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.
Friday, July 9, 2010
Thursday, June 24, 2010
The Garden's Yields
A while back I mentioned that I was planning to plant a garden in our new place. I was originally motivated to do this by the rather morbid thought that Boo would need to know how to grow his own food in his future, as food becomes more scarce. But I had no idea how many other great things it would bring to him and I in the moment.
We started by putting in a raised garden bed, about 11 X 7. And when I say "we", I mean Sean with his buddy-assistant, Jimi. He went all out, getting concrete blocks to anchor posts in before building the frame.
We ordered 4 cubic yards of good, organic soil and "we" wheelbarrowed it load by load across the yard. Boo loved this...he was right in there helping with the big boys. After we were done though, we had to teach him that he couldn't walk in the garden box anymore--which was surprisingly easy.
Then we planted, starting in late April with some of the hardier plants like lettuces, kale, beets, peas, radishes, broccoli and carrots. Later I put in spinach, beans, cilantro, chives, celery, kohlrabi, pak choi, leeks, squash and tomatoes. I also have a separate patch, which may or may not make it, with more squash and some cantaloupe and watermelon, as well as a strawberry patch and some blueberry and raspberry bushes still in their pots.
First lesson learned: 2 smaller boxes would have made more sense, because I can't reach everywhere in the big box. I had to put down some paving stones to stand on so I could get to the middle, and that takes up precious veggie space, not to mention being awkward, especially as I get more round in the belly.
Miraculously, things started growing. I know, that's what happens. You plant a seed in fertile soil, and it grows. But we are still amazed, watching as tiny lettuce seeds turn into gigantic lettuces, and one hard little pea turns into a gargantuan clinging vine. By Boo's birthday, we were eating the radishes, and soon we were also eating spinach, lettuce, kale, and arugula. Last week, when I was away, my peas grew about 3 feet and started flowering, and just like that, we have little snap peas (lesson #2--next year, build a way better trellis). This week the strawberries started to turn red.
When Boo and I were outside playing, I would pick him a radish or a leaf of lettuce, dust it off, and give it to him. Soon he was trying to pull veggies out on his own. "No, no, sweetie, that one's still growing." I would say, "It needs more time. Just like Peanut is still growing in Mummy's tummy and isn't ready to come out yet." It became an amazing opportunity to give him a visual example of the creation process, and help him understand, in whatever way he can, how a new baby is coming into his life. Sometimes after one of these lessons, he would yell, "I'm gonna be a new big brudder!", and I could see that he was making some sort of connection.
I just hope he doesn't think he can eat Peanut. Maybe we should have chosen an non-food nickname for this one. But now he's kind of got it, what he can pick and how gentle he needs to be, and he doesn't raise a fuss when I tell him that strawberry isn't ready yet, and he has to wait. Even more amazing, he started eating raw greens at the table and saying "mmmmm, lettuce!" And one day, we walked into my cousin's backyard and he looked at her tomato plant and declared "Dat's a tomato!"
I had no idea, when I started this venture, that it would help him connect to the growth of his baby sibling, learn to like new vegetables, give him a chance to practice patience and gentleness, and teach him to identify plants. And that's only this year! I can't even imagine what he'll take away from gardening as he grows in understanding, and as we give him his own patch to plant and plants to tend.
A few people, knowing my history with houseplants, discouraged me from planting too much and suggested that I wouldn't be able to keep up with the garden. But it's not that hard, really, and it's way more interesting to me than houseplants because it's nourishing my family. An hour here and there, a weed or two every time I go out. And this year at least, watering hasn't been a problem--Mother Nature is doing that all on her own.
Who knows how much the garden will yield. I'm certainly a rookie--I'm still not sure if what I think is celery is just two big weeds, and the pak choi flowered before I picked any (I thought it would get way bigger). The tomatoes have tons of little holes all over the leaves, and I can see little black bugs on them which I try to kill--but they still seem to be growing. I figure it's a bit like parenting--you do your best to help and provide the right things, but so much is out of your control. You have to trust that the plants are resilient and know what they're doing and will grow right on their own. And you learn and you learn as you go.
We started by putting in a raised garden bed, about 11 X 7. And when I say "we", I mean Sean with his buddy-assistant, Jimi. He went all out, getting concrete blocks to anchor posts in before building the frame.
We ordered 4 cubic yards of good, organic soil and "we" wheelbarrowed it load by load across the yard. Boo loved this...he was right in there helping with the big boys. After we were done though, we had to teach him that he couldn't walk in the garden box anymore--which was surprisingly easy.
Then we planted, starting in late April with some of the hardier plants like lettuces, kale, beets, peas, radishes, broccoli and carrots. Later I put in spinach, beans, cilantro, chives, celery, kohlrabi, pak choi, leeks, squash and tomatoes. I also have a separate patch, which may or may not make it, with more squash and some cantaloupe and watermelon, as well as a strawberry patch and some blueberry and raspberry bushes still in their pots.
First lesson learned: 2 smaller boxes would have made more sense, because I can't reach everywhere in the big box. I had to put down some paving stones to stand on so I could get to the middle, and that takes up precious veggie space, not to mention being awkward, especially as I get more round in the belly.
Miraculously, things started growing. I know, that's what happens. You plant a seed in fertile soil, and it grows. But we are still amazed, watching as tiny lettuce seeds turn into gigantic lettuces, and one hard little pea turns into a gargantuan clinging vine. By Boo's birthday, we were eating the radishes, and soon we were also eating spinach, lettuce, kale, and arugula. Last week, when I was away, my peas grew about 3 feet and started flowering, and just like that, we have little snap peas (lesson #2--next year, build a way better trellis). This week the strawberries started to turn red.
When Boo and I were outside playing, I would pick him a radish or a leaf of lettuce, dust it off, and give it to him. Soon he was trying to pull veggies out on his own. "No, no, sweetie, that one's still growing." I would say, "It needs more time. Just like Peanut is still growing in Mummy's tummy and isn't ready to come out yet." It became an amazing opportunity to give him a visual example of the creation process, and help him understand, in whatever way he can, how a new baby is coming into his life. Sometimes after one of these lessons, he would yell, "I'm gonna be a new big brudder!", and I could see that he was making some sort of connection.
I just hope he doesn't think he can eat Peanut. Maybe we should have chosen an non-food nickname for this one. But now he's kind of got it, what he can pick and how gentle he needs to be, and he doesn't raise a fuss when I tell him that strawberry isn't ready yet, and he has to wait. Even more amazing, he started eating raw greens at the table and saying "mmmmm, lettuce!" And one day, we walked into my cousin's backyard and he looked at her tomato plant and declared "Dat's a tomato!"
I had no idea, when I started this venture, that it would help him connect to the growth of his baby sibling, learn to like new vegetables, give him a chance to practice patience and gentleness, and teach him to identify plants. And that's only this year! I can't even imagine what he'll take away from gardening as he grows in understanding, and as we give him his own patch to plant and plants to tend.
A few people, knowing my history with houseplants, discouraged me from planting too much and suggested that I wouldn't be able to keep up with the garden. But it's not that hard, really, and it's way more interesting to me than houseplants because it's nourishing my family. An hour here and there, a weed or two every time I go out. And this year at least, watering hasn't been a problem--Mother Nature is doing that all on her own.
Who knows how much the garden will yield. I'm certainly a rookie--I'm still not sure if what I think is celery is just two big weeds, and the pak choi flowered before I picked any (I thought it would get way bigger). The tomatoes have tons of little holes all over the leaves, and I can see little black bugs on them which I try to kill--but they still seem to be growing. I figure it's a bit like parenting--you do your best to help and provide the right things, but so much is out of your control. You have to trust that the plants are resilient and know what they're doing and will grow right on their own. And you learn and you learn as you go.
Sunday, June 20, 2010
For my co-pilot
It's Father's Day. We're waiting for the man of the day to wake up, presents arranged neatly next to a fruit tray, breakfast ingredients ready on the counter. Boo has been practicing saying "Happy Father's Day, Daddy", but it sounds more like "Happy Birthday." Good enough, I think. Fatherhood is a rebirth of sorts anyway.
When I met Sean, he was 50/50 on becoming a parent. That's pretty much exactly how he put it. It took me a whole lot of years and regular visits to my cousin's house, where the kids were cute and the parents laid back and having fun, to convince him that family life may be a good idea. Actually, at one point he was so convinced that he told my cousin he wanted to have 5 kids, to which my cousin wisely replied, "You can say you want 5 kids because you don't have any kids."
Sean's not an outwardly sentimental guy. I think we were dating for about 3 years before he said, "You're the best thing that ever happened to me." But when the Boo was born, he held that little squirming red body in his arm on the first day of his life and said sweetly and sincerely, "You're the best thing that has ever happened to me." In Boo, he had found someone to pour his love into, someone he could trust to love him innocently, with no agendas or demands except, of course, those one or two little demands that a child puts on a parent.
I heard it said that every good father has a dream for his family. Since becoming a father, Sean has pursued that dream tirelessly. He has worked hours that nobody should be expected to work, driven, I know, by the awesome responsibility of supporting the little being that he loves so much and the mother that takes care of him. He has sacrificed sleep, exercise, time with friends and family, and down time. I have complained about the hours he works but I know that I fail to appreciate how it feels to be the sole provider for a family. Today, I want to make sure he knows that I do appreciate it, more than I can explain.
In the last few weeks, I've written about being a "solo" parent, but I never wanted to say I was a "single" parent. That would disrespect what my partner does (not to mention what single parents do), even when he is not around to give hands-on help. I am so blessed to not have to worry about getting food on our table or a roof over our heads, clothes and toys and classes for Boo, a car to drive him in, and countless other things that only money can buy. And whatever spare time Sean has, he spends working around the house, sleeping, or soaking up precious hours with Boo. He wakes up with him on weekends so I can sleep in, and he takes him out on "adventures" so I can have time to myself. He bathes him and changes him and puts him to bed, reading stories with such exuberance that Boo never chooses me to read books if Sean is available.
No, I am not a single parent. Boo and I are blessed with a hard-working, sweet-loving, endlessly-trying-his-best father. He is respectful and gentle and warm and patient with Boo, never trying to be intimidating or authoritarian like some fathers seem to think they should be. In the 8 years I've known him, I've watched him transform from a 50/50 on fatherhood to a giving 100% father. I'm so proud of him and the way he has adjusted and expanded in this crazy trip called parenthood. I know we have a long road of parenting in front of us, and I'm lucky to be traveling that road with Sean. Happy Father's Day, lover. Thanks for being my faithful co-pilot, and Boo's (and Peanut's to come) wonderful Daddy.
Friday, June 18, 2010
The End
It's over. Three weeks of parenting by myself while Sean traveled for work. I'm not even going to count the 36 or so hours he was home one weekend, because he got trapped into working about 12 of them, and since we slept about 16 of them--you can do the math there. This was the longest I have gone alone since the Boodge was born. He got sick twice, and in this last week, I caught the second illness which turns out to be a fever followed by lungs full of guck that can only be expelled through constant, violent coughing that takes Peanut on a wild ride and makes me leak pee in public places. Maybe that's too much information, but you should know that being pregnant brings more than just a a baby bump.
You can probably imagine how happily I was anticipating the moment I picked Sean up at the airport, handed him the keys, and put my head back for the drive home. Boo and I spent this last week visiting my cousin and his family on Vancouver Island. They are amazing people with three funny, energetic, smart, sweet kids and I feel more at home visiting there than almost anywhere except maybe my mommy's house. Still, I was sick, and no matter how you slice it, being with 4 small kids cannot equal relaxation. My cousin's wife, and my dear friend, is also pregnant, well into her 3rd trimester, so we were two tired Mama's just keeping the kids and ourselves alive. I'm sure she was somewhat glad to see two extra bodies leave her house.
We timed our return so that we could pick Sean up on the way from the ferry. He was getting in at 7:20, the ferry got in at 6:45 and I pulled into the airport parking at 7:10. "We're going to get Daddy!" I kept telling Boo excitedly. He held my hand and we walked up to the flight information TV's in the international arrival's lounge. Even from a distance I could see the words "Dallas" on the screen and I knew that there were a few too many words next to it to say "On Time" or "Arrived". Nope, what it said was "Delayed until 20:48".
"Where Daddy go? Go get Daddy!" Boo yelled excitedly. "Where Daddy go?"
"We have to wait a long time for Daddy, actually, buddy," I said, picking him up and turning away from the TV screens. I felt a panicky, teary desperation inside me for one second before I realized I needed to suck it up and just let two hours pass. Boo was way ahead of me. He had a luggage cart and he was wheeling recklessly through the crowds, yelling "No no Mommy!" when I tried to grab the handle. He wasn't just going to get through the next 2 hours, he was going to have the time of his life!
And so the party began. Next he discovered the escalators, and we rode those for a long time, up, down "Do dat agin!!" up, down, "Do dat agin!!". Then he saw some children playing by the beautiful "Jade Canoe" sculpture and ran to join them. I took the opportunity to sit down, enjoying the sight of children from what looked like 4 different countries playing together, shouting at each other in different languages. After about 10 minutes the chase had moved into the food court, and then I saw Boodge stop, hunch down a little, and make the unmistakable poo face. The other kids, bewildered, tried to egg him on, dancing around him and pounding their chests and shouting what must have been "chase me!" in their language. But it was over. He came running to me, no longer in the game.
After the diaper change, the kids were gone, so we rode the escalators again. Somehow, we passed an hour. I was just putting one foot in front of the other following Boo, and he was running wild, climbing, hanging, jumping, yelling. He was ecstatically overtired. Suddenly, at 8:30, he stopped and said, "I need juice!" He started to repeat the request in a voice that was going directly to meltdown. I grabbed him up and marched straight to the food court, assuring him that he would have juice right away. I had left his sippy cup and my water in the car, thinking we would only be half an hour.
We got a couple of drinks and a granola bar and sat down to eat. Boo sucked back a lot of juice through the straw the nice concession woman had given him. He ate chunks of granola, stood on his chair and yelled "HI GUY UP DERE! COME DOWN GUY WAYYYY! UPPPP! DERE!!!" to an invisible man on the second floor of the food court. Then it was 8:40, so I told him it was time to go downstairs and wait for his daddy. He got down from the chair, walked 5 steps, burped loudly, and puked up all his juice and granola.
Thank you food court cleaning lady! She came to take care of it when I had it half cleaned with paper napkins. We went downstairs to wait. After a while I wondered if Boo was still thirsty and offered him more juice. But the bottle was 1/3 full, and he is still learning that if you tip the bottle when there's a straw, you may not get any juice. So, he tipped it more. All over himself. That's when I decided to put him in his pajamas. Right there in the airport lounge, cause no way was I leaving the area and missing Sean, in case he thought we ditched him and found another way home.
I think that may also be when I let go of all caring whether I was a complete spectacle. I was disheveled and coughing up a lung and peeing my pants and sitting next to a toddler who was, inexplicably, yelling "I put granola in my PENIS!" So I didn't stop him when he began turning somersaults all through the crowd in the lounge. I only halfheartedly tried to stop him when he went behind me and played with my butt, giggling and yelling "Tickly tickly bum!" I let him lie around on the carpet pretending it was night-night time. In between I watched that little "Delayed until 8:48" like a hawk, and when, at 9:15, it finally said "Arrived", I almost wept with joy.
There used to be a time when I dressed up to pick Sean up from the airport. I did my hair and put on a skirt and some perfume and make-up and tried to look sexy. Now, it seemed fine enough just that he find me alive, crusted in vomit, juice, and pee. He only had eyes for Boo when he got off that plane anyway. It was sweet to see them both light up when they spotted each other, to hear Boo yell "Hi Daddy! Daddy took a BIG AIRPLANE!", to watch Sean swoop Boo up and carry him to the car. And finally, I got to hand Sean the keys and put my head back for the drive home. Boo was so wired it took him almost an hour to fall asleep in the car. But he did, and we got home sweet home, and as soon as I could get him transferred to his bed, I went off to do the same.
It's over. We made it. My backup has arrived. It's the weekend. It's almost 10:00pm. And much as it sounds nice to hang out with Sean, my bed is calling me so sweetly that I have to answer. I'm gonna sleep until Father's Day. Good night everybody.
You can probably imagine how happily I was anticipating the moment I picked Sean up at the airport, handed him the keys, and put my head back for the drive home. Boo and I spent this last week visiting my cousin and his family on Vancouver Island. They are amazing people with three funny, energetic, smart, sweet kids and I feel more at home visiting there than almost anywhere except maybe my mommy's house. Still, I was sick, and no matter how you slice it, being with 4 small kids cannot equal relaxation. My cousin's wife, and my dear friend, is also pregnant, well into her 3rd trimester, so we were two tired Mama's just keeping the kids and ourselves alive. I'm sure she was somewhat glad to see two extra bodies leave her house.
We timed our return so that we could pick Sean up on the way from the ferry. He was getting in at 7:20, the ferry got in at 6:45 and I pulled into the airport parking at 7:10. "We're going to get Daddy!" I kept telling Boo excitedly. He held my hand and we walked up to the flight information TV's in the international arrival's lounge. Even from a distance I could see the words "Dallas" on the screen and I knew that there were a few too many words next to it to say "On Time" or "Arrived". Nope, what it said was "Delayed until 20:48".
"Where Daddy go? Go get Daddy!" Boo yelled excitedly. "Where Daddy go?"
"We have to wait a long time for Daddy, actually, buddy," I said, picking him up and turning away from the TV screens. I felt a panicky, teary desperation inside me for one second before I realized I needed to suck it up and just let two hours pass. Boo was way ahead of me. He had a luggage cart and he was wheeling recklessly through the crowds, yelling "No no Mommy!" when I tried to grab the handle. He wasn't just going to get through the next 2 hours, he was going to have the time of his life!
And so the party began. Next he discovered the escalators, and we rode those for a long time, up, down "Do dat agin!!" up, down, "Do dat agin!!". Then he saw some children playing by the beautiful "Jade Canoe" sculpture and ran to join them. I took the opportunity to sit down, enjoying the sight of children from what looked like 4 different countries playing together, shouting at each other in different languages. After about 10 minutes the chase had moved into the food court, and then I saw Boodge stop, hunch down a little, and make the unmistakable poo face. The other kids, bewildered, tried to egg him on, dancing around him and pounding their chests and shouting what must have been "chase me!" in their language. But it was over. He came running to me, no longer in the game.
After the diaper change, the kids were gone, so we rode the escalators again. Somehow, we passed an hour. I was just putting one foot in front of the other following Boo, and he was running wild, climbing, hanging, jumping, yelling. He was ecstatically overtired. Suddenly, at 8:30, he stopped and said, "I need juice!" He started to repeat the request in a voice that was going directly to meltdown. I grabbed him up and marched straight to the food court, assuring him that he would have juice right away. I had left his sippy cup and my water in the car, thinking we would only be half an hour.
We got a couple of drinks and a granola bar and sat down to eat. Boo sucked back a lot of juice through the straw the nice concession woman had given him. He ate chunks of granola, stood on his chair and yelled "HI GUY UP DERE! COME DOWN GUY WAYYYY! UPPPP! DERE!!!" to an invisible man on the second floor of the food court. Then it was 8:40, so I told him it was time to go downstairs and wait for his daddy. He got down from the chair, walked 5 steps, burped loudly, and puked up all his juice and granola.
Thank you food court cleaning lady! She came to take care of it when I had it half cleaned with paper napkins. We went downstairs to wait. After a while I wondered if Boo was still thirsty and offered him more juice. But the bottle was 1/3 full, and he is still learning that if you tip the bottle when there's a straw, you may not get any juice. So, he tipped it more. All over himself. That's when I decided to put him in his pajamas. Right there in the airport lounge, cause no way was I leaving the area and missing Sean, in case he thought we ditched him and found another way home.
I think that may also be when I let go of all caring whether I was a complete spectacle. I was disheveled and coughing up a lung and peeing my pants and sitting next to a toddler who was, inexplicably, yelling "I put granola in my PENIS!" So I didn't stop him when he began turning somersaults all through the crowd in the lounge. I only halfheartedly tried to stop him when he went behind me and played with my butt, giggling and yelling "Tickly tickly bum!" I let him lie around on the carpet pretending it was night-night time. In between I watched that little "Delayed until 8:48" like a hawk, and when, at 9:15, it finally said "Arrived", I almost wept with joy.
There used to be a time when I dressed up to pick Sean up from the airport. I did my hair and put on a skirt and some perfume and make-up and tried to look sexy. Now, it seemed fine enough just that he find me alive, crusted in vomit, juice, and pee. He only had eyes for Boo when he got off that plane anyway. It was sweet to see them both light up when they spotted each other, to hear Boo yell "Hi Daddy! Daddy took a BIG AIRPLANE!", to watch Sean swoop Boo up and carry him to the car. And finally, I got to hand Sean the keys and put my head back for the drive home. Boo was so wired it took him almost an hour to fall asleep in the car. But he did, and we got home sweet home, and as soon as I could get him transferred to his bed, I went off to do the same.
It's over. We made it. My backup has arrived. It's the weekend. It's almost 10:00pm. And much as it sounds nice to hang out with Sean, my bed is calling me so sweetly that I have to answer. I'm gonna sleep until Father's Day. Good night everybody.
Saturday, June 12, 2010
Protecting the Plug
A few months ago I purchased a package of 24 Safety 1st "press and pull" plug protectors for our new place. They were big and bulky and the Boodge was immediately drawn to them. He entertained himself by pulling them out and putting them back in, which was all the more fun because we freaked out every time we saw him do it. Those plug protectors had him interested in the sockets like nothing before. He really got it that he could stick things into those little holes and started bringing other objects over to see if they worked as well.
So I wrote to Safety 1st and told them how unsafe their product was. Not only was it not doing the job, it was doing the reverse of what it was supposed to do. They wrote back to ask me what I had purchased and where, and I told them. A few weeks later, a big envelope arrived on our doorstep. It was 24 new plug protectors, this time "Deluxe Press-Fit". These things have two buttons on the side and one on the top that have to be simultaneously pressed to get them out. They are serious. Boo can't make a dent in them. In fact, I can barely get them out myself.
So, since I facebooked my annoyance with Safety 1st, I figured I should let everyone know they did come through and, as BP says on their slick PR commercial, "Make it right." These plug protectors are definitely safe for toddlers with good fine motor skills. Though I may never be able to vaccuum again.
So I wrote to Safety 1st and told them how unsafe their product was. Not only was it not doing the job, it was doing the reverse of what it was supposed to do. They wrote back to ask me what I had purchased and where, and I told them. A few weeks later, a big envelope arrived on our doorstep. It was 24 new plug protectors, this time "Deluxe Press-Fit". These things have two buttons on the side and one on the top that have to be simultaneously pressed to get them out. They are serious. Boo can't make a dent in them. In fact, I can barely get them out myself.
So, since I facebooked my annoyance with Safety 1st, I figured I should let everyone know they did come through and, as BP says on their slick PR commercial, "Make it right." These plug protectors are definitely safe for toddlers with good fine motor skills. Though I may never be able to vaccuum again.
Tuesday, June 8, 2010
The Things I Do and Don't
My friend who writes over at 24-7 Mommy recently wrote a post inspired by the miserable, horrible oil spilling into the Gulf of Mexico right now. She asked her readers for tips on how we mom's (or all runners of households) can help preserve the environment. I wrote a few in her comments but it got me thinking about things I do, and don't do. There's the usual list, like recycle, turn your heat down and lights off, take public transit, buy eco-friendly and organic products. But I thought I'd try to pass along some of the little specific things I do and could do but haven't started doing yet, in case anyone may think, "Hey, I could do that."
--Buy Dr. Bronner's soap in bulk then use if for everything! I have it in hand pumps for washing poopy hands, spray bottles for washing fingerprints, and I use it for my floors, dishes, and even sometimes my body. You can buy a one gallon bottle once or twice a year and recycle it, and save all the packaging for any other cleaning product you may use.
--Plant a garden. I haven't seen the yields of this quite yet, but I suspect it will save us a lot of trips to the grocery store for fresh produce, and also all the packaging that produce may come in (I plan to can and freeze some stuff in recycled plastic bags and glass jars). It has the added benefit of helping our family witness the miracles of nature, which can only help us stop taking the earth for granted.
--Re-use all those plastic bags, containers and jars you end up with no matter how hard you try. There is no need to buy saran wrap or tupperware, ever!
--Cloth diapers! It's not that bad, really. We put in a diaper sprayer which takes out the majority of grossness. After that, just hold your nose once or twice a week and dump them in the wash. Saves money, and the earth. If you can't stomach the idea though, most urban areas have a diaper service. We used one until we move to our house and could have our own laundry. Man, I loved them. They were cheaper than disposable, and they didn't even make me knock the poo off.
--Don't use pesticides. No brainer. We don't really care about our lawn's appearance enough anyway. Besides, dandelions are edible.
--Buy used. Everything is out there. Craigslist is a fun way to meet your neighbours. And if you buy from most thrift stores, you are probably also helping out a charity. Plus it will save you money. You can also trade baby items back and forth with friends that have kids a bit older or younger than yours.
--Buy local. We all know this by now. Summer is a great time to find your local farmers markets and again, meet your neighbours. Bulk buying in season can save you money and stretch the local produce into the winter.
--Buy recyclable. When you're shopping and you have to pick up that plastic bottle of something, check the bottom to make sure it's a recyclable plastic. There's usually a little recycle symbol with a number in it. Our local program only takes #1, 2 and 5, so I buy a brand that uses that type of plastic.
OK, now, at the risk of sounding holier than thou, which I always worry about with these types of posts, here is a list of things I don't do, but if I did, it would make a big difference.
--Eat vegetarian. I did this for about 8 years, then fell off the wagon. We eat veggie once a week or so, and we buy mostly chicken and fish, and all our meat from local, organic, ethical, naturally raised sources. We rarely have meat as the main attraction, it is usually in a stew, soup, curry, or sauce full of veggies. But...still. Vegetarian diets are just way better for the earth.
--Remember to re-use all those plastic produce bags. I remember my grocery bags, but I have not yet begun to remember to bring bags for produce and bread. Maybe writing this will get me there.
--Drive less. I have to admit, since moving to the country, I drive way more. In the city it could be a couple weeks before I would take my car anywhere. But here, the nearest grocery store is 4 km away, and a lot of my friends are 40 minutes away. We used to average 1 tank of gas a month, but it's creeping up to 2. May be time to invest in a hybrid.
--Conserve...enough. I don't unplug appliances when I'm not using them. I leave my laptop on. I turn up the heat when I'm cold (well, we did that until we got the first bill...now we're into conservation!). I could do much more--this list could go on and on.
--Be an activist. I write the occasional letter to a company complaining about their packaging or practices, but I have been talking about getting more involved in activism and haven't done it...yet.
It's hard to do everything right by the earth. I find myself standing in the grocery store wondering trivial things like: buy the organic bananas wrapped in plastic? or buy the non-organic not wrapped in plastic? or don't buy them because they are never local? And I have to admit at times it feels hopeless, the small impact my family can make and how that compares to the large impact a company that pollutes can make. But the more I commit to living sustainably, the more I incorporate good habits, and the better I feel about my own life, even if I can't change everyone else. I do believe that on this issue, the people have to lead and the leaders will follow. And if they don't, well, at least we'll have done something to keep the earth a place our children and their children can enjoy a bit longer.
Feel free to share your own tips below!
--Buy Dr. Bronner's soap in bulk then use if for everything! I have it in hand pumps for washing poopy hands, spray bottles for washing fingerprints, and I use it for my floors, dishes, and even sometimes my body. You can buy a one gallon bottle once or twice a year and recycle it, and save all the packaging for any other cleaning product you may use.
--Plant a garden. I haven't seen the yields of this quite yet, but I suspect it will save us a lot of trips to the grocery store for fresh produce, and also all the packaging that produce may come in (I plan to can and freeze some stuff in recycled plastic bags and glass jars). It has the added benefit of helping our family witness the miracles of nature, which can only help us stop taking the earth for granted.
--Re-use all those plastic bags, containers and jars you end up with no matter how hard you try. There is no need to buy saran wrap or tupperware, ever!
--Cloth diapers! It's not that bad, really. We put in a diaper sprayer which takes out the majority of grossness. After that, just hold your nose once or twice a week and dump them in the wash. Saves money, and the earth. If you can't stomach the idea though, most urban areas have a diaper service. We used one until we move to our house and could have our own laundry. Man, I loved them. They were cheaper than disposable, and they didn't even make me knock the poo off.
--Don't use pesticides. No brainer. We don't really care about our lawn's appearance enough anyway. Besides, dandelions are edible.
--Buy used. Everything is out there. Craigslist is a fun way to meet your neighbours. And if you buy from most thrift stores, you are probably also helping out a charity. Plus it will save you money. You can also trade baby items back and forth with friends that have kids a bit older or younger than yours.
--Buy local. We all know this by now. Summer is a great time to find your local farmers markets and again, meet your neighbours. Bulk buying in season can save you money and stretch the local produce into the winter.
--Buy recyclable. When you're shopping and you have to pick up that plastic bottle of something, check the bottom to make sure it's a recyclable plastic. There's usually a little recycle symbol with a number in it. Our local program only takes #1, 2 and 5, so I buy a brand that uses that type of plastic.
OK, now, at the risk of sounding holier than thou, which I always worry about with these types of posts, here is a list of things I don't do, but if I did, it would make a big difference.
--Eat vegetarian. I did this for about 8 years, then fell off the wagon. We eat veggie once a week or so, and we buy mostly chicken and fish, and all our meat from local, organic, ethical, naturally raised sources. We rarely have meat as the main attraction, it is usually in a stew, soup, curry, or sauce full of veggies. But...still. Vegetarian diets are just way better for the earth.
--Remember to re-use all those plastic produce bags. I remember my grocery bags, but I have not yet begun to remember to bring bags for produce and bread. Maybe writing this will get me there.
--Drive less. I have to admit, since moving to the country, I drive way more. In the city it could be a couple weeks before I would take my car anywhere. But here, the nearest grocery store is 4 km away, and a lot of my friends are 40 minutes away. We used to average 1 tank of gas a month, but it's creeping up to 2. May be time to invest in a hybrid.
--Conserve...enough. I don't unplug appliances when I'm not using them. I leave my laptop on. I turn up the heat when I'm cold (well, we did that until we got the first bill...now we're into conservation!). I could do much more--this list could go on and on.
--Be an activist. I write the occasional letter to a company complaining about their packaging or practices, but I have been talking about getting more involved in activism and haven't done it...yet.
It's hard to do everything right by the earth. I find myself standing in the grocery store wondering trivial things like: buy the organic bananas wrapped in plastic? or buy the non-organic not wrapped in plastic? or don't buy them because they are never local? And I have to admit at times it feels hopeless, the small impact my family can make and how that compares to the large impact a company that pollutes can make. But the more I commit to living sustainably, the more I incorporate good habits, and the better I feel about my own life, even if I can't change everyone else. I do believe that on this issue, the people have to lead and the leaders will follow. And if they don't, well, at least we'll have done something to keep the earth a place our children and their children can enjoy a bit longer.
Feel free to share your own tips below!
Wednesday, June 2, 2010
Lessons From Solo Flying
This Monday began a long period of my flying solo as a parent. Sean is away for 12 days, back for 2, and away for 4 more. That means there are no breaks from the Boodge except naptime, so I let myself take it slack on everything else--tidying up, making meals, and general effort. I eat all my favorite foods that Sean doesn't like: roasted beets and yams with quinoa, artichokes, anything with a sweet sauce, pea soup. Tonight I think I'm going to treat myself to take out. I'm not saying I like having him gone--I don't. But I try to find things to look forward to about it.
Unfortunately, it's become a sort of cruel joke that the Boodge always gets sick when his Dad is away. Right on cue, he woke up at 4:30 the morning Sean was flying out with that barking-seal cough that strikes fear in parents' nighttime hearts. Lucky for us, Sean's alarm was just going off, so we got to relax in the steam of his shower to clear Boo's airways. I got his humidifier running, gave him some Nin Jiom cough medicine, then we kissed his Dad goodbye, read some books in bed, and went back to sleep. Four days in, it proved to be an easy cold. He's coughing a lot and snotting a little, but otherwise he's just as wild and crazy as usual.
But there were a couple of much more serious illnesses that happened during solo stints. The first time he had the croup, Sean was due home that very night at 11:45. At 11, I woke up to the sound of a wheezing, barking baby next to me. I knew only vaguely what to do...if I'd known for sure, I would have taken him out onto the patio and the cold misty air. But instead I took him into the bathroom and ran hot water, which can work but is not as effective. After some time his wheezing seemed to be getting worse, so I called the nurseline. The nurse asked me a series of questions. The last question she asked is whether his chest was pulling in with each breath. I felt it. "A little," I responded.
"Ok, you need to take him to the emergency, and you need to do it by ambulance, not car. Hang up and call 911."
So Sean came home to a hastily scrawled post-it on the door. "Boodge is not breathing well, we are at Children's Hosp. Call my cell." Had he arrived 15 minutes earlier, he would have entered our lobby lit by ambulance lights and seen his little baby with a breathing mask over his face and a small crowd of two ambulance attendants, me, and our property manager and his wife. Instead he met us at the hospital, where Boo was given steroids and quickly recovered, though we had to stay there till 4am just to be sure. It was a busy night; the halls were filled with the sound of barking babies.
Then there was last October. It was the middle of swine flu hysteria, and Sean was in Lexington, MA. Ardan came down with something that matched swine flu symptoms exactly, except for the vomiting. I called the nurseline, held for an hour, and they confirmed that it was probably the dreaded pig virus that he had. For 4 days he had 24-hour high fever and I could see him wincing when he swallowed. He nursed constantly, and I was so grateful to still be nursing (as I always am when he's sick) because he ate almost nothing else. I think this video says it all:
Through these solo sick experiences, I've learned some things about myself. I've learned that I can handle it. In fact, I'm pretty darn good. In both cases, I stayed really calm and kept the faith that everything was going to be fine. It would have been easy to panic watching my baby struggle to breathe, or watching the nightly news stories of someone's child dying from swine flu. But I gathered information, called for help, and otherwise breathed deeply and trusted that I could care for my child. I was proud of myself.
The not so good thing I've learned is that when I'm not alone, I lose that self-reliance. Actually, I get downright whiny and complainy about how hard it is, and how much I could use some help. I noticed that I do this even when Boo is not sick. One particularly sleep deprived solo-stint, I was cheerful about it with everyone I spoke to, "Oh, it's OK, I can nap in the day, I can handle it." But when Sean was home, I was crying in his office about how I couldn't take it any more.
It's normal and fair to want to share the load when things are hard, but the tone I can take is more accusatory--"Look how hard it is for me and not for you!" When I noticed what I was doing, I felt a bit ashamed. I am very good at taking care of things on my own, and it's hard for me to ask for help when I need it or want it. So I guess I default to trying to make the person whose help I want feel guilty and inadequate. Not very evolved of me. I'd like to say I've stopped doing this since I realized it, but it's never that easy, is it? I'm working on it though, and I think I'm improving.
Maya Angelou said something to the effect of "If you only have one smile to give, give it to the people who love and take care of you every day." It's so easy to put on a brave face and a smile for everyone else, but with the people we feel safest with we tend to let down our guard, and sometimes this means letting our worst selves out. It's the same thing kids are doing when parent's say "Gee, you're so good for the babysitter/grandmother/pre-school but at home, you're out of control."
I've been trying to remember lately to give that smile and can-do attitude to my family. After all, Sean is working pretty freaking hard too, and I know some things are hard for him in ways I don't even understand. When he saw that above video of Boo, he was so upset to be away, I felt terrible for sending it to him. I'd rather be in my shoes, playing with Boo, than in his working-stress shoes--most days.
We all respond so much better when we feel appreciated and loved, instead of feeling like we can never give enough to satisfy the other. Generosity flows from fullness, so the more we can fill each other up, the more we have to give. So true, and so hard to practice.
With Peanut on the way, I'm bracing myself for the upside-down and ugly that a new baby can bring. We'll be busier than ever, sleep-deprived, and we'll have Boo's tender little hurricane of emotions to address. I know there will be tears, accusations, and very bad days. But I'm going to try to make that quote above my mantra. And I'm going to let myself take it slack on everything else--tidying up, cooking, and general effort, in favour of having that one smile to give my family. Feel free to remind me if you see me slipping. I'm sure I'll need it.
Unfortunately, it's become a sort of cruel joke that the Boodge always gets sick when his Dad is away. Right on cue, he woke up at 4:30 the morning Sean was flying out with that barking-seal cough that strikes fear in parents' nighttime hearts. Lucky for us, Sean's alarm was just going off, so we got to relax in the steam of his shower to clear Boo's airways. I got his humidifier running, gave him some Nin Jiom cough medicine, then we kissed his Dad goodbye, read some books in bed, and went back to sleep. Four days in, it proved to be an easy cold. He's coughing a lot and snotting a little, but otherwise he's just as wild and crazy as usual.
But there were a couple of much more serious illnesses that happened during solo stints. The first time he had the croup, Sean was due home that very night at 11:45. At 11, I woke up to the sound of a wheezing, barking baby next to me. I knew only vaguely what to do...if I'd known for sure, I would have taken him out onto the patio and the cold misty air. But instead I took him into the bathroom and ran hot water, which can work but is not as effective. After some time his wheezing seemed to be getting worse, so I called the nurseline. The nurse asked me a series of questions. The last question she asked is whether his chest was pulling in with each breath. I felt it. "A little," I responded.
"Ok, you need to take him to the emergency, and you need to do it by ambulance, not car. Hang up and call 911."
So Sean came home to a hastily scrawled post-it on the door. "Boodge is not breathing well, we are at Children's Hosp. Call my cell." Had he arrived 15 minutes earlier, he would have entered our lobby lit by ambulance lights and seen his little baby with a breathing mask over his face and a small crowd of two ambulance attendants, me, and our property manager and his wife. Instead he met us at the hospital, where Boo was given steroids and quickly recovered, though we had to stay there till 4am just to be sure. It was a busy night; the halls were filled with the sound of barking babies.
Then there was last October. It was the middle of swine flu hysteria, and Sean was in Lexington, MA. Ardan came down with something that matched swine flu symptoms exactly, except for the vomiting. I called the nurseline, held for an hour, and they confirmed that it was probably the dreaded pig virus that he had. For 4 days he had 24-hour high fever and I could see him wincing when he swallowed. He nursed constantly, and I was so grateful to still be nursing (as I always am when he's sick) because he ate almost nothing else. I think this video says it all:
Through these solo sick experiences, I've learned some things about myself. I've learned that I can handle it. In fact, I'm pretty darn good. In both cases, I stayed really calm and kept the faith that everything was going to be fine. It would have been easy to panic watching my baby struggle to breathe, or watching the nightly news stories of someone's child dying from swine flu. But I gathered information, called for help, and otherwise breathed deeply and trusted that I could care for my child. I was proud of myself.
The not so good thing I've learned is that when I'm not alone, I lose that self-reliance. Actually, I get downright whiny and complainy about how hard it is, and how much I could use some help. I noticed that I do this even when Boo is not sick. One particularly sleep deprived solo-stint, I was cheerful about it with everyone I spoke to, "Oh, it's OK, I can nap in the day, I can handle it." But when Sean was home, I was crying in his office about how I couldn't take it any more.
It's normal and fair to want to share the load when things are hard, but the tone I can take is more accusatory--"Look how hard it is for me and not for you!" When I noticed what I was doing, I felt a bit ashamed. I am very good at taking care of things on my own, and it's hard for me to ask for help when I need it or want it. So I guess I default to trying to make the person whose help I want feel guilty and inadequate. Not very evolved of me. I'd like to say I've stopped doing this since I realized it, but it's never that easy, is it? I'm working on it though, and I think I'm improving.
Maya Angelou said something to the effect of "If you only have one smile to give, give it to the people who love and take care of you every day." It's so easy to put on a brave face and a smile for everyone else, but with the people we feel safest with we tend to let down our guard, and sometimes this means letting our worst selves out. It's the same thing kids are doing when parent's say "Gee, you're so good for the babysitter/grandmother/pre-school but at home, you're out of control."
I've been trying to remember lately to give that smile and can-do attitude to my family. After all, Sean is working pretty freaking hard too, and I know some things are hard for him in ways I don't even understand. When he saw that above video of Boo, he was so upset to be away, I felt terrible for sending it to him. I'd rather be in my shoes, playing with Boo, than in his working-stress shoes--most days.
We all respond so much better when we feel appreciated and loved, instead of feeling like we can never give enough to satisfy the other. Generosity flows from fullness, so the more we can fill each other up, the more we have to give. So true, and so hard to practice.
With Peanut on the way, I'm bracing myself for the upside-down and ugly that a new baby can bring. We'll be busier than ever, sleep-deprived, and we'll have Boo's tender little hurricane of emotions to address. I know there will be tears, accusations, and very bad days. But I'm going to try to make that quote above my mantra. And I'm going to let myself take it slack on everything else--tidying up, cooking, and general effort, in favour of having that one smile to give my family. Feel free to remind me if you see me slipping. I'm sure I'll need it.
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