Martha's World

For Whom the Bell Tolls

2009-11-16T11:23:00.002-05:00

I might as well face it. For all the blog posts that swirl through my head, none of them actually make it here.

But why?

Is it a time issue? Perhaps. It's one thing to zone out on the screen here and there when you spend all day with one child, and you've got all kinds of hours left with him to make up for it. Two kids, on the other hand, has divided my attention to new dimensions, and I can't allow the computer to be baby number three. So this thing stays off unless I'm by myself.

Then again, it might be that I've simply lost my focus here. This started out as a semi-anonymous blog to process my opinions. As more and more friends in real life found their way here, I found myself curtailing certain topics, not wanting to step on toes. I'd sweat over my tact or lack thereof, and sometimes it was easier to say nothing at all.

After moving to a new town, I began more personal posts, since this was a great way to keep old friends updated about first days of school, holidays, Peter-isms. After awhile though, our empty baby books began to haunt me, so I vowed not to post anything more on here until I got caught up.

But really, I think it's more than that. Do you know what I really yearn for?

A pen and paper. Shopping for a pretty journal that no one sees but me. Sitting at my little desk in my sun-filled library, reading, writing, glancing occasionally at the squirrels in the front yard, sipping a coffee, communing with God.

I guess I'll leave this blog up for awhile, especially for those dozens of folks who want to know how to make a wool soaker out of a recycled sweater. But it's time for me to let go of it, and that feels really, really good.

Thanks to everyone who has read, posted, and made this a worthwhile endeavor for me.

Bibs? Really?

2009-06-08T21:18:00.002-04:00

Okay, so I'm watching Jon and Kate as I type. And I just saw the almost-5 year-olds (guessing this was taped before their birthday?) eating a snack with bibs.

Is that normal?

I was feeling sorta guilty for bibbing Peter as he neared his third birthday. My mother suggested I bring bibs for all the kids when I took his chocolate dumptruck birthday cake to his preschool class, but I nixed it, lest the mortification follow him to high school. And, truly, they didn't need it.

I'm thinking that once you've got full control of your utensils, a napkin in the lap will suffice.

Peter Strikes Again

2009-05-11T10:32:00.003-04:00

My son does nothing halfway. He is destined for greatness--

or for prison.

Tom and I are on a weeklong sugar fast for his soul, that it might be the former.

Top Ten Signs You Have More Than One Child

2009-05-10T07:58:00.000-04:00

10) You wish you'd photographed your breasts to remember them before kids.

9) Your wildest fantasy is a solo trip to the grocery store.

8) The baby gets a monthly bath.

7) Your instructions for the sitter are verbal, and you know she is capable of finding the pajamas.

6) If no one's crying, it's a good enough pic for the Christmas card.

5) You have more pictures on the computer than the baby book.

4) I forgot. And so do you.

3) You no longer talk smack about the parents you see on Supernanny.

2) You've been caught throwing artwork away.

1) You have a celebratory dinner when the hpt is negative.

The Invisible Mother

2009-05-04T20:56:00.005-04:00

When a homeschooling mom walks out on her family, that's news. Even if it happened 6 years ago. And so, amongst the internet discussion, I happened upon her blog.

Whatever one thinks of her decisions, I couldn't help but identify with this post on the invisible mother. After all, I live for affirmation. I could hardly wait for the parent-teacher conferences as a child, because I wanted to hear the scoop back from my mom on how great I was doing.

As a mother, things are tougher. My three-year-old simply isn't going to say, "Mama, the quesadillas tonight were delectable. Amazing that they turned out so well, since you were teaching me how to play Memory as you flipped them. And the way you cleaned the kitchen? Absolutely efficient."

And my husband, God bless him, just isn't the overly effusive sort himself.

What once bothered me most, though, in moments of self-pity, wasn't the lack of expressed gratitude. It was knowing that my husband did not see, and would probably never see, every last detail of my day's work. After a marital "discussion", I remember wishing that we had a video camera in the house, broadcasting the differences between my Sunday morning versus his. Surely, then, he would get it!

Yet he won't ever fully get it, any more than I will ever fully get what he does in a day.

We're not in the same shoes-- and if I let my happiness rest on his ability to imagine himself in mine, I'm going to be a very sad woman. (My husband is incredibly left-brained. He doesn't imagine, period.)

I've not let this bother me much lately, though. A turning point came when I realized that, while it's not my spouse or my kids, I do have someone who sees me. He sees every last tear, frustration, and joy. He sees every triumph and failure. He saw Hagar, the mistreated slave, crying desperately in the desert. He is El Roi, the God Who Sees.

He sees the juggling, he sees the dropped plates, but most importantly, he bids to me stop the performance, and find my rest in Him.

Growing Pains

2009-05-01T21:14:00.004-04:00

A solid month without blogging? Clearly, I've been busy.

Peter's had a radical makeover. It started April 13th. I'd set aside the entire week to potty train, but we ended up only needing four hours. I guess that's the advantage of waiting until it's a no brainer. He could practically change his own diaper.

A few days later, he wore his first polo shirt. He still wears some smocked-insert tees, but it's time we worked in the real big boy stuff as well. Then, to top it off, he got a haircut which removed the last strands of white blond from his hair (he's now ash).

By the end of the week, I hardly recognized the boy coasting around the cul de sac on his bright red strider bike.

I've had to adjust. I find myself staring at him, studying his features, trying to see the baby I had a year ago... six months ago... Is it you? Is it really you? Did we do too much at once? I wonder if other mothers have this experience and, as he makes other transitions, if I will feel it this acutely.

Charlotte, meanwhile, will be six months tomorrow. It's going so quickly... I want her to stay a tub of taut flub forever, so warm and limber in my arms. I kiss her feet, her toes, her belly. I let her chew my fingers as she digs her nails into my cheek. "Kishhhhh, kishhhhhh," we say to each other, a word that she made up.

She's sprouting her first tooth, with another one just on the surface beside it.

How different things will be in a year.

Been Truckin'

2009-03-28T10:56:00.008-04:00

Every now and then, I accomplish something so powerful, so fantastic, so tender even, that I am certain the sun, moon, and stars will rise up and call me blessed. The latest happened on vacation.

Was it completing a 9-hour drive with two little ones in a reasonable 12 hours? (I must say, for all of his "spiritedness", Peter is a phenomenal traveller.)

Was it hand-expressing milk into a diaper in the front seat of the car so that Charlotte wouldn't get more blasted than usual by my already overactive letdown when we stopped for lunch?

Was it sacrificing prime smocking time to sit wedged between two carseats in the back of our sedan to comfort Miss Too-Princess for a Pacifier?

No. None of these things. It was changing my son's poopy diaper as he stood in the gas station ladies' room. I contained the entire contents in a most sanitary way, despite all obstacles. I was tempted to leave the diaper sitting on the counter as a subtle hint for them to set up a changing-station, but didn't think it fair to punish innocent patrons.

Altogether, we had a fabulous trip. Doing it with kids is certainly a different experience, in good ways and bad. The air craft carrier wouldn't be quite as fun without Peter sitting in the cockpit of a plane. And our ride in the city-bus-dressed-up-as-a-trolley would have been quite mundane without him. Charlotte's big moment was her hysterical chuckling when she laid eyes on a pony for the first time.

As for Tom and me, we were happy to visit our old favorite sights, and especially happy to return to Anson's! Other diners, impressed by how quiet our children were, complimented us as we were leaving. I wasn't sure whether to admit that we had been taking turns walking outside with them between courses. We quickly decided that eating take-out after the kids went to bed was the best option, and plenty of great choices within a block of our hotel made it easy.

I'd love to say we're home and relaxing... but I will be in and out of town for the next two weeks. One of these days I'll remember what it's like to be still.

Hitting the Road

2009-03-20T17:29:00.002-04:00

We're about to take our first real vacation with kids.

Since manufactured villages with oversized anthropomorphic animals would be more hell than holiday for Tom and me, we've decided to go to Charleston. No castles, but Peter will get to ride on a horse and carriage, take his first boat ride, visit an aircraft carrier, and see the beach for the first time ever.

And with a bravery beyond measure, we're driving. Nine hours each way. God save us all.

My Son, the Theologian

2009-03-14T21:53:00.003-04:00

Peter is the product of this age, his religion as eclectic as a postmodern college professor's. Below are statements he's made in the past week alone:

"I will get on the cross. And I will not come down. You can nail me to the cross and I will stay." (Pelagianism)

After hearing me explain how twins are in the mama's belly at the same time "Next time I will do that." (Hinduism)

"Jesus is a daddy." (Masonite)

"Jesus did not cry on the cross." (Gnostic)

"I am a soldier. I will nail Jesus to the cross." (Protestant?... an acknowlegement of total depravity?)

After I drew a cross. "Put Jesus on it. I want Jesus on the cross." (Catholic)

"Jesus died and came alive." (Christian)

Sigh... You'd never know I used to be a Sunday School director.

But at least he's thinking about Jesus, and that's half the battle.

Bye, Bye, Blankie

2009-03-12T12:51:00.004-04:00

I got to have a blanket baby for four months.

Things have quickly gone south, and now I'm actually under doctor's orders that when Charlotte is awake, I'm not to have her on her back (including the car seat, bouncy seat, and swing) unless it's absolutely necessary.

Why?

About a month ago, I noticed that she had a flat spot on the side of her head. I also noticed that she always looked to the right. When I casually mentioned it to my pediatrician, he said she has torticullis. This means that she has a short neck muscle on the right, and we've got to lengthen it. He gave us exercises and a variety of instructions, and we'll start professional physical therapy if things haven't improved by her next appointment.

Keeping her upright does two things: 1) strengthens the neck muscles, helping her overcome the torticullis, and 2) combats the plagiocephaly.

I, meanwhile, have discovered something for myself that I have always known in my head. Wrapping rocks! I have pouches, I have ring slings, I have mei tais-- but nothing, and I mean nothing, compares to comfort of holding your baby in a long band of cloth. The weight is spread over my entire torso, so I don't feel Charlotte's weight in any one place.

Plus, it's cheap. I was able to make the best carrier in the whole world with five yards of discount jersey-- no sewing required! Just a 20" by 5 yard strip, and the edges don't fray because it's knit.

So I've been able to keep Charlotte upright and looking around in a fairly inexpensive and oh so comfortable way. Surely this helps with her reflux too. And, since she's been so fussy lately (torticullis can cause headaches), I have a way to comfort her while continuing to do the things I need to do.

Call Me Crazy

2009-03-08T22:18:00.002-04:00

But I have weaned Peter from his nap. The twenty minutes I spent lying down with him to help him fall asleep always seemed worth the 3 hours of peace that followed... until recently.

Charlotte's to blame. Her afternoon nap is now 45 minutes. This means that by time I got Peter down, I only had about 20 minutes to myself. Barely time enough to fix my lunch and eat it.

After testing it out a few days, I decided that a one-hour quiet time in his room, requiring nothing from me, left me feeling much more refreshed. Meanwhile, I added an hour to his night sleep, made easy with Daylight Savings. For the first time since he was born, he slept until 6:45 a.m. this morning.

And for the first time in over three years, I woke up before any of my children and had almost an hour to myself!

The beautiful thing is that after years of dreading and fearing the end of Peter's nap (never did I imagine that I might bring it to an end myself), it's been freeing. It's been a week now, and there haven't been any ill effects on his behavior. We have more time to get out in the afternoon and more time to spend with friends who do not have naps.

I've also-- finally-- gotten Charlotte going to bed early.

I now have an hour all to myself in the morning, at least 45 minutes in the afternoon, and an hour or two in the evening. I feel like a new woman.

"Worn Once for Pictures"

2009-03-03T07:33:00.004-05:00

I've done some sewing for Charlotte, but I've spent just as much time snatching up deals on ebay.

I'm amazed at the number of sellers who claim that their child's smocked dress-- "bought new for $79.99" was only "worn once for pictures." Are they stupid enough to pay that much for a dress that their child never wears, or do they think I am stupid enough to believe it?

Maybe it's the honest truth. Maybe mothers do buy clothes that they don't allow their children to wear. But what fun are clothes you can't have fun in?

Well, to all the mothers out there who really do pay outrageous amounts for clothes to hang in the closet, I have one thing to say: OXICLEAN. Fill your kitchen sink with 5-6 shovels and warm water, let stained clothes sit in it for 4-6 hours, then throw them in the washer. I haven't met a stain that this won't cure.

Boot Camp

2009-02-28T14:28:00.004-05:00

We've made some progress. We haven't had a time out longer than five minutes in the past few days. It took some time to train him, but Peter seems to get that the sooner he gets quiet, the sooner he'll get out.

He also seems to get that I will put him in time out anytime, anywhere, including Cracker Barrel.

And putting him in time out for his tantrums has been absolutely liberating! I've never know quite what to do with those tantrums, and my past attempts have always failed, from the cave-man empathy a la Karp to spanking a la Dobson. Sending him to his room always made me feel a little guilty, but it never seemed right to have him blowing his top in the living room either.

After a week of boot camp, though, when I put him in time out, he quickly settles down. (I should add that the time out is in a patch of the living room, so he's not isolated from the rest of the family.)

I've long known that time out was originally created as a way to help an overstimulated child settle down. Whether you see it this way, or as a punishment, the result for us has been the same: Peter does settle down. It's like pulling the stinger out of the wound.

Remedial Parenting

2009-02-23T11:03:00.002-05:00

If Peter weren't such a firecracker, I don't think I'd ever have started this blog. It's been my therapy.

We've had our good phases and bad phases, but the past month has been unlike anything we've experienced yet. Instead of peace with periodic interruptions of strife, we've had continuous strife with periodic moments of peace. I began to worry something might really be wrong with my child. Three tantrums before 8:00 a.m.? That just can't be normal.

Stuck at home without a car, I set up a phone appointment with a counselor who works with young children.

After setting this up, I realized something: my mother kept Peter for five nights and swears he was absolutely pleasant the entire time. Furthermore, he's never been to time out at school, he learns easily, makes friends easily... These are not the marks of a child with a mood disorder or some other cognitive issue.

The problem (gulp) is me.

I talked to the counselor, who felt that Peter's recent issues have to do with Charlotte-- that Peter is fighting for attention and control. She said everything I described falls into the normal range for a very spirited three-year-old.

Come to think of it, in the past month I have been somewhat absentee. When we first brought Charlotte home, I did all I could to assure Peter of his place in my heart. As we fell into a new pattern, and he showed nothing but affection for his little sister, I slacked off.

Per the counselor's instructions, I am to do two things:

1) Spend thirty minutes of uninterrupted playtime with Peter while Charlotte is asleep. (This has been... amazing... and I'll have much more to blog on this another time.)

2) Enforce a stricter consequence for tantrums and disobedience. I had been spanking (which worked great until lately), sending Peter to his room, or putting him in time out, depending on his infraction. Now I am to do a time out that doesn't begin until his fit is over-- and that starts over if he talks or screams during it. Perhaps this is how time out was supposed to work all along? I missed the memo.

Anyway, I'm glad she warned me that as I start this program with a child like Peter, it might take an hour to get one 3-minute time out, since he'll be fighting to have the last word. We did have one 56 minute time out. Other time outs have ranged from twenty minutes to, amazingly, just three.

This has been hard work, because I'm not always in the mood to enforce it the way I have to. But as the counselor warned, if I slack up even once, a strong-willed child is going to take advantage of me fast.

I know that she is right.

So now I'm left with mixed feelings. I do believe that I can get things with Peter back to a good place, but I don't know how long it's going to take. And sometimes, I just feel like I've bitten off more than I can chew with this child. I keep repeating Philippians 4:13, asking God to give me the faith to believe it.

An Eventful Week (and Evening!)

2009-02-16T21:45:00.005-05:00

There's been so much going through my mind lately, blogging can't do it justice.

And as I was typing that sentence, I had to stop and watch Charlotte grab a toy and put it to her mouth for the first time. So glad we'll soon have more ways to keep her entertained, since my "victory" with the pacifier lasted less than 24 hours.

So, what's been going on: we dedicated Charlotte to God last Sunday. Our new church doesn't do infant baptism, but that's quite okay with me. It was a joy to stand before the congregation, though, and publicly proclaim our intent to raise her in a godly home and prayerfully lead her to Christ.

I must pause to say that she is now hugging her doll! Must get a picture...

Also, last Thursday, I drove to the Big City for a haircut. On the interstate driving home, we were sideswiped by an 18-wheeler, which spun my car out of control. I really thought I might die. Peter and Charlotte were in the car with me, and hearing their cries was as beautiful as the days they were born, because I knew they were okay before I could turn around and see them. Not a scratch on any of us.

I have been trying not to think about the incident too much, and yet I think about it constantly. Peter, too, has replayed it with his matchbox cars more times than I can count.

But my thoughts on that will have to wait, because Charlotte is being so darn cute. Just look at this:

Victory is Mine

2009-02-08T14:35:00.000-05:00

Notice anything?

Symptoms of the Firstborn

2009-02-07T07:51:00.004-05:00

- He knew his colors before he could intelligibly say them.

- He could recognize all the letters of the alphabet by his second birthday.

- He's been read to so often, he can recite entire classic Curious George stories by heart.

- But for all these "academic" accomplishments, he cannot, at the age of three, put on his own coat. Or pull up his own pants. Or take off his shirt without getting it tangled over his neck.

After speaking to a mother of five, who said that her method of teaching her kids to put on a coat was to hand it to them and say, "Put it on," I'm on a mission. This morning, after changing his diaper (yes, you read that right), I made him pull on his pants alone.

Next up, getting his own water.

Three Cakes

2009-02-06T13:33:00.004-05:00

Every mom has her issue, and mine is a determination to make my children's birthday cakes. Of course, I have no particular talent for this.

For Peter's 1st birthday, I wanted to replicate this:

I ended up with this:

The decoration of his 2nd birthday cake, a garbage truck, went more smoothly

but I was going through this brown flour stage and was ridiculous enough to use it for baking a brick. I mean, a cake.

This year, though, I nailed it. Finally, a cake equal to my skill:

The gummy earthworms were a particular hit with his class. And, yes, his only party this year was at school. Because if you are going to give a scoop of chocate cake, brownies and icing to two- and three-year-olds, someone else's turf is a nice place to do it.

The Undomestic Housewife

2009-02-04T18:24:00.010-05:00

I don't keep a clean house.

When I have company, I find myself scrambling to make the house presentable. I don't mean dusting off the tables. I mean throwing away fantastically large dust bunnies that might honestly make my friends puke. With my mother and aunt coming for an overnight stay tomorrow, I've got more than the living areas to clean.

In times past, I could pull the house together in a day or so. Now that I have Charlotte, though, I'm failing. She's nursing in my lap as I type, but will I be able to get the bathrooms clean? Not if I want to get dinner on the table, plan a menu for tomorrow's trip to the grocery store, change the sheets, put away the laundry... Feed a baby, feed the family, change diapers, put little ones to bed...

I try to keep the clutter picked up, stay on top of the dishes, not let the laundry build up-- but between that, childcare, running errands, and keeping food on the table, I have no time to clean. None. I've not even found time to sew lately, which is saying a lot.

How do other mothers do it? Am I missing some basic organisational gene? Am I supposed to be staying up late to mop the kitchen floor? Or are other mothers more like me than I realize, so that too they can't remember when they last vacuumed?

Honestly, I'm not sure where my vacuum is. The garage, maybe?

It's Not a Fluke

2009-02-02T08:01:00.002-05:00

My little experiment, that is. I will say it here plainly: changing my tone has changed his moods. Oh, he still needs corrections and sometimes punishments, he still has occasional crankiness, but we're not sinking into the deep miry pits of prolonged irritability so hard to get out of.

I've realized that while I've always sought to avoid yelling at my child, I've never thought much about speaking impatiently. I assumed that as long as my voice wasn't loud, I was being gentle.

Wrong.

A cranky act from him, followed by my cranky response, would only make him more cranky. Which would make me more cranky, then him more cranky, and so on. Someone has to break the chain, and I am the adult.

At least I'm trying to be.

The 72-Hour Challenge

2009-01-29T08:23:00.002-05:00

I am 68 hours into my challenge not to speak to Peter in an exasperated tone of voice.

It had hit me that his own voice of frustration, which has been irritating me to no end, had to come from somewhere. Perhaps he learned it at school. Perhaps it's just part of human nature. The more likely scenario, though, is that he picked it up from the person with whom he spends most of his time. Who am I to say, "Speak nicely please-- I do not like that tone of voice" when I am guilty myself?

With four hours left, I've done well. There have been a few instances when I started his name with an frustrated "Pe-" but caught myself by the end of his name with a falsetto "-ter." I've also noticed what triggers me, like when he makes a loud noise, particularly if his sister is sleeping, or when he stalls after I've given him instructions.

Peter, meanwhile, is less combative than he was three days ago. Is it a fluke? Like a lot of kids his age, he slips in and out of moods so inexplicably, it's hard to tell. Yet I do know that "a harsh word stirs up anger, but a soft anger turns away wrath." As long I as speak in an angry, impatient tone, I can expect the same in return. If I can soften my responses, then maybe, just maybe, I can soothe his stormy blasts. Some of them, anyway.

"She's just using you as a pacifier."

2009-01-24T07:22:00.006-05:00

I hear this now and then. And it's true! Since my daughter still refuses-- despite my repeated efforts-- to take a plastic nipple, she often gets the real thing instead. I believe strongly in the value of non-nutritive sucking to relieve a baby's tension and even mitigate pain.

Lately, though, I find myself bristling more and more when someone makes the above comment to me. It's not the words themselves, which are of course true. It's the derogatory tone that accompanies them, the implied criticism-- the implication that I ought to be enlightened to my baby's "manipulation."

No one stops to think that a pacifier is a substitute. A highly-convenient substitute, but a substitute nonetheless. Yet did anyone ever look at my son sucking away on his pacifier and say, "He's just using that thing as a breast"?

Why do we act as if the pacifier were nature's way of settling a baby, and non-nutritive suckling at the breast a bizarre aberration that needs correction?

Confessions of a Facebook Whore

2009-01-19T14:37:00.003-05:00

After hearing my sisters-in-law discuss their facebook interaction, I finally felt left out enough to take the plunge. I'd create a profile, hook up with a couple of other very close friends, and check my page once a week or so.

Then I got there. I realized that there was this huge party that had been going on without me for months and months. When I had ten friend requests within two hours, I felt like the prettiest girl in the room. How did these people find me? And what fun I'd have catching up with old friends!

If by "catching up" you mean glancing at a few pictures to see who had gone blond, let themselves go, or had a slew of children.

When the cheapness of it all hit me, I decided that I'd confirm anyone who added me as a friend, but I wouldn't add any more friends myself. I didn't want a list too long to keep up with. I wanted a list of meaningful relationships.

My integrity lasted... oh, five minutes. The genius of facebook is that you can't look at someone's wall without becoming their "friend." So maybe I would go ahead and add some of my old sorority sisters as friends. I mean, as long as we were friends once upon a time. It wasn't quite as random as the friend requests I was getting from girls who just happened to have lived in the freshman dorm with me. But, oh, there's that funny guy who was in my art class!

...One weekend and fifty--no, sixty now!-- friends later, I'm watching for signs of a communicable disease.

A Tale of Two Pilots

2009-01-18T18:44:00.000-05:00

God has a literary mind. He created a perfect foil. In a week's time, one pilot tries to save his hide by creating a fake distress call, ejecting himself from the plane, then allowing the plane to crash itself into water at a very short distance from a subdivision--

while another pilot saves saves his passengers and crew with an emergency landing and rescue in the Hudson River? A perfect foil.

Has My Blogging Come to This?

2009-01-12T21:39:00.002-05:00

A semi-weekly recounting of my lactation status?

Why, as a matter of fact, it has.

So I've discovered the biggest culprit in my overactive letdown. It seems to be most strong when Charlotte takes a really long afternoon nap as opposed to two shorter ones. Well, duh. Why does it take me so long to realize the most obvious things?

Much broken-up, back-lying nursing to get us through this evening... She's not as fussy as she's been so many previous evenings, though. I'm no longer concerned about my diet.

Big Brothers.

2009-01-11T08:53:00.001-05:00

Can't live with 'em, can't sell 'em to the highest bidder.

Fire Hydrant Update

2009-01-09T08:04:00.005-05:00

Could it be that things have slowed down? We've gotten several quiet evenings under our belt (the first in weeks), most of them with frequent nursing sessions spent on my back. Last night, however, was best of all: I was able to nurse in a "normal" posture without a peep from Charlotte. I got to watch the SEC prove its superiority for the third year in a row without lifting my bottom from the couch, while my baby alternately nursed and slept on my chest in total peace.

Off My Game

2009-01-08T12:52:00.001-05:00

We've not had a good morning. We've not had a good week.

Peter and I, that is.

In my adult relationships, I've long clung to the maxim that you can't control what other people do, but you can control how you react. I'm realizing my need to apply this to life with a two-year-old.

Evening Fussiness, Part II

2009-01-03T17:55:00.004-05:00

I take it back. I'm ready to have my evenings again, and I count the days until my infant gives up the evening nap and goes to bed early instead. Why?

First, I miss the alone time with my husband. We both get up too early to stay up after Charlotte goes to bed, which means our only waking hours sans kids is during their weekend naps.

Second, my letdown in the evenings has become aggressive, to say the least. This ticks off Charlotte, who would prefer a water fountain to a fire hose. Since she's already fussy at night to begin with, and she refuses to take comfort from a swing or a pacifier, we're stuck. Her source of comfort is now a source of pain, and many nights she has cried herself to sleep in my arms.

To lessen the deluge, I have to nurse lying flat on my back, which is not terribly conducive to watching movies or reading a good book.

Alternatively, I can soothe Charlotte by walking around the house with her, but that gets old fast.

So now I'm ready to get at the source of this evening fussiness. I was ready to try the Dr. Sears elimination diet-- until I read it. The thought of surviving two weeks on rice, potatoes, and pears is not particularly attractive. I could give up dairy, which is only slightly more appealing. But it would be a hard blow. It might be worth having a fussy baby in the evening as long as I can eat cheese.

Many folks have urged to me to talk to her doctor about reflux. This I will do-- but it won't necessarily solve things. My husband, normally the more "mainstream" of us, doesn't like the risks of medicating an infant whose symptoms aren't severe. And since Charlotte can be soothed without the meds, and she's still delightful during the day, I don't think it's time for prilosec.

Or is it?

Oh, what to do!

The Trials, Tribulations, and Hope of the Young

2008-12-27T11:51:00.005-05:00

As much as it broke my heart to see Peter's suffering the other night, it has been gratifying since then to see Romans 5:3-5 worked out in the life of a two-year-old:

He has been asking, with sincere devotion, to pray before bed. We'd not been saying bedtime prayers together before this. I always felt like it was something we should do, but somehow we never did.

Though we talk about Jesus on a fairly regular basis, this is the first I've seen it take on personal meaning for him.

Christmas Eve 2008

2008-12-24T09:25:00.000-05:00

We celebrated the 4th Sunday of Advent by purchasing a Christmas tree. (Actually, Lowe's almost paid us to take it.) We'll decorate it after church tonight, then I'll tell the kids about St. Nicholas as we hang stockings on the fireplace.

At present, my folks are on their way in town. Nana is looking forward to decorating a "Happy Birthday, Jesus" cake with Peter.

I'm particularly excited about our celebration this year, even though Tom will be working 90% of the time. It's the first we'll spend in our own home.

Night Fright

2008-12-21T09:23:00.005-05:00

Being able to put Peter to sleep quickly and without incident is no longer a luxury. With Charlotte to take care of (and her evening fussiness), it's a necessity. Yet it broke my heart to leave his room last night.

"I want you to lie with me longer," he had said.

"I can't," I said. "I have to do my chores."

"I don't want to fly in the sky," he said.

"What?"

"I don't want to fly in the sky," he repeated, in a pitifully small voice.

I realized that he must have had a flying dream recently, and that it scared him. Weissbluth warns that at this age, when kids have a developing imagination but an inability at times to distinguish fantasy from reality, bad dreams can be a true source of terror.

But I don't need Weissbluth to tell me that. I remember it vividly. Between the ages of three and four, I used to lie in bed practically trembling with fright. I wouldn't admit my fears to anyone, not wanting to be thought a baby, but many nights I'd seek refuge in bed with one of my brothers.

Peter has no big brother to crawl into bed with.

"Did you know that Jesus is with you, all the time and everywhere?" I asked. "We can't see him, but he is here, and he is watching you and taking care of you. He will watch you while you sleep. Would you like to pray to Jesus to help you sleep well tonight?"

He did, and we prayed. I also told him that Mama and Daddy were watching over him tonight, and Daddy came back to give him an extra goodnight kiss.

Peter woke happy and well-- and said that he did not fly.

Whew.

But I've got an extra crib mattress in the garage, and I'm ready to put it on my floor if his fears overwhelm him. Solitary sleep is fine when my child knows he is safe, but when doubts creep in... I'm just not going to force the issue.

Life's Little Pleasures

2008-12-19T14:19:00.004-05:00

By the grace of God, since the day we brought Charlotte home, she and Peter have taken their big afternoon nap at the same time. Since she still stays up later than her brother at night, this is the only time right now that I can count on unadulturated peace.

How do I spend it?

The same way, every day: first, my computer time. Then I eat a peanut butter and banana sandwich, with whole grain chips on the side and Smarties for dessert, while I watch Little House on the Prairie. I watch through two episodes, working on my embroidery after I eat.

Sometimes Peter wakes up before the second episode is over. Since he doesn't get much tv besides football, this is a pretty big deal. He calls it the "horses" show. And he's right: there are horses in every episode, in almost every outdoor scene.

I've uncovered some interesting facts about the real Ingalls-Wilder families on Wikipedia. Did you know that some consider Laura and Almanzo's daughter Rose to be the founder of the Libertarian Party?

Hanging Head in Shame

2008-12-18T19:49:00.003-05:00

I'm sure this is wrong on so many levels, but I'm desperate:

Peter will soon be eating dinner with a timer. If he doesn't finish before it goes off, too bad. Off to the bath.

For almost a week, he's been stalling over dinner. Like, really stalling. He spent thirty-five minutes tonight eating a pile of rice the size of his fist. It was one thing for him to eat one grain at a time at ten months old. It's another thing when he is using a fork.

Is he trying to avoid a bath? Enjoy table time with his dad? Or simply push my buttons? I don't know, don't care, and don't want to hear what the experts say. I just want to have a peaceful meal unpunctuated with, "Peter, eat... Peter, keep eating... Peter, you should be finished by now... Peter, it is getting late..."

Rainy Day Activities

2008-12-17T10:35:00.004-05:00

It's been raining for a month of Sundays, and there's nothing but rain in this week's forecast. And next week's forecast. To top it off, Peter's last day of school is today, his regular babysitter is out of town, and I'm not wanting to do a lot of public outings with a newborn.

Ordinarily, this would have me in sheer terror. Peter too, because never in his life has this child been content to stay indoors all day!

Yet we both seem to be taking this in stride. He no longer expects that we are going out, and with some recent maturation in his imagination, enjoys his toys more than ever. His cars don't just roll. They go places. To Mimi's, to Belks, to the Hospital. It cracks me up to sit and listen to him play.

Nevertheless, I've found that giving him a special activity sometime during the morning prevents monotony. Here are some of our tricks:

1) Rice Play. Pour a bag of rice into a roasting pan. Throw in some spoons, cups, scoops, even a funnel. Let him have at it. Hint: Put this on the floor on top of a blanket. This way, when he's finished, you can shake the blanket over the garbage to clean up stray rice.

2) Make Play-Dough. Yes, yes, I know: play-doh can be cheaply bought just about anywhere. But making it at home brings new life to an old activity. The internet has tons of recipes. I'd share my own, but I discovered that it molds upon storing.

3) New Toys. What mother introduces new toys right before Christmas? Yet giving Peter the $20 train track I happened to see on sale at Target is The. Best. Decision. I've. Ever. Made.

4) Build a Car Track on the floor using painter's tape. (Thanks, Keriann!)

5) Build a Fort. Retailers will try to convince you that your child needs a $50 indoor tent in the shape of Thomas the Train or a giant frog's mouth. True, kids like small places. But I remember too well the joys of fort-building not to give my child the opportunity. Peter's too small to do this on his own, but he's learning from an expert.

You Get What You Pay For

2008-12-13T09:47:00.004-05:00

Almost a year ago, I decided that my hair needed shaping. I found a new hairdresser who gave me what he calls the Angel haircut (think Victoria's Secret). Oh, the perfection! I felt like I had satin sheets billowing behind me for the rest of the day.

It would figure that I find the best hairdresser in the world several months before I left town.

Yesterday I attempted to replace him. I had asked someone with great hair who she sees and made an appointment. I mapquested directions to the shop. I enlisted my husband's help with the kiddos. And with optimistic anticipation awaited the moment of truth.

Well, mapquest let me down. At least, I'm fairly certain that the shop is not located in an unmarked shack in a... "questionable" neighborhood. But with childcare in place, and in dire need of a haircut, I did what a mother has to do: I went to a strip mall.

Mean Lady cut my hair. Her way of initiating conversation was a gruff, "We close at 5:00" (it was 4:30) followed by, "So what do you want?" I explained my layers and the fringe about my face and asked her just to take off just enough to lose the split ends.

As Mean Lady brushes out my hair, and begins to cut it dry, she turns up her nose. "Your hair is just all different lengths." Duh. Didn't you just hear me say "layers"? Then she notices the shorter length underneath. "What is this?"

"Well, my old hairdresser thinned my hair from underneath, so it would still be smooth on top."

More turning up of the nose. "I sure wouldn't let that person cut my hair again." At this point, I'm ready to get out of the chair.

Instead, I say, "It was the best haircut I ever had."

Meanwhile, Mean Lady has no idea what to do with my hair. Not that it stops her from cutting. Over and over I watch her brush out a lock of hair, pull her fingers to the end, get that confused look on her face, then snip. I'd have had more confidence if she didn't look so clueless every time she cut. I wanted to get up and say, "Nevermind"-- but I didn't know when I'd have childcare for both kids again. So I just sat there trying not to cry.

I'm not sure what made her decide when she was done. She was pulling up locks of hair so randomly, and never touched the shorter layers (particularly around my face), I guess she just decided it was getting close to 5:00 and stopped.

My husband could have done a better job. With a chainsaw.

But at least it's helped me sort out my priorities. If I can go to the Big City once a week for prenatal appointments, I can certainly go there every couple of months for a haircut.

Speaking of Evenings

2008-12-09T15:47:00.005-05:00

I've pretty much given up on accomplishing anything after 5:00. Or at least, counting on it. And though a neighbor just dropped by some homemade spaghetti sauce, and I've got a couple of leftover meals in the freezer, the dinner brigade from friends is over. It's all me.

So I'm turning to the crock pot, and a friend just led me to the blog of a woman who is crock pot cooking every day of the year. What a goldmine!

Evening Fussiness

2008-12-07T18:41:00.003-05:00

I cherish holding Charlotte, even though old voices die hard (you know, that voice that says I'll "spoil" her if I hold her all the time). The thing is, she sleeps three hours in the morning, three hours in the afternoon, and has a good 4-6 hour stretch for the first part of the night. Since she's sleeping so much, having her awake is somewhat of a novelty. I love to hang out with her on the couch, balancing her on my knees as we make faces, throwing her little monkey body over my shoulder, reading a book as she nurses. Peter plays with his toys through all this, and he has yet to show anything less than enamoration with little sister.

Evenings with Charlotte are another matter. She's a fussy, cluster-nursing machine. I'm able to write this only because she finally went down for an evening nap. I'm hoping she'll sleep through dinner so I can eat with both hands.

I hoped that Kellymom might solve my problem, but all she really had to say is that I'm in good company.

The great thing, though, is that I have the perspective of life with an almost-three-year-old. I know how fleeting this period is. I know that Charlotte will be past this before I can blink. And so what I'll do tonight-- as I have most every night-- is settle on the couch with Miss Priss, find a good movie on tv, and nurse, love, and cherish my newborn babe.

Caught It!

2008-12-04T15:24:00.002-05:00

Not her first smile, but her first one on camera:

Signs You Have More Than One Kid

2008-12-02T13:36:00.004-05:00

When my child had a 30-minute tantrum at the door today after his babysitter left, my only thought was, "Well, at least he's occupied."

The Pacifier...

2008-11-24T20:14:00.004-05:00

In the history of great inventions, I place it somewhere between the wheel and toilet paper. It's the only reason I'll never be able to practice ecological breastfeeding.

Before my milk came in, Charlotte agreed. Since then, it's been a battle. If I were less determined, you'd hear me saying "My baby just won't take one" by now. But, man, even though I don't mind comfort nursing, there are times that a pacifier really comes in handy.

As if I didn't need more inspiration, Charlotte's thumb has actually found it's way to her mouth a couple of times. Cute for now. Not so cute in five years.

Tomorrow I'm going to stock up on some different brands and see if we have more luck.

Babymooning

2008-11-11T12:37:00.002-05:00

So here's what's up in my world. I'm sure I'll return to blogging one of these days.

The Indian

2008-10-31T08:42:00.000-05:00

It is Well with My Soul

2008-10-26T16:07:00.003-05:00

It has been a long week with Peter. He is not sick. He has gotten plenty of sleep. Yet he has been absolutely contentious from morning until night. I'm irritated and exhausted with the whole thing, and when he had three tantrums before 7:00 a.m. this morning, I was ready to shut myself in the bathroom and not come out.

Then I went to church, where we sang "It is Well with My Soul." Knowing that this hymn was written by a bereaved father after the death of his four daughters put my trial in perspective. If he can find the peace of God, then certainly so can I:

When peace, like a river, attendeth my way
When sorrows like sea billows roll
Whatever my lot, Thou hast taught me to say
It is well, it is well with my soul

Though Satan should buffet, though trials should come
Let this blessed assurance control
That Christ hath regarded my helpless estate
And hath shed His own blood for my soul

My sin, 0 the bliss of this glorious thought
My sin, not in part but in whole
Is nailed to the cross, and I bear it no more
Praise the Lord, praise the Lord, 0 my soul!

And Lord, haste the day when my faith shall be sight
The clouds be rolled back as a scroll
The trump shall resound and the Lord shall descend
Even so, it is well with my soul

Move Over, Jackson Pollock

2008-10-24T10:19:00.003-04:00

You'd think, as a former art major, that I might have pulled out the paint for my own child before now. But the cobbler's son has no shoes.

I'm a nut for homemade Halloween costumes, though, so it was fun to involve Peter in the making of his Indian costume. Final product soon to be displayed.

A Mother's Weaning

2008-10-20T12:06:00.003-04:00

It is my goal to get Peter out of his smocked jon-jons by his 3rd birthday, four months from now. It certainly doesn't help me that all his longalls from last winter still fit. As incentive, I've made Peter a slew of long sleeve t-shirts with smocked inserts and matching pants. Ironically, though, my favorite new ensemble for him is an applique top and pants that I made to go with a sailboat sweater I saw on ebay.

Here is GQ Junior:

Much as I like this, it still broke my heart seeing him off to school this morning. Tall as he is, he looked like a four-year-old when he turned his back. Sniff...

The Pleasure of Disagreement

2008-10-19T14:31:00.003-04:00

We're starting a new phase.

"We're going to the park this morning," a statement that would usually be greeted with glee, is met with, "I don't want to go to the park."

Oh, really?

"Okay," I say, "We'll just stay home."

"I want to go to the park," he responds.

In the past 72 hours, we've had this same conversation about 20 times, just insert a new subject into the blank.

Thoughts on Temperament

2008-10-15T10:16:00.003-04:00

In a lot of my reading, I've noticed that most authors seems to take either a positive or negative approach to personality traits. Either a child's strong will is seen as something to be conquered or it's viewed as the persistence that will enable that child to one day cure cancer.

As a Christian, I agree and disagree with both viewpoints. All of us have tendencies that lead us to sin, and those same tendencies can be used for God's glory.

Yet at times it has been hard to believe that. In his first six months, Peter's perseverance against my determined efforts at sleep training seemed nothing more than a thorn in my side. His perseverance in refusing solids until almost nine months seemed nothing more than a thorn in my side. His perseverance in crying for the entire duration of my absence every time I left him for his first year and a half of life seemed nothing more than a thorn in my side.

But lately, finally, I am seeing his perseverance used in a positive way. At church recently, his Sunday School teachers were impressed that he spent fifteen minutes helping them clean the room, while his peers got so easily distracted. While subbing in another one of his classes, I noticed that Peter focused on the teacher for the entire duration of Circle Time, while other kids were easily distracted by nose picking and the velcro on their shoes.

Peter can stick to a task. When it's learning a new skill or following through with a teacher's instructions, it's awesome.

Of course, when that task is throwing a tantrum, it stinks.

Operation Time Change Update

2008-10-14T12:34:00.002-04:00

Dare I jinx things by sharing that, for the past three mornings, he's slept until 6:20? I'm going to keep the alarm there until the end of the week, then try and get to 6:30. And I've now decided that 6:30-- which will soon amount to 5:30-- is the perfect new wake up time for introducing a new baby. It doesn't seem quite as early as 5:00, but it will allow us an extra 30 minutes in the morning.

Etsy

2008-10-13T22:10:00.003-04:00

I can hardly bear early Christmas talk, but with a baby due in November, I'm shopping now. As in, tonight. And I'm riding the Etsy train.

The prices are great as far as handcrafted items go, since you take out the middle man. My favorite store is Grandpa John's Wooden Toys, with Clickety Clack not far behind.

As for the new baby, I'm inspired to make some toys of my own, sort of like these.

5:00 a.m. is Awfully Early

2008-10-06T13:32:00.004-04:00

And if I can't get Peter to sleep later, that's what time he'll be waking when the clocks change on November 2. Two days before my due date.

Since putting him to bed later has always proved fruitless, and putting him to bed earlier a la Weissbluth fails us too, my magical solution was to re-train him on the alarm clock. Rather than waking himself up, the alarm would wake him up. I started at 5:55, then added a couple of minutes every day. I even sweetened the deal by telling him that he would get a prize for staying in bed until the alarm goes off (each day he gets a car or truck cut from a fleece scrap).

This worked great for over a week. I considered myself a genius. We made it to 6:15.

But for the past three days, he's regressed. I hear him wake at 6:00 and sing to himself until the alarm goes off fifteen minutes later. Impressed as I am with his ability to wait things out in his bed, that is not the goal. And I'm all out of ideas.

So we may just be waking early this winter, as we did last winter. It may even be for the best. As it is, with Peter waking at 6:00, we have just enough time to accomplish all we need to do-- and at a leisurely pace-- before leaving for school. But once the new baby is here, I'm going to have one more mouth to feed, one more bottom to dress, one more person whose needs I cannot fully fathom now. The extra hour may serve us well.

Praying with Peter

2008-10-03T12:15:00.003-04:00

For the past couple of months, Peter has sat on my lap while I pray through the Lord's Prayer, adding my own intercessions under the appropriate "category." While I don't invite him to join in, Peter does sometimes suprise me with his own interjections. A few weeks ago, when I said, "Forgive us our trespasses", Peter said, "tantrum at Mrs. Barrett's house."

This morning, when I said, "Thy kingdom come," he added, "Thy kingdom come in Curious George's life."

Raising Jane

2008-09-23T21:45:00.005-04:00

I had read that European gentry used to loan out their babies to country wet nurses, but it brings it home to read of it happening to a particular person. I'm reading Claire Tomalin's biography Jane Austen, and she describes in great length how the practice occurred.

Newborns were generally nursed by their own mother for the first one to three months, after which they went to live in the mud-floor cottage of a peasant family. Some families visited their infants. Others did not. After a period of time, anywhere from eighteen months to three years, the child was then plucked from their foster family and returned to their biological one.

Not long thereafter, sometime between the ages of four and eight, the child would be packed away to boarding school.

I'm not sure whether I'm struck by the resiliency of the human child or certain that I've discovered the origin of the emotionally detached English gentleman.

At any rate, I continue to be fascinated by the vast differences in child rearing around the globe and throughout time. Compared to Jane Austen's mom and dad, who of us doesn't practice attachment parenting?

Solving the Energy Crisis

2008-09-20T11:23:00.001-04:00

My two-year-old son on a hamster wheel.

It might not be enough to power the nation, but I'm certain there is one of him in every town.

Living Room

2008-09-17T11:46:00.004-04:00

Last to be completed, most to be used, the living room. I put more thought into this one than any other.

I am unapologetically traditional, and I like a little formality in the living room. Yet I am absolutely practical, so I wanted a living room that we could truly live in. So I covered the chairs in the same faux-linen, wipeable outdoor fabric as our dining room chairs. The chairs also have casters so they can turn easily for tv viewing. I kept the trim on throw pillows simple, since I've discovered how much babies like to chew on trim.

For the couch and ottoman, we used velvet-- which is nothing more than corduroy without the ridges! The nap hides stains easily, and you'd never know that Peter has already vomited on the sofa. The ottoman provides storage, extra seating, and has no hard edges for toddlers to hit their heads on.

Our television is behind the Chinese panels. The wires go through the wall to the buffet below, where we keep the cable box, dvd player, and have room for extra toys. Our computer is inside the armoire across the room.

BEFORE:

AFTER:

BEFORE:

AFTER:

Whew.

Now I can have a baby.

Library

2008-09-17T11:39:00.004-04:00

There are three things I have always wanted:

1) a husband
2) a child
3) a wall full of floor-to-ceiling bookshelves.

I can die now.

BEFORE:

AFTER:

BEFORE:

AFTER:

Children's Corner

BEFORE:

AFTER (it doesn't usually look this neat):

Entrance Hall

2008-09-17T11:24:00.002-04:00

Needs a rug! I'd like something natural, neutral, but of the indoor/outdoor variety that will be highly durable:

BEFORE:

AFTER:

Laundry and Bath

2008-09-16T15:15:00.003-04:00

I'm not sure the pictures do this justice, as the heart of this room is texture: splintered wood frames, furry polka curtains, a shaggy rug. It's actually one of my favorite places in the house:

BEFORE:

AFTER:

BEFORE:

AFTER:

Nothing is Ever Perfect

2008-09-15T10:25:00.006-04:00

One of these days, I'm going to photograph Peter's face when Miss Mary, his teacher's assistant, comes to get him out of the car. He grins so big, you could stick a tennis ball in his mouth.

I've no doubt that he is enjoying preschool, judging from his excitement when he finds out it's a school day and the way he talks about it when he gets home. I'm also realizing, though, that even positive experiences have tension.

Peter has been sticking his fingers in his mouth. It's not sucking, but more of an absent-minded gnawing when he wants to relax. It's appearance has coincided with his return to school this fall. At first, he might have been imitating someone in the class, but at this point, the habit is his own.

It makes me sad.

It makes me realize, too, that his breakdowns when I come to pick him up aren't just that he doesn't want to leave. I think part of it is that he needs an emotional release. His teachers continue to tell me how well-behaved he is-- but knowing what a firecracker he can be with me, I know that he has to be repressing a lot at school. I almost... sort of... wish that he would feel comfortable enough to misbehave, just a teeny-weeny bit, when he is with other people.

Of course, the first time I get a bad report, I'm sure I will take all this back.

We "Won"

2008-09-14T15:13:00.002-04:00

Is that what you call it, when you win a football game with a hockey score and your offense nets 1 point? When your star running back is carted off the field? When you fumble three times in five minutes? When even the announcers lose all decorum and suggest that your offense punt on third down?

The last five minutes was like watching Dumb and Dumber.

But kudos to the defense.

The Nursery

2008-09-08T15:40:00.002-04:00

You'll see our real girl and boy names for the first and last time in this post!

My take on the gender neutral nursery isn't green and yellow. It's simply to throw a bunch of girlish and boyish stuff together. The color, pattern, and mural are more masculine; our furniture, curtains, and chandelier are more feminine. I figure it'll work for any kid up to age 3-- in which case we'll hopefully be moving in another baby of either sex. Of course, this is coming from someone who still sends her 2-year-old to church in more lace the Queen Victoria.

BEFORE:

AFTER:

Boy Names

2008-09-05T10:21:00.002-04:00

Let's just say our boy name for the upcoming baby is "John." It's not, anymore than Peter's real name is Peter, but my husband has a thing for Bible names-- particularly the 12 disciples-- that governs the naming of our male children.

Fine, I can live with that. But I also don't mind a strong family name used as a first name. After all, it's different. So I thought.

Until I got the roster of my son's new Sunday School list. Here are all the boys of the class, no lie:

Taylor
Olsen
Ford
Caden
Rhett
Maddox
Bradin
Noah
Crawford
Nathan
Brayden
Cameron

At least, I think these are the boys. As you can see, I may be wrong on a few.

Maybe Peter and John will be distinct after all.

I Want Her for My Own

2008-09-04T09:12:00.001-04:00

All politics aside, what American doesn't want to take home Piper Palin, feed her cupcakes, pinch her cheeks, and give her a pony?

The Long Walk Home

2008-08-30T23:56:00.005-04:00

Our neighborhood backs up to a park, a river, and a wildlife refuge. This morning, we finally braved the 3-mile bike trail lining the water. On foot.

The first half mile was pure bliss. Peter ran ahead of Tom and I with a picturesque abandon. Then he wanted to see the ants, pick out rocks, and look at various leaves. Any good mother would encourage this hands-on learning experience, giving her two-year-old time to explore and concentrate. I certainly pictured myself to be this sort.

But pregnancy hormones do little for my patience. I quickly grew tired of prodding him along. To his great despair, we loaded Peter into the umbrella stroller which we'd lugged along for just such an emergency. Tom had been carrying it strapped to his backpack.

So, pushing a stroller on such a level bike trail poses little problems. Except when you and your spouse are both tall, and you have to hunch over to reach the handles. I'm sure that fancier strollers have adjustable handles, but when you rarely use a stroller... well, you don't buy the fancy one.

Of course, we could invest in an ergo (more supportive than our old mei tai) in which case Tom-- who is not 31 weeks pregnant-- could comfortable carry Peter on his back. But we've hardly worn Peter in the past year, because A) he'd rather walk "all by himself" and B) letting him burn energy is highly desirable. So investing in a fancy carrier doesn't make much sense either.

Where does this leave us? Oh, yeah-- hunched over our $20 umbrella stroller for the next mile.
Halfway through, we spread a blanket for a breakfast of hardboiled eggs, blueberries, and cheese. This made it all seem worth it, and we contemplated making this a Saturday morning tradition.

For the next half mile, Peter walked peacefully holding my hand. This would be a Saturday morning tradition for sure. All we had to do was hold hands, right? But then Peter, who had been watching Tom push the stroller (which he decided was less cumbersome than carrying it on his back), decided he wanted to push it himself. Since we were down to 1 mile, why not?

A half-mile later, I knew why not. Keeping a stroller-pushing two-year-old on the path is tedious. The tantrum he throws when you insist he ride in the stroller for the rest of the ride home isn't much fun either.

I'm not sure when we'll do this again. Whenever it is, we'll turn back after one mile.

I miss the days of throwing Peter on my back as I went about my business, not loaded down with a stroller, and hardly hearing a peep as my child so contentedly took in the sights.

Life without Babies

2008-08-25T11:36:00.003-04:00

I just finished teaching an art class to a family of homeschooled children. I truly love teaching, from art to Bible study, and it has been so long since I taught anyone besides Peter. I'll be doing this every Monday while he is in school.

When you have a kid who is gone all morning and then comes home and naps, that's some real time on your hands. Of course, it will all change when the new baby arrives. I won't be teaching classes then, at least for the near future.

I'm cool with that, but days like today remind that one day, I will have a life without diapering, Wee Sing, playdates, and the intense physical demands of a toddler. How will I spend my day? Assuming that God doesn't bonk me over the head telling me to homeschool, I could...

- become an Olympic equestrian. But that would probably mean more money going out than coming in, and that's never good.

- become the next Beth Moore or Kay Arthur. Now that really appeals.

- become the best homeroom mother in the world-- not for my child's class, but for a low-income school.

- become a writer. Not the occasional freelance stuff I've done in the past, but write every day and hit the markets hard core.

I always knew that I wanted to be a mother when I grew up. Now I wonder what I will be when they grow up.

Read at Your Own Risk

2008-08-24T16:48:00.004-04:00

Thought provoking:

http://www.lalecheleague.org.nz/documents/Diane_Wiessinger_article.pdf

Parents and Children

2008-08-18T14:24:00.008-04:00

If there are two things that I rarely like, they are

1) Topical Bible studies, since they often remove verses from their context and pass them off with meanings never intended by the original authors, and

2) Christian parenting books, since they often take our distinct cultural practices and argue through Scriptural manipulation that these are somehow "God's will."

Yet while rifling through my parents' bookcase this summer, I came across a topical Bible study on parenting of all things-- and loved it. So I will do something I rarely do here and highly recommend Parents and Children by Navigators.

What makes it so great? It sticks to the basics while leaving application to the parent. The Bible is clear that children are a gift, that we are to teach them to obey, and that we are not to exasperate them. While hammering these mandates, this study does not add rules on top of them. Instead, it forces the parent to examine her heart toward her child-- and only then to consider how the basics apply in her particular circumstances.

It also treats parenting as a relationship, not a battleground. It makes clear that if I have a sinful attitude toward my child, my spouse, or my God, this relationship will falter.

Unlike parenting books that provide all the "answers," this one has put me to my knees in prayer.

Dining Room

2008-08-14T08:59:00.005-04:00

I wanted to create something elegant enough for dinner and comfortable enough for breakfast. The furniture and lighting are on the formal side, but the small size of the room keeps things cozy, and I hope that the murals warm things up.

Before anyone calls me crazy, let me say that the chairs are covered in what looks and feels like white linen but what is actually outdoor fabric that wipes clean. So far it's held up to pizza sauce and chocolate icing.

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The murals were completed under the influence of performance-enhancing drugs. Caffeine sensitivity has it's advantages. While my work could stand some editing, I can live with this for now, and I'm proud to have completed it even in the midst of Peter's break from school.

I worked from pictures of the Botanical Gardens in Birmingham. At first, it was just because I thought they were pretty. As I painted, though, I realized how these gardens represent each segment of my life for the 14 years I spent in that town.

I came to these gardens as an art student in college-- and for the occasional bridesmaids' tea. I came here when I was single in the city for brisk walks and long talks with girlfriends. I came as a mother when Peter and I just needed to get out of the house.

Most significantly, though, it is where Tom and I walked one November day in 2002. We had been dating for several months. As we talked in the Japanese section, the one which I chose to paint, I decided that he was, in fact, the man that I wanted to marry.

Pregnant Grumblings

2008-08-13T15:11:00.002-04:00

Piggly Wiggly, would you like to know why I will not shop in your store? Because you line the cereal aisle with toys, as if directing my child away from Sugar Loops and Sugar Flakes and Sugar Pops weren't tough enough.

Where do I go? Kroger, which has a glorious natural foods section in the middle of the store with cereal that won't rot your teeth and no toddler temptations along its aisles.

Humble Access

2008-08-10T22:32:00.002-04:00

Determined as I have been to find a home in a liturgical church, we've got something less traditional on our shortlist. At communion this morning, I missed the Prayer of Humble Access.

Of course, even if we stayed in the Episcopal Church, we likely wouldn't say the prayer. Most ministers choose to use the Rite II service, which omits it. Why? Maybe they figure it's bad for one's self-esteem. Yet I can't imagine any news more wonderful than that which is proclaimed in these words. This message is the very reason I go to church:

We do not presume to come to this thy Table, O merciful Lord, trusting in our own righteousness, but in thy manifold and great mercies. We are not worthy so much as to gather up the crumbs under thy Table. But thou art the same Lord, whose property is always to have mercy: Grant us therefore, gracious Lord, so to eat the flesh of thy dear Son Jesus Christ, and to drink his blood, that our sinful bodies may be made clean by his body, and our souls washed through his most precious blood, and that we may evermore dwell in him, and he in us. Amen.

Bribery

2008-08-05T14:25:00.003-04:00

Peter has never transitioned well from favorite activities. In other words, we rarely leave the park without a flaming tantrum. I've tried a number of measures from preventative (warnings that we are leaving and what will come next) to positive ("help Mama find her car") to punitive (you don't want to know).

The only thing I've avoided is bribery. Yeah, I know, a lot of mothers do it. And I certainly don't believe that I'm better than them, God forbid! Just more intelligent, clever, creative and informed. Eventually my two-year-old would abide my wishes for the pure joy of making Mama happy, because that's just how gifted a mother I am.

I forget that God loves humiliating-- I mean, humbling-- me. Carrying my screaming and kicking child away from a public activity is not what mortifies me. It's the simple knowledge that I have failed to be Supermom. At six months pregnant, I give up. It's no longer safe to be wrestling a violent toddler into his carseat.

And so, meet my new best friends (thanks, Jennifer):

How easy it was the other day at the pool to simply lean over the water and say, "So, Peter, want a snack treat?" We calmly dressed and strolled to the car.

Failure can be so sweet.

Guest Room

2008-07-31T21:45:00.003-04:00

If you come to visit me, here's a look at your digs. This is my childhood bedroom furniture, which had originally been my mother's.

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You'll have to hang your clothes in the hall closet (don't worry, it's right outside the door), because I've turned this one into a sewing nook:

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Hall Bath

2008-07-31T21:42:00.004-04:00

If this house didn't have toile somewhere, it just wouldn't be mine.

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One Month to Kick-Off

2008-07-31T09:18:00.001-04:00

Peter's Room

2008-07-29T10:21:00.003-04:00

Since I expect Peter to be sharing this room with a sibling of unknown gender in about two years, I went with a neutral barn theme. (The wallpaper is gingham, though it's probably too small to see in the pictures.) Nevertheless, this has turned out quite masculine. Painting the furniture white would probably help, but I can't bring myself to do it. The bed and chair were made by his great-great-great-great grandfather, the tin front to the pie safe was hammered out by his great-grandmother, and the dresser was made by his grandfather.

I wish I could show you the dresser, but next to it hang Peter's real name, and I'm a freak about internet privacy. Above the dresser is a mirror made from an antique horse harness, passed down from his grandmother's barn. Most of our knick-knacks, in fact, come from Mimi's barn. She'll be retiring it when the last of her horses die, and her eagerness to clear things out has timed well with our room decorating!

So even if it's more masculine than planned, the sentiment of this room is high, and I don't think I'll be changing it any time soon:

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Master Room and Bath

2008-07-26T15:29:00.002-04:00

The previous owners really liked pumpkin. I guess I really like creme and wheat.

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The Kitchen & "Playroom"

2008-07-25T21:16:00.007-04:00

Slowly, we are coming together. I'll post rooms of the house as they are finished.

First up, the kitchen. Man, I love having space. I actually have empty cabinets. Empty. Plus, I put anything that could stab, poison, suffocate, or shatter in the upper cabinets so that I don't have to mess with childproof latches on the bottom. (This wouldn't have been an option in my old digs, when it was challenge enough simply to find a place, any place, for the food processor.)

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As for the playroom, this is the "eat-in" part of the kitchen. Since the dining room is three feet away, and intimate enough for every-meal use, I didn't see the point in setting up a kitchen table. Instead, I got some cheap cabinets to store all his toys and set up a play area. This has kept Peter from hanging on me during meal preparation. And, when I have a crawler under my feet again, it will be handy that I can close off the kitchen doors to prevent escape.

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Overheard

2008-07-24T09:27:00.002-04:00

Showing Tom his school artwork on the kitchen wall, I heard Peter say, "And I made a panda bear. Where is it? I don't know where it is."

Perhaps the only thing more significant than the first artwork your child brings home is the first piece that you throw away. But, man, it was over a week ago. I thought I was safe.

She Took the Words Right Out of My Mouth

2008-07-21T13:43:00.005-04:00

Below is a comment that I originally found here. This mother's observations explain why there are so few parenting books that I can 100% endorse.

We come to parenthood with individual personalities, with natural tendencies that can both help and harm our children. What one mom needs to hear might be the exact opposite of what another needs to know:

My oldest child was harmed by my application of GKGW materials (I wised up before my second child arrived), yet some of the godliest lay leaders in my church are huge fans of the Ezzo’s.

In trying to come to terms with this contradiction, I’ve come to the conclusion that part of the problem is an implicit assumption about evangelical mothers that underlies most of the Ezzo-type programs. The assumption seems to be that the typical mother is by nature a nurturing, extravert who is so overcome with warm, sentimental feelings for her children that she struggles to provide necessary structure, discipline, and boundaries. The moms in my church who swear by GKGW have personalities that trend in that direction.

I, on the other hand, as a result of both natural temperament and family of origin issues, struggle to nurture. I’m more of an introverted, intuitive, thinking type. I don’t struggle to provide structure and boundaries. For a mother like me, GKGW was a disaster.

Call the Exorcist

2008-07-15T09:19:00.002-04:00

We're having a problem with school. Unlike those children who woefully cling to their mothers when dropped off, Peter bursts into tears when I return to pick him up. It certainly doesn't help that this is ten minutes before his nap time. By time we make it home and to his bed, he is usually convulsing and foaming at the mouth.

Ah, the two's. Some people oppose the term "Terrible Twos", saying it promotes tension between mother and child at what can be a wonderful stage. I, for one, think that Terrible Twos is a euphemism compared to what I might call it.

The "Demon-Possessed Twos".
The "Will-My-Child-Grow-Up-to-be-a-Sociopath? Twos".
The "This-is-Why-Women-Get-Tubal Ligation Twos"...

A Return to the Dating World

2008-07-09T15:01:00.002-04:00

That's what the church search feels like. I take the same approach, anyway.

I'm not looking for a casual relationship. I want something I can commit to, potentially for life. So I eliminate most prospects on a first date, definitely by the third. Right now I have three possibilities worthy of a second date, but sometimes I worry that I won't find The One-- or that I won't realize it when I already have.

First Day of School

2008-07-01T10:18:00.006-04:00

After this post a few months ago, some friends have gotten the idea I'm opposed to preschool. As this post and this post explain, I actually think childcare (particularly after the 18-month mark) is a great way to keep a mother sane. I'm simply opposed to the idea that the sole method of doing this is preschool-- or, to be more specific, the idea that preschool is the only legitimate way to prevent your child from becoming socially or intellectually deprived.

All this to say that I'm thrilled that we can finally afford a little bit of childcare and that our new town offers some time slots more conducive to Peter's nap schedule. How much he learns there is unimportant to me, as I still consider myself his primary teacher, but the time it gives me a few mornings a week is priceless. Here's the happy camper on his first day:

Celebrations

2008-06-27T14:00:00.002-04:00

Tom's graduation dinner fell the night before the 6-year anniversary of our first date. To celebrate, I took Peter to Nana and Papa's for his first overnight away from me (he had a blast), and Tom and I returned to the very hotel room where we spent our wedding night. I wore the shoes and earrings that I wore with my wedding dress, but checking into the bridal suite I realized why white maternity dresses are hard to come by. I call this shot "It's Not Too Late":

D-Day... Well, Night

2008-06-25T21:56:00.004-04:00

I knew The Day would come, and while many sources promised it would go easily, part of me always doubted just a little... How would Peter transition to sleeping in his own room? We spent our luck cards on the nightweaning, which went uncharacteristically smoothly, so surely we were due for a battle. Apparently, though, Peter is picking his battles these days, and he's reserved his energy for tantrums over broken granola bars and halogen lightbulbs.

He slept his first night in the Big Boy Room as if he'd been doing it all his life. I left him sleepy but awake, and he went to sleep. At 6:00 a.m., I went in and woke him. Since then, that's basically the story. Sometimes he wakes earlier, and I'll hear him talking to his animals in bed, but he stays there. The whole thing has been anticlimatic. Downright boring.

I, on the other hand, am sleeping with the video monitor beside me on the pillow, sensitive to every sound as if listening in on a newborn. I didn't realize what a change this would be for me. I'm still not opposed to Peter's return (there's a toddler bed in the garage waiting to be put together, and it looks like a bench so it won't look too out of place in our room) but I just don't know that he's going to need it.

Only one night did I worry about bedtime battles. Soon after I left him, Peter got out of bed and opened the door. I told him to get back into bed, and he did. Then I heard him get up again, though he didn't open the door. Since I didn't want to turn this into a game, I waited to see what he would do. He "read" some books to himself. Then he picked up his baby, and I watched on the monitor as he undressed him and picked him up and talked to him... and brought him into bed. He giggled with the baby on the pillow beside him, then went to sleep. I couldn't resist taking his picture before going to bed myself:

We're out of boxes...

2008-06-24T21:59:00.002-04:00

But I'm not sure how much that's worth when all of our belongings are piled on top of each other in various rooms. I left town soon after the movers did. In fact, for the past week and a half, I haven't spent more than two nights in the same town.

It's been an eventful time, and there's much I want to share. First, I've got to get a handle on this clutterbox I call home. The anxious, unsettled feeling is back. I'm trying to remind myself, though, of how fortunate we are. So many moves are the result of loss: death, divorce, financial setbacks...

I may feel overwhelmed, but this is a golden time.

What Would Dave Ramsey Think?

2008-06-08T22:30:00.005-04:00

I discovered this afternoon that I've worn out the strip on my credit card. When I told Tom, I prefaced it with, "The funniest thing happened today," but he still didn't think it was funny.

So, I'm Moving

2008-06-05T14:51:00.002-04:00

I could go on for another month about things I will do differently as I parent again. But you know what? I've realized my preoccupation with this is either innocently ill-timed or a subconscious attempt to procrastinate. I mean, I'm MOVING in exactly one week!

Yeah, we have movers, but I'm sure they'd appreciate not having to pack the junk mail piled on my kitchen counter or place cd's back in their cases or deal with my piles of dirty laundry.

And if I don't post for a long time, it's because I never got around to setting up cable in our new house.

Parenting Again: Bonding with Daddy

2008-06-04T09:07:00.005-04:00

When I tell him that Daddy will be home soon, Peter runs to the front window, waiting and watching for his car. Then he runs out the door, down the steps and sidewalk, yelling "Daddy! Daddy! Daddy!" until he lands in his arms. It's one of those things I need to catch on video.

It's refreshing after all the time I spent worrying about the father-child bond. Peter has always been such a Mama's boy, particularly during his first 18 months of life, that I was constantly looking for ways to force-- uh "forge," the bond with his father. Our attempt at a daily "Daddy's bottle" was excrutiating for all three of us-- something we won't bother with next time around. Bathtime with Daddy has always helped me clean up after dinner but never stopped Peter from crying like a banshee if Tom tried to put him to bed instead of me.

Oh, he definitely preferred his dad to strangers, friends and babysitters. But still, he wasn't going to run to Daddy for a booboo if I were in the same room.

I imagine all mothers have this same concern that their spouse and child do not reject one another. I mean, who in the world do you love more than those two? And with Peter so attached to me, I sometimes worried that it came at the cost of attachments to others.

Silly me. Time and perspective, as always, change everything. Perhaps it was learning to love and receive love from me that taught Peter how to love and receive love from his Daddy (and Nana, Papa, Mimi, Grandpa, and various friends and all his cousins) as well as he does today. Peter's turning out to be quite the outgoing and affectionate child. Boy, you could've fooled me-- but I'll take it!

As for bonding with Daddy... It was such a gradual thing, it's hard to pinpoint when the transition began. I do know that Peter sometimes urges me to go out at night so he can have a date with Daddy to their favorite restaurant, which ends with Daddy putting him to bed by holding hands.

So the next time around, I'm just not going to sweat it. My husband is not an ogre, and as long as my infant learns how to love, he or she is going to love Daddy too. They will bond. Sooner, later, in their own time, and I'm not facilitator. I'll just sit back watch.

Parenting Again: Food

2008-06-03T20:49:00.002-04:00

The responsibility of nourishing an infant and toddler used to petrify me. I stocked up on baby food books, determined to let my little man be the "best he could be." Or a superhuman.

Maybe that's why it ticked me off when Peter refused solids until he was almost 9 months. After all, the books said I was to start with cereal at exactly six months, moving on to fruits and veggies with at least 3 days spaced between each new food to pinpoint any allergies. We were seriously behind the clock.

I talked to a couple of pediatricians about our horrific dilemma, but they didn't share my alarm. "He's getting the good stuff," they'd say. "There's not a solid to beat it... Breastmilk satisfies every nutritional need for the first year of life, as long as you are feeding on demand... He'll eat when he's ready... I'd say the same thing to you even if he was in the 15th percentile instead of off the chart." (Yeah, I guess I should mention that throughout this time when I was certain that my child was starving, his height and weight were still above the 100th percentile.)

As it turned out, Peter did eat when he was ready. Imagine that! I guess he was holding out for the real stuff, since the first food he willingly put into his mouth was rosemary garlic potato. He never did eat anything but table food. Even then, he was over a year old before he wanted solids every day.

I look back at those months and wonder what I was smoking. I mean, I could have saved myself a lot of trouble. Less food to prepare, no one to spoon-feed during dinner, and no ghastly "solid poos" to change. (Really, someone needed to warn me what solids do to that sweet, inoffensive breastfed poo).

So this next baby will eat when he or she can put food to his or her mouth indepentdently. That's how it is in many parts of the world, and I don't see going to the trouble of purees or expensive jarred food when I can just whip out a boob.

Lazy mom. I am such a lazy mom.

Parenting Again: Sleep

2008-06-02T14:00:00.006-04:00

If there is one thing I thoroughly understood before Peter was born, it was infant sleep. After all, I'd read Weissbluth's Healthy Sleep Habits, Happy Child.* "Lay them down drowsy but awake." "Do not allow them to become overtired." "Understand their sleep cues." I had it down.

But, as they say, reality bites.

The first book I read after Peter was born was Ferber's Solve Your Child's Sleep Problem. My child had to sleep, whatever it took.... as long as it wasn't in my bed where, if it didn't smother him, it would surely destroy my marriage.

Well, here's the long story short: we're failed Ferberizers. We worked for months, with increasingly less success. (Unless you count three hours of crying to get one hour of sleep successful, but I sort of don't.) In desperation I read Sears' Nighttime Parenting. And for the first time in my life, I learned that bringing a baby into my bed can be safely done.

Two years later, I have a new perspective. Much to my surprise, my husband and I both liked co-sleeping. Whaddya know? It didn't kill our marriage, nor did it prevent Peter's ability to sleep independently in his own time (he now sleeps through the night in his own bed). I was able to feed my child and help him to sleep as much as he needed it without losing any sleep myself. What a miracle!

So as I look at parenting another infant, I've gone from what Weissbluth calls a "reactive co-sleeper" to one who will do it by choice. If this next child is, unlike Peter, a baby who sleeps deeply and easily, I'm glad to know that having me breathing beside him can help him to regulate his own breathing patterns and help prevent SIDS. And if this next kid is like Peter-- well, I'm far too lazy to be back and forth between my bed and the nursery all night long.

It's freeing, really.

* Incidentally, I still think HSHHC is an excellent book. While Weissbluth and I don't necessarily agree on how a child "must" go to sleep, his understanding of a child's sleep needs at various ages has been an invaluable resource for me.

Parenting Again: The Experts

2008-05-29T14:13:00.005-04:00

Whereas I'm quick to analyze the background and possible agenda of theological or historical writers, I was slower to bring this same critical analysis to the family section of the bookstore. I used to believe that having a childrearing book to your name or a medical degree in childhood illness made you an expert in parenting.

I badgered my pediatrician for advice on feeding and sleeping, despite the fact that the typical training for a pediatrician includes about 2 hours on breastfeeding and who-knows-what on sleep. I devoured every book from Ferber to Sears, with confusion and conflict at their differences.

These days, there's no one I'd rather see when my child has a fever than Dr. Medical Degree. But I'd no more ask my pediactrician for parenting advice than my OB for sex therapy.

Ironically, my new mantra for parenting did happen to come from our first pediatrician. It irritated me to no end at the time, because I wanted him to give me step-by-step instructions that would guarantee I was doing the right thing for my child. But now I get it. He said, looking at my husband and me with our son on the exam table, "You've just got to find what works for the three of you, and do it."

Parenting Again: To Carry a Baby

2008-05-28T13:07:00.001-04:00

I gave birth to a toddler. At three months old, he outgrew the infant bucket. Grocery shopping with a baby who couldn't sit up in a cart but whose car seat was no longer portable was a challenge, to say the least.

Then there was our other dilemma: Peter wanted to be held 85% of the time. All day long I got to choose between sitting around with a baby in my arms or listening to him cry while I got things done. Oh, I had a pouch. I even had a front pack carrier. But Peter didn't fit in the pouch, and the front pack strained every muscle in my neck. Such is life with a twenty-two pound four-month-old.

When Peter was five months, someone introduced me to the ring sling. This made running errands easier, but one of my arms always felt a little restricted. Absolute freedom came when Peter was 10 months old and I learned how to carry him on my back in a mei tai. Oh, the bliss! (And here, by the way, is a shameless plug for Magic City Slingers.)

My hope for this next baby is that I might be able to put him or her on a blanket without hearing ear-piercing shrieks. Seriously, I dream of a blanket baby. Yet, even if I should be so blessed, I'm well-aware of the logistical challenges I'll be spared with my new knowledge of quality baby carriers (as in, the kind that don't hurt after twenty minutes). I'll be able to

Chase Peter on the playground with my infant snug to my chest-- and eventually on my back.
Push Peter in the sportscar shopping cart at Publix while wearing the baby.
Avoid the expense of a two-seat stroller since, again, I can wear the baby while pushing Peter.
When Peter is at Mother's Day Out, visit all the boutiques and antique stores I want while leaving the cumbersome stroller at home.

And, if I do happen to give birth to Peter Part Deux:

I can get things done and have a baby contently held.

The Ultimate Fantasy

2008-05-27T21:09:00.004-04:00

Don't we all fantasize about returning to our toddler/child bodies and re-living that time with the knowledge we now have? For a long time, I pictured myself amazing everyone with my brilliance. Now I think I'd hide my cards, lest I get thrown into gifted programs and find myself in college at age 6. But it would still be neat to go through preschool again with a new appreciation.

That's the beauty of having a second child. I get to re-live my experience of parenting with the knowledge I have from parenting the first time around.

Of course, the whammy is that every baby is different. What worked beautifully (and what failed miserably) with Peter might be another story with another being. Yet there are some principles that, assuming I have a singleton birth and a healthy baby, can be standard for me. So I'm going to share them through this next week or so...

What will become of the Suburbs?

2008-05-22T16:17:00.003-04:00

My husband can't stop talking about the oil crisis. He's like an Old Testament prophet on crack.

What's shocking about gas prices isn't that they are so high. It's that they aren't higher. Simple economics:

Diminishing supply + increasing demand = $4 a gallon. $5 a gallon. $6 a gallon...

You could blame Americans and their SUVs-- which will soon be a thing of the past-- but with the demand for oil in China rising at an exponential rate, we'll soon be taking a much smaller piece of the pie. It's doesn't matter who is (or isn't) in the White House. It doesn't matter whether or not the Saudis open the floodgates. What matters is that if oil production continues at the same rate as it is right now, oil will be gone by my child's 48th birthday.

Choosing a School for Your Child

2008-05-21T21:28:00.004-04:00

I had three all-important questions for the director of the first Mother's Day Out program that I got on the phone:

1) Where are you located?
2) Do you have any openings for the summer?
3) Will you send me a registration form?

Perhaps I should have booked a tour first. You know, to look less desperate.

Back to the Kitchen

2008-05-18T14:23:00.007-04:00

Neither of my parents cared to have kids underfoot in the kitchen, so I was in college before I learned how to boil water. And then I learned that you can't boil water in a glass bowl.

After graduate school, when I suddenly had time on my hands, I decided I'd learn how to cook for real. This coincided with the purchase of my condo-- with a kitchen the size of my parents' bar. No, my parents are not fabulously wealthy. It's just that my kitchen is that small. My new hobby faded. These days, cooking is on par with cleaning that bathroom.

I'm just now making the connection that kitchen size might have played a role in my abhorrence of food preparation. In my new house, the counter space on the island is equal to the counter space in my entire condo. This means I have counter space leftover for things like a food processor and cutting boards and a crock pot and mixing bowls. There's even a place to put these things when I am not using them. Best of all, there's a pantry large enough that I won't have to pile staples on top of each other.

Room to move, room to cook, room to store... I may be more Betty Crocker than I think.

Thoughts on Supernanny

2008-05-15T13:29:00.006-04:00

Do I seem a little hard on her? I'm actually a fan. Oh, I have a few beefs with her here and there (i.e., I don't think a child in the parents' bed is necessarily a problem), but she's good at what she does. Before I had Peter, I used to marvel at her wisdom... and the idiocy of the parents, who seemed to lack any common sense.

I still marvel at her wisdom, but I'm more overcome with compassion for the parents. My heart breaks to see their struggles, because this parenting business is hard. It's one thing for an outsider to come along and whip your kids into shape (Peter is much more charming and compliant with sitters than with me), especially when that's your only job. I call that parenting in a vacuum, which I was quite good at as a babysitter.

It's another thing, though, to parent in the day-after-day-after-day reality of spouses who work long hours, pregnancy hormones, and demands on your time and attention that go beyond your child's needs.

Tantrums from the Crypt

2008-05-14T21:49:00.004-04:00

Last night Peter had an hour-long, ear-splitting tantrum that ended when he went to bed. I proudly kept my cool.

When another one began tonight, I broke every rule. I yelled. I cried. I showed him that he had gotten to me. And before he could get out of control (I was already out of control myself), I gave in to my terrorist's demands. It was like a scene from Supernanny.

In fifteen months of tantrums, until tonight, never once had I caved. It's a parenting sin I place somewhere between giving your toddler beer and letting him operate heavy machinery.

Feeling like a failure? Yeah. Wondering how I'm ever going to raise this child to be a loving and productive citizen? Yeah.

But I'll tell you one thing: if Supernanny walked into my house, I'd come at her with sperm and a turkey baster as see how she does after two years with a child of her own.

Potty Foul

2008-05-13T16:26:00.002-04:00

I'm not eager to lose the convenience of diapers, but if I could get my child bowel trained, that would be the best of all worlds. Since he's been poo'ing at the same time every day for the past... oh, I don't know, six months... and since he tells me when he's about to do it, I figured-- what the heck, I'm going to stick him on the toilet today.

So I pulled out the toilet seat cover I bought when Peter was 2 months old, put him on it, and read books to him for 20 minutes. While he played with himself.

And I used to wonder why boys are later potty training.

Home is Where the Car Is

2008-05-12T09:15:00.004-04:00

Another weekend in our new town, and we've had our ups and downs.

Downs: 1) The swing set next door is for grandchildren. 2) The tricycle belongs to a 4-year-old girl with big brothers. 3) When we took Peter in the backyard to play for the first time, he cried at the fence like a caged wild animal, pointing over the fence screaming "Out! Out!"

Ups: 1) Neighbors continue to drop by introducing themselves, and they already know all about us from... I guess the other neighbors. It's a sign to me that these folks in the cul de sac really are friends. 2) One husband and wife just showed up and cut our yard. It was like a mormon commercial. 3) There is a 13-year-old girl across the street. I repeat: there is a 13-year-old girl across the street. And, yes, she babysits.

So I asked Peter if he likes his Decatur home, and he said,

"Peter like 'Burningham' home."

"Oh?" I said. "You don't like Decatur home?"

He said, "Burningham home have cars."

Well, I guess that'll be an easy fix.