My Summer of Waiting for Patience

“Patience is a kind of love. A love that is its own explanation in bewildered circumstance. It is an old, old woman placing a wrinkled-parchment hand against the cheek of a reckless child. Because her heart is too wise to make room for reproach. Too full to find place for offense. ” – Pavithra Mehta

It’s been a year since my mom passed away. Last summer was a maelström of emotions with a virulent combination of personalities. My memories of that experience have blurred, partly because of the distressing nature of events and more so, perhaps, because I just wasn’t present. There were very few moments, if any, where my mind and heart were in the same place as my body.

What a difference a year makes. The kids finished school in June and ten weeks of summer vacation loomed. I signed them up for 4 weeks of gymnastics day camp, we went on holidays for 1 week, and the rest of the time was just me and the boys, a 6 and 3 year old. I admit I felt a little panicky. It seemed like a lot of days to fill without the busy work of death and dying.

And then an idea dawned; hey, why not forget about the whole summer and just live moment to moment each day. Could I – really? No. Forget it. This is the supreme goal of enlightenment for much more advanced spiritual aspirants than me. I needed a beginner step. I decided to work at eradication of my most glaring defect: impatience. Of course, I’m not into blaming people but, honestly, I did inherit this defect from my mother.

For me, patience is one of the most important virtues conducive to joyous parenting. It lends itself to being a great teacher; it allows little people to move and grow at their own pace, and it makes space for wonderful conversations with kids who need time to put together their thoughts and ideas. So, this summer, I cultivated patience. Was I a paragon of virtue? Not by a long shot.

I took it little by little. Every three hours of every day, I would commit to practice patience. 6 a.m. to 9 a.m. I would commit to being patient. 9 a.m. to 12 p.m. I could be patient for another three hours. You get the idea. I started to notice a pattern. Mornings were sketchy. It was easier to practice patience when everyone got a good night’s sleep. I learned to slow way down when we were all running on empty. Patience was generally high at midday but a little after 3 would often be a time when I felt like I was going to lose it. I quickly learned that the best thing to do was turn on the hose or jump in the pool.

Some days were still fraught with impatience. On a particularly rough day, I ran to the calendar to count down the weeks left of summer vacation. Still six weeks left? I was profoundly disappointed but after some reflection, I gave myself a giant mental hug because for me to go four weeks without even the slightest thought of counting down the days was truly one huge miracle. And in that moment, I happily realized that patience had come not only for my kids but for myself as well.

We had a wonderful summer and I enjoyed my kids for almost every minute of it.

A Lazy Summer Morning…

Enjoying the Wild Edibles!

I hope everyone had a fantastic summer. I’m back to blogging again after a summer of “no time to write.” Today was the first day of school so that excuse won’t really fly anymore.

 

The Great Paradox of Motherhood

We walked hand in hand into the schoolyard.
“Well, today’s the last day of Kindergarten, he said, “Are you happy, Mom?”
“I have mixed feelings. It’s bittersweet.”
“What does bittersweet mean?”
“It means that I’m sad you’re growing up and I’m happy you’re growing up.”
I dropped him off in class and gave him a hug. Then I went home and bawled my eyes out.

I know someday they’ll grow up to make their own way in the world.

I hope they’ll always stick together.

Forget the Jones’; I Couldn’t Keep Up With the Sears’

He wears him well.

I’m a parenting book junkie. I’ve easily read over 100 parenting books. Some of them have helped me immensely, some were total garbage, and some of them made me feel very bad about myself. The Baby Book by Dr. William Sears and Martha Sears did just that. Oh, I get the philosophy of attachment parenting, I even agree with the eight principles, except for that last one that talks about finding a balance in your personal life and marriage because how the heck is that possible when you’re sleeping with your baby, breastfeeding on demand until he wants to stop, and carrying him around in a sling all day?  My husband used to loudly and proudly tell people that we were into attachment parenting. “No, no we’re not,” I’d quickly say, “we’re just AP lite.” I didn’t want anyone getting out the attachment parenting yardstick to see how short we were falling.

I had a crib. I fully intended to use it but the first time I went to put the baby down, I got super nervous. There’s this thing called SIDS and nobody knows what causes it and it’s totally random and it can happen suddenly (that’s the S) to any baby at any time where they just stop breathing and die!!??!. “Okay, Baby, you’re sleeping with me so I can keep my eye on you to make sure you don’t “suddenly” die in the night.” That’s how our co-sleeping started.

I tried with all my might but I absolutely did not ever “wear” either one of my babies. I had a Hot Sling (cool name), a Petunia Pickle Bottom sling (maybe something pretty and cute would make it bearable), a Moby wrap (mummifying me and the baby in 18 feet of fabric in the middle of summer was so not where it was at), and finally the Ergo (yes, if it’s expensive, it’s gotta be good). It took trying (and buying) all those carriers and slings before I just finally admitted to myself that I didn’t want to wear my baby around all day. What I really wanted to wear were my pre-pregnancy jeans. And, Jeez, what’s wrong with baby lying on the floor for a minute while I throw in a load of laundry? I always came right back.

I mostly didn’t mind being the human pacifier. In fact, it fit in perfectly with my minimalist lifestyle. I didn’t want the burden of washing bottles, buying formula, and searching for the infernal pacifier that always ends up on the floor. Practical to a fault, there was no way I was going to buy something that I could easily make for free. Oh yes, and of course, it’s best for the baby. However, after 18 months (only 17 with the Little Guy), I was more than ready to Moby wrap it up. That was my decision and neither of my sons liked it very much and I felt so guilty.

What I didn’t realize was that as I was trying so hard to live up to the ideals of attachment parenting that I still (a little less) firmly believe in, I was heading into what the philosophy warns against: parent burn-out mode. I didn’t realize it at the time but I was full-on in it when the Little Guy came. We still co-slept. I still absolutely did not want my little baby inexplicably dying in the night, and I did breastfeed on demand but I was emotionally and mentally exhausted. And guilty. It didn’t help that the Little Guy wasn’t exactly a clone of the Big Guy who was generally mellow and quiet. Nope, Little Guy was the opposite. Let’s just say he was more on the demanding side and for a little while we nicknamed him “Screech” because, well, you get the idea.

Long story short, those crucial three years are over for both of my boys. My oldest son is still generally mellow and my youngest is still less so. They are both very attached to me and my husband. And, while I still prize the attachment parenting philosophy in those first three years of life, I’m starting to realize that there’s still a lot more life and a lot more parenting to go. In hindsight, I wish there really was an “attachment parenting lite” book. If I wrote it I would say, “Do only what you can to the best of your ability and leave the guilt behind because guilt can turn a pretty good parent into a really crappy one – fast.”

 

Orange You Glad I’m a Carrot Smoothie

My oldest son turns his nose up at green smoothies. I have to start where we are so I put a carrot in this one to give it a beautiful orange color.

Orange You Glad I’m a Carrot Smoothie

• 1.5 cups coconut milk
• 1/2 cup Aloe vera juice
• 2 Tbsp flax meal
• 1/2 cup cashews
• 1/5 frozen banana
• 1 carrot
• 1/2 cup frozen pineapple
• 3/4 cup frozen mango or frozen mandarin orange segments

Blend on high for 30 seconds. Makes 2 kid-friendly servings.

Dentist to Easter Bunny: “Cease and Desist”

Every year we read The Night Before Easter by Natasha Wing. The story is awesome and we love it but the Easter Bunny in the book brings an excessive amount of candy.

“Is the Easter Bunny going to drop candy all over the floor?” Big Guy asked hopefully as he set out his Easter basket. He has a sweet tooth like his Mom.

“No. Actually, he’s not. He’s bringing toys this year and hardly any candy at all.”

“No, no, no. Santa brings toys – the Easter Bunny brings candy,” he patiently explained.

“Well, I just read on the internet that the Coalition of Dentists sent the Easter Bunny a letter and asked him to cut way back on all that candy. All the kids were getting too many cavities from too much sugar.”

Big Guy crossed his arms in front and looked at me through narrowed eyes. “How could they write him a letter? They don’t know where he lives.”

“Right. You’re right. It wasn’t a letter. They sent him an e-mail.”

Happy Easter!

A Fearless Child in a Fearful World

He sat down, pretzel in one hand and lemonade in the other. He fit perfectly on the small ledge, his feet easily touched the ground. “I’ll wait out here,” he said through a mouthful of pretzel.

“Mmmm. No. You better come inside with me.”

“Why?”

“What if you get scared?”

“I’m not scared. I want to finish my pretzel.”

We were at the mall, standing in the hallway outside Williams-Sonoma. I wanted to buy a toaster oven. He wanted to sit outside on the ledge and eat his pretzel. We argued back and forth for a couple of minutes and then I told him the real reason I didn’t want to leave him alone outside the store.

“I’m afraid someone might take you.”

“What?” He scoffed, “Who would want to take me?”

He couldn’t fathom it. It had never occurred to him that there could be any sort of horrible person in the world who would want to do him harm. In my mind, however, it was more than a real possibility as I envisioned the monstrous person lurking in the shadows just watching and waiting to take advantage of the irresponsible mother who would leave her young son alone outside a store at the mall.

“You’re right. That’s silly. I’m going in the store. Come in and find me if you get nervous.”

The opportunity was there but I didn’t take it. It’s what the parenting experts refer to as a teachable moment in which I could have told my four-year old about “stranger danger.” I didn’t do it. I didn’t want to. I loved that he was feeling independent. I loved that he wasn’t afraid of people and that he felt safe in the world. I didn’t want to rob him of all that right there on that day at the mall.

So, I went in the store alone and left him out on the ledge. I spied on him from behind the store displays. It was a weekday at the mall, populated mostly by moms with strollers and retired people. Many people walked by and most offered a smile or a friendly wave to the small boy sitting on the ledge calmly eating his pretzel and drinking lemonade. I half expected someone to stop and demand to know where his parent was.

I watched until he finished his pretzel. He got up from the ledge to throw his trash in the garbage. Then he sat back down and waited. When I came out of the store his face beamed with pride.

I didn’t get a toaster oven that day but as I left the mall holding hands with my young son, I was very grateful that I got something better. We both did. My son experienced real independence and I preserved his innocence for one more day.

Parenting is often like walking a tightrope between doing what we “should” do and doing what our instincts tell us to do. What are some of your examples?

A Tale of Two Potties

How would you ever get a kid off this thing?

Yep. You guessed it. Toilet training or, in the politically correct language of today, toilet learning. My youngest son just took his first b.m. on the real toilet. The bane of my existence, the intermediary potty chair, is now a thing of the past. Oh, how I loathe that thing. In the often surreal world of parenting, saying good-bye to the potty chair is on par with winning the lottery or spiritual enlightenment (both of which would be nice). I feel lighter, as if a load’s been lifted, or, er – flushed, as it were.

My oldest son didn’t use a potty chair. When he was born, I read Diaper Free: The Gentle Wisdom of Natural Hygiene by Ingrid Bauer, a book about elimination communication. If you’re unfamiliar with the concept, it’s: “…a practice in which a caregiver uses timing, signals, cues, and intuition to address an infant’s need to eliminate waste. Caregivers try to recognize and respond to babies’ bodily needs and enable them to urinate and defecate in an appropriate place (e.g. a toilet).” This definition is straight from Wikipedia – don’t worry, I can confirm the accuracy of it because I read the book, remember?

So, like many first-time mothers, I had high aspirations – a diaper-free baby. I confess, I didn’t try too hard to catch the wet ones, but I definitely wanted to get him pooping on the potty. And I did it! Not because of the book, though, but because the poor Big Guy suffered from constipation. Although, according to the strict definition of constipation, he wasn’t really, he just didn’t go very often. Before he was even six months old, he could go two whole weeks without a b.m. However you want to define it, we had a problem. Suffice it to say that when the Big Guy had to finally go, it was pretty obvious and I had plenty of time to get him on the toilet. I barely changed any poop diapers at all.

Then the Little Guy came. It’s as if all the diapers that I would have changed with the Big Guy had accumulated in the ether and I got to change them on the Little Guy. Occasionally, I thought about elimination communication but with two little guys to take care of, quite frankly, I didn’t have the presence of mind nor the patience required for intuiting b.m. signals.

However, I had read other baby books that stress how important it is to not make a “yuck” face when changing diapers lest your precious baby interpret the “yuck” face to mean that he is yucky, not just the poop. Let’s try not to damage their self-esteem right from the get-go. Okay, check. I got that. So, I whistled, sang, and smiled my way through thousands of HazMat worthy diaper changes.

Then, when it was time, I encouraged him to get on the regular toilet with the special potty ring over the top. Nope. Not happening. I cajoled, begged and pleaded, to no avail. Mind you, I didn’t resort to bribery. It’s against my personal policy to offer anyone an M&M to do bodily functions. Let’s all take a moment to envision just where we end up with that.

Anyway, it got so that he wasn’t wearing diapers at all anymore but when he had to have a b.m., he would come and ask for one, “Can I get a diaper? I have to poo.” Um. Okay. After a while, I told him to get the diaper himself. And he did. He’d just bring it to me and say, “Can you put this on me? I have to go.” Now, of course it didn’t get to where he was actually putting on his own diaper. I promise. I broke down and got the dreaded potty chair. What does the potty chair do? For the Little Guy, it gave him confidence. For me, it was just a great big bowl of ka-ka. Turns out, the best elimination communication is when your kid says, “I have to go to the bathroom, Mom. I’ll be back in a while.”

The Leprechaun Came!

This St. Patrick’s day tradition is a great hit at our house. The boys build a box to catch a leprechaun. This year they glued clover to the outside of the box. They didn’t catch a leprechaun but he left them a pile of gold (which was much larger before I took the photo) and a note that must be read aloud in an Irish accent, of course. Which my hubby does perfectly.

I came by today at the break of dawn,

Alas, you didn’t catch me, The Leprechaun.

Nice try, two Laddies! You were very bold.

For that I leave you a pile of gold.

‘Til next year,

The Leprechaun

Happy St. Patrick’s Day!

Google, Hypochondria, and Messages from the Universe

I’ve been sick: terribly, terribly sick. Between Google and my imagination, in the last two months I’ve had skin cancer, lung cancer (which would make me a major medical phenomenon because I convinced myself that I had caught it from my mother), pneumonia, and shingles. And, obviously, a pretty serious auto-immune disorder at the root of the aforementioned illnesses.

What I actually had were relatively superficial illnesses: a major, (okay, maybe not major, but moderately major) sinus infection, bronchitis, pink-eye (no, I’m not 12 but I sure felt like it), and hives. Oh yeah, and my tooth fell out. For real. I was finally on the mend and having one of those, “Great, I’m out of the woods” moments and then my tooth fell off. Actually, it was one of my front veneers and the dentist just glued it back on, but still. Finally, I had to ask the Universe, “Okay, what exactly is going on here?”

I’ve been sick off and on since about three months after my mother passed. It’s been one thing after another and sometimes on top of each other. I thought I was doing pretty well given the circumstances but then I was talking to a friend about forgiveness, specifically, forgiving others and being forgiven. “And, how about forgiving yourself?” she asked.

“Uh-uh, I don’t believe in forgiving myself. It’s too self-serving. Besides, I deserve to feel bad and what would I do without all that guilt, anyway?”

Enter the hives.  A couple of days later, in one instant, my back became insanely itchy. Right within my desperate reach, was a sharp, pointy stick. I went after my back with it and got sweet, instant relief from the itching, oblivious to the pain that would soon follow from the deep welts I inflicted upon myself. After Googling my symptoms, I thought it was shingles. Well, I didn’t have all the symptoms but I had the screaming pain. That’s the one that counts, right?

“It’s not shingles. It looks like hives.” My friend gave me an allergy pill and sure enough the hives disappeared but I still had extremely painful welts on my back. Almost unbelievably, it took another day or so for the awareness to dawn that I had flogged myself. Yes, for me, there’s nothing like a little (a LOT) of physical pain to get me to pay attention. I made a list of all the things that I’d like to forgive myself for right then and there.

So, how does one forgive oneself? Basically, pray to a loving God when you feel like beating yourself up, either literally or figuratively. I love this Buddhist prayer, reprinted from a fellow blogger, Good Things Remembered.

“If I have harmed anyone in any way
either knowingly or unknowingly
through my own confusions
I ask their forgiveness.
If anyone has harmed me in any way
either knowingly or unknowingly
through their own confusions
I forgive them.
And if there is a situation
I am not yet ready to forgive
I forgive myself for that.
For all the ways that I harm myself,
negate, doubt, belittle myself,
judge or be unkind to myself
through my own confusions
I forgive myself.”

So, now that I’m feeling better, I Googled the word, “forgiveness.” One of the first few links that comes up is an article from The Mayo Clinic relating forgiveness with good health. Message received.

In Between Ennui

December 28. For those of us with kids, the holidays are effectively over. Christmas came and went and I tried to explain New Year’s to my 5-year-old. He nodded in complete understanding and then a couple of hours later, I asked him what the New Year meant and he didn’t know. “Is it going to be spring?” he asked.

Hmm, I wish…I’m still in recovery mode from a back ache and a cold, both of which came on very suddenly. I don’t know about you, but I firmly believe that I created both of these conditions in myself but I couldn’t for the life of me figure out why. Maybe it’s because I had this idea that I could use these next few days to get a jump on the new year. Four glorious days to catch up on projects, create new ones, and heck, even take the tree and all the lights down. Usually, when I’m tackling my projects, I have notepaper nearby for my creative ideas. Busyness keeps my left brain occupied and my right brain occasionally sneaks in with a brilliant idea.

With no movement at all, everything seems to stop. I let the kids watch too much TV today while I dozed on the couch. I got up a couple of times to offer a snack or two for them and I thought about making dinner – I really thought about it. I asked my kids what I should blog about and Ben said, “Why don’t you blog about me? How I made a diorama without even knowing what a diorama is?” Um. Okay.

And he did do that. He was busy with a cardboard box, some cars, and tape of course,always tape. He just does that. Takes a few random things and turns them into something. I have something to learn from that because I’m always looking for the rhyme and reason and I’m always doing something useful! Especially since my kids came along. As a mom, I have to take advantage of every spare moment and use it wisely and productively. There are so few moments to spare.

But then I realized that I can’t even remember when I did almost nothing for a whole day. It’s been a long time but it hit me that my kids are growing quickly. I have a 5 and 3-year-old and even though they aren’t even close to being able to make their own dinner, they have the wherewithal to leave me alone on the couch for a while.

So, maybe I need to be somewhat incapacitated to fully realize that the moments are going to come and go no matter what and that sometimes it’s okay to just lay around and let it happen around me. I’m tired and listless now and I’m not going to fight it. I don’t want so many productive moments that I miss the moments where my kids are growing.