when we left, and steadily raining when we walked into the restaurant. Both of us were wet, but it just didn't matter. We sat side by side, the easiest way for me to sit with Kiddo when we're out, and ordered a feast of super eel roll, miso soup, rice and edamame (the first two for me, the last two mostly his), then washed our hands and played with foam beading pieces while we waited. Eating wasn't the messy endeavor it usually was --only three edamame beans hit the floor this time. Kiddo was pleasant and relaxed. Our trip to the store afterward was an easy one: salmon, carrots, pitas and a muffin all procured with no fuss. This was sooo not the experience we'd had here the time before, when Joe had to take him out to wait for me in the car because Mama Doesn't Play That whole flopping around thing.

Maybe my being consistent with follow-through influenced today's cooperation, but I think it's also the coming back to Earth after the distractions of the holidays. The first day of being Mama's only companion after days of Daddy being home and having to share her attention with him. It doesn't matter to me what's made today so nice, really.

After we got home from our outings, wet and cold and happy, we went into his room and set up his little tent on his futon. I used string to restrain the tent at all four corners, so it's tied to the frame and can't slide off. Kiddo hung his little lantern his Aunt Chris and Uncle John in Pennsylvania had sent for Christmas. "I love my little lantern" he told me in a cute, happy voice. "You be the lying down one and I'll sit up. I'm Santa Claus and here's toys." He offered me a basket of bristle blocks. We worked together, adding pieces to each other until the panoramic 'city' suddenly looked to Kiddo like a train, so we added wheels and carefully laid our creation in the basket.

I made a snack for him to enjoy in the tent and set the timer. Guess where he is right now? Three feet away from me, under the laundry basket, asking for "pet food" and "I want to set the timer for your twenty minutes" and when I tell him I'll help him get pet food when the timer goes ding and that it's still quiet play time, he says "no, it's quiet playtime for you". So I'll keep on here with my quiet time while he backstrokes all over the kitchen floor with an empty laundry basket held over his head. It's someone's quiet play time, that's for sure. I'm not sure if he's going to ever learn what the word quiet means, besides when he's sleeping. But this will work for now.