We're watching this Sesame Street video (Diane Schuur singing a song called From Your Head), which includes the lyric "The Song Came From My Head"
E shakes his head. "That's not right," he says, "songs come from your heart, not your head."
And so they do.
“One of the hardest things in life is having words in your heart that you can't utter.”
January 9, 2011
When you judge another, you do not define them, you define yourself. - W Dyer
January 6, 2011
Over the holidays, my Sister In Law announced that they are having a baby (the second grandchild! a cousin for E!) and the entire table fell into a conversation about the typical parenting things - cloth vs. disposable, breast vs. bottle, "back in my day" from the older ladies, and a short retelling of the story of E's very quick, birth center birth.
As we were talking, I found myself resisting the urge to tell my SIL "you should do this" or "you should read this" or "you must do that". I'm pretty sure our views on birth and baby-rearing are going to be very different (I was: birth-center, nursing w/formula supplement, no pain meds in childbirth, still co sleep with my 4 year old), and although I know she'll be a great, loving mom I found myself, almost automatically, judging her choices even though in a lot of cases she probably hasn't even made them yet.
Although I didn't write about it (and won't link to it here), I suspect if you're reading a mommy blog you're at least passingly familiar with the family whose 3 year old son was so upset about getting books for Christmas last year. My Brother In Law felt he had to (jokingly) shout "Books for Christmas????!!???" every time a book was opened.
i know I'm often judged as a parent, just because I work (or because I had to feed my son formula, or because we co-sleep, or because he's still in nighttime diapers at four, or ..., or...., or ...., or.....). And of course I hate it. I'm a pretty harsh judge of myself as well. So much of the time I think we, as parents, lose sight of the fact that we should be supporting each other, not competing. We worry about kids bullying other kids, but more and more often I wonder why its ok for parents to essentially bully other parents about their choices.
So, for the New Year, even though I'm not much on resolutions, here's my goal: to judge less. Is your child loved? Does your child feel safe? Is your child in active, immediate danger? (Not theoretical danger, but actual, call child protective services right now type danger.) That's what I will judge you on. The rest -- well, the rest is just choices.
As we were talking, I found myself resisting the urge to tell my SIL "you should do this" or "you should read this" or "you must do that". I'm pretty sure our views on birth and baby-rearing are going to be very different (I was: birth-center, nursing w/formula supplement, no pain meds in childbirth, still co sleep with my 4 year old), and although I know she'll be a great, loving mom I found myself, almost automatically, judging her choices even though in a lot of cases she probably hasn't even made them yet.
Although I didn't write about it (and won't link to it here), I suspect if you're reading a mommy blog you're at least passingly familiar with the family whose 3 year old son was so upset about getting books for Christmas last year. My Brother In Law felt he had to (jokingly) shout "Books for Christmas????!!???" every time a book was opened.
i know I'm often judged as a parent, just because I work (or because I had to feed my son formula, or because we co-sleep, or because he's still in nighttime diapers at four, or ..., or...., or ...., or.....). And of course I hate it. I'm a pretty harsh judge of myself as well. So much of the time I think we, as parents, lose sight of the fact that we should be supporting each other, not competing. We worry about kids bullying other kids, but more and more often I wonder why its ok for parents to essentially bully other parents about their choices.
So, for the New Year, even though I'm not much on resolutions, here's my goal: to judge less. Is your child loved? Does your child feel safe? Is your child in active, immediate danger? (Not theoretical danger, but actual, call child protective services right now type danger.) That's what I will judge you on. The rest -- well, the rest is just choices.
"Even as an adult I find it difficult to sleep on Christmas Eve." ~Carrie Latet
December 28, 2010
I have had a week and a bit at home, vacation extended by a Monday snowstorm that kept us all in the house and in our PJs for the entire day.
I have had a week of travel, of late nights and early mornings, of working side by side with my husband, of wrapping, of baking, of cooking, of greeting guests and being hosted. I have had, in short, a week of hard work.
And yet, for whatever reason, it didn't really feel like Christmas. Not even at the very end.
E was pleased. He came downstairs on Christmas morning, paused in the doorway and said, again and again "I don't believe it". He got his heart's desire and then some, tangible proof that Santa is real and he was, after all, a boy on the good and not the naughty list.
Last year, we had very little, but we made do with what we had. This year, the possibilities were endless, and yet I didn't feel at all as though I got "just the right thing" for anyone. This holiday season has strengthened my resolve to make more, to plan ahead more, and to think more about what we can do as a family to give fewer gifts and instead grant more wishes.
I was, officially, on vacation, but of course I worked from home (to a greater or lesser extent) every single day. Most days it was just reading and responding to a few emails. One day it was an emergency change to an almost-to-press document that kept me away from a lovely lunch with my brother and sister-in-law. I've learned to take this 24/7 working life in stride, but my poor husband has not. He was, I think, angry and indignant on my behalf when I was sitting at the kitchen table typing away. Its those moments when it strikes me most that somehow its ok for a father to be shut away in his den or study working, but when its the Mamma its a whole different set of cultural expectations.
Anyhow, despite it not really feeling like Christmas it was, in the end, a good and joyful holiday. I hope yours was as well.
I have had a week of travel, of late nights and early mornings, of working side by side with my husband, of wrapping, of baking, of cooking, of greeting guests and being hosted. I have had, in short, a week of hard work.
And yet, for whatever reason, it didn't really feel like Christmas. Not even at the very end.
E was pleased. He came downstairs on Christmas morning, paused in the doorway and said, again and again "I don't believe it". He got his heart's desire and then some, tangible proof that Santa is real and he was, after all, a boy on the good and not the naughty list.
Last year, we had very little, but we made do with what we had. This year, the possibilities were endless, and yet I didn't feel at all as though I got "just the right thing" for anyone. This holiday season has strengthened my resolve to make more, to plan ahead more, and to think more about what we can do as a family to give fewer gifts and instead grant more wishes.
I was, officially, on vacation, but of course I worked from home (to a greater or lesser extent) every single day. Most days it was just reading and responding to a few emails. One day it was an emergency change to an almost-to-press document that kept me away from a lovely lunch with my brother and sister-in-law. I've learned to take this 24/7 working life in stride, but my poor husband has not. He was, I think, angry and indignant on my behalf when I was sitting at the kitchen table typing away. Its those moments when it strikes me most that somehow its ok for a father to be shut away in his den or study working, but when its the Mamma its a whole different set of cultural expectations.
Anyhow, despite it not really feeling like Christmas it was, in the end, a good and joyful holiday. I hope yours was as well.
"This is the message of Christmas: We are never alone." - T Caldwell
December 17, 2010
Here's a photo "from the archives" for you (E playing in the ripped up wrapping paper, Christmas 2007), and a few links.
Have a great weekend!
Dr. Mom "An Ivy-League-educated stay-at-home mom tells the truth about "the mommy track"
Motherstyles
You need to know a little bit about MBTI personality types to get this, but its an interesting article about personality types and parenting styles. Be sure to read the comments, too.
Armageddon Mama
"Parenting toward the Apocalypse. Are we raising our kids to cope with a radically revised future?"
Not as bleak as it sounds.
I've been following the woman who writes Free Range Kids on Twitter, which has reminded me how terrific her blog is. (Or maybe its just recently gotten better?)
TED Talks: Gever Tulley: 5 dangerous things you should let your kids do
Video, about ten minutes. (If you're not watching the TED talks, you should.)
Design Mom
Late Add: Corbyn Hightower's Blog
Achingly well written site about raising a family during this recession we're in. A great reminder that -- as hard as it is sometimes to balance work and family, it would be far harder to be involuntarily unemployed.
Have a great weekend!
Dr. Mom "An Ivy-League-educated stay-at-home mom tells the truth about "the mommy track"
Motherstyles
You need to know a little bit about MBTI personality types to get this, but its an interesting article about personality types and parenting styles. Be sure to read the comments, too.
Armageddon Mama
"Parenting toward the Apocalypse. Are we raising our kids to cope with a radically revised future?"
Not as bleak as it sounds.
I've been following the woman who writes Free Range Kids on Twitter, which has reminded me how terrific her blog is. (Or maybe its just recently gotten better?)
TED Talks: Gever Tulley: 5 dangerous things you should let your kids do
Video, about ten minutes. (If you're not watching the TED talks, you should.)
Design Mom
Late Add: Corbyn Hightower's Blog
Achingly well written site about raising a family during this recession we're in. A great reminder that -- as hard as it is sometimes to balance work and family, it would be far harder to be involuntarily unemployed.
"Happiness is not a matter of intensity but of balance, order, rhythm and harmony. " T Merton
December 16, 2010
My boss said to me this morning “I think I’m more excited for your Christmas than I am for my own.” You see, this year, for the first time as a working adult, I’m taking the week before Christmas totally off. I’m going to bake cookies and go shopping (and continue to send E to preschool at least three days that week, so I can actually get things done). Most of you know that, until this past January, I worked part-time for a Giant Catalog Retailer while also working full time at a “real” day job. Prior to that, I had worked full time for that same Giant Catalog Retailer, where, although my primary job was not customer facing, at the holiday we all became customer facing and worked 6 days a week to make sure that our customer’s holiday experience was a great as we could make it. What got left behind was making my families’ holiday experience as great as I could make it.
When E was born, I promised myself that Christmas would be magical for him. We work hard at instilling belief in Santa in him, and we’ve also worked hard to make sure that Santa brings him his heart’s desire each year, without totally overwhelming him with gifts. We took him to see Santa, and Santa came by his preschool as well (E told me later that he thought Santa “came back” to see him because he – E – had been so shy when he first met Santa. He became tongue tied and forgot to ask for the one gift I know he wants most in the world.)
Our tree has been up for over a week now. There are still totes of decorations sitting in the front hall, but hopefully I’ll be able to finish off the bulk of the decorating tonight. (Monday’s tooth injury set me back a couple of days.) My shopping is almost done (thanks, internet!) but I still have stocking stuff to shop for. I haven’t done any fabulous crafts yet (I still don’t quite get how working moms seem to find the time to also do amazing crafts after bedtime. I’m lucky if I’m awake after 9 pm.) but they’re in the plan. I did make matching stockings for us last year, and it gives me a little thrill to see them hanging from the mantle.
Still, for some reason, it doesn’t feel much like Christmas. Maybe it’s just the lack of snow. Maybe it’s the big pile of plastic totes that remains in my front hall. Or, maybe, as I mentioned to Josh the other night, maybe it’s that over the years I’ve come to associate a terrible feeling of stress (both financial and time) with the holiday season, and this year that stress just isn’t there.
Lets hope that a good round of cookie baking, holiday specials on DVD, and house cleaning will help me find a “new normal” feeling of what the holidays are all about.
When E was born, I promised myself that Christmas would be magical for him. We work hard at instilling belief in Santa in him, and we’ve also worked hard to make sure that Santa brings him his heart’s desire each year, without totally overwhelming him with gifts. We took him to see Santa, and Santa came by his preschool as well (E told me later that he thought Santa “came back” to see him because he – E – had been so shy when he first met Santa. He became tongue tied and forgot to ask for the one gift I know he wants most in the world.)
Our tree has been up for over a week now. There are still totes of decorations sitting in the front hall, but hopefully I’ll be able to finish off the bulk of the decorating tonight. (Monday’s tooth injury set me back a couple of days.) My shopping is almost done (thanks, internet!) but I still have stocking stuff to shop for. I haven’t done any fabulous crafts yet (I still don’t quite get how working moms seem to find the time to also do amazing crafts after bedtime. I’m lucky if I’m awake after 9 pm.) but they’re in the plan. I did make matching stockings for us last year, and it gives me a little thrill to see them hanging from the mantle.
Still, for some reason, it doesn’t feel much like Christmas. Maybe it’s just the lack of snow. Maybe it’s the big pile of plastic totes that remains in my front hall. Or, maybe, as I mentioned to Josh the other night, maybe it’s that over the years I’ve come to associate a terrible feeling of stress (both financial and time) with the holiday season, and this year that stress just isn’t there.
Lets hope that a good round of cookie baking, holiday specials on DVD, and house cleaning will help me find a “new normal” feeling of what the holidays are all about.
"Empathy is the most radical of human emotions." - G Steinem
December 15, 2010
Anyone who tells you that all children naturally have empathy is lying.
E frequently injures me. Perhaps it is because he is a bouncy boy and I am a short-sighted adult with slow reflexes, but whatever the reason, its not at all unusual for his head to connect with my nose or face in such a way as to cause me searing, searing pain. While I was working at my former place of employment, my facial injuries were so frequent that one of the project managers became convinced that I was being abused. E has broken about four pairs of my glasses, and I'm pretty sure that at least once he's caused permanent damage to my nose.
Now, we can add, I think, a damaged front upper tooth to the list.
E was bouncing on the bed, as we've asked him not to do a million times. And this time, somehow, as I was putting my hands on his shoulders to get the bouncing to stop, his head connected with my front teeth and nose during an upward bounce. Everything went white. Searing pain. I became aware that I was leaning over his bureau, making this sort of half groaning, half strangled bleating noise, as I tried not to scream. And I became aware of another sound as well. I could hear E laughing. As hurt as I was, and as mad at him as I was for inflicting yet another facial injury on me, the thing that made me maddest was the laughing.
I shouted at him. "E, you really hurt me!" He laughed harder. I took a moment and composed myself, and tried as much as I could to get firm and steely with him. "Its time to get ready for bed" I said.
"No"
"Did you just tell me no?"
"Yes" He started laughing again.
I have to say this pushed me over the edge, into the land of "as angry as I have ever been." I informed him that he'd just lost all his bedtime stories, which led to a little fake crying that quickly turned into giggling. I told him again to get ready for bed, and he continued to be basically completely defiant. I changed his clothes, since he'd made it quite clear that he wasn't getting into his PJs voluntarily, and marched him into the bathroom to brush his teeth. Finally, in the bathroom, he figured out that something was, in fact, wrong -- that maybe I was mad -- but he decided to try and make me smile by pushing on my mouth, which was absolutely the wrong thing for him to do.
"Don't touch my face."
"But I want to make you smile."
"Don't touch my face, E, it hurts when you do that. From where you hit me with your head."
I sent him back to his room, and got him settled in the bed. Then, I sat down on the edge of the bed to try and talk with him, as it became increasingly clear that he had no idea why I was suddenly so mad at him. Our conversation started off ok, but quickly degenerated into him giggling and giggling as I tried to explain to him that he'd hurt my face very badly.
"E, what is so funny?"
"Mamma, you talk funny."
And with that I said good night, warned him not to get out of bed, and came downstairs. My front tooth is still throbbing, and I suspect its actually been damaged and will require a dentist visit. But even more, I'm in quite a lot of pain at the thought of seeing him laugh and laugh and laugh at me as I was in agonizing pain. I know, rationally, that he won't grow up to be a serial killer, but there are nights like tonight when I really fear he will.
Christmas Bat
December 14, 2010
We've had these sorts of adventures before.
Last night, E was sitting on the stairs, weeping because he didn't get a movie before supper and now it was bedtime, when suddenly Josh says, firmly but loudly, "Take E upstairs to his room and shut the door. Now." Something in his father's voice snapped E to attention and we both ran up the stairs and made it safely into his room.
Yep, bat downstairs.
Josh dealt somehow with the bat. (He said it involved gloves and a laundry basket on his head. Unfortunately, his fencing equipment was out in the car -- a fencing mask is the BEST piece if bat-hunting equipment known to man.) Then he came upstairs and the rest of the night proceeded pretty much normally.
Until E began to scream and cry in the middle of the night.
I eventually got him calmed down and back to sleep, but this morning he told us that his preschool class was on a bus, but two of the kids (S and J, two of E's friends) were lost in the "misty woods" and there was a Vampire, and so E and another child had gone to find their friends.
Man, I'm sick of bats.
(Just as a note, you can actually find anything on Flickr. Even a Christmas Bat.)
Last night, E was sitting on the stairs, weeping because he didn't get a movie before supper and now it was bedtime, when suddenly Josh says, firmly but loudly, "Take E upstairs to his room and shut the door. Now." Something in his father's voice snapped E to attention and we both ran up the stairs and made it safely into his room.
Yep, bat downstairs.
Josh dealt somehow with the bat. (He said it involved gloves and a laundry basket on his head. Unfortunately, his fencing equipment was out in the car -- a fencing mask is the BEST piece if bat-hunting equipment known to man.) Then he came upstairs and the rest of the night proceeded pretty much normally.
Until E began to scream and cry in the middle of the night.
I eventually got him calmed down and back to sleep, but this morning he told us that his preschool class was on a bus, but two of the kids (S and J, two of E's friends) were lost in the "misty woods" and there was a Vampire, and so E and another child had gone to find their friends.
Man, I'm sick of bats.
(Just as a note, you can actually find anything on Flickr. Even a Christmas Bat.)
"The Talk"
December 8, 2010
As a quick follow up on Monday's post that touches on the lack of Star Wars in my son's life (and my conflict about it), I offer you this, from Wired: Have You Had “The Talk” With Your Kids? No, the Other Talk.
"I can hardly wait to see you come of age. But I guess we'll just both have to be patient."
"He didn't come out of my belly, but my God, I've made his bones, because I've attended to every meal, and how he sleeps, and the fact that he swims like a fish because I took him to the ocean. I'm so proud of all those things. But he is my biggest pride."
I was going to write about something else today (about our tree, actually) but I've been reflecting all morning about the life and death of John Lennon, and his family, today, and I wanted to write a little about it.
When their son Sean was born, Lennon and Ono struck a deal: she would work and he would stay home and raise their son. In 1975 this was a revolutionary idea. Not just because the Lennon-Ono family was one of the five or six most famous families on the planet, or because of their wealth, but simply for the idea itself: mom going off to work and dad staying home in his PJs and changing diapers and taking care of every meal -- especially a dad raised, as Lennon was, in the middle- to working-class ethos of World War II era Liverpool -- was something to be looked at askance, despite the rise of feminism. (For comparison, the film Mr. Mom came out in 1983, and the idea of dad as sole caregiver was still considered high-humor, as it is, to some extent, today.) Again and again during those five years, in myriad ways, it was implied that Lennon had somehow "lost it" -- lost his mind -- to want to chuck in fame and music to take care of his infant son.
I've been trying to bring this to some profound wrap-up, but I can't find it. Suffice to say that my heart goes out to his son today, for his loss, and I hope those years of his father's love provide him with some comfort.
I was going to write about something else today (about our tree, actually) but I've been reflecting all morning about the life and death of John Lennon, and his family, today, and I wanted to write a little about it.
When their son Sean was born, Lennon and Ono struck a deal: she would work and he would stay home and raise their son. In 1975 this was a revolutionary idea. Not just because the Lennon-Ono family was one of the five or six most famous families on the planet, or because of their wealth, but simply for the idea itself: mom going off to work and dad staying home in his PJs and changing diapers and taking care of every meal -- especially a dad raised, as Lennon was, in the middle- to working-class ethos of World War II era Liverpool -- was something to be looked at askance, despite the rise of feminism. (For comparison, the film Mr. Mom came out in 1983, and the idea of dad as sole caregiver was still considered high-humor, as it is, to some extent, today.) Again and again during those five years, in myriad ways, it was implied that Lennon had somehow "lost it" -- lost his mind -- to want to chuck in fame and music to take care of his infant son.
I've been trying to bring this to some profound wrap-up, but I can't find it. Suffice to say that my heart goes out to his son today, for his loss, and I hope those years of his father's love provide him with some comfort.
“I have looked into your eyes with my eyes. I have put my heart near your heart.” - Pope John XXIII
December 7, 2010
So, yeah, the eyedrops.
Last Wednesday E was diagnosed with conjunctivitis, and ear infection, and a sinus infection. He was utterly miserable. Eye drops are part of the fix to this. Unfortunately, the eye drops administration process may, in fact, be worse that the issue its curing.
We tried just, you know, asking him. We tried bribing him with cookies. We tried taking his beloved Cars cars away if he didn't comply. We even tried doing it while he was asleep. But the only thing that works is brute force. It takes two of us to hold him down, while he squeezes his eyes shut as tightly as he can and screams and cries and begs us not to give him the drops. (The begging and pleading is the worst part.) And yet we have to. So we do, but its one of the most unpleasant things I've ever had to do. E's been through multiple medical procedures in his short life, including two surgeries, but he's never, ever hated anything as much as he hates this.
After Sunday's morning dose he looked at his father and said, quietly, "I hate you."
Josh handled it better than I would have. He told E he loved him, and he was sorry, but because part of our job is to keep E safe and healthy we had to do this. And soon they were snuggled up again.
Still, that kind of thing sticks with you. I sort of thought he'd be older, you know? Before he started in with the "I hate you." Older than four....
Last Wednesday E was diagnosed with conjunctivitis, and ear infection, and a sinus infection. He was utterly miserable. Eye drops are part of the fix to this. Unfortunately, the eye drops administration process may, in fact, be worse that the issue its curing.
We tried just, you know, asking him. We tried bribing him with cookies. We tried taking his beloved Cars cars away if he didn't comply. We even tried doing it while he was asleep. But the only thing that works is brute force. It takes two of us to hold him down, while he squeezes his eyes shut as tightly as he can and screams and cries and begs us not to give him the drops. (The begging and pleading is the worst part.) And yet we have to. So we do, but its one of the most unpleasant things I've ever had to do. E's been through multiple medical procedures in his short life, including two surgeries, but he's never, ever hated anything as much as he hates this.
After Sunday's morning dose he looked at his father and said, quietly, "I hate you."
Josh handled it better than I would have. He told E he loved him, and he was sorry, but because part of our job is to keep E safe and healthy we had to do this. And soon they were snuggled up again.
Still, that kind of thing sticks with you. I sort of thought he'd be older, you know? Before he started in with the "I hate you." Older than four....
"I ought to clobber you" - Lucy van Pelt
December 6, 2010
We have a number of friends with kids E's age or slightly older, and almost all those kids know far more about pop culture than E does. Particularly Star Wars, for some reason.
Despite being steeped -- and I do mean steeped in pop culture, though (particularly Star Wars) somehow we have managed to keep E shielded from the bulk of it. He knows about Thomas the Train, and Pooh, and recently Blue the Dog and Lightning McQueen the Car have made their way into our lives, but all in all I'd say he's a kid who is pretty well shielded from the bulk of what the big old media machine has to offer. Some days I think that's terrific. Modern technology (Tivo, Netflix, the plain ol' DVD) have enabled us to keep commercials almost totally out of his life (when he sees a commercial he almost always complains to us and asks us to turn it off). Moving him to preschool increases his exposure somewhat, but not as much as I'd feared. But other days I fear he's actually just culturally a little naive for his age, and I hope that somehow he's not being left behind by not having a detailed knowledge of Star Wars. (See, I can worry about anything.)
Then, there are moments like tonight, when we're done in by nostalgia.
Over the years, we've collected a pretty comprehensive collection of all those holiday movies we (and you) loved as kids. Rudolph (with its rampant sexism and celebration of conformity), Disney Santa cartoons from the 30's and 40's (featuring racism and a shockingly high level of child abuse), and ... good ol' Charlie Brown.
Believe it or not, Charlie Brown is the worst of the lot. The Halloween special added a few new phrases to E's vocabulary, but not ones that were necessarily problematic. The Thanksgiving special led to him calling people Blockheads and sitting down to Thanksgiving dinner and complaining (in Peppermint Patty's famous phrase) about the lack of Pumpkin Pie. But the Christmas special -- the one which is more or less regarded universally as the best of the lot -- is the one that may have caused us to swear off Charlie Brown all together, and its not even due to the nativity.
Its the violence, you see.
Tonight E, in a moment of frustration over the torture we are causing hm by dosing him with eyedrops twice a day (more on that later) and making him pick up his toys, turned to his father, held up his tiny fists and said "I ought to clobber you." And that -- THAT -- did not go over quite as he had hoped. I suppose I can be thankful that he tried it out on us first rather than on his buddies at preschool, but I still never really honestly thought that Charlie Brown, of all things, would lead my son into threats of violence.
And who knows what pop culture has instore for us next.
Despite being steeped -- and I do mean steeped in pop culture, though (particularly Star Wars) somehow we have managed to keep E shielded from the bulk of it. He knows about Thomas the Train, and Pooh, and recently Blue the Dog and Lightning McQueen the Car have made their way into our lives, but all in all I'd say he's a kid who is pretty well shielded from the bulk of what the big old media machine has to offer. Some days I think that's terrific. Modern technology (Tivo, Netflix, the plain ol' DVD) have enabled us to keep commercials almost totally out of his life (when he sees a commercial he almost always complains to us and asks us to turn it off). Moving him to preschool increases his exposure somewhat, but not as much as I'd feared. But other days I fear he's actually just culturally a little naive for his age, and I hope that somehow he's not being left behind by not having a detailed knowledge of Star Wars. (See, I can worry about anything.)
Then, there are moments like tonight, when we're done in by nostalgia.
Over the years, we've collected a pretty comprehensive collection of all those holiday movies we (and you) loved as kids. Rudolph (with its rampant sexism and celebration of conformity), Disney Santa cartoons from the 30's and 40's (featuring racism and a shockingly high level of child abuse), and ... good ol' Charlie Brown.
Believe it or not, Charlie Brown is the worst of the lot. The Halloween special added a few new phrases to E's vocabulary, but not ones that were necessarily problematic. The Thanksgiving special led to him calling people Blockheads and sitting down to Thanksgiving dinner and complaining (in Peppermint Patty's famous phrase) about the lack of Pumpkin Pie. But the Christmas special -- the one which is more or less regarded universally as the best of the lot -- is the one that may have caused us to swear off Charlie Brown all together, and its not even due to the nativity.
Its the violence, you see.
Tonight E, in a moment of frustration over the torture we are causing hm by dosing him with eyedrops twice a day (more on that later) and making him pick up his toys, turned to his father, held up his tiny fists and said "I ought to clobber you." And that -- THAT -- did not go over quite as he had hoped. I suppose I can be thankful that he tried it out on us first rather than on his buddies at preschool, but I still never really honestly thought that Charlie Brown, of all things, would lead my son into threats of violence.
And who knows what pop culture has instore for us next.
As soon as tradition has come to be recognized as tradition, it is dead. - A. Bloom
December 3, 2010
Every Thanksgiving weekend, since before you were born, we have a tradition. My mother, Josh and I (and now E with us) go walking through the woods at the farm where I grew up and gather greens to decorate my mother's house. In a typical year we'll haul home two small trees and three or four 55 gallon bags full of assorted greenery.
This year I did not want to go. An enormous project at work had taken over (quite literally) every waking moment of my life in the week prior to Thanksgiving, and over Thanksgiving weekend we had a houseguest and multiple family gatherings to attend. By Sunday, our scheduled day, I wanted nothing more than to stay late in bed, then just putter for the day. To be in control of my own schedule and my own life.
I think often that its the loss of control that is the hardest part of parenting for me. For the first two years of E's life all I wanted and wished for was to wake up at a time of my own choosing, as my body clock chose, rather than waking up to an alarm or (more often) the sound of someone crying. Now that E is older I've adjusted to the whole sleep thing (I still only very rarely get to wake up at a time of my own choosing, but at least now I'm awakened by kisses rather than wailing, which is an improvement), but I miss being able to come and go as I please. Sometimes I just want ice cream at 10 pm, but if I'm the only adult home there isn't any way to get it. Or to just go our after work and run a few errands, which I could do, but then it becomes a choice between doing what I want and spending precious awake hours with my son, and unless its something urgent my son always wins.
So, Sunday the last thing in the world I wanted to do was walk in the woods. But away we went.
The Farm (as we simply call it) is the house I grew up in. I played in these woods as a child no older than E is (I shudder to think of it. I wouldn't allow him to play in these woods at this age. But there I was, climbing across beaver dams and climbing trees a half mile from the house at four or five years of age.), and that land continues to be one of the few places where I am calm and at peace. We still own the property -- tenants live there now, the current family has a boy just E's age who was super curious about him and kept waving from the window whenever he caught a glimpse of us - and I still nurture a forlorn hope that some day my family will move there and live there. (Unlikely, as my husband is quite literally too tall for the house. He has to duck going through every doorway.)
One of the reasons we have traditions, I believe, is to center us, and to give us checkpoints to reorient our lives. Of course you know the moral of this story already - we had a terrific day clomping through the woods, a peaceful day, a day to watch hawks circle and talk about what beavers do in the winter. We made pizza with my mother and looked at photos of me as a child. And by the time it was time to go home I was actually recharged, and ready for another week.
Good thing, too, since this week has been full of more 14 hour days, compounded by E getting sent home from preschool on Wednesday morning with conjunctivitis and an ear infection.
Somehow, though, just looking at the photos of him in the forest seems to center me again.
This year I did not want to go. An enormous project at work had taken over (quite literally) every waking moment of my life in the week prior to Thanksgiving, and over Thanksgiving weekend we had a houseguest and multiple family gatherings to attend. By Sunday, our scheduled day, I wanted nothing more than to stay late in bed, then just putter for the day. To be in control of my own schedule and my own life.
I think often that its the loss of control that is the hardest part of parenting for me. For the first two years of E's life all I wanted and wished for was to wake up at a time of my own choosing, as my body clock chose, rather than waking up to an alarm or (more often) the sound of someone crying. Now that E is older I've adjusted to the whole sleep thing (I still only very rarely get to wake up at a time of my own choosing, but at least now I'm awakened by kisses rather than wailing, which is an improvement), but I miss being able to come and go as I please. Sometimes I just want ice cream at 10 pm, but if I'm the only adult home there isn't any way to get it. Or to just go our after work and run a few errands, which I could do, but then it becomes a choice between doing what I want and spending precious awake hours with my son, and unless its something urgent my son always wins.
So, Sunday the last thing in the world I wanted to do was walk in the woods. But away we went.
The Farm (as we simply call it) is the house I grew up in. I played in these woods as a child no older than E is (I shudder to think of it. I wouldn't allow him to play in these woods at this age. But there I was, climbing across beaver dams and climbing trees a half mile from the house at four or five years of age.), and that land continues to be one of the few places where I am calm and at peace. We still own the property -- tenants live there now, the current family has a boy just E's age who was super curious about him and kept waving from the window whenever he caught a glimpse of us - and I still nurture a forlorn hope that some day my family will move there and live there. (Unlikely, as my husband is quite literally too tall for the house. He has to duck going through every doorway.)
One of the reasons we have traditions, I believe, is to center us, and to give us checkpoints to reorient our lives. Of course you know the moral of this story already - we had a terrific day clomping through the woods, a peaceful day, a day to watch hawks circle and talk about what beavers do in the winter. We made pizza with my mother and looked at photos of me as a child. And by the time it was time to go home I was actually recharged, and ready for another week.
Good thing, too, since this week has been full of more 14 hour days, compounded by E getting sent home from preschool on Wednesday morning with conjunctivitis and an ear infection.
Somehow, though, just looking at the photos of him in the forest seems to center me again.
Silent gratitude isn't much use to anyone. ~G.B. Stern
November 24, 2010
"The Pilgrims made seven times more graves than huts. No Americans have been more impoverished than these who, nevertheless, set aside a day of thanksgiving."
H. U. Westermayer
"The year that is drawing towards its close, has been filled with the blessings of fruitful fields and healthful skies. To these bounties, which are so constantly enjoyed that we are prone to forget the source from which they come, others have been added, which are of so extraordinary a nature, that they cannot fail to penetrate and soften even the heart which is habitually insensible to the ever watchful providence of Almighty God. In the midst of a civil war of unequaled magnitude and severity, which has sometimes seemed to foreign States to invite and to provoke their aggression, peace has been preserved with all nations, order has been maintained, the laws have been respected and obeyed, and harmony has prevailed everywhere except in the theatre of military conflict; while that theatre has been greatly contracted by the advancing armies and navies of the Union. Needful diversions of wealth and of strength from the fields of peaceful industry to the national defence, have not arrested the plough, the shuttle or the ship; the axe has enlarged the borders of our settlements, and the mines, as well of iron and coal as of the precious metals, have yielded even more abundantly than heretofore. Population has steadily increased, notwithstanding the waste that has been made in the camp, the siege and the battle-field; and the country, rejoicing in the consiousness of augmented strength and vigor, is permitted to expect continuance of years with large increase of freedom. No human counsel hath devised nor hath any mortal hand worked out these great things. They are the gracious gifts of the Most High God, who, while dealing with us in anger for our sins, hath nevertheless remembered mercy. It has seemed to me fit and proper that they should be solemnly, reverently and gratefully acknowledged as with one heart and one voice by the whole American People. I do therefore invite my fellow citizens in every part of the United States, and also those who are at sea and those who are sojourning in foreign lands, to set apart and observe the last Thursday of November next, as a day of Thanksgiving and Praise to our beneficent Father who dwelleth in the Heavens. And I recommend to them that while offering up the ascriptions justly due to Him for such singular deliverances and blessings, they do also, with humble penitence for our national perverseness and disobedience, commend to His tender care all those who have become widows, orphans, mourners or sufferers in the lamentable civil strife in which we are unavoidably engaged, and fervently implore the interposition of the Almighty Hand to heal the wounds of the nation and to restore it as soon as may be consistent with the Divine purposes to the full enjoyment of peace, harmony, tranquility and Union."
-- Text of the 1863 Proclamation of Thanksgiving, A. Lincoln
Have a wonderful holiday!
H. U. Westermayer
"The year that is drawing towards its close, has been filled with the blessings of fruitful fields and healthful skies. To these bounties, which are so constantly enjoyed that we are prone to forget the source from which they come, others have been added, which are of so extraordinary a nature, that they cannot fail to penetrate and soften even the heart which is habitually insensible to the ever watchful providence of Almighty God. In the midst of a civil war of unequaled magnitude and severity, which has sometimes seemed to foreign States to invite and to provoke their aggression, peace has been preserved with all nations, order has been maintained, the laws have been respected and obeyed, and harmony has prevailed everywhere except in the theatre of military conflict; while that theatre has been greatly contracted by the advancing armies and navies of the Union. Needful diversions of wealth and of strength from the fields of peaceful industry to the national defence, have not arrested the plough, the shuttle or the ship; the axe has enlarged the borders of our settlements, and the mines, as well of iron and coal as of the precious metals, have yielded even more abundantly than heretofore. Population has steadily increased, notwithstanding the waste that has been made in the camp, the siege and the battle-field; and the country, rejoicing in the consiousness of augmented strength and vigor, is permitted to expect continuance of years with large increase of freedom. No human counsel hath devised nor hath any mortal hand worked out these great things. They are the gracious gifts of the Most High God, who, while dealing with us in anger for our sins, hath nevertheless remembered mercy. It has seemed to me fit and proper that they should be solemnly, reverently and gratefully acknowledged as with one heart and one voice by the whole American People. I do therefore invite my fellow citizens in every part of the United States, and also those who are at sea and those who are sojourning in foreign lands, to set apart and observe the last Thursday of November next, as a day of Thanksgiving and Praise to our beneficent Father who dwelleth in the Heavens. And I recommend to them that while offering up the ascriptions justly due to Him for such singular deliverances and blessings, they do also, with humble penitence for our national perverseness and disobedience, commend to His tender care all those who have become widows, orphans, mourners or sufferers in the lamentable civil strife in which we are unavoidably engaged, and fervently implore the interposition of the Almighty Hand to heal the wounds of the nation and to restore it as soon as may be consistent with the Divine purposes to the full enjoyment of peace, harmony, tranquility and Union."
-- Text of the 1863 Proclamation of Thanksgiving, A. Lincoln
Have a wonderful holiday!
"You send a boy to school in order to make friends - the right sort. " - V Woolfe
November 23, 2010
So, preschool.
Last Monday I took E in for his first "orientation" day at his new preschool. Preschool is more like a school than not. They have a weekly theme, daily chores, lots of outside play but also lots of practice of things like taking turns, sitting still, etc.
We got there at 8:45. He played on the playground with the other kids until it was time to go inside at 9. They had 15 minutes of circle time (during which I realized we'd never taught him to sit with his legs crossed, what used to be called "indian style"), then snack. As they finished snack, the kids could get up and go read a book or play a quiet game.
Five or six kids had already finished when E finished. He got up, selected a book about Dinosaurs from the reading nook, and sat down on the rug. He opened the book and started, rather dramatically, to "read" the story (really just telling a story based on the pictures he saw). One by one the other kids drifted over to him and his very compelling story. By the time snack was finished, he had the whole class gathered around him as he "read" to them.
He'd been there less than an hour at that point.
Sitting still is going to be a challenge for him, but they're clearly willing to work on that. I think we've made the right decision. I think, actually, he's going to do great.
Last Monday I took E in for his first "orientation" day at his new preschool. Preschool is more like a school than not. They have a weekly theme, daily chores, lots of outside play but also lots of practice of things like taking turns, sitting still, etc.
We got there at 8:45. He played on the playground with the other kids until it was time to go inside at 9. They had 15 minutes of circle time (during which I realized we'd never taught him to sit with his legs crossed, what used to be called "indian style"), then snack. As they finished snack, the kids could get up and go read a book or play a quiet game.
Five or six kids had already finished when E finished. He got up, selected a book about Dinosaurs from the reading nook, and sat down on the rug. He opened the book and started, rather dramatically, to "read" the story (really just telling a story based on the pictures he saw). One by one the other kids drifted over to him and his very compelling story. By the time snack was finished, he had the whole class gathered around him as he "read" to them.
He'd been there less than an hour at that point.
Sitting still is going to be a challenge for him, but they're clearly willing to work on that. I think we've made the right decision. I think, actually, he's going to do great.
“The only reason for time is so that everything doesn't happen at once.” - Einstein
November 22, 2010
Some weeks stretch on for ever. Other weeks, its hard to find time to eat, or go to the bathroom. Last week was one of the latter.
My job is one of those jobs where its feast or famine. We have certain times when we are overloaded with work, and other times when we're casting about for something to do. Last week three giant projects all came due at exactly the same time -- on the same day, even -- leaving me with little time for anything other than work: household chores, social life, my family, meals, shopping -- all these were cast to second place.
Add to that that E had his two "orientation days" at his new preschool, and the timing belt broke on Josh's car, leaving us with a single car and jobs in two different cities, and its been an exciting adventure.
I'm so fortunate that Josh is both willing and able to simply pick up all the threads when I drop them. E is equally comfortable with Daddy getting supper (which is what happens most nights; Josh is the cook in our house); giving him a bath; doing bedtime (although if I'm there he wants me to do the stories - end of story).
So, anyhow, tomorrow I'll tell you the exciting tale of E's very first day at his new preschool.
Anyhow, here's something to read:
A Former I-Banker Explains Why The "Mommy Track" Was The Right Track For Her
(This article really irks me, because its so judgmental. I'd be interested to read your take on it.)
Its the Childcare, Stupid
My job is one of those jobs where its feast or famine. We have certain times when we are overloaded with work, and other times when we're casting about for something to do. Last week three giant projects all came due at exactly the same time -- on the same day, even -- leaving me with little time for anything other than work: household chores, social life, my family, meals, shopping -- all these were cast to second place.
Add to that that E had his two "orientation days" at his new preschool, and the timing belt broke on Josh's car, leaving us with a single car and jobs in two different cities, and its been an exciting adventure.
I'm so fortunate that Josh is both willing and able to simply pick up all the threads when I drop them. E is equally comfortable with Daddy getting supper (which is what happens most nights; Josh is the cook in our house); giving him a bath; doing bedtime (although if I'm there he wants me to do the stories - end of story).
So, anyhow, tomorrow I'll tell you the exciting tale of E's very first day at his new preschool.
Anyhow, here's something to read:
A Former I-Banker Explains Why The "Mommy Track" Was The Right Track For Her
(This article really irks me, because its so judgmental. I'd be interested to read your take on it.)
Its the Childcare, Stupid
Style is knowing who you are, what you want to say and not giving a damn. - G Vidal
November 12, 2010
Not much going on here. Get up, go to work, get home, get hugs, eat supper, go to sleep. Rinse and repeat.
I did get to watch E's swim lesson for the first time last night, which was fine. He made it across the pool himself, with help from a floatie.
Josh has to be away all day Saturday so its just E and me -- and my mother, which should make E very happy.
Monday we have the "orientation visit" at his new preschool, so I'm looking forward to telling you about that. (I'm also looking forward to hopefully telling you that there wasn't any huge disaster, but we'll see.) Hannah has been sending daily "we'll miss you" cards home with him from Daycare, but somehow I think they'll both be better off.
Parents are Junkies from Slate. Its totally true.
"Children regularly give parents the kind of highs that only narcotics can rival. The unpredictability of those moments of bliss is an important factor in their addictiveness."
Have a good weekend!
I did get to watch E's swim lesson for the first time last night, which was fine. He made it across the pool himself, with help from a floatie.
Josh has to be away all day Saturday so its just E and me -- and my mother, which should make E very happy.
Monday we have the "orientation visit" at his new preschool, so I'm looking forward to telling you about that. (I'm also looking forward to hopefully telling you that there wasn't any huge disaster, but we'll see.) Hannah has been sending daily "we'll miss you" cards home with him from Daycare, but somehow I think they'll both be better off.
Parents are Junkies from Slate. Its totally true.
"Children regularly give parents the kind of highs that only narcotics can rival. The unpredictability of those moments of bliss is an important factor in their addictiveness."
Have a good weekend!
"Everything that irritates us about others can lead us to an understanding of ourselves." - C Jung
November 10, 2010
The Fultz Quadruplets Go To School
- Jet Magazine, March 5, 1953
Originally uploaded by vieilles_annonces
The four Fultz girls -- identical quadruplets -- were born in 1946 to parents Pete and Annie Mae, who already had six children. Pete was a tenant farmer. Annie Mae was deaf and mute. The family lived in North Carolina, and, much like the Dionne Quintuplets born twelve years earlier, they were taken from their birth parents and raised by doctors and nurses. In the case of the Fultz girls, their care was subsidized by a company called PET milk - an early formula company.
There is a ton to be shocked by in this story, starting from the doctor who delivered them deciding to name them after members of his own family. But what made me absolutely irate in reading this was not actually the story -- it was the blog author's very casual note, at the end that all four girls had breast cancer (three died from it), and that this was the "consequence" of being formula-fed (rather than breast fed) as infants.
Give me a break.
Lets set aside for a moment (as my friend jenne.heise pointed out) the logistical difficulties involved in a poor woman with six children being able to nurse four hungry infants. Lets set aside, too, any thought that I personally might not feel like "breast is best". I nursed my son as much as I was able, but I also fed him formula. Because he had to eat something and he would have starved to death if his only choice had been the few ounces a day I was able to pump.
I know women who put forth this kind of uninformed, unsourced, judgemental, incorrect hogwash mean well. They want every mother to breast feed and that's a fine and noble -- and totally unachievable -- goal. Breastfeeding does a lot of good things, and protects babies and small children from a lot of things (including some childhood cancers), but it does not protect them from getting Breast Cancer. Rather it is women who lactate for at least 24 months who see the big decreases in breast cancer rates.
But it just doesn't help. I didn't feed my son formula because I wanted to. I did it because I had to -- I had to go back to work and he had to eat something. I'm sure my friend W.'s first choice isn't to formula feed as a stay-at-home mom, but breastfeeding simply wasn't working for her, and so having the option of formula available is keeping her baby happy, well-fed, and healthy.
In trying to find any -- any! -- source studies for her assertion, I discovered this interesting tidbit: in the 1960's, mothers with a family history of breast cancer were advised not to breast feed their daughters, since it was felt at that time that breast feeding might somehow increase the baby's chance of developing the disease in adulthood.
There is so much we can do to increase the rate of exclusive breast feeding in this country -- starting with education, especially for health care professionals and low-income families, right up to the pipe dream of Canadian-style year-long paid leave for new mothers. Scare tactics like this are not part of education. They don't convince anyone. All they serve to do is to increase the guilt and worry all mothers have over whether they are doing every single thing right for their baby.
"You've got the brain of a four-year-old boy, and I bet he was glad to get rid of it. " - G Marx
November 9, 2010
Lest you think its all gloom and doom and angst at my house, I will share with you some of E's verbal gems from yesterday. He's a huge goof, in case you hadn't guessed.....
E, talking about how another child at daycare had a miserable day:
"Hannah used her naughties to make everyone miserable"
(Somehow I think this sounds like she was torturing them with her underwear. But that's not what he meant.)
on his forthcoming new daycare:
"I'm going to be the smartest one at school cause the teacher will show me how to be smart."
In response to an ad he heard on the radio (for a sports bar):
"Daddy did you hear that, football season is back!"
Last night we went out to eat and then out to look at new sofas (super fun for a little guy, actually) and he was just a fount of amusing quotes all night long.
E, talking about how another child at daycare had a miserable day:
"Hannah used her naughties to make everyone miserable"
(Somehow I think this sounds like she was torturing them with her underwear. But that's not what he meant.)
on his forthcoming new daycare:
"I'm going to be the smartest one at school cause the teacher will show me how to be smart."
In response to an ad he heard on the radio (for a sports bar):
"Daddy did you hear that, football season is back!"
Last night we went out to eat and then out to look at new sofas (super fun for a little guy, actually) and he was just a fount of amusing quotes all night long.
"Do you know what my favorite part of the game is? The opportunity to play." - Mike Singletary
November 8, 2010
Once upon a time at our house, a game of Candyland was the high point of any day. Candyland was all about cooperation, with a splash of figure skating. Candyland represented a colorful oasis of fun on a Sunday morning while Daddy was sleeping, where E and I could play the game without much regard to The Rules and just run around Candyland, jumping over sticky licorice and racing each other to the candy treats.
No longer.
I know he's been playing Candyland at daycare, and sometime over the past few weeks E has developed a (very age appropriate) focus on "The Rules". On Friday night, after dinner, we played Candyland by The Rules, and E lost the game. Twice.
And then -- then! -- Oh, the weeping. Not winning is clearing the Worst. Experience. Ever. Falling off the chair, wailing and weeping, with big fat wet tears running down his cheeks. I'd seen a glimpse of this behavior once before, when he was running footraces with a much older boy at a local mini-park, but at the time I just chalked it up to E being tired and crabby and hot (which he was) and didn't think much more of it.
Now I'm thinking something of it, and trying to sort out what to do. Increasing, E loves to play competitive games. He loves Go Fish, and Candyland, and this fall he's become enamored with football (although I think that's more about falling down than it being an actual game you can win). And he asks - begs - us to play with him. But now its a little nerve wracking to play with (against?) him, because I know the outburst is coming at the end.
I was also an only child, and I remember ever Christmas having a Board Game on my list. I amassed quite a collection of them over the years, but the grownups in my house were always too busy to sit down and play with me. So I particularly, explicitly want to play these games with him, and teach him about "the opportunity to play" and sportsmanship and being a gracious winner and a "good" loser and all the rest of it. But I dread the end.
As his mom, my instinct is to soothe the tears away. But as a grownup, I know that I have to find a way to teach him that this kind of reaction to simply losing a game is unacceptable, so often I'm forced to tell him I'm not going to play any more even as he's tearfully begging me to play with him again, so he can win. On Sunday, he was playing against his Aunts - Josh's sisters - and when the "I wanted to win!!" wailing started, they tried the typical tactics -- "playing is the important part" "we each won one game, so we shared the winning" -- which utterly failed. In frustration or desperation (or, you know, from the experience in being a younger sibling in a family of six), one of his Aunts finally told him "nobody likes a crybaby".
Unsurprisingly, that didn't work either. He ended up snuggled down in Mimi and Poppa's bed for a while - not a nap, but just some "quiet time". And in a bit he was fine, up and running around and wanting to play again.
There's lots of advice out there about this, mostly centered on "redirect him to cooperative play". But it seems like that's just postponing the problem, not addressing it.
I really miss the days when a game of Candyland ended with all the playing pieces holding hands and doing a little dance.
No longer.
I know he's been playing Candyland at daycare, and sometime over the past few weeks E has developed a (very age appropriate) focus on "The Rules". On Friday night, after dinner, we played Candyland by The Rules, and E lost the game. Twice.
And then -- then! -- Oh, the weeping. Not winning is clearing the Worst. Experience. Ever. Falling off the chair, wailing and weeping, with big fat wet tears running down his cheeks. I'd seen a glimpse of this behavior once before, when he was running footraces with a much older boy at a local mini-park, but at the time I just chalked it up to E being tired and crabby and hot (which he was) and didn't think much more of it.
Now I'm thinking something of it, and trying to sort out what to do. Increasing, E loves to play competitive games. He loves Go Fish, and Candyland, and this fall he's become enamored with football (although I think that's more about falling down than it being an actual game you can win). And he asks - begs - us to play with him. But now its a little nerve wracking to play with (against?) him, because I know the outburst is coming at the end.
I was also an only child, and I remember ever Christmas having a Board Game on my list. I amassed quite a collection of them over the years, but the grownups in my house were always too busy to sit down and play with me. So I particularly, explicitly want to play these games with him, and teach him about "the opportunity to play" and sportsmanship and being a gracious winner and a "good" loser and all the rest of it. But I dread the end.
As his mom, my instinct is to soothe the tears away. But as a grownup, I know that I have to find a way to teach him that this kind of reaction to simply losing a game is unacceptable, so often I'm forced to tell him I'm not going to play any more even as he's tearfully begging me to play with him again, so he can win. On Sunday, he was playing against his Aunts - Josh's sisters - and when the "I wanted to win!!" wailing started, they tried the typical tactics -- "playing is the important part" "we each won one game, so we shared the winning" -- which utterly failed. In frustration or desperation (or, you know, from the experience in being a younger sibling in a family of six), one of his Aunts finally told him "nobody likes a crybaby".
Unsurprisingly, that didn't work either. He ended up snuggled down in Mimi and Poppa's bed for a while - not a nap, but just some "quiet time". And in a bit he was fine, up and running around and wanting to play again.
There's lots of advice out there about this, mostly centered on "redirect him to cooperative play". But it seems like that's just postponing the problem, not addressing it.
I really miss the days when a game of Candyland ended with all the playing pieces holding hands and doing a little dance.
Those that despise people will never get the best out of others and themselves. - de Tocqueville
November 4, 2010
Its been a crazy week here. At work, we have our Annual Meeting on Friday, which means that I've been going in early and working until late, late, late - end result being that mostly the only way I've seen E is as you seen him here: conked out, snuggled up with two bears. However, this morning I was able to get him dressed and play a round of "Go Fish" with him before he and his dad left for the morning, so that's a win.
And lets not even mention the election, okay? Okay.
We've finally found a new childcare situation for him; a real pre-school (with classrooms and everything). 16 other kids (including Boys!) in the class. I'll tell you more about that in a bit.
I'm sure you've seen this by now, but if you haven't its worth a read (if only for the awesome photo: My Son is Gay
"If my daughter had dressed as Batman, no one would have thought twice about it. No one."
E wanted, originally, to go as a pink cat for Halloween, but I convinced him that black cats were scarier. Partly its because I was having images of The Pink Bunny Suit from A Christmas Story in my head. But partly its because I knew what his (honestly, really progressive) dad would say. Which he did actually say, when we presented the black cat idea to him (afterwards, out of earshot). "Its kinda girly".
Ahem.
A few days ago a friend posted this link on her blog:
You Might Be a Counterculture Mama if....
Honestly, after reading it, my conclusion was that you might not be a counterculture Mama if you have to work to support your family, since a lot of those indicators are simply out of reach if you work in an office 8 hours a day.
Finally, I said I wasn't going to talk about the elections, but here's something of interest: The Midterms and the "New Momism": The Takeaway for Working Moms.
I've written here before about my mixed feelings about Sarah Palin, and this article touches on that. Politically, I'm about as far away from her as you can get. But I have to admire, a little bit, any woman who can seamlessly combine parenting (including a special needs newborn) with Governing a State. Be sure to check out the New York Times article on the same subject that's mentioned in the text.
And lets not even mention the election, okay? Okay.
We've finally found a new childcare situation for him; a real pre-school (with classrooms and everything). 16 other kids (including Boys!) in the class. I'll tell you more about that in a bit.
I'm sure you've seen this by now, but if you haven't its worth a read (if only for the awesome photo: My Son is Gay
"If my daughter had dressed as Batman, no one would have thought twice about it. No one."
E wanted, originally, to go as a pink cat for Halloween, but I convinced him that black cats were scarier. Partly its because I was having images of The Pink Bunny Suit from A Christmas Story in my head. But partly its because I knew what his (honestly, really progressive) dad would say. Which he did actually say, when we presented the black cat idea to him (afterwards, out of earshot). "Its kinda girly".
Ahem.
A few days ago a friend posted this link on her blog:
You Might Be a Counterculture Mama if....
Honestly, after reading it, my conclusion was that you might not be a counterculture Mama if you have to work to support your family, since a lot of those indicators are simply out of reach if you work in an office 8 hours a day.
Finally, I said I wasn't going to talk about the elections, but here's something of interest: The Midterms and the "New Momism": The Takeaway for Working Moms.
I've written here before about my mixed feelings about Sarah Palin, and this article touches on that. Politically, I'm about as far away from her as you can get. But I have to admire, a little bit, any woman who can seamlessly combine parenting (including a special needs newborn) with Governing a State. Be sure to check out the New York Times article on the same subject that's mentioned in the text.
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