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.