This is another reason I stopped blogging....once Boodge stopped napping, the only time I had to write was in the evening when my brain is misfiring and I have trouble keeping track of what I want to say. Which is probably why last night, somehow, I forgot to mention that I intend to keep blogging in a different way, at my professional website! I won't be sharing as personally, but I do still hope to share useful information, as well as words of hope and inspiration and connection at my new blog. I am always learning about parenting and mental health so this is a space I hope to share my learning.
You can find it here: http://www.katyjohnson.ca/.
Blessings to all of you.
Friday, November 2, 2012
Thursday, November 1, 2012
Going Off Line
It's been a long time. Almost six months since I last wrote here at a Mama Being. Boodge is four and a half Peanut is TWO!!! My baby talks in full sentences and can sing many songs and likes to watch Micky Mouse Clubhouse while standing on her head on the couch. So many moments I thought of coming here to share, so many times I thought of this blog and how much it has brought to me, being able to share and receive back your sharing, to feel connected to all of you out there, to even reach strangers in other countries across the world|! As small as this blog has been it has been so rewarding.
But things have to change. I'm going back to the world of paid employment. I'm going to be a counsellor again. I'm not sure what that looks like now that I'm a mother. Motherhood transformed every aspect of my life, so it stands to reason that it will impact my counselling practice too. But I finally feel that I can start finding out. The kids are ready, and I'm ready. Ready as I'll ever be.
I have a small job, facilitating a support group for single mothers (unsung heroes of all time). It has been bubbling for months now and will finally be starting up in November. It pays enough that I was able to rent a shared office in town and still have some left over. So I'm starting a private practice! I am excited and nervous. I have no idea if I'll get any clients, but I'm going to give it a try. I hope to find a gentle balance between doing a little bit of work and maintaining my amazing job as full-time mother for my kids. As Boodge approaches kindergarten (gasp) I am more poignantly aware of how precious these days really are. So, my plan is just a little work, to add a little to the family coffers and contribute to my community, doing the work I love.
Unfortunately, that means I have to take Mama Being off the web. I have struggled with this fact for a long time. I value openness, and one thing that I struggle with in my chosen profession is finding the boundary of how much is too much when it comes to letting clients see into my own life. I like to bring my genuine self to my work, and am willing to share from personal experience if I think it may benefit the client. I don't like the psychotherapy cliche of the impassive, blank slate of a therapist. But still, it can complicate things when you know too much about your counsellor--cause you to say certain things, hold others back. Change the dynamic of the relationship to one where it is no longer just about the client, as it should be. They don't pay to talk about me, after all, or think about me for that matter. And so if one of them was in on this conversation, this blog, without my knowing, or even with my knowing....it just wouldn't feel right. It would create a sort of dual relationship that can become awkward, and that can jeapordize the therapeutic relationship.
So, after mulling it over, I've decided to make Mama Being private. I'd still like to be able to write here from time to time, and I like having people to share it with. I can add up to 200 people so I'm pretty sure I can fit you all in (ha ha). If you'd like to be able to still read what I post, you'll have to have a Google account. Please send me an e-mail to amamabeing@gmail.com, or leave a comment here on the blog, and ask that you be added to the list. I'll give it a few weeks, and then I'll be taking the blog off the air.
Whatever becomes of us, I want to thank each and every one of you who took the time to read the words I wrote here. It has given me so much to be able to reach out from the muck and mire and joy and wonder of parenting and find you there, listening, nodding your heads in understanding, and laughing and crying along with me.
But things have to change. I'm going back to the world of paid employment. I'm going to be a counsellor again. I'm not sure what that looks like now that I'm a mother. Motherhood transformed every aspect of my life, so it stands to reason that it will impact my counselling practice too. But I finally feel that I can start finding out. The kids are ready, and I'm ready. Ready as I'll ever be.
I have a small job, facilitating a support group for single mothers (unsung heroes of all time). It has been bubbling for months now and will finally be starting up in November. It pays enough that I was able to rent a shared office in town and still have some left over. So I'm starting a private practice! I am excited and nervous. I have no idea if I'll get any clients, but I'm going to give it a try. I hope to find a gentle balance between doing a little bit of work and maintaining my amazing job as full-time mother for my kids. As Boodge approaches kindergarten (gasp) I am more poignantly aware of how precious these days really are. So, my plan is just a little work, to add a little to the family coffers and contribute to my community, doing the work I love.
Unfortunately, that means I have to take Mama Being off the web. I have struggled with this fact for a long time. I value openness, and one thing that I struggle with in my chosen profession is finding the boundary of how much is too much when it comes to letting clients see into my own life. I like to bring my genuine self to my work, and am willing to share from personal experience if I think it may benefit the client. I don't like the psychotherapy cliche of the impassive, blank slate of a therapist. But still, it can complicate things when you know too much about your counsellor--cause you to say certain things, hold others back. Change the dynamic of the relationship to one where it is no longer just about the client, as it should be. They don't pay to talk about me, after all, or think about me for that matter. And so if one of them was in on this conversation, this blog, without my knowing, or even with my knowing....it just wouldn't feel right. It would create a sort of dual relationship that can become awkward, and that can jeapordize the therapeutic relationship.
So, after mulling it over, I've decided to make Mama Being private. I'd still like to be able to write here from time to time, and I like having people to share it with. I can add up to 200 people so I'm pretty sure I can fit you all in (ha ha). If you'd like to be able to still read what I post, you'll have to have a Google account. Please send me an e-mail to amamabeing@gmail.com, or leave a comment here on the blog, and ask that you be added to the list. I'll give it a few weeks, and then I'll be taking the blog off the air.
Whatever becomes of us, I want to thank each and every one of you who took the time to read the words I wrote here. It has given me so much to be able to reach out from the muck and mire and joy and wonder of parenting and find you there, listening, nodding your heads in understanding, and laughing and crying along with me.
Monday, May 21, 2012
Boodge is four!
Usually, on this blog, I have published a letter to Boodge or Peanut on their birthdays. I wrote Boodge's letter but I'm not sure yet that I'm going to publish it, as I'm always wrestling with how personal to be on this blog. So...in the meantime I thought I'd just post a couple photos today to celebrate and honor my little boy. Every Mama says it, but I'll say it anyway: I can't believe he's 4, I can't believe how quickly it's gone by and how more and more he's becoming his own little person, someone I am getting to know with delight and curiosity and often bewilderment. He teaches me so much about myself, and inspires me to be a better person.
Happy Birthday Boodge! And a big thank you to everyone who came today and brought their kids to share this day with him. Thanks to everyone who sent or brought presents, called, or left him a message to wish him happy birthday. He had a really special day and I'm grateful for that. Thanks for making Boodge feel loved. We love you too!
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Happy Birthday Boodge! And a big thank you to everyone who came today and brought their kids to share this day with him. Thanks to everyone who sent or brought presents, called, or left him a message to wish him happy birthday. He had a really special day and I'm grateful for that. Thanks for making Boodge feel loved. We love you too!
Wednesday, May 16, 2012
What Bugs?
"So, whatever happened with the bed bugs?" some of you are asking. Who can blame you? You're afraid to come to my house, when I come into yours, you want to surreptitiously inspect me for bites. I'm kidding...it's not like that. Everyone has been kind-hearted, and sensitive about the situation. Some people have been funny. My cousin visited and slept outside in a tent. It's awkward for everyone. So, having dropped the bed bug bomb out into the world, I feel the need to bring the story to a conclusion.
Except there wasn't one. It's been three weeks now, and no fresh bites. So I have no explanation for what was biting the Boodge. My best guess is that we had a bug, and we got it when we cleaned. And then the last set of bites Boodge got were mosquito bites, like he said. I've noticed that the last set of bites didn't leave lingering brown scars the way the other sets did. So who knows. I don't, but I'm not worried about bed bugs anymore. I'm starting to move Boodge's books and clothes back into his room, and moving past it.
But here's what I've learned, for anyone in the same situation. Doctors cannot necessarily confirm bedbugs just from looking at the bites. My dad, who is a doctor, and my friend's mom, who is also one, have since told me this too--as did the exterminator. The best thing to do, if you suspect anything, is just call an exterminator to inspect the place for bugs. They are experts and usually you can get the inspection free.
I may never know what we had but I do know my mom's birthday weekend was cancelled because of it. And then a week later we went to the same doctor because Boodge's mouth broke out with tons of painful cankers, and he had fever and sore throat for about 6 days. I saw white spots on his throat and took him in. The doctor said, "I am sure this is strep throat. His throat is so red and raw." I really liked this doctor by the way--he was young and kind and had a genuine interest and attention. He even told my mom (she saw him after us for a prescription refill) he thought Boodge was intelligent and that if he had a son he would like the same quality he saw in Boodge in his son. Way to get to a Mama's heart.
But the fact is, it wasn't strep throat. The swab came back negative. And the doctor wasn't going to take a swab at all, but I suggested he do, in case it was cankers on Boodge's throat. He took the swab and suggested we start antibiotics right away, even though the test results would be a few days. I did, though I have reservations about antibiotics, because Boodge was in such a bad state I didn't want him to suffer anymore. (He was making us suffer, too, I might add. He was not graceful in his illness).
So, another mystery bug, (I think it was "hand, foot and mouth" virus or herpes virus, myself) misdiagnosed by the same doctor, which also caused my mother to miss her second and last opportunity to see my cousins while she was visiting. The moral of this story? You tell me. Nice young doctors may still be over-confident? Do your best? Go with the flow? Or, blame it on the Super Moon. Because once that thing had passed, things calmed down and life seems to be back to some sort of normal.
All I can say, people, is that while I have no concrete facts, I'm pretty sure we're not contagious in any way anymore. But I'll let you know if things change.
Except there wasn't one. It's been three weeks now, and no fresh bites. So I have no explanation for what was biting the Boodge. My best guess is that we had a bug, and we got it when we cleaned. And then the last set of bites Boodge got were mosquito bites, like he said. I've noticed that the last set of bites didn't leave lingering brown scars the way the other sets did. So who knows. I don't, but I'm not worried about bed bugs anymore. I'm starting to move Boodge's books and clothes back into his room, and moving past it.
But here's what I've learned, for anyone in the same situation. Doctors cannot necessarily confirm bedbugs just from looking at the bites. My dad, who is a doctor, and my friend's mom, who is also one, have since told me this too--as did the exterminator. The best thing to do, if you suspect anything, is just call an exterminator to inspect the place for bugs. They are experts and usually you can get the inspection free.
I may never know what we had but I do know my mom's birthday weekend was cancelled because of it. And then a week later we went to the same doctor because Boodge's mouth broke out with tons of painful cankers, and he had fever and sore throat for about 6 days. I saw white spots on his throat and took him in. The doctor said, "I am sure this is strep throat. His throat is so red and raw." I really liked this doctor by the way--he was young and kind and had a genuine interest and attention. He even told my mom (she saw him after us for a prescription refill) he thought Boodge was intelligent and that if he had a son he would like the same quality he saw in Boodge in his son. Way to get to a Mama's heart.
But the fact is, it wasn't strep throat. The swab came back negative. And the doctor wasn't going to take a swab at all, but I suggested he do, in case it was cankers on Boodge's throat. He took the swab and suggested we start antibiotics right away, even though the test results would be a few days. I did, though I have reservations about antibiotics, because Boodge was in such a bad state I didn't want him to suffer anymore. (He was making us suffer, too, I might add. He was not graceful in his illness).
So, another mystery bug, (I think it was "hand, foot and mouth" virus or herpes virus, myself) misdiagnosed by the same doctor, which also caused my mother to miss her second and last opportunity to see my cousins while she was visiting. The moral of this story? You tell me. Nice young doctors may still be over-confident? Do your best? Go with the flow? Or, blame it on the Super Moon. Because once that thing had passed, things calmed down and life seems to be back to some sort of normal.
All I can say, people, is that while I have no concrete facts, I'm pretty sure we're not contagious in any way anymore. But I'll let you know if things change.
Sunday, May 13, 2012
So Glad I'm Here
I've written a post on the last two Mother's Days (here and here) dedicated to two amazing Mom's I know--my mom and my friend D. This Mother's day, I wasn't going to write anything. I woke up to the beautiful face of my little daughter, who rolled around with me in bed hugging and kissing and generally keeping me up way to early with her wonderful sweetness. Finally, I woke my husband and he took her away so I could sleep more. Just as I was drifting off the door opened and Boodge came in quietly, climbed onto the bed and curled up next to me for a cuddle, whispering about sleep but clearly not intending to go there. Cuddles with Boodge happen less and less as he gets older and I savored it for a while, before I gently encouraged him to go help Daddy get Mother's Day ready. He scampered away. I rolled over feeling bathed in blessings and love, so grateful, so humbled by my good fortune.
I decided to write today because my mind keeps drifting to some new Mama's I love that have had, literally, a hell of a year. One friend lost her baby in her third trimester, before she even got to meet the little girl that has transformed her life and led her to question everything. Another friend is spending her Mother's day as she has spent the last 2 weeks, at the bedside of her 4-month old daughter who is struggling for her life after an open heart surgery, the second of her young life. These two women are some of the most beautiful, caring, brave souls I have ever known, women who even before their pregnancies had already endured incredible hardships and transformed those into strength, compassion, and giving back to others. What has happened to them in becoming mothers seems so cruel and unfair. So without reason.
On Mother's Day I also always think of my cousins, who lost their mother in a car accident when they were small children. A loss that could never be quantified or replaced, a loss that is life-altering, and often grieved anew as they mature and achieve milestones in their lives. I think of their mother, because I know that for me, even the thought of dying while my children still need me is almost unbearable. Her loss impacted not only our cousins, but my mother (her sister), and my grandmother, so deeply that of course it also shaped me. One mother means so much to so many people and generations.
I didn't want to write and be a downer on the day of all those who are celebrating and who are, like me, experiencing a Mother's day filled with love and appreciation. I wanted to write to say that I want to honor the loss of my two friends, my cousins, their mother, on this day. Their experiences remind me that I am blessed beyond measure, just because I am here with my two healthy children in this moment, and we want for nothing. Their experiences remind me that all the daily things I may want to complain about; the mess, the whining, the long days on little sleep, the constant demands, the raw emotions--all of those things too are blessings because we are HERE, together, and that small, tenuous thing that is not granted to everyone. That may not always be granted to us.
To do my best to regard my children, and my role as their mother, as an everyday miracle. To remember with each complaint and need for respite to be thankful that this is only as hard as it is, sometimes. This is the only way I know to come close to honoring the loss of my friends and family members, of all the mothers who have lost babies and babies who have lost mothers.
Now take 2 minutes and 58 seconds to let this little video set to Elizabeth Mitchell's "So Glad I'm Here" I just found on Youtube fill your heart. It's perfect. Lots of love to all all of you who mother on this day.
I decided to write today because my mind keeps drifting to some new Mama's I love that have had, literally, a hell of a year. One friend lost her baby in her third trimester, before she even got to meet the little girl that has transformed her life and led her to question everything. Another friend is spending her Mother's day as she has spent the last 2 weeks, at the bedside of her 4-month old daughter who is struggling for her life after an open heart surgery, the second of her young life. These two women are some of the most beautiful, caring, brave souls I have ever known, women who even before their pregnancies had already endured incredible hardships and transformed those into strength, compassion, and giving back to others. What has happened to them in becoming mothers seems so cruel and unfair. So without reason.
On Mother's Day I also always think of my cousins, who lost their mother in a car accident when they were small children. A loss that could never be quantified or replaced, a loss that is life-altering, and often grieved anew as they mature and achieve milestones in their lives. I think of their mother, because I know that for me, even the thought of dying while my children still need me is almost unbearable. Her loss impacted not only our cousins, but my mother (her sister), and my grandmother, so deeply that of course it also shaped me. One mother means so much to so many people and generations.
I didn't want to write and be a downer on the day of all those who are celebrating and who are, like me, experiencing a Mother's day filled with love and appreciation. I wanted to write to say that I want to honor the loss of my two friends, my cousins, their mother, on this day. Their experiences remind me that I am blessed beyond measure, just because I am here with my two healthy children in this moment, and we want for nothing. Their experiences remind me that all the daily things I may want to complain about; the mess, the whining, the long days on little sleep, the constant demands, the raw emotions--all of those things too are blessings because we are HERE, together, and that small, tenuous thing that is not granted to everyone. That may not always be granted to us.
To do my best to regard my children, and my role as their mother, as an everyday miracle. To remember with each complaint and need for respite to be thankful that this is only as hard as it is, sometimes. This is the only way I know to come close to honoring the loss of my friends and family members, of all the mothers who have lost babies and babies who have lost mothers.
Now take 2 minutes and 58 seconds to let this little video set to Elizabeth Mitchell's "So Glad I'm Here" I just found on Youtube fill your heart. It's perfect. Lots of love to all all of you who mother on this day.
Thursday, April 26, 2012
Goodnight, Sleep Tight....
Warning: This post will make you itchy. And it's long, too.
Those of you that are parents out there will probably relate to the feeling of awe that something so small and inert as a newborn baby can turn your life so totally upside down. Well, people, huddle around while I share with you a little story about a how creature so much smaller, and even more inert, can play with your mind, ruin your careful plans, and ultimately, leave you impotent and angry.
It all started about a month ago when I attended a birthday party of a dear friend--one where I met some of you lovely readers. The party was held at in a playroom at a community center very close to Vancouver's notorious Downtown Eastside (whoa, it is notorious, there's even a Wikipedia page for it). On the way home, the Boodge slept hard, and when he got up he was in a vile humour. He complained that he was too hot and itchy and he struggled out of his shirt. He reached up to claw at his shoulder and then I saw it: his shoulder was covered in about 25 little bite-like spots.
What was it? Chicken pox? Spider bites. Then I remembered that the Downtown Eastside is reputed to be overrun with bedbugs. Could one of the bugs have been in the community center, brought by some other visitor, and come home on Boodge's shirt? I put anti-itch cream on Boodge and began consulting Google.
After perusing some images, I was pretty sure we weren't looking at chicken pox, and that it was some sort of bug. I took the cover off the carseat and washed it together with Boodge's clothes in hot water, because the internet advised that washing bedbugs in temperatures over 120 Farenheit will kill them (that's about 50 degrees Celsius for those of us who use metric). There wasn't much more we could do, so I left it at that.
Over the next few weeks, every 3 days or so, when Boodge got undressed I would discover a huge cluster of bites on some part of hid body. They were itchy and as big as mosquito bites but otherwise he didn't seem too bothered by them. Every time I saw them I would go to Google again. Sometimes I leaned towards thinking they were spider bites. (Note to parents: Don't Google images of spider bites with your kid right before bedtime. Or ever.) Sometimes I feared bedbugs again, but I didn't want to believe it. Sean, who often sleeps with Boodge, was completely bite free. Once, I had a cluster of bites of my own.
Then 4 or 5 days went by with no bites. I thought we were out of the woods. But on Friday morning, I pulled off Boodge's pants and saw that his thigh and knee were covered in a fresh load. My research had told me that bedbugs bite in a recognizable pattern of three in a row; they call it "breakfast, lunch, dinner". And in this cluster there were several bunches of three in a row. I decided to get a doctor to take a look.
Our own doctor was unavailable so we took him to a walk-in clinic. Boodge lifted his pants up for the nice young doctor to take a look and within seconds he declared, "I am very confident that this is bedbugs." He noted the "breakfast, lunch, dinner" pattern and also shared that while in university, he had bedbugs himself when he returned to residence after a break. He prescribed a cream for the itching and looked up treatment for bedbugs on his computer. The only treatment recommended was that of a professional exterminator.
But here's the really shitty part. My mom was visiting now so she could be with us on her 65th birthday. I wanted to make it really special for her, and had planned a weekend with family. My cousins, the children of her dear departed sister, and their four children, who my mom looks at as surrogate grandchildren, were all planning to visit for the weekend to celebrate with her, and would be sleeping in our house. This doctor's appointment happened on her 65th birthday. As soon as I got home from the doctor, I called my cousins. It was 12: 30, and they were planning to take the 3:00 ferry from Vancouver Island and then drive out to our place.
The little bug killed that party. The cousins decided not to come. Do I blame them? Not one bit. But we were all disappointed, and I was having a hard time containing my stress, not just about the bugs but about my mom's birthday falling flat. My wonderful mother, who is always giving to other people, who deserved to be celebrated and taken care of, was instead putting on her happy smile and reassuring me that it would all be OK. Boodge, who cannot stop jumping and squeaking with joy when he knows he is going to see his cousins, was really, really sad. On the way home from the doctor, when I told him his cousins may not come, he sat quietly, wiped a tear from his eye, and said, "I just want to go home." It broke my heart, to see him so quietly sad when usually he screams and blasts out his feelings.
Having bedbugs was one of my worst nightmares. I was edgy and preoccupied, calling insurance to see if extermination was covered (nope), calling friends who had been to our house and played in Boodge's room. It took me the better part of the day to rally, but I did, with the help of my Mom's endless sunshine and reassurances that she was very happy on her birthday just to be with us. We managed to put together a cake (the cousins were planning to bring that) and a celebration at the last minute anyway, and we all felt at liberty to have an extra drink that night. The birthday was not a total disaster. Score one for us, zero for bugs.
Maybe now is a good time to share some of the information I have learned about bedbugs in the last week or so. Fifty years ago, they weren't heard of much, and this is because of the widespread use of DDT in the past. Once DDT was banned, they started to come back in North America, and now they are a growing epidemic. Winnipeg, apparently, is overrun and you'd best check out your hotel room there before you unpack, no matter how much you are paying. Despite all this, I still am glad DDT is banned.
They are about the size of an apple seed, so though you should be able to see them with your naked eye, you rarely will because they are nocturnal and they are also excellent hiders. They hide in anything they can fit in--nail holes, electrical outlets, spaces between trim and walls, clock radios. They eat only every 3-5 days, and in between eating the lazy asses just sit in their cracks, waiting. They can live for up to a year without eating at all. At night, when you are in your deepest sleep, they crawl out, get on a nice fleshy part of your body, insert their blood sucker and just suck away for a good long while. When they are nice and full, they wander back off into their crack and wait until feeding time comes again. Little fuckers.
They breed by a process called "traumatic insemination" where the male pierces the female's abdomen and injects his sperm through the wound. After this happens, the female tries to get as far away from the male as possible and this is one way they migrate. If you're looking for pregnant females, look in the upper corners of your rooms. They are also excellent hitchhikers and travel to new homes in suitcases, shoes, or folds of clothing. They can be killed by high temperature or freezing for over 2 weeks, or rubbing alcohol sprayed on them if you see them, or crawling through something called diatomaceous earth, but other than that there is not much that kills them. Use of bug sprays and other methods to try to get rid of them may just cause them to scatter to other parts of your house.
I was still left with so many questions. Was it just one bug that we brought home, or more? Did we indeed get it from the community center, and if so why was the bug wandering around in broad daylight? Why didn't it fall off in the hour we spent at the playground after the party? Was it a pregnant female trying to escape? Why was only Boodge getting bitten (this is apparently very common, and also some people don't react to the bites at all)? And most importantly, how could I kill every last one of them?
I called an exterminator. I told him what was happening, and he suggested that if I thought it was just one or two bugs, and in just one room, I may be able to get on top of the problem myself. If I couldn't, I could call him and he would do a free inspection. If the inspection wasn't clear they could bring in a bed bug sniffing dog (which my mom, step-dad and husband were inordinately excited about), which could determine what rooms the bugs were in. Extermination would cost $500 a room and would be done by sealing off the room and heating it up.
So that weekend, we did what he had advised. Mom and I removed everything from Boodge's room and sealed it in plastic bags. We laundered all his clothes in hot water. We vaccumed everywhere again and again and again, pulling back the ribbing of the mattress and vaccuuming it over and over. Everytime we vaccuumed, we sealed the vaccuum bag in a plastic bag and threw it out. For those days, Boodge slept with us in our room and nobody got any new bites.
When we had completed the work we had a very macabre discussion about how uncomfortable it felt to put Boodge back in the room as "bait". My mom offered to sleep in the room. I would have too, but I still nurse Peanut at night and sleep with her, and I wasn't going to bring her in there. Sean suggested that since Boodge was the only one that we knew reacted for sure, he was the best one for the job. But Sean would sleep with him as backup, to ease my thoughts of my little boy all alone crawling with bugs.
One night went by, then two, then three. No bites. We were pretty sure we had conquered the bugs. But this morning, Boodge was itching around the waistline of his pants. "Did you get bitten again?" I asked.
"No, these are just mosquito bites." Boodge protested. No doubt he didn't want his life and his room turned upside down anymore. I pulled down his pants and saw another cluster of about 15 bites. What was worse, my mom said she had three bites on her ankle, knee, and thigh, and had three bites in a row on my own abdomen. Breakfast, lunch, dinner. Little fuckers. My heart sank. That meant the bugs were in three bedrooms now. There were certainly more than one. And our efforts in Boodge's room had scattered them.
So I called the exterminator again. Everyone went wild with the prospect of the bug-sniffing dog but he didn't come today. Just a nice man with a headlamp and a magnifying glass, who inspected the three rooms. And guess what he told us? "I can find absolutely NO evidence of bedbugs here. I'm 100% certain that you don't have bedbugs. Now, I could make a mistake, but I think it's something else biting you." He said you would typically see bed bug poop, blood spots on sheets, and other signs, which he saw none of. Granted, our deep cleaning of Boodge's room destroyed most of the evidence, but Mom and I saw nothing like he described either.
So can somebody please tell me what the hell is going on here?
Here are some other confusing things he told us. Apparently the little assholes inject an anesthetic so that you won't feel them biting you. This is contrary to what the Doctor said, that people often wake up because they are being bitten and it hurts. The exterminator said that nobody can look at bites and say for sure they are bedbug bites, because they look similar to many other bites and everyone reacts differently. Even doctors, he said. And that breakfast, lunch, dinner pattern? It only happens if you move when the bug is biting you, in which case they will pull out their poker and wait until you've settle down, and reinsert it. But why would you move if you don't feel it? Oh, he also said that freezing bedbugs doesn't kill them unless they go down to -32 Celcius in the first 6 minutes. He had actually been to a conference with a leading researcher in bedbugs that weekend, and she had frozen one for a year, only to have it walk away when it thawed out. I guess I can take Boodge's books out of the freezer.
And that's where this story ends, my friends, for now. One little creature, so much disruption and confusion. And maybe it's not that creature at all, because now I am back to the beginning, wondering what is biting my little boy. Wondering what to do next. I suppose the only thing I can do is wait to see if more evidence, accumulates, and call the exterminator back in if we keep having the problem. Or chalk it up to spiders. Or just accept the bugs as part of our natural world, and let them bite my sweet little boy. 'Cause hell, I just signed a petition to ban the use of neonicotinoid pesticides that are killing the bee population yesterday, so clearly I'm a friend to the bugs, and not the pesticides. But then again, bees are necessary for our survival. Whereas, from what I can tell, bedbugs are just lazy ass, sneaky little bloodsuckers.
Those of you that are parents out there will probably relate to the feeling of awe that something so small and inert as a newborn baby can turn your life so totally upside down. Well, people, huddle around while I share with you a little story about a how creature so much smaller, and even more inert, can play with your mind, ruin your careful plans, and ultimately, leave you impotent and angry.
It all started about a month ago when I attended a birthday party of a dear friend--one where I met some of you lovely readers. The party was held at in a playroom at a community center very close to Vancouver's notorious Downtown Eastside (whoa, it is notorious, there's even a Wikipedia page for it). On the way home, the Boodge slept hard, and when he got up he was in a vile humour. He complained that he was too hot and itchy and he struggled out of his shirt. He reached up to claw at his shoulder and then I saw it: his shoulder was covered in about 25 little bite-like spots.
What was it? Chicken pox? Spider bites. Then I remembered that the Downtown Eastside is reputed to be overrun with bedbugs. Could one of the bugs have been in the community center, brought by some other visitor, and come home on Boodge's shirt? I put anti-itch cream on Boodge and began consulting Google.
After perusing some images, I was pretty sure we weren't looking at chicken pox, and that it was some sort of bug. I took the cover off the carseat and washed it together with Boodge's clothes in hot water, because the internet advised that washing bedbugs in temperatures over 120 Farenheit will kill them (that's about 50 degrees Celsius for those of us who use metric). There wasn't much more we could do, so I left it at that.
Over the next few weeks, every 3 days or so, when Boodge got undressed I would discover a huge cluster of bites on some part of hid body. They were itchy and as big as mosquito bites but otherwise he didn't seem too bothered by them. Every time I saw them I would go to Google again. Sometimes I leaned towards thinking they were spider bites. (Note to parents: Don't Google images of spider bites with your kid right before bedtime. Or ever.) Sometimes I feared bedbugs again, but I didn't want to believe it. Sean, who often sleeps with Boodge, was completely bite free. Once, I had a cluster of bites of my own.
Then 4 or 5 days went by with no bites. I thought we were out of the woods. But on Friday morning, I pulled off Boodge's pants and saw that his thigh and knee were covered in a fresh load. My research had told me that bedbugs bite in a recognizable pattern of three in a row; they call it "breakfast, lunch, dinner". And in this cluster there were several bunches of three in a row. I decided to get a doctor to take a look.
Our own doctor was unavailable so we took him to a walk-in clinic. Boodge lifted his pants up for the nice young doctor to take a look and within seconds he declared, "I am very confident that this is bedbugs." He noted the "breakfast, lunch, dinner" pattern and also shared that while in university, he had bedbugs himself when he returned to residence after a break. He prescribed a cream for the itching and looked up treatment for bedbugs on his computer. The only treatment recommended was that of a professional exterminator.
But here's the really shitty part. My mom was visiting now so she could be with us on her 65th birthday. I wanted to make it really special for her, and had planned a weekend with family. My cousins, the children of her dear departed sister, and their four children, who my mom looks at as surrogate grandchildren, were all planning to visit for the weekend to celebrate with her, and would be sleeping in our house. This doctor's appointment happened on her 65th birthday. As soon as I got home from the doctor, I called my cousins. It was 12: 30, and they were planning to take the 3:00 ferry from Vancouver Island and then drive out to our place.
The little bug killed that party. The cousins decided not to come. Do I blame them? Not one bit. But we were all disappointed, and I was having a hard time containing my stress, not just about the bugs but about my mom's birthday falling flat. My wonderful mother, who is always giving to other people, who deserved to be celebrated and taken care of, was instead putting on her happy smile and reassuring me that it would all be OK. Boodge, who cannot stop jumping and squeaking with joy when he knows he is going to see his cousins, was really, really sad. On the way home from the doctor, when I told him his cousins may not come, he sat quietly, wiped a tear from his eye, and said, "I just want to go home." It broke my heart, to see him so quietly sad when usually he screams and blasts out his feelings.
Having bedbugs was one of my worst nightmares. I was edgy and preoccupied, calling insurance to see if extermination was covered (nope), calling friends who had been to our house and played in Boodge's room. It took me the better part of the day to rally, but I did, with the help of my Mom's endless sunshine and reassurances that she was very happy on her birthday just to be with us. We managed to put together a cake (the cousins were planning to bring that) and a celebration at the last minute anyway, and we all felt at liberty to have an extra drink that night. The birthday was not a total disaster. Score one for us, zero for bugs.
Maybe now is a good time to share some of the information I have learned about bedbugs in the last week or so. Fifty years ago, they weren't heard of much, and this is because of the widespread use of DDT in the past. Once DDT was banned, they started to come back in North America, and now they are a growing epidemic. Winnipeg, apparently, is overrun and you'd best check out your hotel room there before you unpack, no matter how much you are paying. Despite all this, I still am glad DDT is banned.
They are about the size of an apple seed, so though you should be able to see them with your naked eye, you rarely will because they are nocturnal and they are also excellent hiders. They hide in anything they can fit in--nail holes, electrical outlets, spaces between trim and walls, clock radios. They eat only every 3-5 days, and in between eating the lazy asses just sit in their cracks, waiting. They can live for up to a year without eating at all. At night, when you are in your deepest sleep, they crawl out, get on a nice fleshy part of your body, insert their blood sucker and just suck away for a good long while. When they are nice and full, they wander back off into their crack and wait until feeding time comes again. Little fuckers.
They breed by a process called "traumatic insemination" where the male pierces the female's abdomen and injects his sperm through the wound. After this happens, the female tries to get as far away from the male as possible and this is one way they migrate. If you're looking for pregnant females, look in the upper corners of your rooms. They are also excellent hitchhikers and travel to new homes in suitcases, shoes, or folds of clothing. They can be killed by high temperature or freezing for over 2 weeks, or rubbing alcohol sprayed on them if you see them, or crawling through something called diatomaceous earth, but other than that there is not much that kills them. Use of bug sprays and other methods to try to get rid of them may just cause them to scatter to other parts of your house.
I was still left with so many questions. Was it just one bug that we brought home, or more? Did we indeed get it from the community center, and if so why was the bug wandering around in broad daylight? Why didn't it fall off in the hour we spent at the playground after the party? Was it a pregnant female trying to escape? Why was only Boodge getting bitten (this is apparently very common, and also some people don't react to the bites at all)? And most importantly, how could I kill every last one of them?
I called an exterminator. I told him what was happening, and he suggested that if I thought it was just one or two bugs, and in just one room, I may be able to get on top of the problem myself. If I couldn't, I could call him and he would do a free inspection. If the inspection wasn't clear they could bring in a bed bug sniffing dog (which my mom, step-dad and husband were inordinately excited about), which could determine what rooms the bugs were in. Extermination would cost $500 a room and would be done by sealing off the room and heating it up.
So that weekend, we did what he had advised. Mom and I removed everything from Boodge's room and sealed it in plastic bags. We laundered all his clothes in hot water. We vaccumed everywhere again and again and again, pulling back the ribbing of the mattress and vaccuuming it over and over. Everytime we vaccuumed, we sealed the vaccuum bag in a plastic bag and threw it out. For those days, Boodge slept with us in our room and nobody got any new bites.
When we had completed the work we had a very macabre discussion about how uncomfortable it felt to put Boodge back in the room as "bait". My mom offered to sleep in the room. I would have too, but I still nurse Peanut at night and sleep with her, and I wasn't going to bring her in there. Sean suggested that since Boodge was the only one that we knew reacted for sure, he was the best one for the job. But Sean would sleep with him as backup, to ease my thoughts of my little boy all alone crawling with bugs.
One night went by, then two, then three. No bites. We were pretty sure we had conquered the bugs. But this morning, Boodge was itching around the waistline of his pants. "Did you get bitten again?" I asked.
"No, these are just mosquito bites." Boodge protested. No doubt he didn't want his life and his room turned upside down anymore. I pulled down his pants and saw another cluster of about 15 bites. What was worse, my mom said she had three bites on her ankle, knee, and thigh, and had three bites in a row on my own abdomen. Breakfast, lunch, dinner. Little fuckers. My heart sank. That meant the bugs were in three bedrooms now. There were certainly more than one. And our efforts in Boodge's room had scattered them.
So I called the exterminator again. Everyone went wild with the prospect of the bug-sniffing dog but he didn't come today. Just a nice man with a headlamp and a magnifying glass, who inspected the three rooms. And guess what he told us? "I can find absolutely NO evidence of bedbugs here. I'm 100% certain that you don't have bedbugs. Now, I could make a mistake, but I think it's something else biting you." He said you would typically see bed bug poop, blood spots on sheets, and other signs, which he saw none of. Granted, our deep cleaning of Boodge's room destroyed most of the evidence, but Mom and I saw nothing like he described either.
So can somebody please tell me what the hell is going on here?
Here are some other confusing things he told us. Apparently the little assholes inject an anesthetic so that you won't feel them biting you. This is contrary to what the Doctor said, that people often wake up because they are being bitten and it hurts. The exterminator said that nobody can look at bites and say for sure they are bedbug bites, because they look similar to many other bites and everyone reacts differently. Even doctors, he said. And that breakfast, lunch, dinner pattern? It only happens if you move when the bug is biting you, in which case they will pull out their poker and wait until you've settle down, and reinsert it. But why would you move if you don't feel it? Oh, he also said that freezing bedbugs doesn't kill them unless they go down to -32 Celcius in the first 6 minutes. He had actually been to a conference with a leading researcher in bedbugs that weekend, and she had frozen one for a year, only to have it walk away when it thawed out. I guess I can take Boodge's books out of the freezer.
And that's where this story ends, my friends, for now. One little creature, so much disruption and confusion. And maybe it's not that creature at all, because now I am back to the beginning, wondering what is biting my little boy. Wondering what to do next. I suppose the only thing I can do is wait to see if more evidence, accumulates, and call the exterminator back in if we keep having the problem. Or chalk it up to spiders. Or just accept the bugs as part of our natural world, and let them bite my sweet little boy. 'Cause hell, I just signed a petition to ban the use of neonicotinoid pesticides that are killing the bee population yesterday, so clearly I'm a friend to the bugs, and not the pesticides. But then again, bees are necessary for our survival. Whereas, from what I can tell, bedbugs are just lazy ass, sneaky little bloodsuckers.
Monday, April 16, 2012
The Kindness of Strangers
We don't venture out very often in the afternoon. On a typical day when we're not going into the city or spending a day with friends, we get out in the morning, come home for lunch and Peanut's nap, and then hang out around the house in the afternoon. I fell into that pattern a long time ago. So long ago, in fact, that I may have forgotten why I did it in the first place.
Boodge has a meltdown hour. He doesn't melt down every day, but if he's going to it will usually happen between 3 and 6 in the afternoon. You know, about the time my patience, energy and fun ideas are starting to wane and dinner still has to be made. I like to be at home so we have the space and privacy for all that emotional turmoil, as well as the familiarity and entertainment necessary to prevent it most of the time.
But today I wanted to make sure the house and kids were clean for my mom's visit--she arrives tomorrow for 3 weeks--so I did that first. After Peanut's nap, I announced that we had to go into town. If our accountant is going to have a snowball's chance in hell of getting our taxes filed in time, I had to mail him our paperwork--but I didn't share that fact with the kids. Boodge, confused by the shift in routine no doubt, asked me if today was the day we were going to get Mama Cool (my mom).
"No, tomorrow buddy. After preschool, we're going to pick her up."
"I don't want to go to preschool. I just want to go get her right away tomorrow."
"Well, she'll be up in a plane when you're in preschool, we can't get her until the plane lands. We can't make it land any earlier tomorrow."
He accepted this with some deflation. He's pretty excited about the visit and anticipation makes him jangly. He turned his attention to some balloons we had blown up earlier. He wanted to hold two of them in one hand but one kept slipping out, and he was squawking in frustration, near tears. After I calmed a few of these outbursts and made no progress on getting him out of the house, I suggested that I could help by tying the balloons together. He went for it, and soon was holding four balloons, two in each hand. He was very happy about it. He wanted to take them in the van. Whatever, dude, let's just get our boots on. His sister carried out a balloon too, and we were off.
We parallel parked out side the post office and I opened the van. "Peanut, we're just going to come around to your side." I said, unbuckling Boodge. Peanut gets worked up if she thinks we're leaving her in the van. I unfurled the stroller, helped Boodge down, and reminded him that we were on the traffic side so he needed to hold my hand and be careful. I began leading him towards the back of the van when he pulled from my hand and bolted for the front, "No, I want to go around this way."
I grabbed his arm quickly and pulled him back, afraid. "No, you come with me, we're on the busy road and you need to listen."
But again he pulled from my arm, "I want to go around the front!"
I grabbed his wrist and pulled him along with me around the back of the van. He was wailing, "I want to go around the front, why won't you let me go around the front!" I slid open Peanut's side door, and she was crying too because we had taken a while to get to her.
That's when I remembered. This is why we stay home in the afternoons. Right. I inwardly braced myself.
"You hurt me." Boodge sobbed now. "You hurt my arm. Why did you hurt me?"
Now feeling guilty, I squatted down and hugged him. "I'm sorry I hurt you. I didn't mean to hurt you. But I was scared, because you ran away from me on the busy road and you could have been hurt. You can't do that. It's dangerous." I spoke sternly.
"Why wouldn't you let me go around front? Why couldn't you hold my hand around the front way!?"
I sighed. "Look, we can get Peanut in her stroller and I'll take you to the front way safely holding your hand."
But did I mention the balloons? He was still holding his, and Peanut still had hers. But in that time that I took to walk back around the van with Boodge, making him wait watching for the cars to go by until we had a very safe window, Peanut let go and her balloon went blowing across the two lanes of traffic. Now she was crying. And when Boodge saw that balloon go, any calm he had gained lifted right off him and he was crying again. I didn't help, either. I gave him a guilt trip, basically blaming him for his sister losing her balloon, which made him feel worse. I was annoyed and things were going off the rails.
"I didn't want her to lose her balloon!" he sobbed.
"Well, it's too bad she lost it. But we're not crossing two lanes of traffic to get it. It's lost. Let's go to the post office."
A minute later, as we were going up the ramp to the post office, I heard a voice, "I think you lost one!" A man came running up, holding Peanut's purple balloon. ,He had grabbed it and crossed the road just to run it back to her. I wanted to kiss him, what a kind person! Boodge choked back his sobs, looked at the man like he was a superhero and said, "Yeah, it's my sister's!" We both thanked him enthusiastically. Harmony was restored. Peace reigned again. My faith in humanity was replenished.
Until. I hit the button to make the post office doors open. "I wanted to hit the button!!!" Boodge wailed. I looked up to the heavens for mercy. Inside the post office there was a longer line tha I had ever seen there, and the woman at the front was lodging a complaint about her flyers ending up on someone's lawn. People turned to look at my loud, crying son.
"Let's go back outside so you can get calmed down before we do this ljne-up." I led us back outside and squatted down on the landing, taking a breather for myself as much as anyone. A grandmotherly type woman exited the post office. "Oh, how can you cry with so many balloons?!" she asked.
Boodge sobbed, "I wanted to press the button."
She looked at me curiously. I explained. She tried again. "But you have those amazing balloons, you can't be sad."
But he could. And he would. She seemed to see that, and she said, "You know what. The door is open now, so you can't press the button. I'll watch it for you and see when it closes, and then you can push it." She made a big show of it, "Oh, still open, still open....still open....it's closed! It's closed, you can push the button!!" Boodge lit up again, a smile on his face. He pushed the button. I thanked the lady and wished her a sincerely good day. She smiled a knowing smile. I thought of how great it would be to have my mom here. She would have handled it just like that.
Inside the post office, we joined the line. Things were going smoothly then. Boodge was puttering around, a little too loud but he kept it down when I asked him to. He wasn't crying. Peanut....oh, Peanut, she was just taking it all in with her big blue eyes. Thank you, Peanut. She still has that graceful quality of seeming to know when I'm already at my limit, and keeping her peace. Boodge disappeared around the corner to look at all the mailboxes, where he could come to no harm. I noted that the line had grown by about 4 more people behind me.
Suddenly there was a loud gunshot sound. Several people jumped, but I knew what it was. It was immediately followed by a wailing I know too well, and Boodge emerged with one popped balloon, awash in tears again. Some people were cracking jokes about shots fired in the post office. I saw other people smiling in sympathy, both for me and Boodge. Something about the child and the lost balloon--it brings out the best in people. The faces around me were kind and tolerant, not tsk tsking about the loud crying child. I hugged Boodge and murmured kind words.
Finally it was our turn. The man behind the desk greeted us with stickers in hand. "Do you want a sticker." he asked Boodge.
"No," sobbed Boodge loudly, "I just want a balloon."
"But I don't have a balloon!" said the man in mock distress. "Does anyone have a balloon??"
I laughed, and so did the crowd watching. The man had weighed and rang through my parcel all while entertaining me, my son, and the long line. I paid my $2.35 to mail my package and I thanked the wonderful postman. And we got the hell out of there.
On the way home, Eddie Vedder hummed us all back into peace of mind with this song:
Thank you Eddie.
And thank you kindness of strangers. It was the kind of situation that can leave a Mama fried and embarrassed, but instead I felt very grateful. Nobody had scowled at me or my "acting up" kid. Everyone had treated Boodge like a human being with valid problems, and me like a good mum doing her best in a bad situation. I felt like I lived in a compassionate world, where people cared about my children and about me too, and supported me to be a mother. It's just the world I want to live in, and I'm glad to be here.
Let's pass it on.
Boodge has a meltdown hour. He doesn't melt down every day, but if he's going to it will usually happen between 3 and 6 in the afternoon. You know, about the time my patience, energy and fun ideas are starting to wane and dinner still has to be made. I like to be at home so we have the space and privacy for all that emotional turmoil, as well as the familiarity and entertainment necessary to prevent it most of the time.
But today I wanted to make sure the house and kids were clean for my mom's visit--she arrives tomorrow for 3 weeks--so I did that first. After Peanut's nap, I announced that we had to go into town. If our accountant is going to have a snowball's chance in hell of getting our taxes filed in time, I had to mail him our paperwork--but I didn't share that fact with the kids. Boodge, confused by the shift in routine no doubt, asked me if today was the day we were going to get Mama Cool (my mom).
"No, tomorrow buddy. After preschool, we're going to pick her up."
"I don't want to go to preschool. I just want to go get her right away tomorrow."
"Well, she'll be up in a plane when you're in preschool, we can't get her until the plane lands. We can't make it land any earlier tomorrow."
He accepted this with some deflation. He's pretty excited about the visit and anticipation makes him jangly. He turned his attention to some balloons we had blown up earlier. He wanted to hold two of them in one hand but one kept slipping out, and he was squawking in frustration, near tears. After I calmed a few of these outbursts and made no progress on getting him out of the house, I suggested that I could help by tying the balloons together. He went for it, and soon was holding four balloons, two in each hand. He was very happy about it. He wanted to take them in the van. Whatever, dude, let's just get our boots on. His sister carried out a balloon too, and we were off.
We parallel parked out side the post office and I opened the van. "Peanut, we're just going to come around to your side." I said, unbuckling Boodge. Peanut gets worked up if she thinks we're leaving her in the van. I unfurled the stroller, helped Boodge down, and reminded him that we were on the traffic side so he needed to hold my hand and be careful. I began leading him towards the back of the van when he pulled from my hand and bolted for the front, "No, I want to go around this way."
I grabbed his arm quickly and pulled him back, afraid. "No, you come with me, we're on the busy road and you need to listen."
But again he pulled from my arm, "I want to go around the front!"
I grabbed his wrist and pulled him along with me around the back of the van. He was wailing, "I want to go around the front, why won't you let me go around the front!" I slid open Peanut's side door, and she was crying too because we had taken a while to get to her.
That's when I remembered. This is why we stay home in the afternoons. Right. I inwardly braced myself.
"You hurt me." Boodge sobbed now. "You hurt my arm. Why did you hurt me?"
Now feeling guilty, I squatted down and hugged him. "I'm sorry I hurt you. I didn't mean to hurt you. But I was scared, because you ran away from me on the busy road and you could have been hurt. You can't do that. It's dangerous." I spoke sternly.
"Why wouldn't you let me go around front? Why couldn't you hold my hand around the front way!?"
I sighed. "Look, we can get Peanut in her stroller and I'll take you to the front way safely holding your hand."
But did I mention the balloons? He was still holding his, and Peanut still had hers. But in that time that I took to walk back around the van with Boodge, making him wait watching for the cars to go by until we had a very safe window, Peanut let go and her balloon went blowing across the two lanes of traffic. Now she was crying. And when Boodge saw that balloon go, any calm he had gained lifted right off him and he was crying again. I didn't help, either. I gave him a guilt trip, basically blaming him for his sister losing her balloon, which made him feel worse. I was annoyed and things were going off the rails.
"I didn't want her to lose her balloon!" he sobbed.
"Well, it's too bad she lost it. But we're not crossing two lanes of traffic to get it. It's lost. Let's go to the post office."
A minute later, as we were going up the ramp to the post office, I heard a voice, "I think you lost one!" A man came running up, holding Peanut's purple balloon. ,He had grabbed it and crossed the road just to run it back to her. I wanted to kiss him, what a kind person! Boodge choked back his sobs, looked at the man like he was a superhero and said, "Yeah, it's my sister's!" We both thanked him enthusiastically. Harmony was restored. Peace reigned again. My faith in humanity was replenished.
Until. I hit the button to make the post office doors open. "I wanted to hit the button!!!" Boodge wailed. I looked up to the heavens for mercy. Inside the post office there was a longer line tha I had ever seen there, and the woman at the front was lodging a complaint about her flyers ending up on someone's lawn. People turned to look at my loud, crying son.
"Let's go back outside so you can get calmed down before we do this ljne-up." I led us back outside and squatted down on the landing, taking a breather for myself as much as anyone. A grandmotherly type woman exited the post office. "Oh, how can you cry with so many balloons?!" she asked.
Boodge sobbed, "I wanted to press the button."
She looked at me curiously. I explained. She tried again. "But you have those amazing balloons, you can't be sad."
But he could. And he would. She seemed to see that, and she said, "You know what. The door is open now, so you can't press the button. I'll watch it for you and see when it closes, and then you can push it." She made a big show of it, "Oh, still open, still open....still open....it's closed! It's closed, you can push the button!!" Boodge lit up again, a smile on his face. He pushed the button. I thanked the lady and wished her a sincerely good day. She smiled a knowing smile. I thought of how great it would be to have my mom here. She would have handled it just like that.
Inside the post office, we joined the line. Things were going smoothly then. Boodge was puttering around, a little too loud but he kept it down when I asked him to. He wasn't crying. Peanut....oh, Peanut, she was just taking it all in with her big blue eyes. Thank you, Peanut. She still has that graceful quality of seeming to know when I'm already at my limit, and keeping her peace. Boodge disappeared around the corner to look at all the mailboxes, where he could come to no harm. I noted that the line had grown by about 4 more people behind me.
Suddenly there was a loud gunshot sound. Several people jumped, but I knew what it was. It was immediately followed by a wailing I know too well, and Boodge emerged with one popped balloon, awash in tears again. Some people were cracking jokes about shots fired in the post office. I saw other people smiling in sympathy, both for me and Boodge. Something about the child and the lost balloon--it brings out the best in people. The faces around me were kind and tolerant, not tsk tsking about the loud crying child. I hugged Boodge and murmured kind words.
Finally it was our turn. The man behind the desk greeted us with stickers in hand. "Do you want a sticker." he asked Boodge.
"No," sobbed Boodge loudly, "I just want a balloon."
"But I don't have a balloon!" said the man in mock distress. "Does anyone have a balloon??"
I laughed, and so did the crowd watching. The man had weighed and rang through my parcel all while entertaining me, my son, and the long line. I paid my $2.35 to mail my package and I thanked the wonderful postman. And we got the hell out of there.
On the way home, Eddie Vedder hummed us all back into peace of mind with this song:
Thank you Eddie.
And thank you kindness of strangers. It was the kind of situation that can leave a Mama fried and embarrassed, but instead I felt very grateful. Nobody had scowled at me or my "acting up" kid. Everyone had treated Boodge like a human being with valid problems, and me like a good mum doing her best in a bad situation. I felt like I lived in a compassionate world, where people cared about my children and about me too, and supported me to be a mother. It's just the world I want to live in, and I'm glad to be here.
Let's pass it on.
Sunday, March 25, 2012
Eating the Soul Food
Hi everyone! Yesterday at a birthday party for my dear friend's three-year old I had the pleasure of meeting two lovely women, both who introduced themselves and told me that they read my blog regularly, and love it. It was so wonderful to hear that what I write here has meaning to someone else, or even just keeps someone in a good place while they're lying in bed with a restless baby. "It's soul food for us, Katy," said my dear friend as we said goodbye. And I was once again inspired to get back here. In fact, lately I've been hungering to write, here, or anywhere.
But no amount of desire seems to shift me when the time finally comes, 8:30, both kids in bed, and me finally alone. The mental space and uncluttered mind I need to write is drained, sitting like a lump of liquid lead in my butt, which rests so heavy on the couch. I've never been one to work much in the evenings. All through my days of schooling and working my way through that schooling, it was my policy to knock off at 9 and just chill out for a couple of hours before bed.
The fact is, these small fry are exhausting and all-consuming and they make it so difficult to do those things that feed our souls, like writing can for me. I see so many Mama's and Papa's working so hard to raise their kids as well as they possibly can, and keep their homes and jobs, all while dealing with the daily unexpected--a sudden illness, a blown tire, a pee accident just when we get to where we're going. Breadwinners working long hours, leaving the at-home parent pulling just as long solo shifts. Two parents, working full-time, feeling torn and exhausted. Single Mama's (heroine's, in my book) trying to do it all, to be twice as good for their kids while doing twice as much. The necessity to be doing something that is other than for ourselves is so painfully constant and unavoidable sometimes.
Like right now, for example. Right. Now. I am taking this time to myself, because earlier today I felt myself bubbling over with a need for space, taking my angry feelings out on my kids who were just being kids--one so wrapped up in the cute story he was telling me ("Mommy, if our house was made of hot dogs we would have ketchup coming out of the taps and buns for chairs and plate!") he was ignoring my question of what he wanted for lunch, the other crying in my arms and reaching insistently down my shirt for my breasts, needing her nap. My husband saw my frustration, he hugged me and listened to my vent and then promised to give me some time this afternoon. So here I am.
But outside the window, I can hear them: Boodge sprayed Peanut with the hose. She's crying. He's crying because his dad took the hose away from him. Unable to stop myself, like a robot, I found myself thinking: she needs dry clothes. She'll get cold. I went to get them and throw them over the deck for Sean. But Peanut saw me and began desperately sobbing, wanting her Mama. And I turned away from her. I came back inside, and now my peace time has me wrestling Mommy-guilt to the ground. Which isn't as peaceful as I'd like.
On this blog, I try not to be constantly complaining about the hard side of parenting. I try to come here with an appreciation of just how blessed I am with my family and my life. In fact, I try to come to my life that way. But on the other hand, I would never want to give the impression that it's all giggles and dimples and soft, calm talk here all the time. That I don't lose it, that my kids don't do things that are embarrassing or frustrating as hell. That my husband always recognizes when I need time and can give it to me. That I always parent to my ideals. I don't even know what those are, half the time.
I saw my friend C. the other weekend. She has two boys, the same ages as my kids, and she also works 4 days a week. Just another Super-Mama, exhausted but still smiling her very radiant smile. I shared with her about my day baking with my kids, how Boodge had been scooping sugar or butter or batter into his mouth every time I turned my back (funny, in retrospect) and how eventually I had become frustrated and told him I didn't want to bake with him anymore, and taken a time out for myself. "I wish you would post that on facebook," she said, "Instead of just how you're baking with your kids, tra la la." (she didn't actually say Tra la la...but I think that's what she meant...right C?)
Facebook isn't a place I want to fill with complaints either. But I get what C is saying. It's nice to hear what's behind the scenes in people's real lives. It helps when we can admit to each other that we are real, not ideal, that we make mistakes and we have triumphs and we are learning as we go. It helps us forgive ourselves. And we need to forgive ourselves, often and easily, just like we forgive those that we love and live with.
We are not alone, Mamas and Papas, but it sure does feel that way as we go about long rainy days in our own houses, as a week of family illness drags into two, as we spend a long workday away from our babies, or lie awake for another night with a sick child while our partner is away on business. And we are not invincible. We need time to replenish, and we have to take it when we can get it. Even if we have to walk away from their crying faces and reaching arms, it is good for our kids in the long run. I really believe that, though truth be told I am terrible at taking time for myself. And on the other hand, I love being with my kids, and dislike walking away from their reaching arms. None of this is simple.
I'm so glad I met you two ladies yesterday, who read these words. Those connections to other mothers, and the honest conversations that are inspired by my writing here--that is soul food. It replenishes, just a little bit. Even though I am struggling with how much I want to share here...everytime I meet one of you I know I am writing to a community of amazing women (and some men?), people who, like me, are doing their best to live honestly and love the hell out of their kids, to grow and learn and get back up when they want to sit down. Thank you all so much for still checking in, even when I choose to mostly sit down when I could be writing.
But no amount of desire seems to shift me when the time finally comes, 8:30, both kids in bed, and me finally alone. The mental space and uncluttered mind I need to write is drained, sitting like a lump of liquid lead in my butt, which rests so heavy on the couch. I've never been one to work much in the evenings. All through my days of schooling and working my way through that schooling, it was my policy to knock off at 9 and just chill out for a couple of hours before bed.
The fact is, these small fry are exhausting and all-consuming and they make it so difficult to do those things that feed our souls, like writing can for me. I see so many Mama's and Papa's working so hard to raise their kids as well as they possibly can, and keep their homes and jobs, all while dealing with the daily unexpected--a sudden illness, a blown tire, a pee accident just when we get to where we're going. Breadwinners working long hours, leaving the at-home parent pulling just as long solo shifts. Two parents, working full-time, feeling torn and exhausted. Single Mama's (heroine's, in my book) trying to do it all, to be twice as good for their kids while doing twice as much. The necessity to be doing something that is other than for ourselves is so painfully constant and unavoidable sometimes.
Like right now, for example. Right. Now. I am taking this time to myself, because earlier today I felt myself bubbling over with a need for space, taking my angry feelings out on my kids who were just being kids--one so wrapped up in the cute story he was telling me ("Mommy, if our house was made of hot dogs we would have ketchup coming out of the taps and buns for chairs and plate!") he was ignoring my question of what he wanted for lunch, the other crying in my arms and reaching insistently down my shirt for my breasts, needing her nap. My husband saw my frustration, he hugged me and listened to my vent and then promised to give me some time this afternoon. So here I am.
But outside the window, I can hear them: Boodge sprayed Peanut with the hose. She's crying. He's crying because his dad took the hose away from him. Unable to stop myself, like a robot, I found myself thinking: she needs dry clothes. She'll get cold. I went to get them and throw them over the deck for Sean. But Peanut saw me and began desperately sobbing, wanting her Mama. And I turned away from her. I came back inside, and now my peace time has me wrestling Mommy-guilt to the ground. Which isn't as peaceful as I'd like.
On this blog, I try not to be constantly complaining about the hard side of parenting. I try to come here with an appreciation of just how blessed I am with my family and my life. In fact, I try to come to my life that way. But on the other hand, I would never want to give the impression that it's all giggles and dimples and soft, calm talk here all the time. That I don't lose it, that my kids don't do things that are embarrassing or frustrating as hell. That my husband always recognizes when I need time and can give it to me. That I always parent to my ideals. I don't even know what those are, half the time.
I saw my friend C. the other weekend. She has two boys, the same ages as my kids, and she also works 4 days a week. Just another Super-Mama, exhausted but still smiling her very radiant smile. I shared with her about my day baking with my kids, how Boodge had been scooping sugar or butter or batter into his mouth every time I turned my back (funny, in retrospect) and how eventually I had become frustrated and told him I didn't want to bake with him anymore, and taken a time out for myself. "I wish you would post that on facebook," she said, "Instead of just how you're baking with your kids, tra la la." (she didn't actually say Tra la la...but I think that's what she meant...right C?)
Facebook isn't a place I want to fill with complaints either. But I get what C is saying. It's nice to hear what's behind the scenes in people's real lives. It helps when we can admit to each other that we are real, not ideal, that we make mistakes and we have triumphs and we are learning as we go. It helps us forgive ourselves. And we need to forgive ourselves, often and easily, just like we forgive those that we love and live with.
We are not alone, Mamas and Papas, but it sure does feel that way as we go about long rainy days in our own houses, as a week of family illness drags into two, as we spend a long workday away from our babies, or lie awake for another night with a sick child while our partner is away on business. And we are not invincible. We need time to replenish, and we have to take it when we can get it. Even if we have to walk away from their crying faces and reaching arms, it is good for our kids in the long run. I really believe that, though truth be told I am terrible at taking time for myself. And on the other hand, I love being with my kids, and dislike walking away from their reaching arms. None of this is simple.
I'm so glad I met you two ladies yesterday, who read these words. Those connections to other mothers, and the honest conversations that are inspired by my writing here--that is soul food. It replenishes, just a little bit. Even though I am struggling with how much I want to share here...everytime I meet one of you I know I am writing to a community of amazing women (and some men?), people who, like me, are doing their best to live honestly and love the hell out of their kids, to grow and learn and get back up when they want to sit down. Thank you all so much for still checking in, even when I choose to mostly sit down when I could be writing.
Thursday, March 15, 2012
Lemon Muffins
I have promised to share this recipe with a few people so I thought I'd post it up here so everyone can enjoy it. I'm not taking any credit for it, though, it is credited to a chef named Mani Niall from San Francisco. So says the back of the sugar bag I got it from. Mani would be dismayed to know that the first time I made them, I forgot to sprinkle them with sugar, and the second time, I forgot the sugar altogether. But he would be glad to know they were still good, both times.
But much better the first time because I also made some Lemon Cream Cheese Icing to go with them (no need at all for that yellow food colouring in this recipe though, in my opinion). They were so good that when I posted on facebook that they were in my oven and there was chai on the stove too, the mention of it all was enough to lure a new friend over for a spontaneous visit. So if you're ever feeling like you could use some company, try this: cook up a batch, put on the chai from my last post, and put it out there.
And if you don't want company, just keep it to yourself, find a quiet corner, and breathe in the cleansing lemony scent.
Lemon Muffins
1/2 cup oats
1 1/4 cups yogurt (I used vanilla by accident, and liked it)
2 cups of all purpose flour
1/2 cup sugar plus 2 tbsp for sprinkling
2 tsp baking powder
1/2 tsp baking soda
1/2 tsp salt
2 eggs
1/3 cup of vegetable oil
4 tbsp lemon juice
2 tbsp lemon rind
Mix the oats and yogurt and let it sit for at least 20 mins. Preheat the oven to 375 C. Line or grease the muffin tins. Mix up the dry ingredients in one bowl. Put the remaining wet ingredients in with oats and flour and whisk them together. Put the dry ingredients into the wet and stir it up until just combined. It is pretty thick stuff. Divide it into the muffin tins and sprinkle each with a 1/2 tsp of sugar. Bake for 18 minutes, cool on a rack. Makes 12 muffins.
But much better the first time because I also made some Lemon Cream Cheese Icing to go with them (no need at all for that yellow food colouring in this recipe though, in my opinion). They were so good that when I posted on facebook that they were in my oven and there was chai on the stove too, the mention of it all was enough to lure a new friend over for a spontaneous visit. So if you're ever feeling like you could use some company, try this: cook up a batch, put on the chai from my last post, and put it out there.
And if you don't want company, just keep it to yourself, find a quiet corner, and breathe in the cleansing lemony scent.
Lemon Muffins
1/2 cup oats
1 1/4 cups yogurt (I used vanilla by accident, and liked it)
2 cups of all purpose flour
1/2 cup sugar plus 2 tbsp for sprinkling
2 tsp baking powder
1/2 tsp baking soda
1/2 tsp salt
2 eggs
1/3 cup of vegetable oil
4 tbsp lemon juice
2 tbsp lemon rind
Mix the oats and yogurt and let it sit for at least 20 mins. Preheat the oven to 375 C. Line or grease the muffin tins. Mix up the dry ingredients in one bowl. Put the remaining wet ingredients in with oats and flour and whisk them together. Put the dry ingredients into the wet and stir it up until just combined. It is pretty thick stuff. Divide it into the muffin tins and sprinkle each with a 1/2 tsp of sugar. Bake for 18 minutes, cool on a rack. Makes 12 muffins.
Wednesday, March 7, 2012
Chai: For The Love Of Me
This winter I started a simple tradition to give myself a little treat and pick me up in the afternoon. Sometime around three, and especially by 4 (our home's "witching hour") I find myself slumping while the kids are losing it and if I can get a really tasty cup of tea, it helps me survive the end of the day. I sometimes have bought those boxed Chai syrup things that you mix with milk, but I feel guilty about the packaging and price when I know I can easily make it myself. It's really just about getting the spices on hand.
So in the New Year, I went out and bought bulk spices, tea bags, and loose tea. Now, every week, I mix up a bunch of spices and brew myself two big pots of chai, one green tea for the afternoon pick me up, and one Rooibos tea for a decaffeinated version. I really love black tea chai too, but I wanted to start drinking green tea again so I have made that my caffeine. You can use this basic spice blend with any kind of tea that you like, and throw in a little vanilla if you like it that way. The great thing about making your own is you can play with the spice mix over time, and sweeten it to your liking.
Here's what I use, approximately.
3 large cinnamon sticks
a teaspoon of peppercorns
2-3 star anise "stars"
6-8 green cardamom pods
a heaping half teaspoon of whole cloves
fresh ginger--maybe a tablespoon grated, or a bunch of slices (I freeze my ginger and grate it off when I need it)
34 teabags of your choice, or 2 tbsp loose tea
About 6 cups of water.
Crush up all the spices with a mortar and pestle, or you can use a clean coffee grinder to quickly whack them up roughly. You can skip that step, but I feel it brings out even more spiciness. And I like that.
Now put the spices and the water together and boil them. If you are making Rooibos or Black Tea, put the tea in too. When it is boiling I simmer it for about 15 minutes with a lid partially on. If you are making green tea, put it in at the end just after you turn it off, and ideally, strain it out after 5 minutes. I don't like my green tea crazy strong.
Now, this is a good time to have a cup. Just pour it through a strainer, and then when it has cooled you can strain out the rest into a mason jar. Put it in the fridge, and voila. Every day, as witching hour approaches, heat up some tea and milk and honey and let it soothe you.
I can't tell you how many times I have held my warm tea in both hands and said, "Thank you, Me. You really love me, don't you? I'm so lucky."
And on Friday night? After the kids are in bed? I go hog-wild, whackadoo crazy and pour in a shot of vanilla liqueur. And a little spiced rum.
You're welcome.
So in the New Year, I went out and bought bulk spices, tea bags, and loose tea. Now, every week, I mix up a bunch of spices and brew myself two big pots of chai, one green tea for the afternoon pick me up, and one Rooibos tea for a decaffeinated version. I really love black tea chai too, but I wanted to start drinking green tea again so I have made that my caffeine. You can use this basic spice blend with any kind of tea that you like, and throw in a little vanilla if you like it that way. The great thing about making your own is you can play with the spice mix over time, and sweeten it to your liking.
Here's what I use, approximately.
3 large cinnamon sticks
a teaspoon of peppercorns
2-3 star anise "stars"
6-8 green cardamom pods
a heaping half teaspoon of whole cloves
fresh ginger--maybe a tablespoon grated, or a bunch of slices (I freeze my ginger and grate it off when I need it)
34 teabags of your choice, or 2 tbsp loose tea
About 6 cups of water.
Crush up all the spices with a mortar and pestle, or you can use a clean coffee grinder to quickly whack them up roughly. You can skip that step, but I feel it brings out even more spiciness. And I like that.
Now put the spices and the water together and boil them. If you are making Rooibos or Black Tea, put the tea in too. When it is boiling I simmer it for about 15 minutes with a lid partially on. If you are making green tea, put it in at the end just after you turn it off, and ideally, strain it out after 5 minutes. I don't like my green tea crazy strong.
Now, this is a good time to have a cup. Just pour it through a strainer, and then when it has cooled you can strain out the rest into a mason jar. Put it in the fridge, and voila. Every day, as witching hour approaches, heat up some tea and milk and honey and let it soothe you.
I can't tell you how many times I have held my warm tea in both hands and said, "Thank you, Me. You really love me, don't you? I'm so lucky."
And on Friday night? After the kids are in bed? I go hog-wild, whackadoo crazy and pour in a shot of vanilla liqueur. And a little spiced rum.
You're welcome.
Monday, March 5, 2012
A Missive from the Sick House
Maybe it's the fact that our house was buried under a wall of flu this last 9 days, but I feel inspired to reach out and say hi today. Reach my out from my deeply bored body with my tired hand, hoping to get a grip on something that will pull me back into normal society. Nine days we've all taken turns lying flat on our backs with fever, dripping with snot, hacking out the sickness from our lungs. There have been many delicious child-on-parent naps. There have been many middle-of-the-night pukey sheet and jammies changes. And then Peanut's ear started oozing orange, and now she's on antibiotics. And Boodge's fever spiked up again last night for a last hurrah.
I'm feeling sub-human. I now know the names of all the engines on Thomas the Train and even play Angry Birds now. The house, for a time while Sean and I were ill, was littered deep with small scraps of food, snotty tissue, discarded clothes, toys and construction materials. (Because did I mention that inside that 9 days Sean finished the new bamboo flooring in our playroom? What a hero! And I get hero status too because on weekends I took care of the kids while sick/took care of the sick kids so he could do it). And that is where we have been for over a week now, give or take some brief outings into civilization.
But tonight Peanut was chatty at bedtime and Boodge was standing on his chair at dinner christening us all with new names like "Sawtowan" and "Miskipimaramoway", so I know they're feeling better. I'm glad to have their frisky selves back, though the cuddly, docile kids of the last week have been nice too.
Not totally back. Just as I finished that last paragraph my Peanut started hacking on the monitor, and I went in to catch her puke in a towel in the nick of time, avoiding one more pukey mess. But she's not good yet. She needs her Mama and I'm going to bed. May as well take advantage of some more cuddle opportunities. And let's not forget, sleep. Sleep is always welcome.
Hope to see you all on the outside real soon.
Let's all say a little prayer to hasten spring.
I'm feeling sub-human. I now know the names of all the engines on Thomas the Train and even play Angry Birds now. The house, for a time while Sean and I were ill, was littered deep with small scraps of food, snotty tissue, discarded clothes, toys and construction materials. (Because did I mention that inside that 9 days Sean finished the new bamboo flooring in our playroom? What a hero! And I get hero status too because on weekends I took care of the kids while sick/took care of the sick kids so he could do it). And that is where we have been for over a week now, give or take some brief outings into civilization.
But tonight Peanut was chatty at bedtime and Boodge was standing on his chair at dinner christening us all with new names like "Sawtowan" and "Miskipimaramoway", so I know they're feeling better. I'm glad to have their frisky selves back, though the cuddly, docile kids of the last week have been nice too.
Not totally back. Just as I finished that last paragraph my Peanut started hacking on the monitor, and I went in to catch her puke in a towel in the nick of time, avoiding one more pukey mess. But she's not good yet. She needs her Mama and I'm going to bed. May as well take advantage of some more cuddle opportunities. And let's not forget, sleep. Sleep is always welcome.
Hope to see you all on the outside real soon.
Let's all say a little prayer to hasten spring.
Monday, January 30, 2012
Just Putting it Out There
Today I got an e-mail from an acquaintance from grad school/facebook friend, telling me that in a desperate moment in her parenting day, she thought of my blog and reading there helped her restore her sanity. Her e-mail totally made my day, it is just the kind of thing I hope for when I put these words out there: that someone will find something useful or resonant within them. I had been thinking about getting a post up and her e-mail, as well as a series of shower-epiphanies, helped bring me here.
I'm not sure where this blog is going. But one thing that comes into my mind often when I think of it is this quote from Marianne Williamsom:
Sometimes when I write a post I think, "Does anyone really want to read this? Maybe this just needs to stay internal dialogue." Or I think, "Do I really want to reveal this? What will so and so and who's his what think?" But another voice inside me argues: you believe in openness. You like when people show you their real selves. You have to be the change you want to see.
I've both been in group therapy and facilitated it. Most people who cringe at the idea of personal therapy get even more antsy about the idea of group therapy. Even me. All those people, all that heaviness, being confronted about your "issues". But the thing that I love so much about groups is the fact that people recognize themselves in each other, once trust is established and true sharing has begun. In hearing the stories of other people, in offering them the small bits of wisdom we have, in telling our own truth and being witnessed and reflected back: we are healed. We are empowered. We are changed. The curtain is pulled back, we realize we are all the same. And the connections that are made from that can make lifelong friends out of people that might never have crossed paths in real life.
My idealistic self wishes that we could always be so open. That we didn't have to seek out sacred circles to share the things we are ashamed of. That we didn't feel shame at all, but self-acceptance rooted in a knowing that we are all struggling with something, and all have something to offer one another. Now, 37 years into my life I well know that you can't just pull that stuff out in mixed company, and that it truly is important that you don't make yourself vulnerable to just anyone. I also know that even recognizing our common humanity doesn't make me able to understand or like certain people. Like the Republican presidential candidates.
So where does that leave me here: just trying to find a line between too much and too little. Also, my focus is shifting. Like, see how I haven't mentioned my kids in this post yet? And I just received confirmation that my application to be a Registered Clinical Counsellor is approved. That is, after I pay my professional association a bunch of money. A bunch of money that I could now earn back in private practice.
So I'm thinking about worky things, outside the home. I'm thinking about what's next for me, even though I love where I am. I'm not ready to go back to work, I'm not rushing. Raising my kids full-time is what I want to do, until they are in school. But they're growing fast. There's more room opening up for me. And I could work as little as 3-4 hours a week, to start.
So I'm going to start getting my head back in the game. First, I'm just going to do some reading. And this is where my shower epiphany comes in: it would be fun to write about what I'm reading here, and my thoughts around it.
I'm starting with John Gottman's "Raising an Emotionally Intelligent Child." Because my focus hasn't shifted that much. I love Gottman, his research on marriage is unparalleled. I trust him. I look forward to hearing what he has to say. It's the right amount of sharing for me, right now.
And lest I go without drawing attention to my kids:
I'm not sure where this blog is going. But one thing that comes into my mind often when I think of it is this quote from Marianne Williamsom:
Our deepest fear is not that we are inadequate. Our deepest fear is that we are powerful beyond measure. It is our light, not our darkness that most frightens us. We ask ourselves, Who am I to be brilliant, gorgeous, talented, fabulous? Actually, who are you not to be? You are a child of God. Your playing small does not serve the world. There is nothing enlightened about shrinking so that other people won't feel insecure around you. We are all meant to shine, as children do. We were born to make manifest the glory of God that is within us. It's not just in some of us; it's in everyone. And as we let our own light shine, we unconsciously give other people permission to do the same. As we are liberated from our own fear, our presence automatically liberates others.It's a mighty quote. And I think it's true. And I'm not going for anything glorious here on my blog, that's not what I'm getting at. What strikes me about that quote is more the idea that if we can get past our fears and be our authentic selves, and show that to other people, that is the kind of thing that lifts up both ourselves and others.
Sometimes when I write a post I think, "Does anyone really want to read this? Maybe this just needs to stay internal dialogue." Or I think, "Do I really want to reveal this? What will so and so and who's his what think?" But another voice inside me argues: you believe in openness. You like when people show you their real selves. You have to be the change you want to see.
I've both been in group therapy and facilitated it. Most people who cringe at the idea of personal therapy get even more antsy about the idea of group therapy. Even me. All those people, all that heaviness, being confronted about your "issues". But the thing that I love so much about groups is the fact that people recognize themselves in each other, once trust is established and true sharing has begun. In hearing the stories of other people, in offering them the small bits of wisdom we have, in telling our own truth and being witnessed and reflected back: we are healed. We are empowered. We are changed. The curtain is pulled back, we realize we are all the same. And the connections that are made from that can make lifelong friends out of people that might never have crossed paths in real life.
My idealistic self wishes that we could always be so open. That we didn't have to seek out sacred circles to share the things we are ashamed of. That we didn't feel shame at all, but self-acceptance rooted in a knowing that we are all struggling with something, and all have something to offer one another. Now, 37 years into my life I well know that you can't just pull that stuff out in mixed company, and that it truly is important that you don't make yourself vulnerable to just anyone. I also know that even recognizing our common humanity doesn't make me able to understand or like certain people. Like the Republican presidential candidates.
So where does that leave me here: just trying to find a line between too much and too little. Also, my focus is shifting. Like, see how I haven't mentioned my kids in this post yet? And I just received confirmation that my application to be a Registered Clinical Counsellor is approved. That is, after I pay my professional association a bunch of money. A bunch of money that I could now earn back in private practice.
So I'm thinking about worky things, outside the home. I'm thinking about what's next for me, even though I love where I am. I'm not ready to go back to work, I'm not rushing. Raising my kids full-time is what I want to do, until they are in school. But they're growing fast. There's more room opening up for me. And I could work as little as 3-4 hours a week, to start.
So I'm going to start getting my head back in the game. First, I'm just going to do some reading. And this is where my shower epiphany comes in: it would be fun to write about what I'm reading here, and my thoughts around it.
I'm starting with John Gottman's "Raising an Emotionally Intelligent Child." Because my focus hasn't shifted that much. I love Gottman, his research on marriage is unparalleled. I trust him. I look forward to hearing what he has to say. It's the right amount of sharing for me, right now.
And lest I go without drawing attention to my kids:
Monday, January 2, 2012
The Year of Re-Emergence
Happy New Year everyone! I hope each of you reading here had a love-filled and restorative holiday period, whatever you did with it and whomever you spent it with. That's how ours was, for the most part. Sean was off for a week and all we really had on our agenda was Christmas, and a New Year's Eve party. Sure, we could have tucked into the much needed painting and reflooring of our entire house, which looms large on our enormous mental to-do list. But instead we settled on catching up on a few things around the house and just relaxing. We didn't even try to get out much with the kids. Every day we spelled each other off so each of us could get a little time to ourselves doing whatever we wanted (Sean: nap. Me: yoga, read, write.)
A family staycation. I think we all have needed it for, oh...a year? Especially Sean and I, who have so little time to connect these days. We had another baby over a year ago and we just set to work, both of us head down getting the job done. This week both of us realized separately that we'd been in a sort of tunnel all year, and were just looking ahead now to see the light, the opening that leads to a wider world. Not a dark and scary tunnel, just one we had to enter out of survival, because to look around at all the things in the world that we can't do in this time in our lives is too frustrating.
For me, entering the tunnel meant accepting my limitations and lowering my standards. 2011 was the year of imperfection for me. I let myself be Ok with good enough, and I forgave myself quickly for my mistakes in parenting and life. I didn't think about career goals or hobbies or exercise or organizing my photos other things I didn't have time for. I just moved us all forward, towards the light, managing the chaos along the way.
And this year, I'm dubbing the Year of Re-Emergence. Already I feel myself stretching out, wanting to try something new. Ready to take on something outside of mothering my kids. Just something very small, mind you, because mothering my kids is still my favorite thing, and something I feel more and more blessed to be doing as they grow up much too quickly. I don't want to to miss much, but I do want to start building more space for myself to contribute to my community, and focus on my health and well being. By the end of the year I'd like to be making a little income.
And that is all. I'm still keeping my expectations low, because that's been working for me. And because the fact is, I still have a toddler, a 3.5 year old, a husband who works 60 hour weeks, and a house that needs paint and some flooring that is not 20-year old carpet filled with the various fluids and debris of 20 years of people and animals. Uck.
Happy 2012 everyone. Best of luck re-emerging into your normal lives after Christmas break. Thanks for continuing to check in here. May this new year bring peace and blessings your way.
What about you all. What do you hear 2012 whispering or shouting to you? What do you hope to see changed in your life by this time next year?
A family staycation. I think we all have needed it for, oh...a year? Especially Sean and I, who have so little time to connect these days. We had another baby over a year ago and we just set to work, both of us head down getting the job done. This week both of us realized separately that we'd been in a sort of tunnel all year, and were just looking ahead now to see the light, the opening that leads to a wider world. Not a dark and scary tunnel, just one we had to enter out of survival, because to look around at all the things in the world that we can't do in this time in our lives is too frustrating.
For me, entering the tunnel meant accepting my limitations and lowering my standards. 2011 was the year of imperfection for me. I let myself be Ok with good enough, and I forgave myself quickly for my mistakes in parenting and life. I didn't think about career goals or hobbies or exercise or organizing my photos other things I didn't have time for. I just moved us all forward, towards the light, managing the chaos along the way.
And this year, I'm dubbing the Year of Re-Emergence. Already I feel myself stretching out, wanting to try something new. Ready to take on something outside of mothering my kids. Just something very small, mind you, because mothering my kids is still my favorite thing, and something I feel more and more blessed to be doing as they grow up much too quickly. I don't want to to miss much, but I do want to start building more space for myself to contribute to my community, and focus on my health and well being. By the end of the year I'd like to be making a little income.
And that is all. I'm still keeping my expectations low, because that's been working for me. And because the fact is, I still have a toddler, a 3.5 year old, a husband who works 60 hour weeks, and a house that needs paint and some flooring that is not 20-year old carpet filled with the various fluids and debris of 20 years of people and animals. Uck.
Happy 2012 everyone. Best of luck re-emerging into your normal lives after Christmas break. Thanks for continuing to check in here. May this new year bring peace and blessings your way.
What about you all. What do you hear 2012 whispering or shouting to you? What do you hope to see changed in your life by this time next year?
Wednesday, December 14, 2011
For The Love of Mother Earth
This evening I plummeted through the dark in Milli-Van in the misty rain, with Peanut sleeping and Boodge full of questions. We were on our way home from visits in the city, and I was trying to listen to the CBC's "The Current" (you can listen to the episode here). Anna Maria Tremonti was interviewing the opposition party environment critics, and Environment Minister Peter Kent, about Canada's pull-out of the Kyoto Accord, and their shameful (in my humble opinion) representation of our country and more importantly, our children, in Durban. My children. Listening to such discussions, I struggle not to go to a dark place, envisioning my children as adults in a post-apocalyptic, uninhabitable world. Tell me I'm not the only one?
From the back seat: "Mummy? What's camrit change?"
"Climate change? It's, um, it's changes in our world's weather, in the...."
"No, CAMRIT change. CAMRIT change." He insisted.
"Well, camrit change doesn't exist, what they're talking about on the radio is called climate change." I was happy to buy some time. I didn't want to have to explain climate change to my son. What could I tell him these people on the radio were saying about his potential future? That millions may die, billions would suffer, the earth become a hostile place.
"What's climate change?"
"Well, it's the weather of our world...our world is getting hotter, that's climate change."
"Why's our world getting hotter?"
"It's getting hotter because of...of things we are doing--people are doing. We're using the earth too much, building and driving a lot and wasting and that is making the earth hotter. It's not good for the world."
"Why's it not good for the world."
"Because, it hurts the earth." Yes, I copped out on a circular answer. And then I veered. "That's why we have to do our best to recycle and compost, and not waste and not buy things we don't need. That's how we can help the earth."
He stopped asking questions then and I was glad. Now the Conservative Environment Minister was on the radio, smoothing out his actions over the past two weeks. I drifted back to my own thoughts, checking regularly in the rear view mirror to see if Boodge was finally falling asleep. He wasn't. I hoped this wasn't going to be one of those drives home where he never goes to sleep, gets more and more punchy, and arrives at the house drunk-tired. It was already past 8:30.
Then from the backseat. "Mummy? Um, MUMMY!!" He is shouting. I'd told him he has to speak up in Milli-Van, it's hard to hear him over the buzz of the road and heaters.
"Yes, honey?"
"MUMMY! I'm trying not to have too many farts."
"What? Are you farting?"
"No, I'm trying not to have too many farts. I don't want to have too many farts."
"Why? Do you have to poo?" That would surely keep him up. Ugh.
"No, Mummy. I'm trying not to have too many farts for our earth. To help the world from getting hotter."
How can my heart break a little while I laugh like that? And where do we go from there? I told him his farts were surely not going to be the problem and he could fart as much as he wanted, people have been farting for all time and that wasn't going to hurt the earth. And I couldn't resist telling him that if he wanted to help the earth, one way was to not get a lot of plastic toys or other things that would just end up in the garbage one day.
I'm pretty sure this will not be our last discussion about climate change. People dread the "sex" talks with their kids, but to me, those seem easy. This, the fact that our mother planet is in jeopardy, that his generation could see some drastic, difficult changes...this is hard. I need to think about what to say to him, what to teach him to help him live in this possible future, or avoid it. And to allow him to fart freely, and keep delighting me and making me laugh.
Help me, peoples? What do you tell your children?
From the back seat: "Mummy? What's camrit change?"
"Climate change? It's, um, it's changes in our world's weather, in the...."
"No, CAMRIT change. CAMRIT change." He insisted.
"Well, camrit change doesn't exist, what they're talking about on the radio is called climate change." I was happy to buy some time. I didn't want to have to explain climate change to my son. What could I tell him these people on the radio were saying about his potential future? That millions may die, billions would suffer, the earth become a hostile place.
"What's climate change?"
"Well, it's the weather of our world...our world is getting hotter, that's climate change."
"Why's our world getting hotter?"
"It's getting hotter because of...of things we are doing--people are doing. We're using the earth too much, building and driving a lot and wasting and that is making the earth hotter. It's not good for the world."
"Why's it not good for the world."
"Because, it hurts the earth." Yes, I copped out on a circular answer. And then I veered. "That's why we have to do our best to recycle and compost, and not waste and not buy things we don't need. That's how we can help the earth."
He stopped asking questions then and I was glad. Now the Conservative Environment Minister was on the radio, smoothing out his actions over the past two weeks. I drifted back to my own thoughts, checking regularly in the rear view mirror to see if Boodge was finally falling asleep. He wasn't. I hoped this wasn't going to be one of those drives home where he never goes to sleep, gets more and more punchy, and arrives at the house drunk-tired. It was already past 8:30.
Then from the backseat. "Mummy? Um, MUMMY!!" He is shouting. I'd told him he has to speak up in Milli-Van, it's hard to hear him over the buzz of the road and heaters.
"Yes, honey?"
"MUMMY! I'm trying not to have too many farts."
"What? Are you farting?"
"No, I'm trying not to have too many farts. I don't want to have too many farts."
"Why? Do you have to poo?" That would surely keep him up. Ugh.
"No, Mummy. I'm trying not to have too many farts for our earth. To help the world from getting hotter."
How can my heart break a little while I laugh like that? And where do we go from there? I told him his farts were surely not going to be the problem and he could fart as much as he wanted, people have been farting for all time and that wasn't going to hurt the earth. And I couldn't resist telling him that if he wanted to help the earth, one way was to not get a lot of plastic toys or other things that would just end up in the garbage one day.
I'm pretty sure this will not be our last discussion about climate change. People dread the "sex" talks with their kids, but to me, those seem easy. This, the fact that our mother planet is in jeopardy, that his generation could see some drastic, difficult changes...this is hard. I need to think about what to say to him, what to teach him to help him live in this possible future, or avoid it. And to allow him to fart freely, and keep delighting me and making me laugh.
Help me, peoples? What do you tell your children?
Sunday, November 27, 2011
How I Be
Hi, everyone. I miss you. I really do. If you're still reading here, despite my relative absence from this space, thank you. I'm getting this blessed moment in bed in the afternoon with no kids around, so I thought I'd take a moment to catch up with A Mama Being. Then I can at least register two posts in November. Whooopeee!!
Where have I been? I've allowed myself to take a break from A Mama Being, because my energy is just not in it lately. Maybe it's the winter setting in. I read recently that humans have a part of them that still wants to hibernate when the weather turns cold. I can relate. I want to bake, bundle up, drink tea, and at the end of the day before I sleep, let someone else's creations fill my mind, rather than use my tired brain to put words together in a way worth publishing. But there's more to it, because though I think of topics to blog about and have even composed almost full posts, I'm just not hitting publish these days. I'm feeling private. And I'm not sure where A Mama Being is going from here.
Something has changed. Three and a half years in, I feel like I am fully inhabiting the space of Mother. I'm not transitioning anymore. I'm not figuring out who I am as a mum, or how to do it (as much as anyone else, that is) with the same intensity. I've come into some sort of stride here, settled in for the marathon that is parenting, pacing myself accordingly.
Now I can wheel two screaming, sobbing children through the produce section and find humour in the situation, even if the people around me can't. I don't worry about what the people around me are thinking so much. I don't spend evenings reading advice on parenting, because half the time it makes me feel like I'm not doing this or that well enough. When in fact, I am. More and more I'm just going with what I know about myself and my kids, trusting my own insight. And when the shit hits (and it does pretty much daily), I seem to be able to let it go more easily, and forgive myself and my kids quickly. The rest of the time, things are feeling pretty harmonious.
Since Peanut was born I've been practicing letting go of my high expectations for myself and others and focusing on how things are really, really good just as they are. I'm not trying to force things into an image I've created as much as I used to. I've been letting be, and leaving well enough alone. It's working for me. So when I stopped feeling like blogging, I let that be, too. I'm thinking a lot about what my return to work will look like, but I'm in absolutely no hurry to get there. I'm enjoying raising my kids, my family doesn't need a second income right now, so I'm leaving well enough alone.
I wonder if I'll get back the interest I used to have in my blog. I wonder if I'll get back the interest I used to have in my work. But I'm not worried. I'm pretty sure that life will show me where to go next, or some new challenge will arise. I don't feel like questioning things and picking them apart. And I certainly don't feel like creating any angst where there is none.
Maybe I should have called this blog "A Mama Becoming". Because when I started it, that's what I was. Now, only, do I feel like a full-fledged, lightly seasoned, Mama, being. I read this beautiful blog post some time ago. The writer, Ekere, talks about how when we become mothers, the person we were before dies. For a time we are lost in the tumble of babies, sleeplessness, feedings, cleanings, survival for ourselves and our small charges. And then we are reborn, but we don't know ourselves anymore, and we have to find out who the new self is. I felt as if she wrote straight from my heart. I have felt, lately, like I am re-emerging. But as what? Those new shoots are too tender to share here, right now. They are too tender to poke at. I'll just let them grow.
So most likely, there is still lots of life in this blog, but I'm not sure what that will look like. I'm not looking for an international following (though that would be nice if it could make me money), I'm not here to advocate for certain parenting choices. I'm not trying to keep an online journal. I'm not interested in debating and criticizing each other in my comments section. I'm just looking to connect with all of you out there on this life and family journey who want to connect. I want to know I'm not alone and I want you all to know that too. And I want to document some of the amazing, surreal, hilarious and confusing moments in my life as my family grows along.
For all of you that want to share these words with me, thank you. And those of you that take the time to tell me in comments and in person that you got something out of what I wrote, you are the reason I still want to come here and see what happens next. I am so inspired by the community that a little blog can create. So I'll be back, but I hope you don't mind just letting things be with me for a while. It's winter, anyway. Let's just relax, shall we, and see what emerges?
Where have I been? I've allowed myself to take a break from A Mama Being, because my energy is just not in it lately. Maybe it's the winter setting in. I read recently that humans have a part of them that still wants to hibernate when the weather turns cold. I can relate. I want to bake, bundle up, drink tea, and at the end of the day before I sleep, let someone else's creations fill my mind, rather than use my tired brain to put words together in a way worth publishing. But there's more to it, because though I think of topics to blog about and have even composed almost full posts, I'm just not hitting publish these days. I'm feeling private. And I'm not sure where A Mama Being is going from here.
Something has changed. Three and a half years in, I feel like I am fully inhabiting the space of Mother. I'm not transitioning anymore. I'm not figuring out who I am as a mum, or how to do it (as much as anyone else, that is) with the same intensity. I've come into some sort of stride here, settled in for the marathon that is parenting, pacing myself accordingly.
Now I can wheel two screaming, sobbing children through the produce section and find humour in the situation, even if the people around me can't. I don't worry about what the people around me are thinking so much. I don't spend evenings reading advice on parenting, because half the time it makes me feel like I'm not doing this or that well enough. When in fact, I am. More and more I'm just going with what I know about myself and my kids, trusting my own insight. And when the shit hits (and it does pretty much daily), I seem to be able to let it go more easily, and forgive myself and my kids quickly. The rest of the time, things are feeling pretty harmonious.
Since Peanut was born I've been practicing letting go of my high expectations for myself and others and focusing on how things are really, really good just as they are. I'm not trying to force things into an image I've created as much as I used to. I've been letting be, and leaving well enough alone. It's working for me. So when I stopped feeling like blogging, I let that be, too. I'm thinking a lot about what my return to work will look like, but I'm in absolutely no hurry to get there. I'm enjoying raising my kids, my family doesn't need a second income right now, so I'm leaving well enough alone.
I wonder if I'll get back the interest I used to have in my blog. I wonder if I'll get back the interest I used to have in my work. But I'm not worried. I'm pretty sure that life will show me where to go next, or some new challenge will arise. I don't feel like questioning things and picking them apart. And I certainly don't feel like creating any angst where there is none.
Maybe I should have called this blog "A Mama Becoming". Because when I started it, that's what I was. Now, only, do I feel like a full-fledged, lightly seasoned, Mama, being. I read this beautiful blog post some time ago. The writer, Ekere, talks about how when we become mothers, the person we were before dies. For a time we are lost in the tumble of babies, sleeplessness, feedings, cleanings, survival for ourselves and our small charges. And then we are reborn, but we don't know ourselves anymore, and we have to find out who the new self is. I felt as if she wrote straight from my heart. I have felt, lately, like I am re-emerging. But as what? Those new shoots are too tender to share here, right now. They are too tender to poke at. I'll just let them grow.
So most likely, there is still lots of life in this blog, but I'm not sure what that will look like. I'm not looking for an international following (though that would be nice if it could make me money), I'm not here to advocate for certain parenting choices. I'm not trying to keep an online journal. I'm not interested in debating and criticizing each other in my comments section. I'm just looking to connect with all of you out there on this life and family journey who want to connect. I want to know I'm not alone and I want you all to know that too. And I want to document some of the amazing, surreal, hilarious and confusing moments in my life as my family grows along.
For all of you that want to share these words with me, thank you. And those of you that take the time to tell me in comments and in person that you got something out of what I wrote, you are the reason I still want to come here and see what happens next. I am so inspired by the community that a little blog can create. So I'll be back, but I hope you don't mind just letting things be with me for a while. It's winter, anyway. Let's just relax, shall we, and see what emerges?
Wednesday, November 2, 2011
Pumpkin Love
Yesterday, inspired by this recipe for Pumpkin Puree posted at Pioneer Woman, I rescued Baby Jack O'Lantern (the one I carved on Peanut's behalf) from the stoop and hacked it up. Before I knew it, I was staring at two cookie sheets of pumpkin pieces, waiting to be peeled and pureed, just at the end of my day. I felt like an idiot. Especially when I realized that I had forgotten that we have no food processor anymore...it broke a long time ago, actually, and the puree was supposed to be done in a processor. But I recovered. I cut the skin off that pumpkin and I put it in a big bowl and pureed it well enough with my hand blender. I got two bags of enough to fill a pie, which I froze, and another large container which I put in the fridge.
Then I started wondering what I was going to do with all that pumpkin. And I found tons of amazing looking pumpkin recipes online. Pumpkin pancakes, pumpkin muffins, cookies, soups, curry. Who knew there were so many uses for pumpkin? I couldn't believe that in years past, I have just gotten rid of the Jack O'Carcass with no thought to the fact that it's food. Yummy food.
This morning, I had a smoothie with pumpkin, banana blackberries, vanilla yogurt, soy milk, a dash of cinnamon and random fruit juice. It was creamy and thick with the pumpkin. Then this afternoon Booge and I made this yummy pumpkin-banana bread. I'm about to go have another piece. But first I wanted to come on here and say to all of you--if you haven't rescued Jack or Jackie from the porch, and s/he is still viable, do this. Hack it, roast it, puree it, freeze it, eat it.
I roasted another one tonight. It's sitting on the counter, waiting to be peeled and pureed. Maybe tomorrow.
Then I started wondering what I was going to do with all that pumpkin. And I found tons of amazing looking pumpkin recipes online. Pumpkin pancakes, pumpkin muffins, cookies, soups, curry. Who knew there were so many uses for pumpkin? I couldn't believe that in years past, I have just gotten rid of the Jack O'Carcass with no thought to the fact that it's food. Yummy food.
This morning, I had a smoothie with pumpkin, banana blackberries, vanilla yogurt, soy milk, a dash of cinnamon and random fruit juice. It was creamy and thick with the pumpkin. Then this afternoon Booge and I made this yummy pumpkin-banana bread. I'm about to go have another piece. But first I wanted to come on here and say to all of you--if you haven't rescued Jack or Jackie from the porch, and s/he is still viable, do this. Hack it, roast it, puree it, freeze it, eat it.
I roasted another one tonight. It's sitting on the counter, waiting to be peeled and pureed. Maybe tomorrow.
Monday, October 24, 2011
A letter to Peanut, on her first birthday.
Poor second (and third, fourth, fifth, sixth...) children, they never get it as good as the first had it. Over a week since my baby girl turned one and I'm just getting her birthday post out. We've been out of town for two weeks, touring the Ontario/Quebec family, and introducing Ms. Peanut to those who had yet to meet her. It is amazing that she got to meet both her great-grandmothers. Now--here is her birthday post.
Dear sweet Peanut,
One year ago I held your tiny, light, loose body in my arms for the first time after a perfectly wonderful birth. One year already. I still can close my eyes and feel the moment of joy that came when I first saw that you were a girl. My longed for daughter, my little woman, my "mini-me". Don't worry, I don't really want to try to make you in my image, I want to find out who you are, and watch your path unfold before you. But whether or not you make the same choices as I did, you will still come many of the same crossroads, just by virtue of your sex. You will be treated as a woman, by society, whatever that means for your generation. I know some of that path, and some of it's pitfalls. I will be there beside you to tell you what I know. And when you don't want me there, know that if you make a wrong turn, you can call me anytime to come meet you and take you back.
Lucky for you, you were born into a family full of truly admirable women, who will be there too. Warm, wise, open-hearted, funny, outspoken, humanitarian...one day you will be one of us. My relationship with my own mother is irreplaceable, it has sustained me like soil to a plant. I dearly hope to return that blessing to you. I am so grateful to be your mother.
You are a delight. Just as you came into the world, easily, you have continued. People always comment on how "easy" you are, how mellow, how "good". I think of you as peaceful. Unruffled. You have given me very few bad nights of sleep, without obvious reasons. You can sit quietly and think about things, and explore on your own for long periods of time. At dinner I put food on your tray and you simply feed yourself until you are done (at which point you make an insistent and persistent racket until I take you out of your chair, and then you try to climb onto the table and throw all the dishes onto the floor....I didn't say you weren't determined or rambunctious or clear when you want something). When your brother is getting worked up, you don't hop on the bandwagon and add to the drama. Instead, you graciously move to the side and find yourself something to do until I'm ready for you again.
You have a throaty cackle that comes out spontaneously as you are plunging forward out of control (you started walking a short while ago), chasing your brother, trying to grab the glasses off my face, climbing on something you know will get Mama after you. You love music. Any good beat will get you dancing your knee bending, head-bopping, hand-clapping dance immediately. When I sing your little lullaby, you nod your head to the beat while nursing. In fact, you like to nod your head often as a way of making conversation. A sign, I like to think, of your positive, upbeat nature.
You cuddle. You often will come up to one of us, climb up, and press your whole body against us. Suck your thumb and enjoy the petting. You pet too, your little hands stroking my arm or tummy. I feel your love. I'm so glad for our nights together cuddling, the one time of day when I have you all to myself and I can take in your peacefulness. This first year of your life has flown by in a haze of activity, and there have not been enough moments of sitting quietly with you and just taking you in. It is lovely the way you sometimes want to just sit on me and zone out. I'll be glad if you can bring more of that into my life.
Before you came I wondered what you would teach me. Becoming a mother taught me so much, impacted every single area of my life, changed my identity. What would the second child bring to my learning? As we meet this one year milestone I can see what the shift to being a Mama of two has brought. "Do not grieve what doesn't exist; cling to what does." (That's Rumi--check him out one day, daughter.)
As a mother of two, I had to learn to let go of my ideals. Let go of the idea that I could attain them, that is. I had to let go of free time, of control. I had to acknowledge my and others' limitations and recognize that everything was good enough, things are great, actually, and every morning, every minute, even, is a fresh start. And I'm not going to get back any of these days, so why waste them by stressing about the details?
Of course, babies don't do silly things like ruminate about invented scenarios that didn't happen, or did happen, or cannot happen, or haven't happened yet. I am far from being as good at it as you are. Maybe you can teach me more about it. Maybe together we can remember to just enjoy what is. I have a feeling the secret is in the quiet zoning out and exploring alone for long periods of time. And lots of cuddles.
I look forward to getting to know you better, little woman. Happy Birthday. Here's to a long and happy life together.
Dear sweet Peanut,
One year ago I held your tiny, light, loose body in my arms for the first time after a perfectly wonderful birth. One year already. I still can close my eyes and feel the moment of joy that came when I first saw that you were a girl. My longed for daughter, my little woman, my "mini-me". Don't worry, I don't really want to try to make you in my image, I want to find out who you are, and watch your path unfold before you. But whether or not you make the same choices as I did, you will still come many of the same crossroads, just by virtue of your sex. You will be treated as a woman, by society, whatever that means for your generation. I know some of that path, and some of it's pitfalls. I will be there beside you to tell you what I know. And when you don't want me there, know that if you make a wrong turn, you can call me anytime to come meet you and take you back.
 | |
| Me and Mom and Peanut |
 |
| Peanut and her Great-Grandmother compete over cookies. |
 |
| Must. Get. Hot dog. |
You are a delight. Just as you came into the world, easily, you have continued. People always comment on how "easy" you are, how mellow, how "good". I think of you as peaceful. Unruffled. You have given me very few bad nights of sleep, without obvious reasons. You can sit quietly and think about things, and explore on your own for long periods of time. At dinner I put food on your tray and you simply feed yourself until you are done (at which point you make an insistent and persistent racket until I take you out of your chair, and then you try to climb onto the table and throw all the dishes onto the floor....I didn't say you weren't determined or rambunctious or clear when you want something). When your brother is getting worked up, you don't hop on the bandwagon and add to the drama. Instead, you graciously move to the side and find yourself something to do until I'm ready for you again.
You have a throaty cackle that comes out spontaneously as you are plunging forward out of control (you started walking a short while ago), chasing your brother, trying to grab the glasses off my face, climbing on something you know will get Mama after you. You love music. Any good beat will get you dancing your knee bending, head-bopping, hand-clapping dance immediately. When I sing your little lullaby, you nod your head to the beat while nursing. In fact, you like to nod your head often as a way of making conversation. A sign, I like to think, of your positive, upbeat nature.
You cuddle. You often will come up to one of us, climb up, and press your whole body against us. Suck your thumb and enjoy the petting. You pet too, your little hands stroking my arm or tummy. I feel your love. I'm so glad for our nights together cuddling, the one time of day when I have you all to myself and I can take in your peacefulness. This first year of your life has flown by in a haze of activity, and there have not been enough moments of sitting quietly with you and just taking you in. It is lovely the way you sometimes want to just sit on me and zone out. I'll be glad if you can bring more of that into my life.
Before you came I wondered what you would teach me. Becoming a mother taught me so much, impacted every single area of my life, changed my identity. What would the second child bring to my learning? As we meet this one year milestone I can see what the shift to being a Mama of two has brought. "Do not grieve what doesn't exist; cling to what does." (That's Rumi--check him out one day, daughter.)
As a mother of two, I had to learn to let go of my ideals. Let go of the idea that I could attain them, that is. I had to let go of free time, of control. I had to acknowledge my and others' limitations and recognize that everything was good enough, things are great, actually, and every morning, every minute, even, is a fresh start. And I'm not going to get back any of these days, so why waste them by stressing about the details?
Of course, babies don't do silly things like ruminate about invented scenarios that didn't happen, or did happen, or cannot happen, or haven't happened yet. I am far from being as good at it as you are. Maybe you can teach me more about it. Maybe together we can remember to just enjoy what is. I have a feeling the secret is in the quiet zoning out and exploring alone for long periods of time. And lots of cuddles.
 |
| |Enjoying cake. |
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| Finding a cold bevvy in the flower patch. What could be better? |
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| Life is good. |
Wednesday, September 28, 2011
Storms coming through
Today was a good day. Harmonious. Boodge, in his wisdom, said, "No, I think we should just stay home all day, play in the backyard," when I suggested we head out to our local Strong Start. He could see it was going to be a beautiful day. He had said as much when I woke up, gazing happily out the window. Peanut was sick so it was better for her to stay home anyway. It was me who wanted adult company, but not enough to try to motivate all of us against our will into nice clothes and breakfasts and carseats.
Peanut napped early and Boodge and I got a good cuddle in watching the remains of the Bob the Builder he watched while I put her to sleep. We don't cuddle much these days, he's always on the go, or I am, two steps behind his sister as she plunges forward on her two feet, climbing and tumbling and giggling completely unaware of the danger she is in.
Then we headed out to the sandbox (oh, how I wish it was four times the size...had I known how passionate he would become about that little patch of dirt), where we played builders of roads, using our deeper, "man" voices (Boodge's is hilarious) to narrate the amazing load lifting and jack-hammering we are accomplishing. Every now and then I announced I was taking a "rest break!", slipped over into the sunshine, and did a few minutes of yoga. Harmonious.
It has not been that way much lately. Boodge is working something out, something I'm still divining, which is taking the form of angry, fists punching the air, loud-as-I-can screaming. He wants it his way SO badly, he is enraged by his powerlessness, he pulls at his father and I, using his entire energy to will what he wants (a slurpee, to not leave the playground, to have crackers out of the new tube rather than the open one). It's been a couple of weeks now where there's no telling what will bring him to his knees. I do my best, but I often end up unable to help myself from lecturing him or telling him I've had enough, already, just give it a rest. At the end of many days I've felt so tired from trying to take a stand in his storm.
Is it starting preschool? He doesn't want to talk about what he does there, but he seems to love going. Is it his sister starting to walk, and always getting up in his stuff, while also getting constant coos and cheers of adoration from her parents, while he is getting his name called out in tones of frustration, resignation, commandment? Is it the impending trip to visit family on an airplane which he fears will be "too loud"? Is it just a power play, a testing of the limits, trying to see if he can ignore the rules? These are the questions I started asking when it became clear to me that something was going on, and it wasn't about the slurpee. We were in a pattern I recognized from before. And when I could list so many possible issues, I knew that it was all of them, and probably more.
So I'm working all the angles, pulling him in, giving him boundaries and love both. I'm waiting out a lot of tears. During the cracker episode, which had gone on for half an hour, I said in exasperation and wonder, "Wow buddy, you sure do have a lot of tears and yelling in you these days."
"I do!" he sobbed, "I have a lot of tears in me! I'm really mad."
"What are you so mad about?" He was sprawled over my lap, half kicking me away, half in my arms.
"Because I don't want Peanut always int'rested in me. I don't want her wrecking my train track. I don't want to share my pumpkin. I want you to stop her." Something like this, he choked out.
Of course we've been dealing with that a lot, little babe coming in and stomping the construction site in his sandbox, disturbing the road he's been working to make flat for ten minutes. Pulling up on his lego tower and destroying it. She wants to do what he's doing, she adores him with clear blue fascinated eyes. He's frustrated, and Peanut is equally frustrated if I pull her away from the heart of the action all the time. She screams at me. I try to engage them both, I try to encourage Boodge to share, play nicely. He often does, but lately he's not having it. So the best I can do is play with her away from his projects, which means Boodge plays alone. His choice, but still the situation is difficult for all concerned. And also I know it will pass as they grow. It is growing pains, that's all.
He can feel himself becoming more capable, free, and powerful, and he needs to know that I am clear about my limits, strong enough to hold him as he ventures ever further, and to pull him back into my arms sometimes and give him lots of love. I've noticed that today he resurfaced a game he used to play a lot when Peanut was just new. "Save me, Mama, save me!" he would call from some far off corner of the house. "Mama, help." Sometimes he would do this just when I was in the room with him. Often he would do it when I was nursing, or changing a diaper, or soothing a crying baby. "Help, Mama." Sometimes I would play along, but often I would have to say, "I can't come right now, I'm busy." He set me up that way.
That is what his stormy periods are about. "Help me, Mama." And the longer I parent the more I believe that he can help himself if I can just move in and support him the right way. But also the more I am aware that often I will not really understand what is troubling him, or be able to do anything to fix it. I understand how all kinds of other life can get in the way to keep me from being right there for him when he needs me. The longer I parent the better I know my own fallibility, and also my own skills as a mother. I understand that parenting is a fine balance, a juggling act, even, of factors I can and cannot control. Somehow, that makes me feel more confident.
Does that make any sense? I don't know. But today was harmonious. There was yoga. There was sunshine. There was a cuddle where I breathed in my sweet boy. And there was time in the sandbox, digging and jack-hammering and using our big man voices. I love my little guy, screaming demands and fist waving and all. We will juggle our way out of these storms, I'm sure of it.
Peanut napped early and Boodge and I got a good cuddle in watching the remains of the Bob the Builder he watched while I put her to sleep. We don't cuddle much these days, he's always on the go, or I am, two steps behind his sister as she plunges forward on her two feet, climbing and tumbling and giggling completely unaware of the danger she is in.
Then we headed out to the sandbox (oh, how I wish it was four times the size...had I known how passionate he would become about that little patch of dirt), where we played builders of roads, using our deeper, "man" voices (Boodge's is hilarious) to narrate the amazing load lifting and jack-hammering we are accomplishing. Every now and then I announced I was taking a "rest break!", slipped over into the sunshine, and did a few minutes of yoga. Harmonious.
It has not been that way much lately. Boodge is working something out, something I'm still divining, which is taking the form of angry, fists punching the air, loud-as-I-can screaming. He wants it his way SO badly, he is enraged by his powerlessness, he pulls at his father and I, using his entire energy to will what he wants (a slurpee, to not leave the playground, to have crackers out of the new tube rather than the open one). It's been a couple of weeks now where there's no telling what will bring him to his knees. I do my best, but I often end up unable to help myself from lecturing him or telling him I've had enough, already, just give it a rest. At the end of many days I've felt so tired from trying to take a stand in his storm.
Is it starting preschool? He doesn't want to talk about what he does there, but he seems to love going. Is it his sister starting to walk, and always getting up in his stuff, while also getting constant coos and cheers of adoration from her parents, while he is getting his name called out in tones of frustration, resignation, commandment? Is it the impending trip to visit family on an airplane which he fears will be "too loud"? Is it just a power play, a testing of the limits, trying to see if he can ignore the rules? These are the questions I started asking when it became clear to me that something was going on, and it wasn't about the slurpee. We were in a pattern I recognized from before. And when I could list so many possible issues, I knew that it was all of them, and probably more.
So I'm working all the angles, pulling him in, giving him boundaries and love both. I'm waiting out a lot of tears. During the cracker episode, which had gone on for half an hour, I said in exasperation and wonder, "Wow buddy, you sure do have a lot of tears and yelling in you these days."
"I do!" he sobbed, "I have a lot of tears in me! I'm really mad."
"What are you so mad about?" He was sprawled over my lap, half kicking me away, half in my arms.
"Because I don't want Peanut always int'rested in me. I don't want her wrecking my train track. I don't want to share my pumpkin. I want you to stop her." Something like this, he choked out.
Of course we've been dealing with that a lot, little babe coming in and stomping the construction site in his sandbox, disturbing the road he's been working to make flat for ten minutes. Pulling up on his lego tower and destroying it. She wants to do what he's doing, she adores him with clear blue fascinated eyes. He's frustrated, and Peanut is equally frustrated if I pull her away from the heart of the action all the time. She screams at me. I try to engage them both, I try to encourage Boodge to share, play nicely. He often does, but lately he's not having it. So the best I can do is play with her away from his projects, which means Boodge plays alone. His choice, but still the situation is difficult for all concerned. And also I know it will pass as they grow. It is growing pains, that's all.
He can feel himself becoming more capable, free, and powerful, and he needs to know that I am clear about my limits, strong enough to hold him as he ventures ever further, and to pull him back into my arms sometimes and give him lots of love. I've noticed that today he resurfaced a game he used to play a lot when Peanut was just new. "Save me, Mama, save me!" he would call from some far off corner of the house. "Mama, help." Sometimes he would do this just when I was in the room with him. Often he would do it when I was nursing, or changing a diaper, or soothing a crying baby. "Help, Mama." Sometimes I would play along, but often I would have to say, "I can't come right now, I'm busy." He set me up that way.
That is what his stormy periods are about. "Help me, Mama." And the longer I parent the more I believe that he can help himself if I can just move in and support him the right way. But also the more I am aware that often I will not really understand what is troubling him, or be able to do anything to fix it. I understand how all kinds of other life can get in the way to keep me from being right there for him when he needs me. The longer I parent the better I know my own fallibility, and also my own skills as a mother. I understand that parenting is a fine balance, a juggling act, even, of factors I can and cannot control. Somehow, that makes me feel more confident.
Does that make any sense? I don't know. But today was harmonious. There was yoga. There was sunshine. There was a cuddle where I breathed in my sweet boy. And there was time in the sandbox, digging and jack-hammering and using our big man voices. I love my little guy, screaming demands and fist waving and all. We will juggle our way out of these storms, I'm sure of it.
Monday, September 19, 2011
Top 7 Reasons I Haven't Been Blogging Much
1. No time.
I spend my days with two little ones who need a lot from me, and I cannot have my eyes, body, and hands occupied with something else for more than 30 seconds or so during the day. I could blog in 30 second stretches but I find it hard to remember what I was thinking about before I cleaned up a pee, cut up an apple, and answered a question like, "Do wolves stink?" as honestly as I could. When they are in bed, I am often not interested in writing. It's easier to just chill out with Sean on the couch. Which I suppose could be another reason:
2. Netflix
I used to much prefer blogging to anything on TV, but now that we have Netflix, I can cue up something good for us and that can suck up an hour very quickly. We are working our way through Arrested Development. It reminds me all too well of my two years living in Southern California. Funny stuff.
3. Summertime
Something about summer just makes me less pensive. I want to be outside, enjoying the weather and the moments, not navel gazing at my computer. Up to a week ago, it was so hot that by evening my body was completely drained, and there was no brain power left to blog. Now that the weather is cooling a little, I'm already feeling my eyes drop to my navel and regaining the energy to write what I see there.
4. Sitting hurts.
And here I have to digress a little. After having Boodge, nursing him all the time and bouncing him to sleep on the exercise ball several times a day for months on end, I developed really bad back pain. It hurt every time I moved, basically, and sitting was also problematic. I ended up going to a chiropractor, something I had never done before, and he was fantastic and healed it, as well as teaching me its root cause and how to avoid it in the future. Whenever I told people I had back pain, they were really sympathetic and often shared a story of their own back pain, or someone they knew, and what they had done to help it.
Now, Peanut's arrival and subsequent havoc has also given me an ailment that is not the kind of thing people swap stories about in polite company, though thanks to the internet I can hear from hundreds of people that share my pain. It's been much worse than the back pain in terms of intensity, duration, ability to heal, and impact on my life. Apparently 30% of women who give birth will get it, as well as tons of other people, including, very commonly, infants and toddlers. I have had to make all kinds of dietary and lifestyle changes. I've been afraid to eat. I've lost 11 pounds in a month. I prefer to sit to use my computer (you too??), and for 4-8 hours a day I can't sit comfortably. It's a very real pain in the ass. A total bummer.
I could have left it out of this list but it's been a huge part of my life lately, and I have very bad TMI (that's Too Much Information) sensors. You wouldn't believe how much I've held back here (unless you really know me, in which case you've been treated to lots of detail, and I thank you very much for listening).
Though I'm pretty sure I will still lie awake regretting it if I do hit publish on this post....
Shall we just move on to the next reason?
5. I'm struggling with how open I want to be.
You won't believe that after reading reason # 4. I don't blame you. But it's true. I've been questioning how much I want to share of myself and of my family in this public forum. I feel exposed, knowing that people have read it but not knowing what they read, or what they thought of it. Distant family members, friends of friends, mothers of friends. I love it that people read it, the positive feedback I get really fulfills me, and I appreciate the sense of deeper connection it brings in my online and face to face relationships. But it also brings a strange dimension to my life that I'm not fully reconciled with.
I'm new to a small town where I'm trying to make friends, and where my kids will grow up. I feel funny sometimes knowing someone has read my blog and knows so much about me and my family, yet doesn't know me well yet. It creates an awkward imbalance in a beginning friendship. And what about my kids and my husband--how much should I be revealing about them?
On other hand, I also wonder what people who know me think of seeing this side of me on my blog. What I present here is only a part of me. There is a lot more to some of the stories I tell here, and sometimes friends know this when they read something that I may have wrapped up fairly neatly into one of its components.
This all makes me question what I write too much, which stops me from writing much at all, ultimately. I love that when I share something personal, someone may see themselves in that and gain insight, a laugh, a feeling of not being alone. I love that my family and friends can keep up on my life. I believe in being honest and open. But it's really hard sometimes to hit that publish button and reveal myself.
6. I'm wondering about privacy.
This is related to number 5, but more about personal safety. I didn't give much thought to privacy when I started this. Now I want to do a little more research. Should I be posting pictures of my kids, using my real name, saying where I live, etc? Do I need to comb over the blog and get rid of some details? Am I taking a risk? I would love some input into this from anyone who has an opinion, or some information.
7. I don't know if blogging fits with counseling.
I'm slowly plotting a return back to very part-time work, doing some private practice. But counselors, ethically, are supposed to avoid "self-disclosure" and "dual relationships". We are supposed to be separate from the lives of our clients, and them from ours, which provides a certain safety for the client to talk freely. It complicates things for the client if they know too much about me, and can compromise the work we are doing. So again, I feel that I would have to be very conscious of what I disclose here. More likely, I couldn't use my real identity here anymore, and maybe I shouldn't, anyway. I'm still puzzling over what to do about this blog when I go back to work. Any ideas, fellow counsellor-mamas? Or others?
So, that all being said, I had a lovely moment last week at the local Strong Start where one woman expressed real interest in reading my blog and two others told me how much they enjoyed reading it. That just lights me up and makes want me continue, so thanks ladies! But I will still be thinking about numbers 5-7 and may be giving A Mama Being a slight make over. Maybe changing names to protect the innocent, including myself.
I spend my days with two little ones who need a lot from me, and I cannot have my eyes, body, and hands occupied with something else for more than 30 seconds or so during the day. I could blog in 30 second stretches but I find it hard to remember what I was thinking about before I cleaned up a pee, cut up an apple, and answered a question like, "Do wolves stink?" as honestly as I could. When they are in bed, I am often not interested in writing. It's easier to just chill out with Sean on the couch. Which I suppose could be another reason:
2. Netflix
I used to much prefer blogging to anything on TV, but now that we have Netflix, I can cue up something good for us and that can suck up an hour very quickly. We are working our way through Arrested Development. It reminds me all too well of my two years living in Southern California. Funny stuff.
3. Summertime
Something about summer just makes me less pensive. I want to be outside, enjoying the weather and the moments, not navel gazing at my computer. Up to a week ago, it was so hot that by evening my body was completely drained, and there was no brain power left to blog. Now that the weather is cooling a little, I'm already feeling my eyes drop to my navel and regaining the energy to write what I see there.
4. Sitting hurts.
And here I have to digress a little. After having Boodge, nursing him all the time and bouncing him to sleep on the exercise ball several times a day for months on end, I developed really bad back pain. It hurt every time I moved, basically, and sitting was also problematic. I ended up going to a chiropractor, something I had never done before, and he was fantastic and healed it, as well as teaching me its root cause and how to avoid it in the future. Whenever I told people I had back pain, they were really sympathetic and often shared a story of their own back pain, or someone they knew, and what they had done to help it.
Now, Peanut's arrival and subsequent havoc has also given me an ailment that is not the kind of thing people swap stories about in polite company, though thanks to the internet I can hear from hundreds of people that share my pain. It's been much worse than the back pain in terms of intensity, duration, ability to heal, and impact on my life. Apparently 30% of women who give birth will get it, as well as tons of other people, including, very commonly, infants and toddlers. I have had to make all kinds of dietary and lifestyle changes. I've been afraid to eat. I've lost 11 pounds in a month. I prefer to sit to use my computer (you too??), and for 4-8 hours a day I can't sit comfortably. It's a very real pain in the ass. A total bummer.
I could have left it out of this list but it's been a huge part of my life lately, and I have very bad TMI (that's Too Much Information) sensors. You wouldn't believe how much I've held back here (unless you really know me, in which case you've been treated to lots of detail, and I thank you very much for listening).
Though I'm pretty sure I will still lie awake regretting it if I do hit publish on this post....
Shall we just move on to the next reason?
5. I'm struggling with how open I want to be.
You won't believe that after reading reason # 4. I don't blame you. But it's true. I've been questioning how much I want to share of myself and of my family in this public forum. I feel exposed, knowing that people have read it but not knowing what they read, or what they thought of it. Distant family members, friends of friends, mothers of friends. I love it that people read it, the positive feedback I get really fulfills me, and I appreciate the sense of deeper connection it brings in my online and face to face relationships. But it also brings a strange dimension to my life that I'm not fully reconciled with.
I'm new to a small town where I'm trying to make friends, and where my kids will grow up. I feel funny sometimes knowing someone has read my blog and knows so much about me and my family, yet doesn't know me well yet. It creates an awkward imbalance in a beginning friendship. And what about my kids and my husband--how much should I be revealing about them?
On other hand, I also wonder what people who know me think of seeing this side of me on my blog. What I present here is only a part of me. There is a lot more to some of the stories I tell here, and sometimes friends know this when they read something that I may have wrapped up fairly neatly into one of its components.
This all makes me question what I write too much, which stops me from writing much at all, ultimately. I love that when I share something personal, someone may see themselves in that and gain insight, a laugh, a feeling of not being alone. I love that my family and friends can keep up on my life. I believe in being honest and open. But it's really hard sometimes to hit that publish button and reveal myself.
6. I'm wondering about privacy.
This is related to number 5, but more about personal safety. I didn't give much thought to privacy when I started this. Now I want to do a little more research. Should I be posting pictures of my kids, using my real name, saying where I live, etc? Do I need to comb over the blog and get rid of some details? Am I taking a risk? I would love some input into this from anyone who has an opinion, or some information.
7. I don't know if blogging fits with counseling.
I'm slowly plotting a return back to very part-time work, doing some private practice. But counselors, ethically, are supposed to avoid "self-disclosure" and "dual relationships". We are supposed to be separate from the lives of our clients, and them from ours, which provides a certain safety for the client to talk freely. It complicates things for the client if they know too much about me, and can compromise the work we are doing. So again, I feel that I would have to be very conscious of what I disclose here. More likely, I couldn't use my real identity here anymore, and maybe I shouldn't, anyway. I'm still puzzling over what to do about this blog when I go back to work. Any ideas, fellow counsellor-mamas? Or others?
So, that all being said, I had a lovely moment last week at the local Strong Start where one woman expressed real interest in reading my blog and two others told me how much they enjoyed reading it. That just lights me up and makes want me continue, so thanks ladies! But I will still be thinking about numbers 5-7 and may be giving A Mama Being a slight make over. Maybe changing names to protect the innocent, including myself.
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