Christmas Quick Change

It's the holidays! I love this time of year and always look forward to it, but somehow no matter how cozy, comfy, romantic, fluffy-snow-filled or completely organized my dreams are, I always end up running around like a Christmas goose with its head cut off. This year, we're not traveling, so that lessens the stress load a bit. However, my husband has been working 60 hour weeks (Mon-Sat) and we only have one car. I know, I know, but we're trying to keep our carbon foot print small, here people.

All this led to us shoving breakfast in our faces, last Sunday morning, throwing clothes on and packing the kids in the car. We dropped Beck over at our/his best friend's house so they could make some salt dough ornaments and he could be entertained while we shopped for his gifts. We kept Marlowe, my little nursling, with us, since she's too young to know who Santa is anyway.

I like to do a lot of my shopping at local stores and businesses and I had five stops on our list. Looking back, it may have been a little ambitious since they were all over town and we had to take M in and out of her car seat every time, but I wouldn't have a car available to me during the day for a whole week, so I felt we needed to accomplish much.

At our first stop I got a quarter of our list knocked out, a stocking for Marlowe, and the top secret Santa wrapping paper that is required to perpetuate the magical ruse. I was feeling good.

We hopped back in the car and jetted off to our next destination. That's when I heard it. A noise coming from the nether regions of Marlowe's car seat that indicated we were going to need to make an emergency, unplanned diaper change stop. Knowing the next boutique shop on our list wouldn't have a changing station I mentally tried to rearrange our schedule. And then....panic. I had a flashback to the night before when I had taken the last diaper out of the diaper bag because Beck had just fallen asleep and I didn't want to wake him. I hadn't replaced it. Nooooooooooo!

I had to think quickly. I told my husband to make a left and swing into the CVS parking lot. Marlowe was already getting fussy about her uncomfortable situation. We pulled into a parking space and Hillary jumped out of the car. It wasn't our normal CVS, but I knew it would have want we needed. Hill was out of the car to grab a pack of Pampers Baby Dry and a new pack of Pampers wipes, because we usually buy them together. I yelled, "get her threes," because her little baby booty crack was hanging out of her size twos.

I always go with the Baby Dry because Beck was a heavy night wetter, due to his heavy night nursing, and we've never had a leak issue, so I just started buying them for Marlowe too, why mess with a good thing?

Changing kids on the go is always a bit of a hassle, but I have it down to a science by now. Our car has a front seat that folds flat, with a hard back that works perfectly as a changing spot. I will opt for the in-car option as much as possible, because public changing stations skeeve me out and my kids always feel like they are going to fall off them...I think it's something about the wall mount. A floating changing table just doesn't give a kid confidence.

While waiting for Hillary to return with our Pampers, I laid out the changing mat, pulled out the wipes and unbuckled the baby. Just laying her in the familiar place where she so often gets her diaper changed instantly changed her mood.

Hillary trotted back out with our Pampers, the predicted wipes and a candy bar for each of us. The diaper was changed, the shopping recommenced and we even had time for a quick bit to eat, Marlowe included, before we picked Beckett up just in time for a nap. Holiday disaster averted.


I was selected for this opportunity as a member of Clever Girls Collective and the content and opinions expressed here are all my own.

The Happy Place

I've mentioned that we've been going through some change here at the Rust abode. From Beck's perspective, having a nanny here 3 days a week might be the biggest change of his life. Before this his dad was with him everyday, and on the occasion he wasn't, it was his Grammy - which is pretty much the 3 year-old equivalent of Mardis Gras, all party, all the time.

But now, three days a week, Erica, our nanny, comes over. From my perspective, she seemed like a big party too, immediately the two of them were forming a rock band, having dino adventures, making huge Play Dough feasts and having Pandora fueled dance parties. Still I knew this was going to be an adjustment. I mean essentially, this was a total stranger and until we all got used to her, it was going to be a little weird. So when Beckett started crying, inexplicably, when he would wake up from naps or inquiring nervously each morning who would be with him and his sister that day, I expected it and tried to comfort him as much as possible.

Then a side of him we don't often see started coming out a little more frequently, an angry side. I am not one for time outs or yelling and screaming to combat undesirable behavior. I read a quote from Dr. Jane Nelsen, who wrote a book on making time-outs positive and I really love it. "Where in the world did we get this crazy idea that in order for children to do better, first we have to make them feel worse? Children do better when they feel better."

Nelsen talks about the useful side of time-outs - giving the parents and the kids a break from their emotions or separating themselves from the thing that made them angry. She suggests having a "feel good spot" where the child can go, alone or with the parent to collect themselves. (Note: I haven't read the whole book, just a good article on it by Kelly Bartlett.)

So when I told Beckett to choose a plate for his dinner and he clenched his fists and screamed, "I DON'T WANT TO!" and then gritted his teeth and collapsed in a heap on the floor, I asked him if he could go anywhere in the house to feel better, where would it be. He mumbled "the sofa," from the bottom of his heap.

"Okay, let's go there," I said. He got up and half crying, made his way over to the sofa in the family room. I sat down next to him and he snuggled in a little. I said, "You got pretty angry back there." He nodded and I asked if he knew why.

He said, "I'm just so tired of everyone telling me stuff." I understood this as he was tired of being told what to do, most likely by all the tall people around him. This was a sentiment he had expressed to his dad recently too. He promised to ask Beckett if he would do things instead of demanding and I told B, there on the couch, that I would be better about that too. The poor kid was feeling very out of control of his life. I have to say, I completely know the feeling. So we sat for a little while until he felt better and was ready for dinner. Luckily Marlowe was napping through all this.

He's been pretty angry and sad a few other times since then and he has kept going back to the happy place - his term, that always makes me giggle a little. Sometimes he wants his dad or me there, sometimes he wants to be alone. But it's working for him and that is something to be thankful for.

And speaking of thankfuls - I am thankful to everyone who honors me by reading this blog. Wishing you all some quality family time over the next few days. Much love ~S

Hiring In-home Help

Hillary and his blueberry eyed clone, the B-man.

We have been through quite a change lately. My husband, who has been a stay at home dad for a little over three years, got a very out of home job. He's working 10 hour days, 4 days a week and one of those days is Saturday. This means we need child care 3 days a week and that I am parenting alone, much more than I was.

I researched our child care options - an in-home daycare, a daycare center, preschool with before and after care and a nanny. Initially I figured a nanny would just be way out of our price range, what with paying employer taxes and, well, I just never imagined us as nanny people. Not for any real reason, but just as I never imagined us living in Canada, I didn't see us with a nanny. But I was having a really hard time finding a daycare that allowed us to keep all of our parenting choices in tact. Cloth diapers, for example. Daycare centers do not give a crap (no pun) about the amount of plastic in our landfills from disposable diapers. Also, most places make you pay for the whole week, even if your kids aren't there. Preschool with before and after care turned out to actually be way too expensive and Marlowe was mostly too young for the programs.

It turns out that an in-home nanny for three days a week was really the most cost effective and we get to keep our family values - vegetarian/organic meals, no screen time, daily outside play, cloth diapers, etc... With the help of Care.com, which was really useful and I highly recommend it, we began the search for a nanny in our price range. 

I was a bit overwhelmed by the response to my ad at first. How did I start to whittle down this list? Luckily I have a friend who had a great set of questions for me to use. (She also gave me a sample contract and tons of information on the whole tax thing. I'm happy to share, with her permission, if anyone is in need, just email me.) 

I responded to all of the potential candidates with a short email providing them with our hourly rate, times we needed them and a little bit about us as a family. I work from home, that turned some people off, so it was a good detail to throw out there before we got too far into the game. After a written exchanged I gave them a phone interview and if I still was considering them I brought them in for a short paid trial with the kids. 

I expected it to be a hard process for the obvious reason - these are my kids. I not only want them to be in capable, safe hands, but I want them to be cared for in a manner that I would care for them. I want them to be intellectually stimulated by someone who knows how to have fun and has a deep well of patience. What I didn't expect was to be emotionally involved with the woman who interviewed. 

This job would help them in different ways, pay for food for their kids or help them pay for school or save up for their first apartment. While weighing what was best for my kids first, I have to admit, I thought about how my decision would change their day to day lives. 

In the end, I didn't choose the woman who had a kid, because I decided that being so steeped in her own ways of parenting, which I learned were unlike mine, I didn't feel she could separate from them and treat my kids differently from her own. And while I know she'll find another job, it was hard for me to turn her down for the same reason I decided she wasn't a fit for us, the fact that she had a kid. 

Uncle Ben, from Spiderman, said, with great power comes great responsibility. Our little part time nanny position isn't changing any lives here, but I felt the weight of the power to choose who to give a weekly check to for watching my kids and who to send back to the trenches to look for work again. I like to think I chose wisely. Time will tell. 

Baby Jail: Happy to be Locked Up

This weekend has the potential to to be a shining star on my November social calendar. Friday, what is sure to be the birthy fundraising event of the year is happening in Nulu and Saturday a group of my closest friends are getting together for food, adult beverages, and excellent conversation, at the newly opened El Camino in the Highlands. A place I've been dying to try.  My calendar, however, is blank...unless you count renting The Brave Little Toaster and watching it with my three year old.

The reason for this is we're in baby jail, a not-so-flattering term for declining adult only events because your child won't take a bottle, is having separation anxiety, or just isn't ready for a babysitter yet. In our case it's a little of all of that.

Hillary and I tried a dinner date a few weeks ago and ended up eating our dinner out of Styrofoam boxes in our living room. The babysitter called after an hour and a half (we waited 45 min for a table) saying Marlowe had been screaming the entire time. I wasn't entirely surprised. Hill and I laughed and got our food to go. But I have to admit there was a brief moment at that restaurant, as I was slamming my mojito, in which I thought maybe we should just stay. Familiar voices crept into my mind: the baby will be fine, crying is good for her lungs, you have to live your life.

I snapped out of it pretty quickly and remembered that my husband and I have chosen a different path for our family. We want to make decisions that respect our kids and their feelings and emotions, and that means taking into consideration the undeveloped emotional state and understanding of our five month old. I thought of her crying for two hours because she needed her parents, okay, let's be real, her mom, and my decision was easy. We'll try again when she's older.

So this weekend, while I will miss celebrating a huge accomplishment for local women and enjoying delicious food with my besties, it's okay. This time with baby Marlowe is fleeting. Soon she'll be toddler Marlowe and before we know it middle-schooler Marlowe and I'll be wishing I had some of that separation anxiety back in our lives.

An Early Adopter OR Beckett Loves J. Roddy

Beckett & Mr. Walston, himself.

My son is in love with rock 'n roll. Really, he's in love with all music. That includes, much to my chagrin, Taylor Swift, Selena Gomez or many other pop songs that our radio tuner may stumble upon. Actually, that's not entirely fair, I've warmed to T. Swift and despite what my husband may say, I like pop music. I do tend to recoil at auto-tuned, post-twee, Disney shills, and the like, who assert their "independence" by taking their clothes off and/or adding a hip-hop artist to a track. I will even admit to having a special place in my heart for Bruno Mars songs. I can comfortably say that because I'm in my thirties with two kids and am no longer worried about my indie cred. But I digress.

While the boy enjoys a good top forty fix, he is particularly fond of rocking out. Last week, in celebration of his third birthday, we saw J. Roddy Walston and The Business at WFPK's Waterfront Wednesday. It's an amazing free event one Wednesday a month throughout the summer at one of our lovely riverfront parks.

It is not uncommon for us to pack up the babies in the wagon (as in red, not station) and head over there on a summer evening, no matter who is playing. We usually call it, however, about midway through the second band and head home to tuck in the tykes. This time, the band didn't even come on until hours after Beck's bedtime, but it was his birthday and he loves J. Roddy.

I say that and people are like - Mmmmhmmm. I'm sure he likes them in a passive, toddler kind of way, but really it's you guys who are the big fans right?

Well yes and no. Yes, we are big fans. But Beckett likes J. Roddy in the obsessive way only a three year old could enjoy anything. He wants to listen to them constantly. During play time, before nap, whenever we're in the car. Thank goodness they have a kick ass new record out, because we are immersed.

This is not his first love affair with a rock band. As soon as he could stand he was dancing to the Black Keys in the most serious of manners. The Black Keys were his boss and dancing was Beckett's job. There were no smiles. Dancing was what must be done and he would bring the deep knee bends until the song ended.

When words came Weezer's Blue album was played in our car like some 18 month olds listen to Raffi. Hillary calls Weezer his favorite band and even he was tired of singing along to "Say It Ain't So," and fist pumping (required by Becks) to "My Name is Jonas."

Thanks to a Twitter conversation between Hillary and J. Roddy we pumped Beckett up for a possible picture with his favorite performer. As we weaved the wagon through the park Beckett pointed at every man he saw and asked us if he was J. Roddy. He was curious if he would get to see him play piano and we assured him he would.

Marlowe and I hung out at the small camp we set up around the wagon. With an infant and a toddler we travel like we might become permanent residents of any place we happen to be. Meanwhile, Hillary and Beckett, tracked down the gracious Mr. Walston and Beckett not only got a photo, but a high five that he has been talking about ever since.

When the band started playing Becks put on his protective head phones (which he also wears around the house to drowned out Marlowe's cries) got on his Dad's shoulders and went up closer to the stage. He barely stayed on Hillary's shoulders, he wiggled so much. He was entranced at the lights and the motion and instruments being played on stage. I imagine to it was a novel experience to actually see the sounds he's heard SO many times coming from real people and things.

It was an awesome show and Marlowe and I did plenty of our own dancing on the sidelines. My little rocker made it about 30 minutes into the set. I greeted him, wanting to find out everything he was thinking, but he walked straight past me, got into the wagon with heavy lids and drooped over the blankets that were piled in the center.

Thoroughly rocked out. 

Beckett - Three Years Old

Three years seems like nothing. No time. But looking at the almost magical transformation, we call it "growing," that has happened to my sweet Beckett is, truly, amazing. He's gone from a spazzy, drooling, screaming, little miracle to a thoughtful, joyful, verbose, little boy. Yes, he has nearly shed all of his baby and is fully a boy these days.

He can count, knows his ABCs, and blows me away when he pulls out sentences like "which book would you prefer?" He can catch, kick and throw a ball. And is starting to do cool stuff like clear his plate from the table and get himself dressed. He also is the worst at potty training and asks embarrassing questions, such as, "did you say excuse me because you farted or burped?"

He makes me laugh every day and I am thrilled and honored to be his mom.

Embracing Your Burgeoning Buttinski

In the last six months conversations between my husband and I start out as normal, but within a sentence or two Becks jumps in with a "Hey, Mom!" or "Guys, watch this!" Depending on what Hillary and I are saying to each other dictates if we stop what we're saying to indulge him or ask him to please wait until we're finished speaking. We don't have any hard and fast rules on interrupting, we just do what we feel. He just wants to be included, we get it.

Now with his sister here, it's gotten to the point where Hillary and I can only have a conversation after he's in bed. Sometimes, though, you just need to talk to another adult in the house before 8:45 p.m. So I've found that making eye contact with Beckett while I tell Hillary a story works kind of well.

This is an actual conversation I had with my three year old (which was really with my husband).

Me: I was listening to that podcast that Alec Baldwin does and he was interviewing Chris Columbus.

Becks: Uh-uh.

Me: (Still looking directly at Becks) Did you know that Gremlins, his first screenplay, only got made because Steven Spielberg walked passed it laying on some assistants desk and liked the title?

Becks: (Never breaking eye contact) Oh. Okay!

Then he just walked away and Hillary and I laughed and laughed. Until he ran back down the hall and said "Hey mom! What's a Pod Cat?"

Touched Out

I was in month two of my maternity leave, sitting in a cozy arm chair in our family room, nursing my six week old for, oh, maybe the 70th time that day, when my sweet and loving two and a half year old son scrambled up in the chair and squeezed himself in the minuscule space between me and the chair arm. He kissed my cheek and I said thank you, but I was feeling a bit claustrophobic. The July heat was penetrating the room and getting the best of the air conditioning. And little Marlowe is like having a portable heater strapped to your chest. I kissed him back and suggested he play with his toys on the floor, but he didn't budge.

He sang and patted his sister on the head. It was so cute, but all I could think was get these kids off of me! I tried again to distract my son and told him I thought I heard Piggy calling for him to play over by the couch.

"Piggy's not here, mommy," he said. "He's in my room."

Just then my husband decided to take a break from his writing and come say hello to us all. He smiled at the sight of his little family piled on top of each other in the arm chair. He came over, placed a hand on my shoulder and kissed my head. The kiss that broke the camel's back.

"Okay!" Was all that came out of my mouth, but I quickly handed the baby to my husband and walked, through the kitchen, into the living room and out the front door. I was sort of surprised to find myself out there. My body had been on autopilot in a hunt for space. I took a deep breath and sat down on the step.

I was touched out, over touched, suffering from no-more-touchiness. I love nursing my baby girl and I love snuggling with my little boy and I love when my husband kisses me on the head, all a separate times.  It makes me feel like I do not own my body and I feel out of control, which is not enjoyable for me.

This is happens to a lot of moms, dads too probably, although I think dads suffer more from lack of touch in the early month of a new baby, but I'm sure there are cases to be made. It happened to me when it was just Beckett, but now that I have two, it's a bit more frequent.

I try now to give Beckett a project when I'm going to nurse, a puzzle or some crayons. That works, sometimes. Other times, if my husband is around, I sneak away to another room and shut my eyes while I nurse Marlowe. And sometimes there is nothing I can do. Beckett needs me, Marlowe needs me, I breath through it and take a long bath later, if time permits or allow myself two glasses of wine after Beckett's in bed and let Hillary bond with Marlowe over a nice warm bottle.

Good Moms Feed Their Babies

This post was inspired by Mothering's "Blog About Breastfeeding" event.

I sat sobbing in the huge room with clear bassinets and incubators lining the walls. My 4 lb 7 oz, daughter lay with just her diaper on under a heat lamp in front of me. The hospital's lactation consultant had just brought me a bag of small receptacles for collecting my colostrum. She was giving me a moment to compose myself.

Marlowe was seven weeks early, one day old and perfectly tiny. I was stunned to have a child in the NICU. It was something that had truly never crossed my mind. After a brief moment of snuggling her post delivery she was whisked away to a nearby children's hospital, my husband in tow. I spent a lonely night in the hospital bonding with a breast pump every three hours. Everything felt so wrong.

My memories of the days in the hospital after the birth of my first child are warm and hazy with nothing but coziness and love. The cold quiet of the NICU, interrupted only by ailing babies crying in unison, shocked me in a way I wasn't expecting. I focused on Marlowe's little fingers, blew my nose and looked at the lactation consultant.

"Breastfeeding is really important to me," I said. "I exclusively breastfed my son until he was two. Please tell me what I need to do to make that happen with Marlowe."

She told me that I needed a hospital grade pump and that I should be pumping both sides at the same time for 10-15 minutes every 2-3 hours.

Good, I thought. Directions are good. I will bring milk in tomorrow.

"They will be supplementing her with formula, however. Until you start producing enough milk."

I gasped. "But..." My mind was racing. What was it about formula that I was so opposed to? I couldn't think. Then, "what about nipple confusion?" My facade had cracked. The tears were flowing again.

"I don't believe nipple confusion is a real thing." She sounded stern and I started crying harder.

"Babies know where the good stuff is. If you put her to the breast, when she's ready, she'll take your milk." Her voice was softer. She touched my knee. "You want her to grow as quickly as possible. That's how you'll get her home."

Okay, so there was the plan, at least, to get her home. I pumped religiously for a week and only had drops to show for it. I was stressed and frazzled, not getting enough calories, water or rest to increase my supply. I went to a  friend who happens to be a birth educator for help. She suggested herbs. I took them and they helped. I left her that day with more than advice on my milk supply, however. She told me this - "good moms feed their babies."

I've thought about that a lot. Marlowe needed food. I couldn't give it to her immediately. She had to get it elsewhere. I've dropped my formula hang up since then. Moms everywhere are doing what they need to to feed their babies. Be it by formula, their own breast milk or a donor's. They are all good moms, feeding their children so they will grow.  

Two months later, Marlowe nurses like a champ, and I am grateful for that. I am also grateful for the help we had in the beginning when she couldn't.

Ode to Baby Wearing

My husband and I both wore our first child. Mostly when we were outside the house, but sometimes inside too, if he was extra fussy. It calmed him and gave us hands free snuggle time. This time around it's a whole different story. Baby wearing has saved my life, or at least preserved what sanity I still possess.

Infants like to be held. A 2.5 year old needs to be fed, played with, dressed, diapered, cuddled and kissed. Also this mom needs a cup of coffee (or two) in the morning. I also enjoy eating occasionally. All these things happen around here because of a wrap, carrier or sling - depending on the situation.

Here are my mini-reviews on the carriers I own.

Wrap - Moby Wrap - Wraps are pretty much really long pieces of fabric that you can wrap and twist around your body in different ways for different sizes of children and different holds. I really like the Moby for around the house or short jaunts. It keeps Marlowe close against me so there is little jostling and it's not bulky, so I can easily wash dishes or see in front of me to type this blog, for example. It's very versatile. I leave it at home for long walks or times when I know I'll be wearing Marlowe for most of the day because it's fabric and it stretches. So by the end of a couple of hours she is much lower than she was initially, which can cause issues if I'm out and about.


Soft Carrier - Ergo Carrier - This is an easy on, easy off, carrier that has two clips and an insert for infants, to keep them supported until they can hold their heads up on their own. It can be worn on the chest or back, but I personally like the chest option. It's super sturdy and there is no slippage, so it's great for long haul wearing. There's a sun shade and pockets. It's really nicely designed. My only issue is that right now Marlowe's head kind of flops around, it's nothing too concerning though and it doesn't seem to bother her at all.

Ring Sling - I was never too impressed with my ring sling until Beckett got to be a toddler. It's great for hip holding. I would just pop Beckett in at social events and he'd feel like part of the conversation. He stayed entertained and my arm didn't feel like it was going to fall off.

Obviously, you only need one, not three, but the more the merrier. I loved wearing my first baby. I would especially recommend it through that fourth trimester or if you have an early arrival. It promotes bonding and listening to your heart beat while all snuggled up against your chest makes babies who had a rough start, or are just having a hard time adjusting to the outside world, thrive. But for parents who are adding kids 2, 3 or more I am calling the baby wearing apparatus of your choice an absolute must. You will never be happier to have two hands available.

Of course, use caution while sipping that latte and make sure any crumbs from lunch get brushed off of Junior's head afterward. 

Rainy Day Play

I am not a crafty mom. I will pull out the water colors or, if I'm feeling adventurous, the finger paints when weather keeps us indoors, but I don't have the patience to dye rice or make my own play dough. You parents who do are so impressive to me. After you've gone through all the effort to make that green slime for sensory play and your toddler squishes it around until their heart's content - how do you find the time/energy to clean up the mess? I think that's a huge part of my general fear of DIY projects across the board.

Here's a little taste of how we do rainy days in our house with a 2.5 year old and an infant. You'll notice the clean up is minimal.

Vintage kids records. We sing along to the songs and act out parts of the plays, like this one: The Muppet version of the Frog Prince. 

Dress up box in full effect. I cleaned out my closet and put all the old scarves I never wear in a box with Beck's cowboy hats and some felt super hero masks a friend made for him. Endless combinations of fun.

Quiet, solitary play. Marlowe nurses...a lot. There are just some times that I need Beckett involved in something that doesn't require more than hands off supervision from me. He plays very well by himself, not always at the moments I need him to, but often the stars align and his imagination takes over as his playmate.

Puzzles. Big ones. You'd be surprised at how after a time or two with your help, a two year old can put together semi-complex puzzles. Or, at least, I was. It's also awesome to watch how proud he is of himself when he gets the pieces to fit together.

And sometimes rainy days don't mean inside play at all.

 

Gardening Efforts

In addition to growing a baby this spring, I also started growing a garden. It's my first and I'm certainly learning what works and what doesn't. Here is a few photos of what it's looking like today.

We've got kale, arugula and beets in this first one. The arugula is supposed to be super fruitful, but I'm not finding that to be the case. I think I'll plant more next year. My husband made these awesome raised beds out of palettes last fall. I am quite fond of them. 

Besides needing to be weeded, I think the carrots are doing rather well. I am going to pick the lettuce this week sometime. 

Cucumbers love us. It's our heartiest plant by far. 

Gorgeous daylilies that we transplanted last fall from a neighbor. They require little from us, which I like. 

I am so in love with these zinnia. I planted them from seed and they've just shot right up. I couldn't be more pleased. 

Labeling: Attachment Parenting

Gen X is an I'm-not-into-labels generation, who is really into labels. This goes for our society in general, but I notice it a lot among my peers. I have participated in this game myself - "This bar, (which I frequent) is always full of hipsters. Who me? No, I'm not a hipster, I just like the beer selection."

Labels, however, are a part of our culture and like them or not, everyone has some. As I've gotten older, I have become comfortable with most of mine. For example, I'm a Liberal, a vegetarian, a feminist and an attachment parent, to name a few. I get some eye rolls at that last one. I'm always a bit confused by this reaction for two reasons.

Reason one is this - most people are practicing or have practiced at least one aspect of attachment parenting and just don't realize it. They have chosen to breastfeed on demand, wear their baby in a carrier, sleep with their child in the room with them or have decided spanking or screaming wasn't the way they wanted to discipine their children. What I am saying by claiming an attachment parent label is, I have done some research and I am making purposeful choices in an effort to raise an empathetic, self assured kid who will grow to be independent, instead of just leaving it up to chance. I mean nothing is 100%, but I think raising a kid deserves at least as much effort and research as I put into my Masters degree. In my opinon, that's about as nonoffensive as it comes. And if someone is still offended by it once they know what it is? Well that brings me to my second point of confusion.

Reason two - No one said you had to do it. I certainly didn't. To be blunt, I don't give an esse or an effe (pick one) what you do, as long as it doesn't harm others. I'd like the same curtesey. I feel about AP like I feel about being a vegetarian, it works for me and my family and I would never assume any one else was interested, unless they actually showed interest. Like AP, there are people in my acquaintence who are actually angered by vegetarianism. What is it that offends them? The Boca burgers taking up freezer space at the grocery store? No one is taking your cow meat or bacon away, calm down.

Is this all just ignorance or insecurity, perhaps? I'm not sure. I do know no one is judging you. Or rather, if they are judging you that's their problem. Only if you care, does it become yours. So what's my point?

Live and let live or live and let die, if you're a McCartney fan. Label if you must, but let's not put too much weight behind them. And, since I know the judging won't stop, at least do your research and make sure you know the details behind what you judge.

All It Takes Is A MOMent

Whew, okay, here I am. (Smooths wrinkles out of skirt and fluffs hair.) I've returned to the party that is life. I had to take a break there for a minute. My sweet little Marlowe Sawyer arrived 7 weeks early and had a 16 day stay in the NICU. There's a lot of emotions there. I'm still processing. We'll talk later.

The important thing is, she's perfect. And home. And, who would have guessed, easier to parent at this moment than our spirited toddler. 

My point for today, however, is a message to new moms. I just left the house for the first time alone in a month and I feel amazing. In these first weeks of being consumed by my newborn, I totally didn't even notice that I needed a moment to myself.

As I cranked up the AC in the car, rolled down the windows (I know, terrible) and turned up the radio I felt like someone splashed me in the face with a bucket of icy cold water. I felt completely rejuvenated singing along to that new Pharrell, Robin Thicke track - Blurred Lines - I'm sure you've heard it. If not, though, seriously ya'll, check it out. Feel good hit of the summer.

It's crazy how a short drive to get an allergy shot, of all things, can change the feel of the entire day. I highly recommend a mini escape to new moms (all moms) , even if it's just for a few minutes with something that makes you happy, besides your baby. You might not feel like you need it, but you do. Trust.

Acquiring Kids Clothes

{My favorite outfit for B last summer. He still wears this American Apparel cardi.}

Kids clothes - I can not think of a more perfect thing to reuse, however you may get them, passed down from friends or family, snagged at a second hand shop or haggled for at a local yard sale. I mean, in that first year, they wear them for like 3 months and are grown out of them in no time, sometimes even before a second wear. Holiday outfits, I'm talking to you.

We have been very fortunate to be on the receiving end of some serious clothing and toy purges from our family and friends. Being the oldest child of not only my immediate family, but my extended, I had not experienced the awesomeness that are hand-me-downs. I love when our friends and family with older kids clean out their closets! Now that I'm thinking of it, my children may not always share my enthusiasm for this, but I still have a good few years of personal excitement while going through a new bag of used clothes.

Alas, the hand-me-downs don't fill every need and can be sporadic (also part of the fun, you never know when they're coming.) As summer approaches, we need some 3T essentials for Becks and as our due date approaches we need some little girl clothes. That's a lot of clothes to pick out at the local Once Upon A Child. I mean, have you ever tried to purchase clothing there? I love the concept, but it's like shopping at the local Good Will, also a place I'm glad exists, but just don't have the patience to rummage through the over packed racks for a few pairs of toddler shorts. (In my youth, I used to do this all the time, but have lost my taste for it over the years.)

This made me wish I could buy an assorted mix of kids clothes in a bundle, like the grab bag option at American Apparel. Which is, incidentally, my favorite place to buy kids clothes new. Solid color basics, made of natural fibers here in the U.S. (fair and safe working conditions - hello Bangladesh). Have you ever tried to find a t-shirt at Target or Babies R Us that doesn't say "Daddy's Little Girl" or "Mommy's Little Monster." It's hard and, just, gag.

Enter my new obsession: buying children's clothes by the lot. You get a bunch of clothes all at once and can search by any size. There are actually a lot of options out there. I was surprised. Okay, so I haven't actually purchased anything yet, but I have my eye on a few very colorful and floral pattern heavy collections of baby girl clothes on eBay. I started searching Craigslist, which I can see the upside being more instant gratification because you can generally pick them up locally, same day. 

However, people who use Craigslist are kind of incapable of focusing a camera and I didn't want to waste the gas to find out all of the clothes were stained or smelled like cigarettes. The eBay users are pretty good with a camera, for the most part, and know the benefit of multiple photos.

So who has been doing this forever? Tips? I'm clearly a newbie, but am in love with the idea of getting a bunch of new-to-us stuff all at once while saving the Earth and our money.

Pregnancy #2, in which things get real

{We found out we were having a girl on Valentines Day - so pink cookies were easy to find.}

I love birthy topics, talking to pregnant ladies abouttheir birth stories and pregnancy experiences, all things birth related really. Some of this stems from what a great 9 months I had the first time around. I mean, there was the heart burn and the terrible months of July and August where any amount of clothing in this Southern humid air was instantly drenched in sweat, but for the most part I loved being pregnant with Becks. This time around, I am having a different experience altogether.
At about week 21 I was pretty much done, ready for my baby girl to be here, ready to have possession of my body once again. For those of you who aren't used to the 40 week scenario - that's about half way though. I won't complain too much, but from the moment of conception this pregnancy has put my allergies into high gear, something that apparently happens to some women and is officially called prenatal rhinitis. At this point it's been 29 weeks of nonstop sneezing and runny noses.

One thing people don't tell you very often is that the last trimester of pregnancy gives you a glimpse at what your geriatric days will feel like. I groan when getting up from or getting into most positions, my bones and muscles ache and I regularly pee myself a little when coughing, sneezing or laughing too hard.

I've decide a few things have contributed to my nonplussed attitude towards this pregnancy - having a toddler prevents me from napping much or sleeping in as often as I did the first time around. And while I would never trade in the 2 years that Beckett nursed, the last pregnancy was kicking off a long period in which my body, even after Beck's birth, was still not my own. So instead being at the beginning of an exciting journey, I'm at the half way point and I'm feeling a little homesick and worn out.

So here are some things I'm doing to get through this last trimester with my spirit in tact:

• Take long showers - it makes me happy and it's an indulgence because I know it's not good for the environment or our pocket book.
• Drink a cup a day - my first time around I had a cup a week, now with more demands on my time and energy, I allow myself one cup of coffee a day.
• Ask for foot rubs - I am lucky in that my husband offers these up pretty often, but if he doesn't and I'm feeling like I need a little pampering  I just ask. He has never refused me.
• Enjoy a glass of wine - so not doctor recommended, but very seldom,  usually when we have friends over, I will have a half a glass of red wine. Women in Europe do it and a whole continent can't be wrong.

There are, of course, things that are great about pregnancy number 2, like knowing that most every thing that made me worry the last time around is totally normal and not having too much anxiety about labor. We're much more prepared. I will not be packing my hospital bag in between contractions this time, that's for sure.

However, for now it's 29 weeks and counting until I have another birth story to share with all my birthy friends.

(You can read the first one here - Part 1 and Part 2)

Ina May Gaskin Movie

Last night I saw a screening of the documentary - Birth Story: Ina May Gaskin & the Farm Midwives. It was so inspiring and amazing, not just because I'm a woman who happens to be pregnant, but because these women came up and into themselves in a time and place that let them bloom into exactly the people they were supposed to be. I think that's a hard thing for women, and men, today. Midwifery is such a calling and passion for all the women in the movie. It's a rare thing to get an in depth view of.

(I wanted to post the trailer, but free Wordpress won't let me. Watch the trailer here. Wordpress has many rules I'm finding. It's distressing. I will be moving the blog as soon as I can. But more on that later. )

As impressed as I was with the documentary, the midwives, the footage of all the different births and Ina May herself - she's a big time hero of mine - I was impressed with our birthing community. Woman and families of Louisville, you rock. I don't know the official turn out, but it had to be around 200 people. There were tables set up before hand with so many of our wonderful birth related service providers, from doulas to placenta encapsulation ladies, everyone was represented. After the screening there was a panel of local midwives, including two from my own birth team who answered questions and lead a very interesting discussion on the state of midwifery in KY today.

It's so heartening to be in a community that shares so many of the things I hold so dear to my heart.

New Digs - Changing from a nursery to a shared kids room

I entered my third trimester on Saturday and had a moment of how-am-I-ever-going-to-handle-a-toddler-AND-an-infant. Luckily, Hillary and I had plans to rehab Beckett's little boy room into a dual kids space for him and his soon to arrive sister. Nothing helps calm pre-baby panic like nesting. So off Becks went to stay with my parents, near Chicago, I can't even begin to describe how thankful I am for them, and Hill and I emptied the room for painting.

I did an abysmal job at before photos, but you can see what we started with above. It's hard to tell in the photos but the gray in the before shots is much bluer than the gray we painted. Note the color of the dresser and changing table behind Beckett's percussion sesh.

As you can see my husband is a master at striping, he did the skate board hooks for Beckett's second birthday that you can see in the top left photo. These have been great for teaching him to hang up his coat and hat when he comes in the house. The yellow racing stripe goes up, across the ceiling and back down on to the other wall, so it touches all four walls. I'm very impressed with how it turned out.

The dresser and changing table were spray painted during some dude hang time on Saturday night while I washed and folded baby clothes. The white brightens up the room, but keeps it gender neutral. Beckett also gets a bedside table for his books and a reading light. I also have two small stools that fit under the table so it can be used for activities as well.

We desperately needed more closet organization, since I had almost nowhere to put infant stuff. I purchased that hanging cubby and a clothes rack extender, that you can barely see in the bottom right photo. This gave me a great space for hanging some of Beckett's clothes so he can easily reach them and start picking outfits out for himself.  Super easy closet upgrade and done for under $30.

 

For the final touch, we got a fun, fuzzy rug for playing on. We live in a ranch that's built on a concrete slab and the floors are super hard.   This addition is already enticing Becks to play in his room more often.

There are a few more things we need to do to complete the project - replace the light with a ceiling fan, hang the window treatments and do something cute over the crib to designate some space for our little girl. Hopefully it happens before she gets here, but I'm feeling pretty good at all we accomplished so far. 12-14 weeks isn't seeming quite as short a time as it did last week.

Dealing With Jerky Parents

My husband takes Becks to preschool twice a week. He loves it. We love it. The school is amazing, the teachers, the parents, we've been nothing but impressed. Or that's what I would have said yesterday. Going forward, I will add "for the most part," after the parents bit of the sentence.
Today B got pushed down by another little boy in class. Big deal, right? Happens all the time. Yes. Kids are emotional and do inexplicable things sometimes. This is no exception.

My husband happened to be watching as a little boy ran up and pushed B, causing him to fall out of shoes, hit the ground and basically become a sobbing mess. He wasn't expecting it and didn't see it coming. Poor dude.

As my husband consoled him and helped him put his shoes back on, his cries attracted the attention of the teachers, who are always loving, and the mom of the pusher, who quickly made excuses for her child, with no apology. And that's fine. As I said before, things like this happen. I wouldn't even expect a 3 year old to apologize.

I have a sensitive son. He has a lot of feelings and we encourage him to express them, for as long and in whatever (productive) way he needs to. So as Hillary comforted him, the mom made a comment about how Becks was overreacting. And this is where I clench my jaw and my eyes get super wide and I nod at your wordless sympathizing that she would have the nerve to be all judgey about a two year old that her son pushed down.

I am proud of Hillary. He stayed level headed in front of the kids and the teachers, ignored the woman, made sure B was good to go and left, even though he was furious and commented to me later, that he'd never felt that type of anger before. That protective type of anger. He did exactly what he should have though and was the bigger person. I am so proud of him, because I am not sure I would have had the restraint to not give that mom at the very least a look and a snarky comment.

I am very supportive of other parents. I think we all need to help each other out and accept different ways of parenting. If you'd like to silently, or not so silently, judge me or my parenting style, go for it. I am an adult and I'm secure in my choices. But do not judge my child for how he deals with bruised knees or hurt feelings. And if you do, hope it's in front of my husband, because he will handle it better than I.

Race & Toddlers

In the middle of unloading my paper towels, plastic Easter eggs, diapers and dental floss onto the conveyor belt at Target, Beckett pointed to our cashier and said, "Her is black." We've been working on our colors at home. Skin color has not come into the lesson, but he made the jump on his own. My face immediately flushed.

Now let's freeze here for a minute - why was I embarrassed? Well, first, the cashier was NOT amused. So that didn't help. But I wasn't embarrassed when he said loud enough for the mother to hear, "That baby has a helmet on. Maybe he was skateboarding," about an infant with a head shaping helmet on. And I'm never embarrassed when he talks about a child at school who is in a wheelchair or has leg braces. He's curious, learning and only two and a half. Did I think that our cashier thought he was racist? I mean, look at the kid, he is never less cute than  the photo above, clearly he has no hate or malice. Perhaps I was afraid she thought I was racist. I'm not, but I felt like saying anything about it would be completely awkward. "OH! He's just learning his colors. We love everyone. No racism in our house! Ha. Haa..." Yep. Glad I didn't go that route.

She just stared at me with steely eyes, as she bagged our items. Something needed to be said. "Say hello, B," was all I could think of. To which she got a sing songy "Hiii," and a wave from him. Still nothing on her end. I gave an overly friendly goodbye. And on the way out I talked about all the skin shades, eye and hair color people come in and told him that it's just a little part of what makes the world such an interesting and beautiful place.

But I'm still thinking about it. Should I have done something different? Or maybe our cashier was just having a bad day.

Judgey Feminism

There's been quite the hubbub lately about feminism in the media. The Feminine Mystique turned 50,  Sheryl Sandberg wrote a book called Lean In about the lack of women in leadership roles and her opinion on how to better attain them, and the CEO of Yahoo came back from maternity leave after 2 weeks, although she does have a nursery in her office. The media and blogosphere opened it's gaping mouth, on cue, and spewed forth opinion after opinion about what feminism is and isn't and who is doing it right and who is wrong.

As a Women's Studies minor (my school didn't even offer it as a major, it was so long ago), a feminist, mother, full time worker and female I feel I needed to add one more opinion to the mix.
Here's what I think - Women in the work place? For god's sake, yes! (Are we seriously still talking about this?) Women in leadership roles, yes, please! Ladies, by all means "Lean In," if that style works for you. Your opinions are valid, you have things to say, make yourselves heard and get paid for it. Successful women at work who raise children at the same time? Of course. Stay at home moms? Yes! We would be nowhere without you. This is not a competition. Let's support each other in our wants, needs and goals. There is no right way to be a feminist, all it requires is a sense of fairness, equality and a sense of sisterhood. Stop the bickering.

Let's just help each other get to where we want to be as women and mothers and humans. High level exec, mid-level manager, small business owner, home-schooling-cloth-diapering-garden-growing-nuturer, it doesn't matter. Our goal should be making sure that all roles are accessible and respected. Because guess what? None of them is easy and we're all going to need help.

Boys vs. Girls

I read a really nicely written blog post today by Kim Simon about the Steubenville rape and how we need to take responsibility for raising kind, caring and tuned in sons, not just as people, but specifically with their future sexual partners. You should read it, here's the link.

She hit on something that really resonated with me. My son, Beckett, is two and a half, and at the end of June we are expecting his little sister. I have always wanted one of each. I wanted to experience the differences and similarities of raising someone my own gender and one of the opposite, plus boys against girls on family game night and, yes, I'll admit, I want to buy cute girl clothes. However when I found out I was pregnant this time around I wondered if maybe a boy would just be easier.

I've got the hang of this boy raising thing now, I thought. We keep the visual media to a minimum, curb the violent play (which seems to crop up out of nowhere) with plenty of creative, independent play. We use gentle discipline and help him work through feelings that he doesn't understand, just as Simon suggests in her article. He is kind and we hope to keep him on that track. With another boy, I could put him on that same track and I'd be dodging the pink and purple onslaught from well meaning gift givers. Then there's the princess culture, body image issues, revealing clothing at too young an age, the worries about having a girl stacked up in my mind very quickly.

But Simon goes on to point out that raising a kind boy, something that isn't really that common a goal for rearing males in our society, is only the first part. As he ages there needs to be lots of frank and open discussion about sex and that really scares me. I'm not sure I know how to do it.

My parents are my best friends, but for whatever reason, that is not a subject I have ever been comfortable speaking about with them. When I was a sophomore in college, my dad, who knew that my boyfriend was coming to visit me down at school, asked me frankly and in a friendly tone if we were having sex. Of course we were.

I freaked.

"Ah! Dad, I'm not talking to you about this. Mom! Tell him to stop!" I escaped as quickly as possible to my bedroom.

What could my dad have done differently? Perhaps, have been my mom, other than that I have no clue. But I have time to learn and as Simon points out the conversation will change as he grows.
I think the take away here is that we worry about our girls, and with good reason, a lot of thoughtful parenting is required in this day and age to raise confident and self aware young ladies. But we should be giving as much thought to raising our boys and it doesn't stop with instilling them with empathy, it starts there.