When I first had my baby, I planned to nurse him exclusively for at least six months and to start "baby-led weaning" at that point. That meant I was going to start offering him regular foods to see what he took to and what he didn't like. None of this baby food nonsense for me, and the baby foods I WOULD give him would be hand-made by me, from whole, organic ingredients! And then my plan was to do a clean, all-organic, mostly whole foods diet. His grains would be whole grains. His sweeteners would be natural sweeteners, not the white refined stuff that we're all addicted to. So what if the vast majority of my budget was going toward housing and grocery bills. It's his health! Health is the foundation of life! This is critical stuff!
Enter: reality
My plan worked for a while. Sort of. My kid was one of those kids who is reluctant to give up the boob and start with the real food, so it wasn't until he was about 11 months old that he would get any significant amount of nutrition from food rather than milk. We did well combining eating and nursing, though I did end up getting organic baby food as a concession.
It took me more than a year to come to terms with the fact that my plan just wouldn't work. Not with this kid, and not in this situation. I was hitting up against severe constrictions that made it impossible to feed Gabriel the way I wanted. I simply didn't have the spare time to make his food. I didn't have the funds to buy everything organic. I constantly had to make choices between making his food and earning his money. Eventually I just resolved to make extra food whenever I did have the time, and otherwise to feed him my version of "convenience" foods, like pre-made applesauce pouches, cut up fruit and vegetables, and frozen peas. I'd also give him the organic crackers and puffs when I could get them. (So much for no refined grains!)
There was the complicating factor of him being allergic to dairy, which is a major source of fats, calcium, and protein for most kids. One thing led to another, and it became clear that he needed to be getting more calories. I went through an arduous phase of "trying harder," wherein I overdosed on reading materials and lost a lot of income -- and therefore food-buying power. Eventually I had to accept the fact that this was not going to happen the way I wanted it to happen. It became more important that he get enough to eat, no matter what, than that he never have fried foods, never have white sugars, never drink juice unless I juice it myself from fresh organic produce. It just was. not. happening.
So I let go of my expectations of the perfect diet. I stopped comparing myself to the mommy bloggers who have been foodies their entire lives, have nutrition degrees, have their own organic gardens and access to organic farmers and blogs that give them food budgets that were bigger than my rent, not to mention supportive husbands who bring in most of the family's income and put the kids to bed so that mama can have five freaking minutes to herself. Because I didn't have any of that.
Things are different, now. I am feeding him all kinds of things I swore would never be welcome in my home. He eats hot dogs. He eats tater tots. Everything gets drenched in ketchup. I buy nutrient-fortified things as often as I can -- calcium-fortified orange juice, protein-fortified almond milk, DHA-fortified eggs. Enriched, fortified, value-added stuff is everywhere. A far cry from the whole foods I theoretically hold as ideal.
I still feed him mostly organic produce when it's on the dirty dozen, and most of our meats and dairy (for me) are hormone-free and antibiotic-free -- these are two things I follow the 80/20 rule on. But a popular snack around here is (natural) peanut butter on (Aldi brand) graham crackers. He gets a tablespoon or two of Nutella once a day (he calls it "ice cream," which is completely adorable). He gets juice at breakfast and lunch. I spend way too much money on those pouches. Some days the only vegetables he gets are in a pouch and in the three bites of spaghetti sauce he'll tolerate before realizing I've loaded it with carrots and peas.
It's unbelievably hard to let go of expectations, especially when it comes to our parenting. In a lot of ways, I am the mom I always wanted to be. But when it comes to food, changes had to be made by necessity. What's more, I had to stop telling myself I should be able to do this really great thing of elevating and protecting my baby's diet at all costs. I simply lacked the capacity to pull it off. And I had to accept that, or die trying.
What is something you always thought you'd do as a parent (or as a grown-up), that you later realized simply wasn't possible?
Showing posts with label parenting. Show all posts
Showing posts with label parenting. Show all posts
9.30.2013
the hardest thing i'll ever do
Being a single mom to an infant is the hardest thing I've ever done. That's not necessarily saying a whole lot, because I am not really one to "stretch myself" or anything like that. Nevertheless, it is by far the hardest thing I've ever done, and I'm hoping it will be the hardest thing I ever do. Lying awake at night, wondering how on Earth I will ever pull off a successful attempt at parenting this tiny person who needs everything and whose needs are my sole responsibility to meet...facing the prospect of the next 18 years rearing this child...possibly all by myself for the duration.... That's really hard.
But the good news is that I am doing it anyway. I am scratching out a life for my son and me. It's not always on my terms and it's definitely not the life I ever wanted or planned, but I'm doing it. He is healthy and he is very happy and bright and secure, and I still have most of my hair. The inability to cope has been more about the circumstance of parenting solo while battling crippling fear than the actual child being parented. I knew it the minute I knew he was coming along that this baby is special, and he really is. He is my gift.
But motherhood has been really, really tough. Through no fault of Gabriel's -- he is the easiest toddler I have ever met and I am not just saying that because he is my child and I am blinded -- it's been almost too tough. I am too hard on myself. I second-guess too much. I am sensitive to anything remotely less than perfect and I am quick to assign blame and failure to myself. Compounded by a chronic lack of sleep and an ongoing health concern lately, my resolve and capacity have been faltering. I've stalled out, emotionally. On the outside, I'm moving along; on the inside, my thought life is a wreck.
I went through a period this summer during which I doubted everything, most off all my ability to do this parenting thing. Everything looked like failure to me, from my inability to provide enough for myself and my son to be fully independent and autonomous, to inability to get laundry folded and put away within three days of being washed. I just didn't think I could do it. I set a high bar for "success," whatever that is, and then I vilified myself for not meeting that standard. No matter that the standard is tough for a fully functioning family led by two adults in a healthy marriage and I am doing it on my own. Nevermind that my kid is a great kid. Nevermind that I am doing a good job as a mom and anyone who knows anything about kids has made it obvious that they think so. I couldn't -- still can't -- escape the constant feeling that I am not good enough, that I most assuredly will fail, and that whichever decision I make in this moment will ultimately set the trap that will break my leg down the road. I expect to fail. I anticipate it. And I try to move forward despite "knowing" that, sooner or later, something will turn into disaster.
I'm starting to come out of that dark hole of despair. I caught myself falling, and I started asking for help. It's ok to accept help, sure, and I am getting better about that, but more importantly I am coming around to the truth that it's ok to need help in the first place. We all need help at some point. These days I might be on the receiving end, but then I'll get a leg up and I'll be able to turn around and help the next person. And as one sweet friend recently reminded me, there are people who want to be able to give their help, and I should let them have the opportunity to do so. Helping is a two-way exchange, not one-way.
Through deliberate effort, I am examining my negative scripts and imposing changes. People are rallying for me, giving me new lines, challenging my expectations, putting candles in the dark corners. I am hearing that I can do this, that I am doing it, and that I am smart enough and capable enough to keep doing it, no matter what. They are telling me this over and over and over, across the board, from every direction.
One day, maybe, I will believe them.
In the meantime, my task is to keep moving forward. One hour, one clean-up, one whispered prayer, one menu plan, one Pat the Bunny, one desperate plea to God at a time.
But the good news is that I am doing it anyway. I am scratching out a life for my son and me. It's not always on my terms and it's definitely not the life I ever wanted or planned, but I'm doing it. He is healthy and he is very happy and bright and secure, and I still have most of my hair. The inability to cope has been more about the circumstance of parenting solo while battling crippling fear than the actual child being parented. I knew it the minute I knew he was coming along that this baby is special, and he really is. He is my gift.
But motherhood has been really, really tough. Through no fault of Gabriel's -- he is the easiest toddler I have ever met and I am not just saying that because he is my child and I am blinded -- it's been almost too tough. I am too hard on myself. I second-guess too much. I am sensitive to anything remotely less than perfect and I am quick to assign blame and failure to myself. Compounded by a chronic lack of sleep and an ongoing health concern lately, my resolve and capacity have been faltering. I've stalled out, emotionally. On the outside, I'm moving along; on the inside, my thought life is a wreck.
I went through a period this summer during which I doubted everything, most off all my ability to do this parenting thing. Everything looked like failure to me, from my inability to provide enough for myself and my son to be fully independent and autonomous, to inability to get laundry folded and put away within three days of being washed. I just didn't think I could do it. I set a high bar for "success," whatever that is, and then I vilified myself for not meeting that standard. No matter that the standard is tough for a fully functioning family led by two adults in a healthy marriage and I am doing it on my own. Nevermind that my kid is a great kid. Nevermind that I am doing a good job as a mom and anyone who knows anything about kids has made it obvious that they think so. I couldn't -- still can't -- escape the constant feeling that I am not good enough, that I most assuredly will fail, and that whichever decision I make in this moment will ultimately set the trap that will break my leg down the road. I expect to fail. I anticipate it. And I try to move forward despite "knowing" that, sooner or later, something will turn into disaster.
I'm starting to come out of that dark hole of despair. I caught myself falling, and I started asking for help. It's ok to accept help, sure, and I am getting better about that, but more importantly I am coming around to the truth that it's ok to need help in the first place. We all need help at some point. These days I might be on the receiving end, but then I'll get a leg up and I'll be able to turn around and help the next person. And as one sweet friend recently reminded me, there are people who want to be able to give their help, and I should let them have the opportunity to do so. Helping is a two-way exchange, not one-way.
Through deliberate effort, I am examining my negative scripts and imposing changes. People are rallying for me, giving me new lines, challenging my expectations, putting candles in the dark corners. I am hearing that I can do this, that I am doing it, and that I am smart enough and capable enough to keep doing it, no matter what. They are telling me this over and over and over, across the board, from every direction.
One day, maybe, I will believe them.
In the meantime, my task is to keep moving forward. One hour, one clean-up, one whispered prayer, one menu plan, one Pat the Bunny, one desperate plea to God at a time.
8.21.2013
sick babies
There's a slew of sick babies on my facebook news feed. This is one of the reasons I tend to avoid facebook. I prefer to remain ignorant of sick babies.
These generally are sick babies who are born to families that love and adore and very much want them. Often they're born to parents whose marriages are intact, and maybe there are older siblings. These are stories that were supposed to be good and are ending in tragedy. It's heartbreaking.
But for me, it's also terrifying. Because I don't have an adoring husband right now. There's only one pitter-patter on my floors. And as much as I'd like that situation to change, the fact remains that for now, it's just the two of us. So if my baby were to become a sick baby, I would be the only one left. I can't look at the photos without seeing my son. I can't read the stories without playing the scenario out in my personal situation. I can't breathe for all of the "what if that happened to us" crowding my lungs. So I look away, scroll down, close the browser window.
Maybe this shows just how self-centered I am. And I do struggle with my own selfishness, every single day. I think that's what being a parent is -- a daily confrontation with your own selfishness. If you're a parent and you give a rat's behind, then you know exactly what I mean.
When I read about sick babies, dying babies, babies that didn't make it, I cry. I say a prayer for the child, for the caregivers, for the families left in the wake. I pray for the parents and their marriages, sending them strength in the face of unspeakable, potentially destructive pain. I pray for any older and younger siblings, that their heritage not be one of shadows, loss, and shoes that are impossible to fill. And I find my little boy, catch his eye, and try for a smile....ever grateful that he is there and smiling.
The truth is, though, that I very rarely read about these tiny children fighting their enormous battles. But their stories are never far from my mind -- the ones I know and the ones I don't. The heartbreak, the fear, and the gratitude, always braided together in the background.
Kyrie, eleison.
These generally are sick babies who are born to families that love and adore and very much want them. Often they're born to parents whose marriages are intact, and maybe there are older siblings. These are stories that were supposed to be good and are ending in tragedy. It's heartbreaking.
But for me, it's also terrifying. Because I don't have an adoring husband right now. There's only one pitter-patter on my floors. And as much as I'd like that situation to change, the fact remains that for now, it's just the two of us. So if my baby were to become a sick baby, I would be the only one left. I can't look at the photos without seeing my son. I can't read the stories without playing the scenario out in my personal situation. I can't breathe for all of the "what if that happened to us" crowding my lungs. So I look away, scroll down, close the browser window.
Maybe this shows just how self-centered I am. And I do struggle with my own selfishness, every single day. I think that's what being a parent is -- a daily confrontation with your own selfishness. If you're a parent and you give a rat's behind, then you know exactly what I mean.
When I read about sick babies, dying babies, babies that didn't make it, I cry. I say a prayer for the child, for the caregivers, for the families left in the wake. I pray for the parents and their marriages, sending them strength in the face of unspeakable, potentially destructive pain. I pray for any older and younger siblings, that their heritage not be one of shadows, loss, and shoes that are impossible to fill. And I find my little boy, catch his eye, and try for a smile....ever grateful that he is there and smiling.
The truth is, though, that I very rarely read about these tiny children fighting their enormous battles. But their stories are never far from my mind -- the ones I know and the ones I don't. The heartbreak, the fear, and the gratitude, always braided together in the background.
Kyrie, eleison.
8.19.2013
potty training a boy before 2
About a month ago, I was kicking a bag of dirty diapers around the bathroom when I realized that I just don't want to be doing diaper laundry any more. It had started to feel like it was never-ending because dipes have to be washed every 3-ish days, and between the washing and the air-drying and the re-stuffing, diaper laundry almost never ended.
These days, most folks don't even think about trying to potty train until the child is at least 2. Well...surprise surprise, I decided to buck convention in this regard, too. For about three weeks now, Gabriel has been diaper-free at home, with mixed-but-increasingly-more-successful results. He's made consistent progress, just not what I would call super-duper rapidly. That said, we went from peeing all the time everywhere, to peeing occasionally in corners, within a couple of days.
I am more or less following the advice of John Rosemond in his book, Toilet Training without Tantrums*. The very basic idea is what Rosemond calls N75, short for "naked and $75." N75 basically says that when it's time to train (and the sooner, the better), let your child go naked (or wear briefs if a boy) around the house and then when training is over, spend $75 on getting your carpets cleaned. I think it might be more like N100 these days, but since I have all hardwoods I just rolled up my carpets and we're good to go.
I started him off naked during all waking hours, partly because I am cheap and didn't want to buy underwear, and partly because I thought it would be easier logistically since G doesn't know how to take his pants on and off yet. But when I realized that he was having tremendous fun watching the "arc" if you know what I mean, I put him in teeny, tiny tighty-whities. These things are really freaking cute, to the extent that underwear can be cute. No more arc. So that seemed to help a lot with the progress.
He's also been staying dry during naps since we began this little experiment in parenting and socialization, which is admittedly very exciting but only to a small audience, namely ME.
We aren't quite there yet, but he's come a long way and has built up what seems to be a pretty good awareness of his body at this point. Now it's just a matter of getting him to remember to get to the potty, and not just be happy about identifying "go-time." We're about 75% there.
I'm not sure what will come next, but at some point I'll have to get him used to the deal while dressed, and while not at home. All in due time. In the meantime, I think I'm gonna go do the dance of joy.
*Not an affiliate link.
These days, most folks don't even think about trying to potty train until the child is at least 2. Well...surprise surprise, I decided to buck convention in this regard, too. For about three weeks now, Gabriel has been diaper-free at home, with mixed-but-increasingly-more-successful results. He's made consistent progress, just not what I would call super-duper rapidly. That said, we went from peeing all the time everywhere, to peeing occasionally in corners, within a couple of days.
I am more or less following the advice of John Rosemond in his book, Toilet Training without Tantrums*. The very basic idea is what Rosemond calls N75, short for "naked and $75." N75 basically says that when it's time to train (and the sooner, the better), let your child go naked (or wear briefs if a boy) around the house and then when training is over, spend $75 on getting your carpets cleaned. I think it might be more like N100 these days, but since I have all hardwoods I just rolled up my carpets and we're good to go.
I started him off naked during all waking hours, partly because I am cheap and didn't want to buy underwear, and partly because I thought it would be easier logistically since G doesn't know how to take his pants on and off yet. But when I realized that he was having tremendous fun watching the "arc" if you know what I mean, I put him in teeny, tiny tighty-whities. These things are really freaking cute, to the extent that underwear can be cute. No more arc. So that seemed to help a lot with the progress.
He's also been staying dry during naps since we began this little experiment in parenting and socialization, which is admittedly very exciting but only to a small audience, namely ME.
We aren't quite there yet, but he's come a long way and has built up what seems to be a pretty good awareness of his body at this point. Now it's just a matter of getting him to remember to get to the potty, and not just be happy about identifying "go-time." We're about 75% there.
I'm not sure what will come next, but at some point I'll have to get him used to the deal while dressed, and while not at home. All in due time. In the meantime, I think I'm gonna go do the dance of joy.
*Not an affiliate link.
8.02.2013
nouwen on broader vocation
I'm reading a Nouwen book on discernment and what the process looks like. It's rich stuff, but this is no surprise.
Lately I have felt inexplicably overwhelmed. Certainly being overly tired, having a toddler at home 24/7, and running a little low on funds has something to do with it. But it's felt almost like there's some sort of block against me being able to get as much done as I'd like. It's been frustrating to feel so easily incapacitated. Mama needs a nap.
It's felt a little tough lately. I didn't work for most of June because of some health concerns, and July has been very low-paying as a result. Things will pick back up in August, but if I'm not able to find a way to get more sleep, I will just be burning the candle at both ends. We're in the throes of potty training and it is not going "well" if "well" is defined as "learned quickly," so I spend a LOT more time cleaning than I would prefer (but the alternative of going back to diapers makes the trade-off worth it, in my opinion). Tell any single mama who is at home all day with a toddler that she "shouldn't be this stressed" and just see if she doesn't go ballistic on you; that said, on paper there doesn't seem to be much of a good reason for me to feel as close to the edge as I do. The question "how could this possibly be the right thing to be doing?" keeps me up at night. Something isn't working right.
Turns out, it was me all along.
The other day, surrounded by three dogs and one naked toddler, I snatched a few minutes to lie on the couch and read a couple of pages in the Nouwen book. And what I found was exactly what I needed to hear:
What I learned from testing a call in Latin America is that my broader vocation is simply to enjoy God's presence, do God's will, and be grateful wherever I am. The question of where to live and what to do is really insignificant compared to the question of how to keep the eyes of my heart focused on the Lord. I can be teaching at Yale, working in the bakery at the Genesee Abbey, walking with poor children in Peru, or writing a book, and still feel totally useless. Or I can do these same things and know that I am fulfilling my call. There is no such thing as the right place or the right job. I can be miserable or joyful, restless or at peace, in all situations.
I've been getting too caught up in the notion of "the right place" or "the right thing to do" and measuring myself according to some standard that not only is not realistic, but is entirely self-directed. I've got to cut myself some slack and be realistic about my situation -- the good, the bad, and the temporary. I've also got to start getting to bed at a decent hour. And it's time to get back into morning prayer for sure.
I'm no less tired than I was, but I feel more calmed. The panic and perpetual frustration are starting to subside as my heart gets refocused. Yes, with God's help, I can do this.
Let this be a reminder. Kyrie eleison.
Lately I have felt inexplicably overwhelmed. Certainly being overly tired, having a toddler at home 24/7, and running a little low on funds has something to do with it. But it's felt almost like there's some sort of block against me being able to get as much done as I'd like. It's been frustrating to feel so easily incapacitated. Mama needs a nap.
It's felt a little tough lately. I didn't work for most of June because of some health concerns, and July has been very low-paying as a result. Things will pick back up in August, but if I'm not able to find a way to get more sleep, I will just be burning the candle at both ends. We're in the throes of potty training and it is not going "well" if "well" is defined as "learned quickly," so I spend a LOT more time cleaning than I would prefer (but the alternative of going back to diapers makes the trade-off worth it, in my opinion). Tell any single mama who is at home all day with a toddler that she "shouldn't be this stressed" and just see if she doesn't go ballistic on you; that said, on paper there doesn't seem to be much of a good reason for me to feel as close to the edge as I do. The question "how could this possibly be the right thing to be doing?" keeps me up at night. Something isn't working right.
Turns out, it was me all along.
The other day, surrounded by three dogs and one naked toddler, I snatched a few minutes to lie on the couch and read a couple of pages in the Nouwen book. And what I found was exactly what I needed to hear:
What I learned from testing a call in Latin America is that my broader vocation is simply to enjoy God's presence, do God's will, and be grateful wherever I am. The question of where to live and what to do is really insignificant compared to the question of how to keep the eyes of my heart focused on the Lord. I can be teaching at Yale, working in the bakery at the Genesee Abbey, walking with poor children in Peru, or writing a book, and still feel totally useless. Or I can do these same things and know that I am fulfilling my call. There is no such thing as the right place or the right job. I can be miserable or joyful, restless or at peace, in all situations.
I've been getting too caught up in the notion of "the right place" or "the right thing to do" and measuring myself according to some standard that not only is not realistic, but is entirely self-directed. I've got to cut myself some slack and be realistic about my situation -- the good, the bad, and the temporary. I've also got to start getting to bed at a decent hour. And it's time to get back into morning prayer for sure.
I'm no less tired than I was, but I feel more calmed. The panic and perpetual frustration are starting to subside as my heart gets refocused. Yes, with God's help, I can do this.
Let this be a reminder. Kyrie eleison.
7.31.2013
the long hug goodnight
Last night as I was coaxing my son to sleep, there was a moment that had a deep impact on me. It was about 30 minutes past his bedtime, and he was having some trouble getting to sleep. I'd gone in to respond to the latest wails, prepared to instruct him, firmly but lovingly, to lie down. Instead, I met him at the rail of his crib and asked him if he wanted a hug. He nodded yes, and I picked him up.
In that instant between placing my hands on his waist and lifting him to my shoulder, I felt a profoundly deep sense of being...
Alone.
The word grasped my throat with an iron fist and shook me to my core. You know that instantaneous, panic-induced ice-cold burst you get in the front of your chest that sends your head throbbing and your heart racing? It was like that, except instead of adrenaline it was just a sense.
I am alone.
As I stood with my child, his head on my shoulder and his body draped across mine, I thought about how I am the only one. I'm the only one who could tell by his little face that he needed a hug, not an authoritarian. I'm the only one who knows the full range of his vocabulary, or when he wants a graham cracker not an animal cracker, or whether he wants to "share" my food because he's bored or because he's hungry. It's my job, day in and day out, to teach him that he is worthy of respect, that we do not hurt the ones we love, that God is here.
Certainly there are others who know him and love him. And there are those who have stayed or come alongside me. So we aren't really alone, not really. But at 9 o'clock at night, I'm the only one who hears him sneezing on the baby monitor. No one else reads the parenting books, places a hand on his head to recite the evening's prayer, understands which insert goes with which cloth diaper. My thumb is the only one that marks the sign of the cross his little forehead every night.
So I stood there, hugging my son in the center of his room, well past bedtime and deep into my final reserves of energy for the day. Because he needed a long hug to end his day. And because I was the only one who was there to hug him.
In that instant between placing my hands on his waist and lifting him to my shoulder, I felt a profoundly deep sense of being...
Alone.
The word grasped my throat with an iron fist and shook me to my core. You know that instantaneous, panic-induced ice-cold burst you get in the front of your chest that sends your head throbbing and your heart racing? It was like that, except instead of adrenaline it was just a sense.
I am alone.
As I stood with my child, his head on my shoulder and his body draped across mine, I thought about how I am the only one. I'm the only one who could tell by his little face that he needed a hug, not an authoritarian. I'm the only one who knows the full range of his vocabulary, or when he wants a graham cracker not an animal cracker, or whether he wants to "share" my food because he's bored or because he's hungry. It's my job, day in and day out, to teach him that he is worthy of respect, that we do not hurt the ones we love, that God is here.
Certainly there are others who know him and love him. And there are those who have stayed or come alongside me. So we aren't really alone, not really. But at 9 o'clock at night, I'm the only one who hears him sneezing on the baby monitor. No one else reads the parenting books, places a hand on his head to recite the evening's prayer, understands which insert goes with which cloth diaper. My thumb is the only one that marks the sign of the cross his little forehead every night.
So I stood there, hugging my son in the center of his room, well past bedtime and deep into my final reserves of energy for the day. Because he needed a long hug to end his day. And because I was the only one who was there to hug him.
7.26.2013
friday links: right in the gut edition
Here are some things I've read recently that spoke directly to something I needed to hear:
Why your kids don't need a super mama - a gentle, breathtaking reminder to pull up out of "trying to be a good mom" and relying on God to meet you with grace instead.
On being approached by three young black men - I've long been an admirer of Shawn Smucker. The last line of this essay from him really got me thinking about my own reactions and perceptions. I might be forever changed.
All will be well - Micha's One Good Phrase series is supurb. This entry was so powerful that it stunned my mind into crystal-clear silence when I had been caught in a web of anxiety and worry.
Five reasons toddlers don't need diversion, and what to do instead - This is just a helpful parenting thing that has been really useful to add to my framework for parenting this toddler of mine.
Why your kids don't need a super mama - a gentle, breathtaking reminder to pull up out of "trying to be a good mom" and relying on God to meet you with grace instead.
On being approached by three young black men - I've long been an admirer of Shawn Smucker. The last line of this essay from him really got me thinking about my own reactions and perceptions. I might be forever changed.
All will be well - Micha's One Good Phrase series is supurb. This entry was so powerful that it stunned my mind into crystal-clear silence when I had been caught in a web of anxiety and worry.
Five reasons toddlers don't need diversion, and what to do instead - This is just a helpful parenting thing that has been really useful to add to my framework for parenting this toddler of mine.
7.15.2013
single parenting autonomy
When coming out of a difficult marriage, a lot of women relish the thought of having a home to themselves, living peacefully in whatever ways they want. They don't have to hide from anyone, walk on eggshells, avoid being themselves, or share parenting decisions with someone whose primary concern seem to be "find the way to be the most combative."
(This is where I point out that I had a difficult marriage but that my circumstances weren't as scary as those in the link above.)
Being able to establish my home the best way I see fit is a heavy blessing. I do relish the freedom I have in this apartment and this new life. As I explained to a friend the other day, being a single mom isn't as hard (yet) as I thought it was going to be. I thought it would crush me. I thought I would be a basket-case most days, perpetually two seconds away from a meltdown. And the truth is, I'm not. The truth is, the challenges and responsibilities of caring for this child on my own are huge and unavoidable, but I find myself being grateful constantly that I have so much autonomy as a parent. I have the opportunity to create exactly the kind of home life, spiritual and otherwise, that I have always wanted for my children, and I have more freedom in doing so now than I ever would have while I was married. That is a gift, and it will be a blessing for my son.
I don't know that I will ever say I'm glad to be divorced, but there's redemption in this situation. My parenting is done on my terms, and my terms are good terms. I am a good mom, and my son is a good boy. The life we'll have -- that we're already having -- is hardly what I had ever imagined or hoped, but it's a good one. There is good here...bountiful good. Thanks be to God.
(This is where I point out that I had a difficult marriage but that my circumstances weren't as scary as those in the link above.)
Being able to establish my home the best way I see fit is a heavy blessing. I do relish the freedom I have in this apartment and this new life. As I explained to a friend the other day, being a single mom isn't as hard (yet) as I thought it was going to be. I thought it would crush me. I thought I would be a basket-case most days, perpetually two seconds away from a meltdown. And the truth is, I'm not. The truth is, the challenges and responsibilities of caring for this child on my own are huge and unavoidable, but I find myself being grateful constantly that I have so much autonomy as a parent. I have the opportunity to create exactly the kind of home life, spiritual and otherwise, that I have always wanted for my children, and I have more freedom in doing so now than I ever would have while I was married. That is a gift, and it will be a blessing for my son.
I don't know that I will ever say I'm glad to be divorced, but there's redemption in this situation. My parenting is done on my terms, and my terms are good terms. I am a good mom, and my son is a good boy. The life we'll have -- that we're already having -- is hardly what I had ever imagined or hoped, but it's a good one. There is good here...bountiful good. Thanks be to God.
5.01.2013
how and why i abandoned attachment parenting at night
The sleeping situation here in Casa Moi has been a near-continuous struggle, with shifts and turns and endless hours of agonizing and fretting (on my part) and a good amount of fussing and demanding "a certain way of doing things" (on his part).
When Gabriel was a baby and we were still living in Denver, he slept a lot in his crib and seemed ok with it. When we moved, I didn't have his crib for about 6 months, and during that time, he became fully acclimated to sleeping in my queen-size bed with me. We were in that arrangement until he was about a year old, at which point I had just figured it was going to be a battle to get him back to sleeping on his own, and I had neither the time nor the inclination to fight. So when we moved again, into our own apartment this time, it was just him and me on a twin mattress on the floor. Cramped quarters.
Eventually I hauled his crib mattress into my room and set it between my bed and the wall, making him a little "sidecar" arrangement in the corner. It took a while (...quite a while) to get him ok with sleeping there, and it required significant amounts of nursing and about three weeks of reassuring him as he screamed for an hour or two each night to get him sleeping through the night. Once he accepted the transition, though, I felt a new sense of freedom. No more babies draping themselves across my neck at night! No more being kicked and prodded. It was glorious.
Until it wasn't. Not long into our newly accepted sleeping arrangement, Gabriel got sick. Like sickie sickie sick. And he was sick for well over a week. Poor baby would wake up in the middle of the night feeling super yucky, and of course I'd be right there to help him out. Well, that was fine, until he was all better but still waking up constantly at night, climbing all over me, and fusser-fusser-fussing to nurse (and screaming, up to hours at a time, when I would not acquiesce).
I was exhausted.
I was also beginning to resent him. He was always touching me...I never had a break. And nursing was starting to hurt. I thought about quitting -- he was 15 months old, for goodness' sake. I thought about some sort of schedule of weaning (only nurse at these times or whatever). I mostly just thought "maybe tonight he'll sleep through and we can get on with this. It's been a couple of weeks...surely he'll adjust soon...I'm too tired to figure it out."
Well, he never adjusted. And late into the evening one Friday, after he nursed himself to sleep at 9:30 and then woke himself up five seconds later, I snapped. Mama couldn't handle one more second of bedtime hell, of not knowing if or when he would finally pass out, of having a toddler who stayed up until 10 or 11 and left zero margin for grown-up not-mommy time, of having my hopes for a normal bedtime and decent evening and hope of sleep dashed. Nope, I snapped. Pretty sure I even said "I can't do this anymore" out loud.
I held my son up, looked him in the eye, and told him that it was time for him to start sleeping in his crib.
And just like that, I abandoned my long-held practice of co-sleeping or bed-sharing or whatever you want to call it, and I plopped him in, sang him songs until he cried himself to sleep, and had the rest of the night all to myself. The next morning, I woke up happy to see my son. It's been fairly smooth sailing ever since.
I feel like a new woman.
2.25.2013
some thoughts on baptism
This school year I've been going through the adult inquirer's class at the church where I've sort of planted myself. Inquiring means I am learning about pertinent topics in Christianity and how we as Christians and as Episcopalians can begin to think about these topics.
Most recently the class talked about baptism. I have never really understood baptism, and whenever I've tried to understand baptism, I get stuck in the "infant baptism doesn't make sense" trap. In short, here's the deal: baptism is a one-time thing (at least for mainline denominations). Once you're baptized, you're baptized. You can't undo it and you can't re-do it, either. The purpose of baptism is to set yourself apart with a public declaration of your acceptance of God, Jesus, the gospel, etc. There's a covenant involved, where you answer questions and make a commitment out loud in front of the congregation (who also makes commitments to you). It's an act of intent, and most people are required to go through some sort of education process beforehand, because it's kind of a big deal.
So because it's kind of a big deal, it's a one-time-only thing, and it's a personal commitment, the question is, why do we baptize babies? They aren't capable of making this commitment and shouldn't we let them choose for themselves? I was generally of this persuasion until this last inquirers class. That's when one of the other parents in my discussion group said something about how meaningful the line in the Episcopal baptismal covenant says "you are marked as a Child of God" (or something like that), and I started to rethink my stance.
It probably goes without saying at this point that Gabriel isn't baptized. This is in part because I wasn't sure I "agreed" with infant baptism, and it's also in part due to the fact that his dad is a minister and there is some inherent conflict there that I am not quite ready to face. If I had him baptized, I would want it to be at our church, where the people know and love him and he'll presumably grow up. I imagine Brian pictures himself as the one to baptize Gabriel, but I for personal reasons have a lot of reservations about that, because among other things I think it would be painful, awkward, or both, especially if he's still a baby. We could do it at my church, and the priests there have offered to have Brian involved if we did that, but it would be strange for me to see Brian in that context. We could do it at whatever church he'll be serving next, but that would be really weird for me, and I'm not sure what the point is if it's a congregation where no one knows him and he has no real connections. Someone suggested doing it at Brian's home church, where people know and care about all of us, but I don't plan on darkening their threshold any time soon, so that's out for me, too. There aren't any other churches in the area where we have any ties, too. So if I want to pursue this baptism thing, I am left with doing it somewhere not-at-a-church, which is fine except it kind of goes in contrast to one of my biggest draws to baptism -- the congregational witness. So I'm back to thinking maybe I shouldn't impose baptism on him and let him decide for himself when he's older, so we can follow his lead.
Hearing that line about him being marked as a child of Christ, though -- that's something this mama very much wants for her little boy.
Most recently the class talked about baptism. I have never really understood baptism, and whenever I've tried to understand baptism, I get stuck in the "infant baptism doesn't make sense" trap. In short, here's the deal: baptism is a one-time thing (at least for mainline denominations). Once you're baptized, you're baptized. You can't undo it and you can't re-do it, either. The purpose of baptism is to set yourself apart with a public declaration of your acceptance of God, Jesus, the gospel, etc. There's a covenant involved, where you answer questions and make a commitment out loud in front of the congregation (who also makes commitments to you). It's an act of intent, and most people are required to go through some sort of education process beforehand, because it's kind of a big deal.
So because it's kind of a big deal, it's a one-time-only thing, and it's a personal commitment, the question is, why do we baptize babies? They aren't capable of making this commitment and shouldn't we let them choose for themselves? I was generally of this persuasion until this last inquirers class. That's when one of the other parents in my discussion group said something about how meaningful the line in the Episcopal baptismal covenant says "you are marked as a Child of God" (or something like that), and I started to rethink my stance.
It probably goes without saying at this point that Gabriel isn't baptized. This is in part because I wasn't sure I "agreed" with infant baptism, and it's also in part due to the fact that his dad is a minister and there is some inherent conflict there that I am not quite ready to face. If I had him baptized, I would want it to be at our church, where the people know and love him and he'll presumably grow up. I imagine Brian pictures himself as the one to baptize Gabriel, but I for personal reasons have a lot of reservations about that, because among other things I think it would be painful, awkward, or both, especially if he's still a baby. We could do it at my church, and the priests there have offered to have Brian involved if we did that, but it would be strange for me to see Brian in that context. We could do it at whatever church he'll be serving next, but that would be really weird for me, and I'm not sure what the point is if it's a congregation where no one knows him and he has no real connections. Someone suggested doing it at Brian's home church, where people know and care about all of us, but I don't plan on darkening their threshold any time soon, so that's out for me, too. There aren't any other churches in the area where we have any ties, too. So if I want to pursue this baptism thing, I am left with doing it somewhere not-at-a-church, which is fine except it kind of goes in contrast to one of my biggest draws to baptism -- the congregational witness. So I'm back to thinking maybe I shouldn't impose baptism on him and let him decide for himself when he's older, so we can follow his lead.
Hearing that line about him being marked as a child of Christ, though -- that's something this mama very much wants for her little boy.
2.12.2013
preparing for lent, with a toddler
For a while now -- maybe a couple of years or so -- I've had an interest in celebrating the liturgical year, observing major feasts and festivals and liturgical traditions. I think it stems from my Lutheran upbringing steeped in liturgy. Before I was pregnant, I found myself browsing family blogs written by moms who are intentional about making church celebrations a part of their home life. Then I was pregnant, and then my marriage fell apart, and then I had a baby...and my interest in liturgy at home grew but my capacity to read shrank.
Now that I'm getting re-calibrated, I'm turning once again to liturgy, at church and at home. Really, liturgy is what drew me to the Episcopal church, and this rich church history of tradition and ritual is something I want to learn more of and teach my son.
Advent was kind of the beginning for me to dig back in, find the books, revisit the blogs, and get my head in the right place. Since then, I've been aware of what's going on in the liturgical year but I haven't done a whole lot of actual practice yet. And now, step one is right around the corner: Lent.
There's a real desire to carry Gabriel along with me and make these celebrations a part of his life from the beginning of his consciousness. He is not old enough to pick up on any of the significance of Lent, which leaves me a lot of room to get my feet wet and figure out how these celebrations might look for our little family. I'd like to involve him in ways that are age-appropriate, even though he isn't quite learning anything yet. It can still be a part of our collective memory -- the family memory. Celebrating the church calendar is something that we will say we do, that we've been doing since before the time he could remember anything.
Right now the primary resource is a book I found maybe a year and a half ago, called To Dance With God. I've read the book and it is rich with ideas, but it is so much more than a list of festivals and rituals. It's a resource for understanding the basics of theology, for finding ways to distill big concepts into things that can be grasped by people of all ages and experiences. I think maybe it's from a Catholic bent, but I could be wrong about that.
In addition, these are three of the blogs that I've found to be particularly helpful as I get my head around this whole church-at-home thing:
Like Mother, Like Daughter (this is actually one of my very favorite blogs of all time, hands down)
Watkins Every Flavor Beans (this one has a Montessori/Godly Play approach that I just love-love-love)
Carrots for Michaelmas (this one also has a homesteading/DIY sort of aspect, which of course I eat up)
At least two of these blogs are from Catholic families, though I haven't found that to get in the way of what I'm after. Episcopalians aren't necessarily too far from Catholics when it comes to liturgy, as best I can tell, though there is maybe not as strong of a push on the saint stuff.
If you're curious about celebrating the liturgical year, I'd recommend starting with any of the things I named above. I've found Pinterest to be another great resource, especially for digging up ideas for a specific feast or holiday (you can find my specific Pinterest board here). And there's also the good old internet search, beloved standby of mine (that's my referral link to Swagbucks, which I also love-love-love).
Now that I'm getting re-calibrated, I'm turning once again to liturgy, at church and at home. Really, liturgy is what drew me to the Episcopal church, and this rich church history of tradition and ritual is something I want to learn more of and teach my son.
Advent was kind of the beginning for me to dig back in, find the books, revisit the blogs, and get my head in the right place. Since then, I've been aware of what's going on in the liturgical year but I haven't done a whole lot of actual practice yet. And now, step one is right around the corner: Lent.
There's a real desire to carry Gabriel along with me and make these celebrations a part of his life from the beginning of his consciousness. He is not old enough to pick up on any of the significance of Lent, which leaves me a lot of room to get my feet wet and figure out how these celebrations might look for our little family. I'd like to involve him in ways that are age-appropriate, even though he isn't quite learning anything yet. It can still be a part of our collective memory -- the family memory. Celebrating the church calendar is something that we will say we do, that we've been doing since before the time he could remember anything.
Right now the primary resource is a book I found maybe a year and a half ago, called To Dance With God. I've read the book and it is rich with ideas, but it is so much more than a list of festivals and rituals. It's a resource for understanding the basics of theology, for finding ways to distill big concepts into things that can be grasped by people of all ages and experiences. I think maybe it's from a Catholic bent, but I could be wrong about that.
In addition, these are three of the blogs that I've found to be particularly helpful as I get my head around this whole church-at-home thing:
Like Mother, Like Daughter (this is actually one of my very favorite blogs of all time, hands down)
Watkins Every Flavor Beans (this one has a Montessori/Godly Play approach that I just love-love-love)
Carrots for Michaelmas (this one also has a homesteading/DIY sort of aspect, which of course I eat up)
At least two of these blogs are from Catholic families, though I haven't found that to get in the way of what I'm after. Episcopalians aren't necessarily too far from Catholics when it comes to liturgy, as best I can tell, though there is maybe not as strong of a push on the saint stuff.
If you're curious about celebrating the liturgical year, I'd recommend starting with any of the things I named above. I've found Pinterest to be another great resource, especially for digging up ideas for a specific feast or holiday (you can find my specific Pinterest board here). And there's also the good old internet search, beloved standby of mine (that's my referral link to Swagbucks, which I also love-love-love).
12.10.2012
pearl on respecting your child
I'm reading a book I said I'd never read. After a couple of conversations with a wise friend, and plenty of self-assurance that reading something doesn't necessarily require implementing it, I picked up a copy of To Train Up a Child. I'm 28 pages in, and so far I haven't had a stroke, been pursued by an angry mob, or been struck by lightening.
While I'm sure a lot of what's in this book would be highly controversial in today's parenting environment, what I've read so far has not been as frightening as my worst assumptions were. There's a lot that challenges current thoughts on parenting, discipline, and punishment, though, and plenty of assertions to chew on.
That said, I've been shocked to find some gold nuggets. Yes, shocked. I am not kidding, y'all. I really didn't want to read this book and I REALLY didn't want to agree with anything in it. I had all sorts of preconceived notions of what I would read, and these were not the most flattering of notions.
But get a load of this:
The feelings of a child are just as important and sacred as those of an adult. Always treat your children with respect. Never ridicule, mock, or laugh at your child's ideas, creations, or ambitions. The trust you desire to when they are older must be established and maintained when they are young.
If that doesn't fly in the face of all my assumptions about what I'd find in a book by the Pearls, nothing would. And on this matter right here, I couldn't agree more. The rest remains to be seen.
How about you? Are you familiar with this book or the authors? What are your thoughts on respecting children and how that might play out? Have you ever tried something expecting to hate it and found that maybe it wasn't as bad as you anticipated?
While I'm sure a lot of what's in this book would be highly controversial in today's parenting environment, what I've read so far has not been as frightening as my worst assumptions were. There's a lot that challenges current thoughts on parenting, discipline, and punishment, though, and plenty of assertions to chew on.
That said, I've been shocked to find some gold nuggets. Yes, shocked. I am not kidding, y'all. I really didn't want to read this book and I REALLY didn't want to agree with anything in it. I had all sorts of preconceived notions of what I would read, and these were not the most flattering of notions.
But get a load of this:
The feelings of a child are just as important and sacred as those of an adult. Always treat your children with respect. Never ridicule, mock, or laugh at your child's ideas, creations, or ambitions. The trust you desire to when they are older must be established and maintained when they are young.
If that doesn't fly in the face of all my assumptions about what I'd find in a book by the Pearls, nothing would. And on this matter right here, I couldn't agree more. The rest remains to be seen.
How about you? Are you familiar with this book or the authors? What are your thoughts on respecting children and how that might play out? Have you ever tried something expecting to hate it and found that maybe it wasn't as bad as you anticipated?
11.09.2012
rosemond on toys
I do a lot of reading books about parenting, education, lifestyle, discipline, etc. (The term "a lot" is relative, of course; last year I read more than 70 books and this year I might read as many as 10.)
I'm looking for parenting and lifestyle methods that make sense for my little family and resonate with my personal values. I tend not to do things conventionally anyway, so a lot of what I'm considering and incorporating may be considered "alternative" to some, including some folks in my family. And what's a blog for if not to expound on one's inner thought life?
With that, I bring you one piece of my ongoing development as a parent. The advice-giver whose advice I'll share today is John Rosemond. Rosemond is no-nonsense and old-school. The book I just finished is the original 6 Point Plan, first published in like 1990 or something. The cover is really hilarious. There are more recent editions that are maybe helpful, but I kind of like the style of self-help from the late 80s and early 90s. It's so...convinced of itself. Anyway.
Here's an excerpt on toys that does a good summation of my own inclinations toward Gabriel's toy horde:
All truly creative toys have one characteristic in common: They encourage and enable children to perform what are called "transformations." A child performs a transformation whenever he uses something, anything, to represent something else. For instance, when a child takes a pinecone and sets it upright on the ground and calls it a tree, that's a transformation. Transformations are the essence of fantasy, which is, in turn, the essence of play. In a child's hands, an empty box becomes a boat, a car, a table, or anything else he wills it to be. A child can also transform himself into anyone he wants to be - Tarzan, Jane, or the neighborhood grocer. If a toy aids a child in making transformations, then it is well-worth the money spent on it, not to mention the time the child spends playing with it.
Toys which encourage transformations include creative materials such as clay, fingerpaints, and crayons. inside, there's the everyday household stuff of empty oatmeal cartons, Popsicle sticks, spoons, shoeboxes, empty spools of thread, straws, paper bags, buttons, pots and pans, and empty toilet paper rolls.
...
In addition to being safe, a good toy embodies four qualities:
- First, it presents a wide range of creative possibilities. It is capable of being many things, as defined by the child's imagination, rather than one thing, as defined by the manufacturer. In other words, it enables transformations.
- Second, it encourages manipulation. It can be taken apart and put together in various ways. Toys of this kind hold a child's interest because they stimulate creative behavior.
- Third, it's age-appropriate. You don't give a rubber duck to a ten-year-old any more than you give an electric train to a two-year-old....
- Fourth, it's durable. It will withstand a lot of abuse.
Rosemond includes things like LEGO, Lincoln Logs, and Erector as good toys. Also things like plain old dolls (not ones that cry and poop and whatever), wooden blocks, and musical instruments are good. Most anything you'll find in a "natural toys catalogue" these days would constitute a "good" toy by my definition, though there are certainly some things I prefer over others.
It's nice to have this framework to consider when looking for toys for Gabriel, and the specific "rule" about transformations. I get really taken by cool things like toy wooden push-reel mowers (instead of the plastic bubble mower) - it's wooden and natural and it even emulates a reel mower like the one I have, so it reflects reality. But it's a mower and there isn't much room for it to become something else, whereas the wooden baby walker wagon I have my eyes on could play loads of different roles for playing (a car, a wagon, a cart, a lawn mower, who knows what else). So I took the wooden reel toy off the wish list.
Rosemond also advocates having not-too-many toys, saying that clearing out the clutter and the visual noise makes play more possible. This sits well with both my desires for simplicity and my small budget. I don't want Gabriel growing up with a ton of stuff. I want him to have a "make it do" kind of childhood, where anything can become anything else and his imagination runs wild.
As I make my way through more books, I will share some thoughts. Up next is probably going to be a book on infant Montessori stuff. Did I just give you parenting whiplash? Oops...
Have you heard of John Rosemond? Whose parenting advice has meant the most to you? What was your favorite toy?
I'm looking for parenting and lifestyle methods that make sense for my little family and resonate with my personal values. I tend not to do things conventionally anyway, so a lot of what I'm considering and incorporating may be considered "alternative" to some, including some folks in my family. And what's a blog for if not to expound on one's inner thought life?
With that, I bring you one piece of my ongoing development as a parent. The advice-giver whose advice I'll share today is John Rosemond. Rosemond is no-nonsense and old-school. The book I just finished is the original 6 Point Plan, first published in like 1990 or something. The cover is really hilarious. There are more recent editions that are maybe helpful, but I kind of like the style of self-help from the late 80s and early 90s. It's so...convinced of itself. Anyway.
Here's an excerpt on toys that does a good summation of my own inclinations toward Gabriel's toy horde:
All truly creative toys have one characteristic in common: They encourage and enable children to perform what are called "transformations." A child performs a transformation whenever he uses something, anything, to represent something else. For instance, when a child takes a pinecone and sets it upright on the ground and calls it a tree, that's a transformation. Transformations are the essence of fantasy, which is, in turn, the essence of play. In a child's hands, an empty box becomes a boat, a car, a table, or anything else he wills it to be. A child can also transform himself into anyone he wants to be - Tarzan, Jane, or the neighborhood grocer. If a toy aids a child in making transformations, then it is well-worth the money spent on it, not to mention the time the child spends playing with it.
Toys which encourage transformations include creative materials such as clay, fingerpaints, and crayons. inside, there's the everyday household stuff of empty oatmeal cartons, Popsicle sticks, spoons, shoeboxes, empty spools of thread, straws, paper bags, buttons, pots and pans, and empty toilet paper rolls.
...
In addition to being safe, a good toy embodies four qualities:
- First, it presents a wide range of creative possibilities. It is capable of being many things, as defined by the child's imagination, rather than one thing, as defined by the manufacturer. In other words, it enables transformations.
- Second, it encourages manipulation. It can be taken apart and put together in various ways. Toys of this kind hold a child's interest because they stimulate creative behavior.
- Third, it's age-appropriate. You don't give a rubber duck to a ten-year-old any more than you give an electric train to a two-year-old....
- Fourth, it's durable. It will withstand a lot of abuse.
Rosemond includes things like LEGO, Lincoln Logs, and Erector as good toys. Also things like plain old dolls (not ones that cry and poop and whatever), wooden blocks, and musical instruments are good. Most anything you'll find in a "natural toys catalogue" these days would constitute a "good" toy by my definition, though there are certainly some things I prefer over others.
It's nice to have this framework to consider when looking for toys for Gabriel, and the specific "rule" about transformations. I get really taken by cool things like toy wooden push-reel mowers (instead of the plastic bubble mower) - it's wooden and natural and it even emulates a reel mower like the one I have, so it reflects reality. But it's a mower and there isn't much room for it to become something else, whereas the wooden baby walker wagon I have my eyes on could play loads of different roles for playing (a car, a wagon, a cart, a lawn mower, who knows what else). So I took the wooden reel toy off the wish list.
Rosemond also advocates having not-too-many toys, saying that clearing out the clutter and the visual noise makes play more possible. This sits well with both my desires for simplicity and my small budget. I don't want Gabriel growing up with a ton of stuff. I want him to have a "make it do" kind of childhood, where anything can become anything else and his imagination runs wild.
As I make my way through more books, I will share some thoughts. Up next is probably going to be a book on infant Montessori stuff. Did I just give you parenting whiplash? Oops...
Have you heard of John Rosemond? Whose parenting advice has meant the most to you? What was your favorite toy?
11.02.2012
inventing our way through sleep training, part 3
Part 1
My boy is a champion fighter when it comes to combating the Sandman. Some days I am reduced to tears by his ability to avoid sleeping. Those are not my best days. So I started making up my own way to sleep train him.
If it is clearly time for baby to nap, or it is bedtime, I lay him down and encourage him to sleep. Usually I try to get away with not nursing him, but usually he wants to nurse. I say "it's time for sleeping" and I lie down next to him, demonstrating sleepiness (because everyone knows I'm exhausted and ready for a nap 24/7). He usually humors me and plays along, unless I break The Rules.
He will then begin a series of fake-outs. There is no way to predict how many fake-outs he is planning. A fake-out is when he is, by all appearances, about to pass the heck out. His eyes roll back, his cheeks get chubby, and he lays his head down on the mattress and gets still. Then, FAKE OUT! He rolls over and pushes himself into sitting, usually with eyes so heavy they won't open at first. He bobs his head while he "comes to" and gets his bearing (this is simultaneously the most adorable and most exasperating thing I see all day) and then takes off toward nearest interesting thing.
After fake-out #1, I say "it's time for sleeping" again and lay him back down. Sometimes he plays along again ("oh, right, I guess I'm a little sleepy, maybe I'll have a nap") and sometimes he immediately pushes up. Most of the time, I will then say "Gabriel, if you're going to play right now, you may play in your playpen" and I plunk him in the playpen, which is loaded with his favorite toys. Sometimes he is thrilled by this, and sometimes not. I then go about my business - picking up the room, checking email, whatever.
He plays contentedly (or not) and then, when he's tired again, he starts fussing. I usually wait until he's single-mindedly, determinedly fussing (release some of that energy, boy!!), and then I pick him up and start the whole "it's time for sleep" thing again.
Eventually, I end up winning.
I am planning to read the No Cry Sleep Solution once I get my hands on a library copy, to see some other suggestions. In the meantime, this is what we're doing.
I don't really know if it's making any difference in his sleep associations or the amount of sleep he's getting or the time it takes to get him there, but I feel much less helpless in the the not-sleeping situation, and I'm able to start getting some things done. That said, I worry a lot that I'm "doing it wrong." I fear I'm training him to see the playpen as somewhere we DON'T sleep, and I'm a little worried about how that will translate if and when I move him to a crib. I also haven't come up with a solution for getting him to sleep past my alarm, but my hope is that maybe, as he gets more and better sleep, he will start to sleep longer in the mornings- one of those "the more he sleeps, the more he sleeps" notions. I'm also hoping that the later sunrises might work in my favor.
10.31.2012
rosemond on being a relaxed parent
"The most effective parents ... are those who are not constantly busy in their children's lives, but are relaxed and therefore create a relaxed environment in which their children can discover their potential. Instead of hovering anxiously over their children, they act as consultants to their growth and development."
This John Rosemond quote comes from the first edition of his 6 Point Plan book. It resonates with me because my goal as a home-maker is to set up a relaxed, comfortable home life that stimulates growth and development but doesn't micromanage.
It's also in line with some general principles laid out by Maria Montessori, whose curriculum is all about promoting independence while developing children of character who are good stewards of themselves, their energy and interests, and their environment. It's such an encouragement to see trusted advice (Rosemond) overlapping with unprecedented advice (Montessori).
This John Rosemond quote comes from the first edition of his 6 Point Plan book. It resonates with me because my goal as a home-maker is to set up a relaxed, comfortable home life that stimulates growth and development but doesn't micromanage.
It's also in line with some general principles laid out by Maria Montessori, whose curriculum is all about promoting independence while developing children of character who are good stewards of themselves, their energy and interests, and their environment. It's such an encouragement to see trusted advice (Rosemond) overlapping with unprecedented advice (Montessori).
10.22.2012
inventing our way through sleep training, part 2
Recap of Part 1: Gabriel wasn't sleeping enough. I was stressed and bogged down and miserable. I had to find a way to wake up and get out of bed early in the morning without waking him.
So what did I do? Well, first I threw a few tantrums. Silent ones, of course, because I didn't want to wake the baby (and goodness knows I only have time for my own tantrums when the little man is asleep).
Then I took to the Innernets. And because I am a Five, I read too much and got overwhelmed.
So I did that thing that Dr. Sears and everybody else keeps telling me to do: I listened to my gut and trusted my instinct. I am completely and entirely making up my own way to "sleep train" Gabriel. It hasn't yet shortened the amount of time it takes to get him to sleep, but there have been some changes. I've chosen to see these changes as positive.
First things first: I started charting his sleep. I keep track, down to 15-minute increments, how much he is sleeping, when he gets drowsy but doesn't sleep, and when he wakes up but goes right back down. It sounds cumbersome, but it's not. I kinda love this information-gathering business, anyway. Because I'm a Five.
Next, I instituted something I have loosely defined as a "bedtime routine." It is VERY bare-bones right now, a la FlyLady's way of introducing people to routines. I wait for the first signs of sleepiness (which usually appear between 7 and 7:30) and then it's go-time. Gabriel's bedtime routine currently is as follows: bath, then sleep. I run the water, start up the bedtime music in the bedroom, lay out his PJs and overnight diaper, and then plunk him in a warm bath and let him splash until he loses interest and/or until he yawns. (This is all very fast because the bathroom is attached to the bedroom and it all takes place in like a 10 foot radius.) Sometimes he is Not Interested in the water and sometimes I think he'd stay in there all night if I let him. Then I towel him off, dress him, and then we lie down while he nurses and (on a good night) goes to sleep.
Things I hope to add to the bedtime routine:
- Brushing teeth and hair (we already do this in the morning) (at least on the mornings I manage to remember to brush my own hair)
- Reading a story
- Baby massage
- Come up with two bedtime routines - maybe grouping story and massage on one night and bath on alternating nights? I figure this might be good on those evenings when I am not the one putting him to bed or just really not feeling the idea of another infant bath.
On a good night, all goes according to plan and I am free to be a non-parenting adult at 8pm. And let me tell you, as a single mom it is Very Important to have some grown up time in the evening before bed. If I don't get it, I find myself staying up way too late watching TV just to be Not-Mommy for a few minutes. Not helpful.
It doesn't all go according to plan, however. More on that soon.
So what did I do? Well, first I threw a few tantrums. Silent ones, of course, because I didn't want to wake the baby (and goodness knows I only have time for my own tantrums when the little man is asleep).
Then I took to the Innernets. And because I am a Five, I read too much and got overwhelmed.
So I did that thing that Dr. Sears and everybody else keeps telling me to do: I listened to my gut and trusted my instinct. I am completely and entirely making up my own way to "sleep train" Gabriel. It hasn't yet shortened the amount of time it takes to get him to sleep, but there have been some changes. I've chosen to see these changes as positive.
First things first: I started charting his sleep. I keep track, down to 15-minute increments, how much he is sleeping, when he gets drowsy but doesn't sleep, and when he wakes up but goes right back down. It sounds cumbersome, but it's not. I kinda love this information-gathering business, anyway. Because I'm a Five.
Next, I instituted something I have loosely defined as a "bedtime routine." It is VERY bare-bones right now, a la FlyLady's way of introducing people to routines. I wait for the first signs of sleepiness (which usually appear between 7 and 7:30) and then it's go-time. Gabriel's bedtime routine currently is as follows: bath, then sleep. I run the water, start up the bedtime music in the bedroom, lay out his PJs and overnight diaper, and then plunk him in a warm bath and let him splash until he loses interest and/or until he yawns. (This is all very fast because the bathroom is attached to the bedroom and it all takes place in like a 10 foot radius.) Sometimes he is Not Interested in the water and sometimes I think he'd stay in there all night if I let him. Then I towel him off, dress him, and then we lie down while he nurses and (on a good night) goes to sleep.
Things I hope to add to the bedtime routine:
- Brushing teeth and hair (we already do this in the morning) (at least on the mornings I manage to remember to brush my own hair)
- Reading a story
- Baby massage
- Come up with two bedtime routines - maybe grouping story and massage on one night and bath on alternating nights? I figure this might be good on those evenings when I am not the one putting him to bed or just really not feeling the idea of another infant bath.
On a good night, all goes according to plan and I am free to be a non-parenting adult at 8pm. And let me tell you, as a single mom it is Very Important to have some grown up time in the evening before bed. If I don't get it, I find myself staying up way too late watching TV just to be Not-Mommy for a few minutes. Not helpful.
It doesn't all go according to plan, however. More on that soon.
10.19.2012
inventing our way through sleep training, part 1
Gabriel and I share a bed.
It started with our first night together in the hospital. It was 2am, I was awake, and there was a cute baby in the room. Couldn't be helped.
I made valiant efforts to get him to sleep in his crib. Sometimes he noticed the crib and protested, sometimes not. I remember this one fluke of a night where he went from midnight to 7am in the crib. I woke up to daylight, in a panic.
We got off to a good start. He'd go down between 7 or 8 in the crib, awake and happy as a clam (sometimes). Whenever he woke up for the 2am feeding, I would stumble over, grab him, and plop him beside me for another 6 hours of sleep. I figured at some point he would extend the sleeping sessions until we made it all night.
And then some things changed. I spent a month traveling around North Carolina. It was easiest to keep him in the bed with me. I figured it was only temporary, that we'd be back with a crib in a few weeks and it wouldn't be too hard to transition him back into sleeping alone.
So that was May. Five months later, we are still not quite in crib land again, and it's time to make some changes to the way we're sleeping. Here's the breakdown:
1. The primo concern is that I've been charting his sleep, and he isn't getting enough. The recommended sleep totals for a 10-month-old baby, including naps and overnights, are 14 hours. He gets 13 on a good day and is averaging somewhere around 12.
2. I noticed somewhere in the haze and fog of single-parenting a baby that going to sleep at night had become more and more of a struggle for him. I think it happened around the time he started crawling. He's always had a tendency to fight going to sleep and then wake himself up once he finally got there, but it's been really bad lately. If he senses that he's nodding off, he rolls over, pushes his drowsy self up, and looks around until he sees something interesting enough to lunge toward.
3. (Or maybe this should be 2b.) I was spending well over an hour - sometimes well over two hours - trying to "parent" him to sleep. And this is not counting the many, many minutes spent on pre-nap and bedtime nursing. Have you ever done that? I don't recommend it for those who would prefer their sanity remain intact. By the time he'd find the sweet relief of naptime, I would be either a. too exhausted to get myself up and moving toward accomplishing something, so I'd get my own nap or b. too mush-brained to figure out what to do with my newfound freedom, let alone do anything remotely productive. It was a very frustrating, astonishingly and almost frighteningly unproductive time. I have never felt so trapped, inadequate, and terrified of the future.
4. I found a (super awesome) job I can do at home, but it comes with a 9am deadline every weekday morning. I did some math and came to the conclusion that I needed to start getting up at 6:30 each morning. Fine with me, but the problem is that Gabriel got up at 6:30 with me. Not only was Mr. Early Riser-pants's early rising not conducive to my getting work done, it was exacerbating all the other sleep concerns. It turns out that alarms loud enough to wake me also wake him, and alarms quiet enough for him to sleep through are also quiet enough for me to sleep through. Oops. (Side note: the first person who invents an in-ear alarm that only the wearer can hear and won't fall out at night and won't cause hearing damage or brain cancer is my new bestie. You're welcome, for the million-dollar idea.)
(part 2 coming soon)
It started with our first night together in the hospital. It was 2am, I was awake, and there was a cute baby in the room. Couldn't be helped.
I made valiant efforts to get him to sleep in his crib. Sometimes he noticed the crib and protested, sometimes not. I remember this one fluke of a night where he went from midnight to 7am in the crib. I woke up to daylight, in a panic.
We got off to a good start. He'd go down between 7 or 8 in the crib, awake and happy as a clam (sometimes). Whenever he woke up for the 2am feeding, I would stumble over, grab him, and plop him beside me for another 6 hours of sleep. I figured at some point he would extend the sleeping sessions until we made it all night.
And then some things changed. I spent a month traveling around North Carolina. It was easiest to keep him in the bed with me. I figured it was only temporary, that we'd be back with a crib in a few weeks and it wouldn't be too hard to transition him back into sleeping alone.
So that was May. Five months later, we are still not quite in crib land again, and it's time to make some changes to the way we're sleeping. Here's the breakdown:
1. The primo concern is that I've been charting his sleep, and he isn't getting enough. The recommended sleep totals for a 10-month-old baby, including naps and overnights, are 14 hours. He gets 13 on a good day and is averaging somewhere around 12.
2. I noticed somewhere in the haze and fog of single-parenting a baby that going to sleep at night had become more and more of a struggle for him. I think it happened around the time he started crawling. He's always had a tendency to fight going to sleep and then wake himself up once he finally got there, but it's been really bad lately. If he senses that he's nodding off, he rolls over, pushes his drowsy self up, and looks around until he sees something interesting enough to lunge toward.
3. (Or maybe this should be 2b.) I was spending well over an hour - sometimes well over two hours - trying to "parent" him to sleep. And this is not counting the many, many minutes spent on pre-nap and bedtime nursing. Have you ever done that? I don't recommend it for those who would prefer their sanity remain intact. By the time he'd find the sweet relief of naptime, I would be either a. too exhausted to get myself up and moving toward accomplishing something, so I'd get my own nap or b. too mush-brained to figure out what to do with my newfound freedom, let alone do anything remotely productive. It was a very frustrating, astonishingly and almost frighteningly unproductive time. I have never felt so trapped, inadequate, and terrified of the future.
4. I found a (super awesome) job I can do at home, but it comes with a 9am deadline every weekday morning. I did some math and came to the conclusion that I needed to start getting up at 6:30 each morning. Fine with me, but the problem is that Gabriel got up at 6:30 with me. Not only was Mr. Early Riser-pants's early rising not conducive to my getting work done, it was exacerbating all the other sleep concerns. It turns out that alarms loud enough to wake me also wake him, and alarms quiet enough for him to sleep through are also quiet enough for me to sleep through. Oops. (Side note: the first person who invents an in-ear alarm that only the wearer can hear and won't fall out at night and won't cause hearing damage or brain cancer is my new bestie. You're welcome, for the million-dollar idea.)
(part 2 coming soon)
9.12.2012
moments
As I lie here nursing my son, I catch myself begging.
Don't forget. Please don't forget.
I work to etch every moment into stone, preserve it for the next moment, the next hours, months, years. He is my son, my baby, and I don't know if I'll ever have another one.
Remember this. Don't ever forget it.
The way his cheeks get chubbier when he's sleepy. The foot that won't stay down. The hand, always moving, grasping, moving again. The coos that used to come with every breath and now are rarely heard.
What if this is the only one? Save this. This is the greatest treasure.
I hold him close, press his little tummy to mine, worry a little, pray a lot. Stroke his fine, silky hair that likes to come to a point in the front. I marvel at this tiny person, our little world, the fact that I am his everything. He overwhelms me. His sweetness, his dimples, the "did he just crawl?" siren that rings every few hours.
I'm reminded of the tornadoes in his home state, the siren that blew at 11am on the second Wednesday of each month, the panic I felt the first time I heard it, the moment I looked at the clock, huddled in a tiny bathroom with two dogs and a gallon of water, and thought it odd that a tornado would hit at 11 on the nose.
He's still blond today, I note. A little reddish. I'd thought he'd be a redhead. He's come close a few times, mostly in pictures.
He is a tornado, a thing of life-altering power, a miracle of nature, the most beautiful, terrifying, dangerous thing I've ever known. He shifts, stretches a knee.
Remember the way that felt. He will never be this small, may never be this close, again.
I remember the times he was a newborn, 3 or 4 days old, lying asleep on my stomach. He would shift his weight, and I recognized the movements, had felt them inside me for months. Had he really been inside me, all that time?
Don't forget this, I thought then. You're the only one who knows this, who knows him.
I was afraid we'd be alone before long, too afraid to admit what I knew. Too afraid to face what was coming. Too desperate to save something that was already dead, long dead, hopeless, to do anything but pretend to hope. Pray it back to life. Will it to live, resurrect. Stay. I failed.
How will I ever make him understand?
His jellybean toes are in the air again. He'll be asleep soon. He'll be a teenager soon. I cry, again. I move my head back on the pillow so he won't be stained with my tears.
Don't wake up, sweet baby. Mama needs you to sleep.
It's been a week of tears, of loss, of pain. Angry fists and quiet tears. Papers and conversations and silence. Pureed carrots, library books, sheets in the wash, and lots of wakeful baby during what used to be my quiet, productive evenings.
How will I do this alone? Does he already know how I've failed him?
The baby part is the easy part, and I can't even get this right. We haven't read a story in 2
days. The dog chewed one of his favorite toys in the night. It's been so long since I vacuumed that he cried when I finally ran it, the noise too big and unfamiliar. Soon he'll be chasing the vacuum on all fours, catching the frogs with a friend, asking for the car keys.
Be his witness. You're all he has right now.
I hold my dearest one close, press him against me, inhale. I'm alone, and never alone.
Don't forget. Please don't forget.
I work to etch every moment into stone, preserve it for the next moment, the next hours, months, years. He is my son, my baby, and I don't know if I'll ever have another one.
Remember this. Don't ever forget it.
The way his cheeks get chubbier when he's sleepy. The foot that won't stay down. The hand, always moving, grasping, moving again. The coos that used to come with every breath and now are rarely heard.
What if this is the only one? Save this. This is the greatest treasure.
I hold him close, press his little tummy to mine, worry a little, pray a lot. Stroke his fine, silky hair that likes to come to a point in the front. I marvel at this tiny person, our little world, the fact that I am his everything. He overwhelms me. His sweetness, his dimples, the "did he just crawl?" siren that rings every few hours.
I'm reminded of the tornadoes in his home state, the siren that blew at 11am on the second Wednesday of each month, the panic I felt the first time I heard it, the moment I looked at the clock, huddled in a tiny bathroom with two dogs and a gallon of water, and thought it odd that a tornado would hit at 11 on the nose.
He's still blond today, I note. A little reddish. I'd thought he'd be a redhead. He's come close a few times, mostly in pictures.
He is a tornado, a thing of life-altering power, a miracle of nature, the most beautiful, terrifying, dangerous thing I've ever known. He shifts, stretches a knee.
Remember the way that felt. He will never be this small, may never be this close, again.
I remember the times he was a newborn, 3 or 4 days old, lying asleep on my stomach. He would shift his weight, and I recognized the movements, had felt them inside me for months. Had he really been inside me, all that time?
Don't forget this, I thought then. You're the only one who knows this, who knows him.
I was afraid we'd be alone before long, too afraid to admit what I knew. Too afraid to face what was coming. Too desperate to save something that was already dead, long dead, hopeless, to do anything but pretend to hope. Pray it back to life. Will it to live, resurrect. Stay. I failed.
How will I ever make him understand?
His jellybean toes are in the air again. He'll be asleep soon. He'll be a teenager soon. I cry, again. I move my head back on the pillow so he won't be stained with my tears.
Don't wake up, sweet baby. Mama needs you to sleep.
It's been a week of tears, of loss, of pain. Angry fists and quiet tears. Papers and conversations and silence. Pureed carrots, library books, sheets in the wash, and lots of wakeful baby during what used to be my quiet, productive evenings.
How will I do this alone? Does he already know how I've failed him?
The baby part is the easy part, and I can't even get this right. We haven't read a story in 2
days. The dog chewed one of his favorite toys in the night. It's been so long since I vacuumed that he cried when I finally ran it, the noise too big and unfamiliar. Soon he'll be chasing the vacuum on all fours, catching the frogs with a friend, asking for the car keys.
Be his witness. You're all he has right now.
I hold my dearest one close, press him against me, inhale. I'm alone, and never alone.
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