If You Want the Best Jam....

....you've got to make your own. That's what Michelle Shocked says, and I believe her. My mom and grandma have always made their own, and I felt a need to follow in that fine tradition. So last week Boodge and I headed out to the local no-pesticide raspberry patch to pick some berries. Boodge had a bucket, and so did I. About 20 berries made it into his bucket while I picked 6 pounds or so. But I heard him say "mmm, mmm, mmm" a lot.

It was a fun thing to do with him, moving up and down the rows, just the two of us in yummy nature. He loved it, and I'm pretty sure he could have stayed twice as long. Which is good, because local organic blueberries are coming in, and I intend to pick at least 30 pounds to freeze for smoothies this winter.

But back to the jam. My mom told me that she uses half sugar, half fruit, (by weight) and just cooks it until the right consistency. I found this recipe which was basically the same except with measurement rather than weight, and since I don't have a scale, I used it. When I measured the berries, I pressed them down with my potato masher so there wouldn't be a lot of air in the cup and the volume would match that of the sugar.



To sterilize the jars, I submerged them in boiling water and boiled them for 15 minutes, throwing the lids and the ladle I was going to use into the water for the last 5 minutes.

The whole thing is much easier than you may imagine. Put in the berries, put in the sugar, and boil it. My mom advised me that it boils up pretty high, and she was right, so don't overfill your pot. Halfway full is plenty, unless you like the idea of cleaning burning hot sugar off your stove. Because it can boil over, you do have to watch it pretty closely, so I recommend you do this when you can have undivided attention (like, naptime in my case). You also have to keep a close watch for the time when it reaches the right consistency.



To check consistency, I used my mom's method: put a plate in the freezer and periodically drop a bit of jam onto it, and check the consistency of the cold jam. The recipe also advises that it is done when two drops start to run together and fall more slowly off the spoon. You can kind of see this happening. Using both methods, I managed to get the consistency just right. My jam took about 10 minutes to reach the right consistency.

When it's done, ladle it into your jars, trying not to be too sloppy. If you spill on the edge of your jar, wipe it with a clean, damp rag. You can search the internet to learn how to seal jars by boiling them in the oven, but I just used the lazy method my mom and grandmother use--wax. You can buy the wax right next to the jam jars in most supermarkets. Melt it while you are making your jam by placing in a jar, and then placing the jar in boiling water that reaches about halfway up the sides. Pour it onto your finished jam about 1 cm thick. Easy peasy.

A word about wax, though. The last time I tried to make jam was over 10 years ago. I was cooking with gas then, and I melted the wax directly in the pot. When I turned off the gas burner, it gave a little puff, and the flames jumped up into my wax. Suddenly, the pot was full of fire. In a panic, I put the pot in the sink and turned on the water. DO NOT DO THIS. Wax and water are like oil and water. Maybe you all know that already. I didn't. I was totally shocked when I suddenly faced a wall of flames over the sink. Luckily, I was so shocked I thought nothing of reaching into the fire with my oven mitt on and turning the pot over. The fire went right out. I was very, very lucky. If you're cooking with gas, be very careful with the wax.



10 cups of raspberries, 10 cups of sugar, and I have 12 250ml and one 500ml jam jars full of yummy, yummy jam. Start to finish, the whole thing took about half an hour, for each batch. I also made strawberry jam with the same recipe, and it boiled about 15 minutes to reach the right consistency.

Try it out. There's nothing quite like home-made jam, and this way you can have it pesticide free and with organic sugar for much less money. Not that I'm saving much more than $30 bucks a year on jam here...but knowing you made it yourself is somehow priceless. My only complaint is that summer is a cruel time for jam berries to be in season. Standing over a stove with three boiling pots (jars, jam, wax) for half an hour...is an excellent facial, if nothing else.

The Mean Kid

Tuesday I took the Boodge to our local water park. Last time we went he hesitated to go in, and wanted me with him the whole time. The park has several "gun" type things which bigger kids get a hold of and point at other people, so you can't always control whether you get wet or how much. He even said "Mommy, turn the water off!" at one point. It was a bit of a bust, and after 1/2 an hour we ended up going inside to use the pool instead.

But this time, he was over that. Before we even got out of the car he was saying "Mommy, take my shirt off. Take my shoes off!" He ran for the park and didn't look back. I had trouble keeping tabs on him because he was moving like a charged particle all over the place. But it was a gorgeous day and I was happy to be able to sit still in the sun and watch my little guy bursting joy, getting up here and there to help him out or rein him in.




The only thing was, there was this mean kid there. He was about 9, and he had one of those mega-sized water guns that you pump up for extra hard spray. He was spraying everyone at the park, and aiming straight for the face. He came to my attention when I saw another kid (we'll call him "Nice Kid") repeatedly asking Mean Kid to stop spraying him so hard, and Mean Kid made some crack about how he would set his gun to "medium" and then he sprayed nice kid again in the face, over and over. A few minutes later, I was hit in the face myself. I looked over at Mean Kid and he was saying "You--yeah, YOU!" and smiling snidely. I asked him to stop (I felt like I was transported right back to the playground, being picked on by the bully) and he didn't. I asked him again, and then again very angrily, and finally he stopped. It's a rare kid who is so rude to an adult.

Nice Kid saw what happened and told me that this kid had been spraying everyone in the park in the face and not respecting anyone's request that he stop. He said he wanted to find the kid's mother. I looked around but could see no parent on the sidelines that resembled mean kid or seemed interested in what he was doing. Later, I heard Nice Kid ask Mean Kid where his mom was, and Mean Kid replied "Nowhere," then said he was here by himself. So the next time I saw Mean Kid spray someone who was telling him to stop, I said to him, "Hey, you need to stop spraying people who are clearly telling you they don't want it." He looked at me without a shred of care.





From my vantage point on the blanket, I watched Boodge whirl around, and I watched Mean Kid gun down the water park. Littler kids took themselves out and sat on the sidelines watching him, looking annoyed but not wanting to go back in to the fray. Bigger kids tried to tell him to stop, but he didn't listen. He was acting like Rambo on his vengeance mission, refilling his gun over and over and then running through the park shooting everyone mercilessly.

After a while, Nice Kid, with another kid by his side, approached a man with sunglasses who was sitting right behind me. "Are you the father of the kid in the red shirt?" I heard him ask. "Yeah." said the man. Nice Kid went on to tell the man that his kid had been spraying people in the eyes and not stopping when they asked. The man told Nice Kid to get Mean Kid to come over to him. So Nice Kid obliged (what an awesome, brave kid!). I heard the man tell Mean Kid "Stop spraying people in the eyes." and that was that, Mean Kid was released back into the water park.

Not five minutes later, as I was corralling Boodge back from a mad dash towards the parking lot, I saw the Dad walking back from the water area with the gun. Finally, I thought, he was dealing with his kid's behavior. But as I mentioned before, the park has it's own guns--six of them--and Mean Kid quickly took control of those and sprayed everyone in their reach. I never saw Dad discipline him again.

At one point, Boodge dropped the little tupperware I had brought for him to fill up and dump, and Mean Kid grabbed it, filled it up, and threw the water in someone's face. I immediately got up and asked him to give me back my son's tupperware. Later, when Boodge was finally getting a turn to "drive the choo choo train" they have in the park, Mean Kid jumped in, shoved him aside, and took the wheel. Bless little Boodge, he didn't let go, and Mean Kid tried to pry his hand away, saying "I need to drive this."

"Well, he's driving it right now," I said, "So you'll have to wait your turn." Mean Kid relented, but stayed right there. Not making eye contact, he said "I hate you." Good, I thought. Yep, I was right back in the playground.

Just as we were going to leave, a big sister was holding her baby sister, about one year old, inside the choo-choo train, while their mother stood to one side. Mean Kid turned the gun on them. "Watch the baby, watch the baby." pleaded big sister. She turned her back to the spray and sheltered the babe, and repeated "Turn the spray away, turn it away from us!" She was trapped in the little train, and couldn't get out. Mean Kid smirked, aimed the spray just a bit more precisely at them, and walked away leaving it on them. "Nice kid!" the mother remarked, after she had righted the spray and rescued her crying baby.

Nice kid indeed. But what about Dad? Why did he sit and watch all afternoon, and only intervene when another kid was brave enough to confront him? I thought about approaching Dad myself, but I am so loathe to criticize other parents because I don't like people doing that to me. Generally, there is so much we don't understand about other people's situations when we start to judge them.

Maybe it's because I hate conflict, but in situations like this I find myself looking for explanations that give the benefit of the doubt. Is he a foster kid, and the guardian doesn't really know how to handle his issues? Does he have some kind of diagnosis, and the parents choose their battles? When I worked in child mental health, many desperate parents told me about the mean comments and reprimands they received from strangers, and how they wished they could hand out little information cards to these people titled "My son is autistic."

But this kid didn't have autism. I wondered where he had learned that it was OK, even fun, to ignore people who were clearly setting boundaries. My experience working with "at-risk" youth tells me this has to have happened to him, regularly. And truth be told, the suspicion that his Dad may have been the one who taught him it was OK to torment people made me a little wary of approaching his Dad, too.

But by not doing anything more about it, did I let down the kids at the park who were being bullied by Mean Kid? The kids seemed to work it out for the most part, and still have a pretty good time. But I hate to see bad behavior unchecked like that, and as a parent, I was in a position of more power than the other kids to try to stop it. I felt like I wimped out.

So, I put it out to you who are reading this. What would you do in that situation? Do we have a responsibility to stand up for other kids besides our own when we see bullying happening? Do you confront parents about their kids' behavior, and if so, how? Or do you just accept it, give the benefit of the doubt, or chalk it up to mean people are everywhere? Is it about survival of the fittest? Sigh...come to think of it...I never really figured out how to handle the bullies in the schoolyard when I was a kid, either.

Party on, Parents. And Bring the Kids.

I spent about a week in Barcelona with my cousin in my mid 20's. Every night we went to the same bar, and after a few days, the bartender, Theo and his barfly buddy started to regard us as people rather than just obnoxious American tourists (my cousin was from California, and tainted my good Canadian reputation). So when we asked them for tips on something fun to do, they hesitated a while, conferred in Spanish, and then decided it was OK to tell us that there was a local festival going on in the city that night. They gave us directions and we headed down.

The festival was in the maze of residential city streets, which were lined with awesome art made of recycled trash. Different types of music played around every corner, cafes were open on the sidewalks with food and drink, and the streets were filled with people dancing. But the best part about it was that it was a party for all ages. We watched an elderly couple steal the show on the dance floor while the crowd clapped in admiration. Children were dancing with parents, or other children, and were weaving in and out of the crowd excitedly. And it was well past midnight. Families were partying together, and there was no issue of anyone being too old or too young to be part of the action.

I thought of this because this weekend, we are heading to a wedding where no kids are allowed. I get it, I really do. It's a special day for the couple, and they don't necessarily want a kid melting down during their vows, or stealing the show by doing something cute or obnoxious in the aisle. And it's harder for people to party at the reception when kids are there (unless you're in Spain, I guess). When you don't have kids yet, it's easier to think of all the ways they will spoil your good time rather than the ways they may add to it.

When we got married, we had 25 kids at the wedding and reception. We had a pinata after the ceremony, and made sure to have kid appropriate food at the reception. I really wanted them there because to me marriage is a rite of passage that is all about the creation of a family. Making a new person together, and sharing the responsibility for raising that person well, is the ultimate commitment. At the ceremony, I frankly would have been greatly relieved if one of the kids had done something to take the attention off me for a minute.





But at the reception, the kids truly made the party great. They were by far the most die-hard on the dance floor, and it was gorgeous to see kids dancing with parents and grandparents. Some babies napped during the reception, some kids ran screaming through the hall being chased by the best "monster" man, one made faces and tried to crack me up during my speech. They seemed to be having so much fun, and they treated Sean and me like celebrities, which helped add a bit of specialness to the day. Yeah, people filtered out a little earlier than they might have if they hadn't had their kids there, but by then I was ready to hit the honeymoon suite anyway, so no worries. They also went easier on the open bar--just a tip for you all.

I understand that kids can't be part of every adult activity, but since becoming a parent I sure do appreciate times when I can enjoy myself with other adults, and my kid can be there too. Places like the Vancouver Folk Music Festival, where kids are accommodated and welcomed, are so special and rare. It seems most of the places designed for adult fun here in North America are "no kids allowed" spaces.

In my family, we did a lot of multi-generational partying. My parents partied with friends, aunts, uncles, and grandparents, and we kids partied right alongside with them. When we were young, I like to believe we provided a lot of entertainment for them before we went to bed. Big family dinners, were jovial and loud and gluttonous, and as we got into our know-it-all years often included heated but good-natured political discussion. Usually we all played games (charades, cards, board games) after dinner. And later, the kids would fragment off to do kid things while the adults carried on in another room. Generally, someone remembered us and told us to go to bed, until we were teenagers and started outlasting the adults.

I'm not talking about letting kids in on inappropriate adult parties, where there is sexuality, irresponsible drug and alcohol use, and reckless behavior. I'm talking about an opportunity to role model responsible fun. My mom's family is Belgian, and had European, more liberal views than are generally accepted in North America on alcohol use for minors. From a young age, we were allowed to have a little beer, and as we got into adolescence, we were poured a glass of wine at the dinner table. As teens, we were allowed to drink with the family, and many of us probably had our first turn with the barf bowl right there at Christmas or Thanksgiving. I know I did.

It sounds crazy and controversial to some people, but when you think about it, would you rather your child's first experience with excessive drinking come when you are right there to monitor it, and they are in a safe place, with childhood friends or family you trust and know deeply? Or would you rather they do it without your knowledge, maybe even lying to you about who they are with and where they are going?

My experience was that, by the time I reached the age of partying with my friends, I had the know-how to do it responsibly. As a teen, I often offered to be the designated driver, because it wasn't a big deal that I be able to get drunk. I also knew when to stop if I was in a situation that felt sketchy and I wanted my wits about me. Even the recreational drugs I tried, I first learned about from older cousins, who were safe people that told me how to use them, what to watch out for, and what I could expect to feel. There were some I chose not to try, based on this knowledge, as well as the open discussions we had about drugs at the family dinner table.

But partying with trusted adults and their kids didn't just teach me how to use substances. It also helped me develop richer relationships with adults, and close friendships with my extended family that have lasted my lifetime. I learned that I was a funny and interesting person to hang out with, not someone adults wanted to get away from when it was time to have fun. I got to see my parents and grandparents in a different light, as people kicking back and enjoying life, and from them I learned the importance of sharing good times with good people. I saw adults as approachable, and enjoyed candid conversations where I benefited from their experience without it being a serious or awkward. And I got enlightened on many topics around my grandmother's table, where a lot of my values and political opinions were formed.

Of course, adults need fun time away from their kids, and kids need fun time away from their parents. Parents need to stay parents, and boundaries need to be observed and respected. But I hope to find a way to work in partying with my kids and my trusted, lifelong friends and family, and their kids, well into my old age. Spain, in my mind, has the right idea. A family that parties together, stays together. So here's a toast, to the creation of more inclusive party places for parents and kids!

The Love and the Hate of Parenting

A Mommy-friend from our prenatal class recently sent us this article from New York Magazine called "All Joy and No Love: Why Parents Hate Parenting". An interesting read by Jennifer Senior, who explores the wealth of academic research that suggest that non-parents are happier than parents, and some possible explanations for the happiness gap.

I balked at first, and then had to smile when the article mentioned that most parents don't like to hear this news. Fine. Of course we don't. Who wants to think that a choice we have made that amounts to an 18+ year commitment may have made us unhappier. Not me.

I freely admit that since becoming a mother, I've had a lot of struggles. Sleep deprivation, exhaustion, monotony, extreme frustration, questioning who I am and what I'm doing with my life, conflict with my spouse like we never experienced before. If you gave me a psychological test like the well-known and reputed "Beck Depression Inventory" on a bad week, I may look pretty depressed. The test asks questions like whether your sex drive has decreased, whether your ability to sleep has decreased, and whether you often feel irritable. Yeah, of course. So what?

But on the whole I feel happier for having become a mother. I've faced more challenge to my physical and emotional limits than ever before, yes, but I also now know myself to be stronger than I imagined. I feel like my life has purpose in a way that I didn't quite feel before Boodge, and I have much less time for navel-gazing and worrying about the opinions of others, which is good for me.

I've also experienced so many of what the article describes as "moments of transcendence". At last once daily, usually many times, I am struck by a giant wave of awesome feeling--amazement, gratitude, amusement, pride, tenderness, LOVE. Prior to parenting I don't remember feeling that kind of transcendence often, aside from when I fell in love or otherwise connected deeply with other people. Usually I had to get out of my daily grind, go out into nature, and sit by a lake for a day or two. Now, that awe-inspiring beauty is right there in my living room, the very source of my daily grind.

Here is one of my husbands regular moments of transcendence:


Happiness is a difficult thing to measure objectively. People devote their entire careers to coming up with a reliable measure for some small component of happiness. As a counsellor, I find psychological research helpful in some ways. It is helpful to know, for instance, that mine isn't the only marriage that experienced stress during the transition to parenthood. I appreciate when research can normalize an experience that feels threatening and confusing, or when it can highlight a social problem that we need to work on.

In other ways, I'm very skeptical. I'm just not sure parents and non-parents can legitimately be compared. Becoming a parent is such a huge transition. I remember feeling as if my whole brain and body was being re-wired. And what made me happy before I was a parent, I can barely remember now. What gives my life meaning, what I value, my spiritual beliefs and practice, who I am closest to and how I relate to those people--all different now. Parents and non-parents really are like two different cultures.

Legitimate scientific research (and I could write a post on that concept, believe me) depends on having two groups that are similar in all ways except the variable being measured. If you tried to compare, for example, the level of happiness of kids in two kindergarten classrooms, one full-day and one half-day, you'd better pick two classrooms with pretty much identical social, economic, and cultural backgrounds, or your research will be quickly discredited.

I do think Senior is right on in some of the reasons she suggests for less parental happiness. Lack of financial or social support, too high expectations for kids and parents in a competitive society, and so many choices that we can endlessly question whether we made the right one. Our culture is so based on individual gratification, and we pursue that right up until we become parents. Often that pursuit takes us far away from our parents and hometowns.

But once we have children, we need our communities, our extended families. We need to live in such a way that our own needs are not our primary focus. We need help, and we are often too tired, isolated, and discombobulated to get it. I think our individualistic culture probably makes the transition much harder on parents. We are so used to thinking only of ourselves, and we have been conditioned to believe that sacrificing our own forward progress for someone else is a no-no.

At any rate, it is a bit of a catch-22, isn't it? Because once you have kids, you have crossed over. I have yet to meet a parent that doesn't feel like losing one of their children would be a tragedy they could hardly withstand. It doesn't matter how stressful, tiring, and frustrating parenting is--once you are there, you can't imagine living without it.

So probably the best thing we can do is be grateful every day that our kid is there driving us insane, sucking our energy, and testing our limits, and forget all of the other things that we could be doing. And do whatever else it takes to get the help and support and time you need to survive these 18 years, including being easy on yourself. Then soak up those wonderful moments of transcendence when they come.


Good luck and blessings to all of you!

The Night Shift

Hard to believe, but it was 3 months ago that I wrote a post about having a giant freak out one night, and how we were planning to make the transition to Sean putting the Boodge to sleep and handling night wakings. Hard to believe because we just made that transition this week! I think that my meltdown three months ago had more to do with being in my first trimester and on the heels of a move, life transition, and string of visitors. Once I knew that the transition was going to happen, I felt better and the urgency of it seemed to dissipate.

Now, I know baby and toddler sleep is a hotly debated issue in the parenting world. There are lots of accusations that go both ways, from saying that parents that let their children "cry it out" are heartless or child abusers, to saying that parents that co-sleep and comfort their children to sleep are endangering their children (check out this horrific ad campaign in Indiana and Fox news report if you don't believe me) or at least spineless parents, dooming their kids to a life of dependence and over-attachment, while simultaneously ruining their marriage.

I find it all a little much. While I have my opinions on how to raise my child, I think they're best limited to how I raise my child. They come from who I am and what feels right in my heart and mind. All good parents make tremendous sacrifices for their children, and all good parents also find that there are certain difficult choices they have to make about what not to sacrifice, for their own sanity and ability to parent the best they can.

For me, the decision not to let Ardan "cry it out" was based on the same simple logic as my decision that I don't want to spank him. I would never hit someone else I love, so why would I hit the vulnerable, powerless child I have been given the blessing of raising? Similarly, I would never let someone else I love cry alone when they're asking for the comfort of another person. So I wouldn't feel right doing that to my vulnerable child either. Sometimes, of course, I have the urge to leave him crying in his room, and I'm sure I'll sometimes have the urge to spank him. But it helps a lot to be clear about what I think is right.

My only wish in this area are that parents could listen to each other and try to understand, and support each other. I think often, we feel the need to justify the decisions we have made as parents by pressuring others to do the same or shaming them for what they are doing. Every family, every child, is so different, and the choices we can make about what we can do and what we can't have to be suited to that child and family. Let's not judge each other or ourselves, let's just listen, and try to understand the unique people and situation before us. We simply can't always be everything we ideally thought we could before we faced the reality of parenting. But is your kid happy and thriving? Are you? Good. Then you're probably doing a good enough job.

I have had my ins and outs with my choices of co-sleeping and not letting the Boodge "cry-it-out". Some weeks, I've felt really frustrated, even angry, as I lay there, waiting for him to fall asleep, or woke up for the umpteenth time to help him get back to sleep, or woke up to him jamming his head into my back while he kicked his dad in the stomach, somehow managing to take up 2/3 of a king sized bed.

Mostly, though, what I remember is how sweet it's all been. How lovely to wake up to his smiling face in the morning, his baby bed-head and his sleepy eyes. How my heart swells when he says "Mommy, hold you!" and nestles under my arm at night, drifting happily back to sleep. How grateful I have been to be next to him when he was an infant, or when he has a fever or some illness, so I know he is OK all night. How I love to inhale his scent, stare at his angelic face, hear his soft breathing at night, cuddle his little body. My amazing son. It has been an amazing bond, sleeping with the Boo, being there for him at night. Though I understand it's not for all parents, I am glad it was for me. I will cherish those memories.

So I guess that may be why it took 3 months for me to hand over the sleep reins. Leading up to the transition, I really got the blues. I was weepy, and on the one, rare date Sean and I got when my mom was visiting, I cried a lot about letting go of my Boo. To my valiantly-trying-to-understand husband, I wept, "The older he gets, the closer you and he are going to get to become. But the older he gets, the more I have to let him go! I'll never be as intimate with him as I have been these last two years." It's not that I don't want to let him grow up in some kind of creepy way. I do. Even though it is healthy and right, it hurts me to know that this precious baby-time with him is drawing to a close.

But my reasons for having to do it were clear. With my big pregnant body, I just couldn't get comfortable with a little cherub nestled under my arm or taking up half of his double bed (where we now co-sleep about half the night, after his first and usually only night waking). But more importantly I knew that I couldn't attend to two kids in separate rooms in the night, and I didn't want Boodge to associate my nighttime absence with Peanut's arrival. Plus, I want him to bond more with his daddy in anticipation of losing some of my attentions soon.

But it was hard to think he may cry for me at night and I would not be able to answer him, even though I am so lucky to have a husband who was willing to go in and be the comfort/co-sleeper nighttime guy. My amazing mommy-mentor (one day, I'll write a whole post revering that amazing woman!) helped me with my anxiety by listening, and sharing some of her own experiences where she had to accept that her child had to cry and miss her but she knew it was best for him and a necessary step given the circumstances. She also explained to me how, when a child gets to be 2 and 3 and so on, the way they need you as a parent becomes different. This is when you truly become a "parent" rather than a nurturer. You are more often in a position of having to make choices and set limits they won't like, but you know are the best thing. It really helped to hear that. I realized that I am in transition as a parent as well, and that is part of why this is hard for me.

We started the sleep shift months ago by first having Sean lay with us while I nursed Boo to sleep, so Boo could get used to his presence. Then we changed to nursing before bed in the "big brown chair", Sean and I reading 3 books to him, and laying with him while he fell asleep with no nursing. Then Sean had to travel those 3 weeks, so we decided to wait until he returned to start the transition. While he was gone, I kind of let go of the books in bed thing and just let Boodge fall asleep on my boob in the big brown chair every night, then carried him to his bed. It was so much faster and easier. So when it came time to make the big change, I suggested that rather than Sean putting him to bed AND going in at night, I would continue to nurse him in the chair to sleep, so the only change for now will be who comforts him at night. I plan to tandem nurse my kids, (oh yes! a post about that will come) so I can probably even handle continuing that when Peanut comes. But also, he knows how to go to sleep with someone else, without nursing, if necessary.

It has been almost a week and it's been going really well. Boo has never cried for more than 5 minutes, and always in his Daddy's arms. It was hard the first couple of nights to hear him saying "I want Mommy to come, I want to go see Mommy." But now it is easier. And last night, he woke up and actually said "I want Daddy." I can already see that he's feeling more bonded to his Dad, and Sean is also really enjoying the sweet cuddles at night. For three nights now, he has slept from bedtime till 5am, and for the last two nights he's gone back to sleep with Sean after that 5am wake up, and woken up at 8!!

This week, Sean is on vacation, so I've let him go back to bed in the morning and had some sweet morning nursing time with Boo when he wakes up. He's not more clingy or testing or anything during the day--he seems just fine. I am even more happy to see his face in the morning, and I feel way less grudging about waking up because I have had a chance to miss him all night long.

So here we are. Sean goes back to work tomorrow, and we have yet to see how he will manage night waking with his ridiculous meetings 'till midnight and starting again at 7am schedule. On our date, mindful of this, he grilled me a bit on my sleep philosophy, and how long I think we are going to sleep with our kids. I believe, and I've http://boodgie.blogspot.com/2010/05/so-pouda-you-boodgie-thats-what-he-says.html, that when a child is ready and safely encouraged, they will naturally move towards independence. And maybe Boodge is even ready for it now, and it's me that's not. But I figure within the year, he'll be able to understand that big kids sleep without their parents, most nights, and we can encourage him to do that too. And when he's ready, he'll do it.

Still, if Sean is in charge of nights, and he finds he needs to make a change, I am not in a position to say no, necessarily. I'm glad Sean was willing to hear me when I told him that if we do make further changes, I want them to be gentle and loving. And if the changes we make are not working for Boo, which I trust we'll know, we look for another way. In the words of Peggy O'Mara: "My dear loved son/Born with parts asunder/Whatever is comfortable with you/I will choose it too."

God Damn the Booger Man

I'm pretty sure all parents do things that are against their better judgment at times for the sake of cheering up or appeasing their child. Sometimes it's ice-cream when you know they shouldn't have it, or letting them watch another show. Sometimes we do things that make us look stupid, like performing an elaborate clown show or singing a song at the top of our lungs just to get a smile. Or we do something that can hurt us, like carrying a sick child way more than our old backs can handle.

Well, last time Boo was sick, I set in motion a little game called "Booger Man." He was feverish, which made him listless, clingy, and miserable. He's usually so happy-go-lucky and energetic that it's always hard to see him that way. At one point, as I was giving him a cuddle, he swiped his boogery nose across my face. "Oh, yuck! You got me, Booger Man!" I said cheerfully. I seem to consistently forget that nothing makes Boo happier than hearing me say "Yuck" about something he did. His face lit up with a smile and he promptly set about trying to repeat the performance. He pushed his little nose up towards my face, and if I evaded him, he got my arm, shoulder, or whatever he could. I was glad to see him having fun and we were both in giggles, despite the disgusting nature of what was happening. And so Booger Man was born.

That was about a month ago. Booger Man is still thriving. Now, when I ask Boo for a kiss, he takes the opportunity to say "You got me, Booga Man! No, No, Booga Man!" and wipe his nose on my face. He walks up to me and rubs his nose on my leg while I'm doing something in the kitchen. Even when he's in the middle of a meltdown, he will sometimes register that he has a good Booger Man opportunity and wipe his nose up and down my arm. When he can see the smear of wet on my clothes, he is very satisfied, pointing it out with his little finger, "Look at dat Booga Man!" The more I fight, the more fun it is for him. The game never fails to overjoy him, and I admit that it's hard for me not to laugh when he does it. I have a high tolerance for gross that has only increased with motherhood.

My husband, however, has a very low tolerance for gross. When he learned about Booger Man, he had a hard time understanding why I had allowed this game to begin. "Well, he was sick, and it cheered him up, so...." was not a satisfying explanation for him. And Booger Man does not just attack Mommies. He attacks his dad with equal ferocity. And when his Grandma (who we call Mama Cool) was in town, he attacked her too. I began to see the hazards of this game. While even gross-averse Dad has to smile at his giggling, goofball son, and gross-tolerant Mama Cool was OK with the game, I'm sure the buck stops not far from there. Aunties and cousins may not be so into having booger smeared on their clothes or skin, no matter how affectionate it may be.

And then the other day, he crossed the gross threshold even for me. I was getting dressed in our bedroom when he came up behind me, grabbed my butt firmly between his hands, and, yelling "I'm gonna get you Booger Man!" pushed his nose into my (thankfully, underwear covered) bum, um, how do you say--center? He swiped it back and forth with all the more determination when I put up a fight, flapping my hand behind to push him away. He hung on and followed when I tried to walk away. It was truly over the line.

So how do I stop this super-hero persona that has gone out of control? I'm hoping that Booger Man will just pass quietly into the night after a while. And maybe I can try to remember not to use words like "Yuck" or "Gross" or "Booger," which only seem to encourage him. But for now, the monster is in motion. So...anyone who hangs out with the Boodge, be warned. If you see him coming at you with his nose pushed out and a grin on his face, run. Run and climb on something at least 3 feet high. Or else, be prepared to do a little extra laundry.