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?

Sometimes Mommies and Doctors Make Very Bad Mistakes

Oh, where to begin?  Today started out normally enough, with a grocery shop followed by a playground visit.  Boodge got thirsty and I didn't have his juice with me so I parlayed it into a graceful departure from the playground, right on time to get Peanut home, changed, and into her nap at a good hour.  We pulled into the garage and I began the process of getting the kids out, Boodge already jumping up and down for "Juice, juice, juice. C'mon Mama, juice now."

"Hang on!" I said, "I have to get your sister." I pulled the carseat out of Milli-Van and noticed that Peanut was getting so long, her feet were hanging over the edge.  "I have to get a new carseat for you soon," I told her.  It was a tight squeeze beside Milli-Van, because there are three sheets of plywood balanced against the wall of the garage. I rested the carseat on my hip and used my other hand to slide shut the van door.  Something in the closing 'thunk" of the door sounded funny.  I looked down and let out a shriek of fear and horror, at the exact same time as Peanut.  I had slammed her little foot in the door of the van.  There it was, wedged between the two still walls of metal. 

Now time sped up. I opened the door, I carried the carseat to the landing. I looked at her foot. The underside was already turning red and purple from the blood underneath. She was in a silent scream, her mouth open, her body heaving but no sound coming out.  I quickly unlatched the buckles and took her out. Soon she found air and began howling in desperate pain. I held her, "I'm so sorry, I'm so sorry, I'm so sorry little baby. Oh, little baby, Oh, I'm sorry."  We all came inside. I tried to nurse her but she couldn't go there yet. I got Boodge juice and told him I was going downstairs to see his daddy. "Oh, sweetie, oh, sweetie.  I'm so, so, so sorry."

Down in Sean's office, I showed him her foot and told him what happened.  We worried that her foot was broken. I wondered if I should take her into the hospital and Sean thought I should, so we agreed that he would come upstairs to watch Boodge and I would go.  Thank goodness he works at home.  Within 5 minutes or so we were back on the road.  I didn't want to take Peanut out of my arms but I wanted to find out if there was anything we needed to do. She cried all the way to the hospital, and I called out to her, "Oh, baby, we're almost there." I drove quickly but with eagle eyes, avoiding all lights and swiftly maneuvering around any car that was slowing me down. 

The intake process was quick, since she was already on record there after I took her in for a fever a few weeks ago.  Then the triage nurse looked her over. For a while then she stopped sobbing, and watched the nurse attach a heart monitor to her big toe, listened to us talk.  The nurse was kind. She told me the bones in that part of Peanut's foot were not even fused at this age.  I felt myself tear up then but stopped myself.  It was my mistake, I thought, Peanut gets to cry, I need to be strong.  Then the nurse shared a personal story about her own daughter burning herself on a cup of tea she had mistakenly put within reach, and how bad she felt. "I think every mother has one of these stories in her history," she said.  Thank you nurse.

We were sent back into the waiting room. Peanut was sobbing again and I tried to nurse her but again, she wasn't going there.  Boodge was the type of baby who immediately sought comfort at the breast, but Peanut has never been thus.  She wanted me to stand up so I did, I stood and put my forehead to hers and looked into her eyes and told her it was going to be OK, it was going to feel better.  I sang to her. She sucked her thumb and was calmed, though she continued to hiccup and break into sobs.  We waited and I watched as a construction worker with a face injury came in  Another woman came in, I don't know what for, and was kind to me and Peanut, offering support and sympathy while she waited for who knows what.  And then a nurse came to get us.

We were taken to a curtained room with a bed where we would wait for the doctor.  The nurse asked me a few questions and took a few notes.  "She's still nursing?" she asked me, after I told her when and what Peanut had last eaten.
"Yes."
"If you want to try to feed her you can, just pull the curtain," she said. "It sometimes helps."
"I know," I said, "I have tried but she won't take it." 

She put the bed up to a seated position and offered to bring me a pillow. I told her I was fine and thanked her. Pull the curtain, I thought to myself.  Funny.  I just tried to nurse her right in the waiting room.  But after a while I noticed everyone had their curtain pulled.  Between all the curtained rooms there was a long hallway that medical and cleaning staff traversed. I figured I'd give Peanut and myself a little privacy. I think that's what the nurse meant, anyway. 

I climbed onto the bed with Peanut, trying not to rub her foot against anything. I've broken a foot before and I know that even a whisper against it hurts like hell. Peanut began sobbing again.  "Oh, sweetie. Wouldn't you like to have some nice milk. It might make you feel better." I said. I pulled up my shirt and this time she latched on.  She looked into my eyes with her red rimmed, bloodshot eyes as she drank and I told her how sorry I was, how it was going to heal and feel better, how much I love my little pooka-poo.

It doesn't look so bad in this picture.

Poor little tootsies. 

While she nursed I tried to hold an ice-pack gently to her foot.  She was reaching for the pack, and kicking it away at the same time.  "Let me hold it here," I said "Sweetie, keep your foot still." I smiled at her. She smiled back.  She reached for the pack again.  "No," I smiled, "You can't have my pack." She smiled so wide milk dripped down the side of her face.  "You can't have it!" I laughed, grabbing her little reaching hand, shaking it around. She started to laugh, my nipple still in her mouth.  I laughed too, so relieved.  "You're OK!" I said. "Oh, I'm so glad to see you smile."  She had pulled off now and I gave her a little nose kiss. "You're so brave, you're so strong!" I kissed her neck and she chucked deeply.  "Oh Pooka." I sighed. She smiled up at me, her eyes looking into mine, clear blue pools of adoration and happiness.  She absolved me, her guilty, guilty mother.

After that I knew she was fine.  While we waited we played with my cell phone, sunglasses, a bag of jelly beans, my keys.  She moved around on the bed and I saw her putting weight on the foot and not crying.  I knew that it couldn't be broken if she could do that.  I thought about x-rays and how I didn't think I wanted her to get one if things were looking good--why expose her to the radiation?  And then the doctor came in.

He was a small man, perhaps in his mid-forties, slightly thinning hair.  He greeted me without introducing himself and sat down and asked me what happened.  I told him.  "We just wanted to make sure it's not broken. She was really upset and it is so bruised. But I just nursed her and since then she's actually been smiling and playing and I'm feeling like it may be OK."

"So you're still nursing?" he asked.
"Yes."
"Planning to wean soon?"
Huh? What does that have to do with my daughter's foot? "Nope. No plans to wean anytime soon." I said, trying to sound friendly. I smiled tightly and maneuvered Peanut, pulling her right leg out so he could see the injury.
"What are your plans?" he asked.
Did he really ask that? "Um, well, I nursed my son until he was three, so I figure I'll just nurse her until one of us feels done with it."  I held out Peanut's foot.
"The longer you nurse the harder it is to wean." he said.  Oh brother, I thought. This guy is a total ignoramus.
"Well, it wasn't that hard to wean my son when he was three, actually." I countered. You've got nothing on me, punk. I know way more about this than you.  For starters, you've never even nursed a baby. 

My Dad is a doctor, so Doctor's don't intimidate me.  I've seen them drunk in my living room, babysat their kids.  I know they are just people, doing a huge job with a ton of responsibility and don't always know much about some of the things they are confronted with on a daily basis.

But what the hell was he thinking, encouraging a mother to wean a 9-month old? An awkward silence had fallen between us and he looked at Peanut's foot.  I just wanted an opinion on my daughter's injury, but now his opinion meant nothing to me. I had to speak.

"You know," I began, in a tone that meant, you do know, don't you?  "Breastfeeding long-term is really good for them."
"No, that's not true." He said. "That's not what we're taught. There are no scientific studies--I mean, there are only a few scientific studies that say that."
"I've read a lot of scientific studies that say it."
"Well, it's true if, you're right if you're talking about third world countries, where there's not adequate. Not adequate, um, what am I looking for..."
"Clean water?"
"Yeah, clean water.  Then it's recommended long term. But otherwise, breastfeeding, once you do it for a little while all the benefits are on board, there's no need to continue long-term."

He said the last sentence quickly, mumbling, and picked up Peanut's little foot and began moving it around. She looked at him, as unimpressed as her Mama.  He pushed down on two of her toes, and told me that the bones in her foot are not calcified at this age so they would be invisible on x-ray, so there was no point in doing one.  He said even if her foot was broken there wasn't anything they could do for it and it would probably heal in a week because babies heal so quickly.  I asked him if there are risks to x-ray for such a small baby, and he said, "Nah." Then he started to wiggle each of her toes, "Look, we'll play the little piggy game." he said to her, but then he didn't actually play it.  After he finished he said that if it was broken, she would have screamed. I agreed.  I just wanted to be done with this man.

We left. All the way home I thought about the bizarre interaction.  I never got the Doctor's name, but I felt like going back and getting it, so that I could gather some literature and send it to him.  So he could get educated.  So he wouldn't encourage another mother who came in with her nursing baby to stop nursing, sooner rather than later.  But would he read it?  Why did he even bring it up with me?  Does he have some "thing" about extended breastfeeders? And if so, shouldn't he at least know that he should keep his personal issue out of his profession, where his word has power with vulnerable people.

In all my interactions with the medical community so far since the birth of Boodge, I have had nothing but positive responses from nurses when I tell them I am a long-term breastfeeder.  I mean they practically high-five me, they are so happy about it.  The public health unit is plastered with posters advocating nursing.  It was a nurse who taught me how to latch Boodge onto my breast, and I was filled with gratitude for her, so relieved to finally nurse the baby that had been in an incubator for the last 30 hours.  I have heard tons of horror stories coming out of the States about ignorance in the medical community, but I really thought that here in British Columbia everyone was "on board." Not the good doctor.  Apparently, not him.

I'm just relieved that my strong, brave girl is OK.  I'm glad little baby feet have soft bones and heal quickly.  I'm glad that I had that reminder of how quickly a moment of carelessness can change everything and I'm so glad that it didn't.  And I'm glad I was able to nurse her when she was upset and I'm glad that it helped her feel better.  I'm glad that I'm firm in my own mind about my commitment to nursing, and I know about it's benefits, and that I enjoy it and am able to do it with my babies.  I'm glad that at the end of this sad, scary, bizarre, exhausting day, I can go crawl into bed with her and breathe her in. 

But I'm still thinking about the good doctor.  It's too bad he's out there with that misinformation.  What do you all think? Should I send him a package of info with a friendly letter telling him how much I want him to know about the benefits of nursing? Can you all help me out with your favorite links to research?     

Three Weeks

It's been a while.  Over three weeks since I last posted.  You'd think with my mom in town for three weeks, I would have had tons of time to post.  I could have, I suppose, but I didn't really want to.  My mom lives across the country, and the time we get together usually amounts to about 8-10 weeks a year, in chunks of two or three visits.  It's precious time.  Even though I could leave her with the kids and do things on my own, I'd rather we all spent the time doing things together.  Cooking, cleaning, eating, playing going to the pool, taking little trips. I love watching her delight in my children, love seeing how her goofy, not-afraid-to-look-like-an-idiot side (oh, so embarrassing when I was a teen) delights them right back.

I said a lot of things in last Mother's Day post about what my mom did right, but I think I forgot this most important thing: she plays.  Play, I read once, is the language of children.  My mom speaks it fluently. From the minute she comes into the house she is sitting on the floor, doing puzzles, building towers, creating play dough sculpture.  She goofs the kids (including Boodge's cousins, who we visited) out of arguments and goofs them into their socks and pants and shirts before they even know they're getting dressed.  And meanwhile she's just quietly getting things done that I would normally have to do...dinner, diaper changes, wiping messes.  Boodge, Peanut and I are still adjusting to the loss of all that extra attention, help, and levity.  

I loved her visit. I miss her.  And while she was here, so many changes happened.  I could have written 10 blog posts, but alas, there is just not going to be time to write everything I want to right now.  When Mom came, I had a toothless baby that moved around like a seal, pushing herself up on all fours, thrusting forward with her feet until she fell to the ground 4 inches further down the path.  But the week after Boodge turned three she just started crawling, and a few days after her first steps she was speeding up and down the hallway after her brother, both of them giggling and squealing.  My mom got to see that. It was beautiful. 

She also got to see Peanut sprout her first two teeth, that same week, as uncomplainingly as she has so far done most things.  Now, just a week after Mom left, she is already pulling herself up to the coffee table and reaching for our drinks, bouncing up and down for hours to build those leg muscles.  She's wasting no time getting upright, this one.  We're witnessing that her determination is just as strong as her brother's, though a bit quieter.  Coming soon to our house: lots of things placed on higher surfaces. 

Peanut is on her way up.  She's fully coming into her cuteness, her throaty laugh and her triple half-moon smile.  I'm falling madly, deeply in love with her these days.  I loved her before, of course, but these days, just looking at her makes me googly.  She is almost indecently cute.

Half moon eyes, full moon mouth.

It's her Canucks hat.

I could have photoshopped out the food by her mouth but--she's real.

Little hippie girl.

When my mom came I had a toddler/little boy, who still napped most days and still had his "boo-boo" twice a day.  But while she was here, Boodge turned three, and I ceased to be able to call him a toddler, by my own definitions.  How can you call someone who says things like, "The train is too heavy, maybe that's why there was a derailment?" a toddler?  Someone who so nonchalantly pees standing up, like he's been doing it for years?

And look at that pose? Toddler? No, rock star.

And he's not my nursling anymore.  After he turned three, and I mean right after, we ended that part of our relationship.  I was done.  Really, really done, and I had been telling him that when he was three we were going to end it.  I didn't want to create any more confusion by dragging it out past the big landmark of the third birthday.  I wanted him to get it that way: three=done. 

You're saying if I eat this cupcake, I have to be done nursing?

Also, I wanted to do it while I had my mom here for back up with Peanut, so that I could give Boodge what he needed of me emotionally.  It turns out he didn't need too much.  He took it much better than I expected.  We've crossed that threshold, and I'm already nostalgic for it, but also glad it's over.  Maybe I'll write another post about it, describing my experience with tandem nursing and how I went about the weaning.  It's in my mental post list, just waiting for time to come out.

For now, I'll leave you with this tantalizing little part of it: Boo Boo cupcakes.

No, if you eat THIS cupcake, you have to be done nursing.

That's how we celebrated the end.  I wanted it to feel like a graduation, a celebrated passage into a new phase.  Hopefully, it won't just be something that he finds painfully embarrassing one day. But it probably will be that, too.

The end of Boo Boo has meant the end of nap, so we're finding a new rhythm to our days.  No more mid-day break when simultaneous nap happens, the time I usually used to blog. My time has to come in the evenings, after the kids are asleep, and that time is not always ideal for writing, because I am often asleep too.  Today, however, I have them miraculously both sleeping early, and lots of time and energy for me.  I'm going to do my best to get back to semi-regular programming here on A Mama Being, because I'm awed that even with no new post for a few weeks, I had almost 300 visits last month.  Ok, I'm not gonna be a top ranked blog with that, but I'm really flattered anyway.

Friends, family, and friendly readers and lurkers I hope to meet one day, thank you for coming!  Thanks for sharing your thoughts when you do, and for being interested in my journey as a Mama.   Thanks for not judging me, but offering support and wisdom.  You help lift my days.  I wish I could share so much more, all those extraordinary, ordinary moments that come with our days.  All the bubbling feelings and ideas my kids bring me.  I'm really glad I got to share so many of those with my mom in the last month, even if it meant I didn't share them here. 

More Gems

A while ago I realized that I had forgotten about how, when Boodge was a baby, we used to play him videos of laughing babies on Youtube to keep him from freaking out while we tied on his stiff, ice skate like orthopedic shoes.  We put those shoes on him every night for 9 months, so that was a long period of time, and heck, I had almost even forgot about the shoes themselves, let alone this little guy.

The point is, it all goes by so fast. It's cliche, but it's true.  Elder women always seem to make a point of telling me to enjoy my kids, and I think it's because they know how hard it can be sometimes, but also how precious the memories of these baby and toddler days.  And we think we're going to remember the greatest moments or the things that go on and on for months but we don't.  Which is not always a bad thing, because I won't need to remember how lousy sleep deprivation feels. But there are lots of things I want to remember, and also that I want to share with the other people that love my kids and read this blog.  So, I'm going to be posting these "Gems" from time to time to keep memories.  I hope you enjoy them.

They grow so fast....

Giving Boodge a bath while listening to the baby cry with her daddy (I really wanted that sweet time with him, which I rarely get anymore), I sighed, "Oh Boodge, I wonder why Peanut always cries when she's with her Daddy. Do you know?"
"Uh huh," he responds this way to every question about whether he knows something.
"Oh, you do? Why?"
"Cause, Peanut came out of Mummy's tummy." He pauses. "And, babies cry."
I guess he does know.

Another bit of sweet time I don't get much of lately is our night-night cuddle.  Usually, Peanut needs her Mama at that time, and Boodge's bedtime has been given over to his Daddy, for the most part.  But the other night, we got our time and I was happy about it.  "I'm so glad we can cuddle," I told Boodge, "I love cuddling with you, I love you my sweet boy." He put his head across from mine on the pillow and gazed into my eyes. "I love you, Mummy" he said in a squeaky high sweet voice.  He held my face in his hands. "Mummy, you're....you're....nice, Mummy.  I love you."  Oh, my melting heart.  He's really just starting to express affection like this, with words, and it was touching watching him struggle for the words we all struggle for when we want to say how much we love someone.

Sometimes, in order to have time to get the baby to sleep, I put on "Mickey Mouse Clubhouse" for Boodge.  He is a big fan (yes, this is what glues him to the couch so hard, he doesn't even get up to pee). One time, while putting Peanut down, I heard him jumping off the couch and running to the bedroom, calling my name. 
"Mommy! Mommy! My arms are not black."  He said, standing naked in the doorway.
"No, you're right, they're not." I'm puzzled but I like to go along with these trains of thought.
"I'm not Mickey! I'm Boodge."  Huh?
And a few days later, he pops in again during naptime.  When I tell him to be quiet, he starts making farting noises with his mouth and says, walking out the door, "Mommy, I'm a big fart train."
I love his little mind.

One day I was really dragging my ass.  I was sleep deprived and on vital functions only, and was just proud that I wasn't losing it on anyone.  Peanut was jiggling on the floor and Boodge was playing lego and I was sitting there at half attention, half asleep.  Boodge out of the blue says, "Mommy.  Get happy.  Mommy? Can you get happy?"  In the same way he would say "Mommy, get juice. Mommy, can you get me some juice?"  That was a good jolt.  "Um...I....Yes, I can get happy. Sure."  I consoled myself that I must be pretty upbeat usually if he was noticing the difference, and pulled myself up enough to take us all out for some fresh air.  Whew....nothing like parenting feedback.

One think I don't want to forget about Boodge is his quirky way of making up words.  For example, we're in the playground and he's walking a fence, stepping on the concrete circles the fenceposts are sunk into.  "Ok, let's go back to the playground." I say.  "No, I want to step on all the waims."  "Are these waims?" I ask, pointing to a circle.  Yep.  Every day, he comes up with some word, and sometimes he speaks whole jibberish sentences in response to a question I ask.   It sounds a bit like Yiddish.  But when I ask him, he usually has a clear definition for the word he's said.  And he denies that it comes from a past life of any sort. It cracks me up. 

Now, let's not forget little Peanut. She's a baby, so she doesn't say cute things or command attention in the same way.  So I can only write about what she's like as a baby, and that is pretty much pure sweetness.  She is starting to have a giggle here and there and loves to flash her big half-moon smile. She smells like sour milk, just a little, from spitting up all day.  I find her very affectionate for a baby, wanting to share a squeal with us or gently using her faltering hands to touch and stroke during quiet times.  Sometimes all it takes to resettle her to sleep is to let her hold my finger or touch my breast.  When I sing to her, she looks up at me and smiles pure love and joy, and can't help but open her mouth and start singing too, to show her appreciation.  Just before sitting here I spent a long time laying with her, just staring at her sleeping face, taking in the miracle that is my baby, from my body, born into the world.  It's so amazing, that feeling.  I am trying to drink in her babyness when I have a moment to be still.

Here in my living room....

I'm in the unfortunate position of having lots I'd like to write about, and very little time when  my hands and butt are both free at the same time.  So here I am with who knows how many minutes on my "beat the baby" clock, and I thought I'd try to get a thought out. Oh....she's crying...hang on. My little girl is on day 4 with no poo and that makes her a bit ornery, and wakes her frequently.  So now I have one hand and bum free.

And so it goes.  I just watched a great talk on taboos of parenting, shared by my prenatal class instructor, who also facilitates parenting support groups and runs Mama Renew.  Taboo number two, "You can't talk about how lonely it can be," really resonated with me.  Being at home in the winter with a newborn and a little whirling dervish can certainly feel isolating.  I've been making a conscious effort to get out of the house, so that each day Boodge and I get to see the outside world, but it is not easy or always worth the effort.  I'm lucky my husband works at home, so I can chat with an adult once or twice during the day, and I am starting to make some friends and connect with other moms in my new community. And blogging, when I get to do so, gives me a place to work out some of my thoughts as I ride through these changes (perpetually) and connect with family, friends, and like-minded parents. 

So though I'm feeling isolated, I'm not hurting, and even sometimes appreciating an excuse to just chill out at home reading (children's books), watching (children's) videos, nursing (while doing those things) and cooking.  And building towers, painting masterpieces, playing cars, dancing down the hallways singing gibberish songs, and dancing around the kitchen singing "shhhhh, shhhhh" to a little baby with a 4 day buildup.  It's a time I will miss one day, I know. 

I hear coughing, and I am pretty sure the Boodge will emerge at any moment, in questionable humour.  So I should end it now, and not wait for the clever ending.  I wanted to connect, that's all, and say I'm here, in my house, alone most of all day with a baby and a toddler. And it's lovely and amazing. And I miss all you out there in blogland, and the rest of the world.  Look forward to seeing you more often, stop by anytime and say hi.

An Ode to the Boodge, a Terrific Two

I know that the age of two is supposed to be terrible.  I know I've complained about the whining and the contrariness coming out of my little dude.  Sure, he pushes the boundaries sometimes, but when I do the right parenting thing and get down to his level and speak to his face, or gently physically remove him from what he is doing (instead of shouting orders from across the room), he is pretty cooperative.  Maybe it's because he's pretty good with language and that helps cut down on his frustration, but we haven't seen a full-on tantrum since before he turned two. 

I was just talking to a mother at a drop-in yesterday who said her son also was pretty agreeable until he got to about two and a half, and then he switched.  Her son is now over 3, and when I told her I feared three more than two she said, "Yes, be afraid."  One of my fears is that Peanut's arrival will be the catalyst to Boodge turning into more of a terrible than a terrific.  I hate to think that the arrival of a new baby, which will already cause a big shift in our relationship, could coincide with what my mommy-mentor has told me is a sort of "falling out of love" that can happen when your child gets over the age of two.  I am so in love with my little dude, it breaks my heart a little to think that our relationship may become more confrontational.

For right now, I'm doing my best to enjoy him and love him up as much as I can.  And knowing Peanut is on the way and will detract from my appreciation of him, I just want to take a moment to celebrate all that is great about Boodge.  For instance, he comes out with some one-liners that have Sean and I in stitches, pretty much every day.  The other day when Sean was singing "Welcome to the Jungle" at the table, and when he paused Boodge piped in his own lyrics "And welcome to all the babies that are coming to the jungle!" (That's you, Peanut).  Or my current favorite, when he found his testicles and declared, "There's a ball in there, Mummy! There's a little ball in there!"

And sometimes, he's downright amazing, like the other morning when I announced that I was going to vacuum the living room and he said, "I'm gonna clean up my toys!" and ran ahead of me to clean all his little toys off the floor so I could vacuum. Or when Sean was angry at him for switching off the PVR in the middle of the football game it was taping, and he said so sweetly and quietly, "I didn't mean to hurt you, Daddy." Or when he holds my head in his hands and kisses me, over and over and over, or kisses my tummy and pats it and says "I'm patting Peanut gent-awy." (gently) It's moments like this when he surprises us and melts our hearts with how tuned in and caring he can be.

But the best part is his singing. He loves music, and he is starting to know a lot of songs as well as make up his own little babbling songs as he goes about his business. I guess part of why I love this is because Sean and I are the same way, always singing around the house and making up little jingles. But also, his exuberance when he sings cannot be beat, and it never fails to lift my spirits. I wish I could share some video of it, but I'm having a hard time getting a good video in which he also has on pants.  Once you find a ball attached to your body, it's hard not to want access to it 24/7.

I know having two kids will be twice the blessing and twice the cuteness, and that my love will expand, rather than diminish for one to be there for the other.  But my ability to give attention to Boodge, and to hug and cuddle him and indulge him and be patient with him, will change.  And he will struggle with sharing me, and the baby will change his routines and probably even disrupt his sleep sometimes, and all of this will create behaviors and feelings that are hard for both of us to deal with.  With the big number "38" gracing this week on my calendar (that's weeks pregnant, y'all), part of my inner work is to come to terms with the grieving of my exclusive love affair with my little man.  The hardest part of it, in some ways, is knowing that I can't prepare him for it.  I just pray that I can be there in the way that he needs me to be, to make him feel secure and happy in the change. 

It has been such an incredible gift,  these 2 years and 5 months with you, little Boodge.  You are such a special little boy, and you fill me with love and gratitude and joy.  I know by the time you read this, none of these sad feelings I'm having now will matter all that much.  We'll have adapted and we'll be just fine.  And sometimes, I wonder if I underestimate you, and you will actually adjust better than I imagine.  Just now, I woke you up from your nap and you cuddled into my belly and said, "Hi, Peanut." and then "Mommy, get that Peanut out of your tummy."  Maybe you're ready to share me, even more than I'm ready to share you. I hope so.  We can only trust, and let go, and keep on loving.  With you, the last part is so easy. 

The Precious Confusion

Parenting is so full of contradictions.  You look into your baby's sweet face and swear you will do anything for them, be the best person you can ever be. And yet, through parenting them, you quickly discover your own limitations in temper, patience, endurance.  You can't imagine not being there to parent your babies, and yet their very existence makes it so easy to forget your own self-care and health.  You love your kids so much you would lay down your life for them in a heartbeat, but then again, they can drive you completely batty and you long for time away from them.

You've all heard me complaining about how tired I am, how much I need space and time alone and sleep and all that stuff.  My husband has certainly heard it a lot, in various forms, ranging from meltdown form to humorous form.  So, last weekend I asked Sean to give me the gift of most of a day to myself.  I wanted a day where I wasn't the primary parent in charge, where I could sleep in and then just drift around doing things I wanted to do, or not doing anything, nap when I wanted instead of trying to make it happen when the Boodge napped, not worry about making breakfast or lunch or dinner or snacks or cleaning them up.  Sure, Sean said.  I want to help.  I'll take Boodge to the pool, I'll take him to the harbor to watch the boats. We'll have a fun day together. 

So the day before my "day off", I'm at the playground with my cousin trying to explain how all day I've been trying NOT to say, "Oh, you don't have to take him OUT all day! You can play at home." Or I'm wondering, "Do I really need the whole day? What will I do with all that time? Maybe I should just ask for the afternoon." My cousin, who doesn't have kids, gave me a look that said I was clearly insane and quickly listed a several things people do with time to themselves. 

But it's the nature of being a Mom.  I crave time away from my little man, yet I miss him the minute he leaves my care.  As my day went on, I was looking so forward to seeing his little face and hearing his demands for "Mommy!"  It's the same thing with bedtime.  I am always SO relieved to see the end of the day, and his sweet sleeping face as a signal that my work is done for now.  But often, I find myself waking before him, and lying in bed looking forward to the moment he will come bouncing into the room. 

Which brings on another contradiction.  Now, I hesitate to write this because I know how the Great Mother likes to play with us on these things. But for one solid week now, Boodge has not woken up in the night.  He goes to bed, and the next time we hear from him is sometime after 6am when he's ready to start his day.  This is unprecedented.  For the first year and a half of his life he woke up probably every 1-3 hours, and thereafter there has always been at least one or two wake-ups in the night.  This will sound crazy, but I think it's because we just got him a lighter blanket.  He never wanted to use his blanket because it was heavy (Mom, you told me so), and I think he got cold in the night and wanted cuddles.  Now, he sleeps with a fleece blanket, doubled over, and he doesn't need us anymore.

And how am I feeling about it all.  Relieved, of course, and proud of him for taking the next step in independence.  But also, a twinge of sadness.  He doesn't need us anymore.  He's growing up so fast.  He's going to be 3 and 4 and 5 and 6 and soon he won't want to cuddle, won't want to hug and kiss in public.  Sigh.  And another ridiculous part of it is I still wake up most nights and wonder if he's OK, and have to check on him just to be sure.   You'd think after two and a half years of interrupted sleep I'd be unequivocally ecstatic about this development.  But no. Contradictions. 

I know I'm normal.  I've seen friends send their kids off to kindergarten with a bittersweet mix of pride and regret, or cry when they put the baby things away.  Parenting is a constant push and pull of wanting to see them grow up, but wanting them to stay little.  Wanting to just get through this moment, and then wanting to freeze this other beautiful moment forever.   It's confusing sometimes, trying to make sense of all these conflicting feelings, and sometimes hard to not push them forward or hold them back out of our own needs.  But such a precious confusion.  Just remember, parents out there, when you're telling yourself "This too shall pass,"--when it does, you may just find yourself wishing it would come back. 

Wordless Wednesday: All In A Day's Play

Sweet Charlie Anne

I wanted to take a moment to bring everyone's attention to this blog written by an amazing, courageous, and inspiring mom. I've been following her blog for a while--she is a friend of a friend who reposts her blogs on facebook, though I have never met her myself. Cherie writes about her experiences and emotions as she raises her adorable daughter Charlie-Anne, who has a rare and terminal genetic disorder called Spinal Muscular Atrophy.

When I've mentioned to other moms that I read this blog and what it's about I have gotten the response, "Oh, why do you read that?" or "How can you read that?" The answer is, I can and I do because even though it is so incredibly sad to imagine going through what Cherie and her partner Matt are living, I know that it is only by the grace of Whatever Is Out There that we are not in the same boat.

Any one of us parents can have something cruel happen to our child at any time, unexpectedly. Nobody wants to even think about that possibility, and I can understand not wanting to read the blog because it brings that up. But Cherie faces it every single day, and I want to at least have the courage to witness it, and not turn away.

I am inspired by Cherie's honesty about all the good, bad and ugly feelings she has, her openness about how this causes conflict in her marriage and her soul, and her willingness to point out how we can all be inadvertently insensitive to what may be going on in people's lives. I am also inspired by her love for her beautiful daughter. Her blog gives me hope that if something was to happen to the Boodge, I may be able to find the courage to face it and even give something of what I am learning to the world. But I pray that I don't have to.

Cherie and three friends are taking part in an "Adventure Challenge" for Canuck Place Children's Hospice, with the team name "Charlie's Angels". You can sponsor them here, if you are able. You can also read more about them and the Adventure Challenge in this Vancouver Sun article, or this Province article. Take the time to be inspired by this family, and this little girl.

Confessions of a Reckless Mommy

Until he was about 6 months old, Boodge HATED his carseat. When I put him in there he would scream blue murder for the duration of the trip until he was in my arms again. It was the kind of screaming that makes new parents feel like heroin addicts who need the next fix (so I imagine). My heart would pound, I would sweat, and my eyes would dart to the rear-view mirror constantly, watching the red face of my screaming babe. He would cry so hard I was afraid he would choke on his own saliva. I could think of nothing else but getting him soothed again, as soon as possible.

It made me reckless. I ran yellow lights, I sped through city streets, I honked at drivers who took a little too long to make a turn. My full attention was in no way on the road. I remember thinking that if I got pulled over, it would not likely be very sympathetic to a cop that I was reckless because my baby was crying. Endangering your child in a motor vehicle because they're crying? Not really excusable. And I'm not making excuses, but I can't be the only one who's done this either. That crying makes a mother crazy.

Flash forward 2 years, and I am driving recklessly for another, even less excusable reason. I don't want him to fall asleep. Car trips over 20 minutes have to be carefully timed because if he's anywhere within 1 hour of naptime, he will doze off. Lately, he won't make the transfer to the bed at naptime, he'll just wake up refreshed and ready to go. So I don't get my break that day, and by 5:00 Boodge is a whining, clinging, tired mess. That scenario is something I avoid if possible.

In the past, I've tried to do things like drive with the windows open and the music blasting, or I have reached an arm back to shake him periodically when I catch him dozing off. But I try not to take my hands off the wheel and eyes off the road, because it really isn't safe to get so distracted, and anyway, those efforts are usually futile. The best thing to do is just get him home before it's too late.

Yesterday morning we drove out to a nursery half an hour away to buy supplies to seed the part of lawn that used to be under a pool. We were heading home at 10, and Boodge usually naps at 11ish. It was in the window, for sure. I decided to try to engage him as much as possible. I cranked up the music and told him I was going to try to find "Big Rock Candy Mountain" (it's his current favorite) on the iPod. Then began tracking through all 800 songs without looking at the iPod to find the unlabeled (of many, many unlabeled) song. With each song, I shouted out, "That's not it!" Ridiculous to the outside observer, and not exactly fully engaged driving. Finally, we found a Bob Marley song--and since Boodge likes Bob, we stopped and cruised along.

We were on a country road with an 80km per/hr speed limit. There was very little traffic, and I was going 110, making good time. Then we passed a speed limit sign that said the limit was changing to 60km per/hr. I realized I should slow it down a bit, since I was almost double the speed limit. No sooner had I had that thought than I heard a WHOOP WHOOP, looked in my rear-view mirror, and saw the beige SUV of an undercover cop, lights a-flashing, right behind me.

My stomach lurched and adrenalin flooded my body. I felt immediately ashamed of myself. Pregnant, and with a 2 year old in the car, I'm speeding? How terrible would this cop think I was? I actually sucked in my stomach in the hopes that the officer would not notice the bulge of Peanut. Boodge started insisting "Go!" from the back-seat.

"We can't go yet, buddy. Mommy is getting in trouble from this man." I said, as the cop approached my car.

Right away he wanted to confirm that I lived in Vancouver, which it says on my driver's license. "No, I actually live in Mission."
"How long have you lived there?"
"Since March," I confessed.
"And why haven't you updated your address?"
"I just--it's a pain to go into the insurance office with him," I said, gesturing to Boodge, "and I knew I had to go in September to renew my insurance so I was waiting until then." Lame excuse.
"Ok, you can actually do it online. It's supposed to be updated within 10 days of the move. It's a $109 fine if you don't."

OK...you can't actually do it online. You can change your address, but to update your insurance, which is part of what the fine is for, you have to go in. And appointments of that type with the Boodge usually go the way Sean's and my short banking appointment the other day went:
"So here's the paperwork and you just have to-"
"GO!"
"We can't go yet buddy, it will just be a minute."
"Open the door!" Boodge gets it open and makes to leave.
"Leave the door. You have to stay in here." Sean pulls Boodge onto his lap.
"So, you have to sign it here and-"
"I want Mommy!" I take Boodge.
"Go! I wanna GO!"
"I sign here? Ok. No, Boodge, Mommy needs the pen. Please leave the pen alone. Boodge, leave the pen. Leave it!"

You get the picture. Yes, I could have gone in to do it with Boodge, and dealt with the 15 minutes of inconvenience. I could have gone on a Saturday or at Boodge's naptime, because there truly is nothing I'd rather do when I get some child-free time than take care of administrative details. But I knew I was going to be going by mid-September, so I was waiting to do it all at once. So sue me. Or better yet, fine me $109.

And he did. He fined me $109 for not changing my address, and $135 for speeding (luckily, he clocked me in the 80 zone, not the 60). He knocked it down from $195 because of my good driving record, and maybe because he had sympathy for the woman who was so wigged out by it all she had to call her husband to get their address of 5 months. "Um, hi honey. I'm getting a speeding ticket right now, and the cop wants my new address, and I can't remember it because I'm so freaked out. What is it again?" Sweet Sean, he did his best to make light of it and calm me down. I guess he wanted me to get home alive.

But the truth is, I was upset not about the almost $250 that I just threw down the toilet (though that is very upsetting), but because I was being reckless in the first place. There really is no good reason to speed, pregnant with one child, chauffeuring another one. My children are beyond precious, and as their mother I am indispensable. If anything happened to any one of us, I would never forgive myself. And it's not like I haven't had the thought, again and again, that I shouldn't let Boodge's sleepiness, or whinyness, or whatever, make me drive recklessly. I knew better.

So there you have it. $250 to teach me that I should not let the fact that I'm going to have to deal with a difficult child and not get my break time turn me into an irresponsible mother or someone who neglects administrative details (not that I could ever be cured of the latter). Lesson learned, universe. Thank you, because clearly I wasn't quite getting it on my own.

Still, I'm pretty sure I'm not the only parent out there who is guilty of child-induced recklessness. Driving while parenting is probably as dangerous as driving while talking on your cell phone, or even while intoxicated. Anyone else want to confess? C'mon? Guilt loves company...help me feel like less of a schmuck.

Change is Cranky and Whiny

Maybe it's the heat, maybe it's the extra 20lbs strapped to my belly, maybe it's the hormones...but man, I've been cranky lately. It's a sort of chronic irritability that I have to try to keep firmly in check, but still leaks out all over the place. I don't really want to go anywhere or see anyone, I'd rather stay home in my little nest and routine. I remember at this point in my last pregnancy feeling this same sense of needing to withdraw and go within. I suppose it's a natural gathering of strength for the huge effort that is soon to come.

I don't remember this much irritability, though. Of course, things are different this time. Last time, our last 8 weeks were a blind panic as we tried to find a new apartment and move. My sole focus was re-assembling a home to have the baby in. Still, even in that state of chaos, there was the ability to take ample time to myself to relax and meditate on what was to come.

But you live with someone who is completely engaged in every moment of the day, and persistently demands your co-engagement in most of those moments it's not quite so easy to just sit and gather strength. Boodge is not the kind of child who likes to sit by himself and read books or play on his own. Some days, and weeks, when he's had enough sleep and things are stable, he can be that way. But usually he wants to do things like play ball or climb things or build things with Mommy's help. He's also what his grandmother likes to call "a charged particle" who rarely stops moving and whose safety has to be monitored pretty closely.

And though he's usually a pretty happy go lucky guy, lately he's been mastering the art of whining and disagreeing. Even a request like "Wanna go to the water park?" is often met with a big "NO!" So you can imagine that "Time to put on your pants," or "Please stay at the table," are even more offensive to him. Every little thing feels like it requires a fine finessing, or a power struggle.

When he's tired, like, first thing in the morning, the whining comes. "Mommy pick you up! Mommy pick you up!" while I'm trying to make a pot of coffee or breakfast or even have my morning pee. At the witching hour, which is exactly when he and I are both tired and I'm trying to make dinner, he will whine and cry for me and nothing satisfies him except my complete attention, which I just can't give him then. He clings to my pants while I'm working on the hot stove, his little face wet with tears and snot. The whole scene makes me want to sit on the kitchen floor and cry these days.

Pregnancy has a way of preparing you for what's to come when the baby is born. At the end of my first pregnancy I got a taste not being able to call my body my own and waking up several times a night. Now, I'm seeing that I may have to rearrange things--not expect myself to always put together a nice meal and keep on top of housework, or do it at different times. I'm also getting a taste of not having the energy, patience, and strength to satisfy the needs of both the child within and the child without. When Boodge is crying and begging to be picked up and I'm so tired that just lifting my arm feels like major effort, I envision the scene multiplied by two. Two kids crying, wanting my full attention, and me tired and at my wit's end. And when Boodge goes down for his nap or night, I'm finding myself more and more having to use the time to rest myself, rather than do things I enjoy more like yoga or writing. That's helping me get used to the idea that I won't have much time just for myself anymore. And both these things, frankly, make me feel anxious.

But pregnancy is also, in a way, preparing Boodge to have a Mama who can't always be what he wants me to be. I have to set more limits with him now, there's no way around it. I have to say, "No, Mommy can't pick you up, I'm too tired. You can walk." or "No, I'm not going to stand up to pitch the ball to you, I can do it from my chair," or "Sorry buddy, you'll have to wait, I can't help you right now." It's a natural thing to be happening at this age, when he's becoming more of his own person and needing more boundaries and discipline. But he's still fluctuating between independent big boy and baby who needs his Mama, and I'm still letting go of him as my baby. It's a tough time for both of us.

The practice, for me, is to be able to set the appropriate limits with sensitivity and a level head. He's changing, and he can feel the changes in me too, and I understand that his whining and contrariness is coming in part from insecurity. I want to meet his need for a loving, stable, and consistent Mama. Right now, I find myself flying off the handle sometimes over little things, or giving in because I'm too tired to handle a meltdown, or feeling guilty that I'm so grumpy. Not all the time, and not so I'm beating myself up over it (I'm human, after all), but I notice it.

Parenting a toddler takes a different set of skills than parenting a baby. Nurturing, and intuiting and meeting the needs of a little one comes fairly naturally. But being firm and consistent and not letting my buttons get pushed, all of which seem to require a certain emotional detachment, is probably not my strong suit. Especially right now, when I seem to squeeze out a few tears every single day.

So, here we are. Boodge and I, both in a transitional state, swirling in the winds of change. I'm hoping to muster the extra strength to do right by my little guy, my Peanut, and myself. It's never easy not knowing what's on the other side. Change is usually good, but in the midst of it I always find myself wishing I could be somehow transported to the point where the dust has settled and the new normal is established. Until then, I suppose I can expect a bit more whining and crankiness--from Boodge, and from me. Here's your first installment.

The Mean Kid

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

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




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

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





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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The Love and the Hate of Parenting

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

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

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

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

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

Here is one of my husbands regular moments of transcendence:


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

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

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

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

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

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

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


Good luck and blessings to all of you!

God Damn the Booger Man

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

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

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

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

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

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