Mother Daughter

I am not her mother.

She is my sons' sister. She is my husband's daughter. I cannot claim her.

I am not her mother.

She is her own person. She is smart. She is talented. She is kind. I passed no genes to her.

I am not her mother, but she is my daughter.

A child of my heart. I love her with the love I have for her brothers. When she leaves, I feel part of our family slipping away, leaving a huge hole where she belongs. When she is here, I curse her teachers for giving her so much homework that she can't spend time with me in the evenings, and I simultaneously burst with pride that she is so conscious of her work on her own.

So I take her M'n'M's to munch on while she studies. I make her a sandwich to take for lunch. I try to remember to get her brothers' things out of her bathroom and make sure they stay out of her room.

It's not much. I'm sure she doesn't know how much I love her. I'm positive she doesn't know how much I'm going to miss her when she goes to college in a little over a year.

I've kept my distance. It is so important that she have a good relationship with her mother. A child needs that. I want her to always have that.

But can it be time for her to know that we are also parent and child? Stepmama and stepdaughter. Family. Friends.

Before she is gone, I want her to know that she can always come back. We will always be here for her, waiting for hugs, playdoh, coloring, TV marathons, family movie nights, and brownie baking.

I want her to know that I love her, and that even though I am not her mother, she is my daughter. My only, quite perfect, daughter.

Tiny tyrant

The screaming. Oh my God, the screaming. If it doesn't stop soon, I'm going to lose my fucking mind. Seriously. Lose. My. Mind.

The moment Colin doesn't get his way, he starts to scream. I don't know if it's because he's still pretty non-verbal, or if he just wants to torture me in the worst possible way. Because the only noise I hate worse than the screaming is the sound of latex balloons against skin. Random, I know.

Last Friday, I took the boys to Christopher's preschool's fall picnic. Kevin had to work, so I was on my own. Fall picnic with tons of other kids and parents - one would think I would be just fine. Unfortunately, my children had something else in mind.

When we arrived, Colin was thrilled and wanted to run to every activity and try everything. On the completely opposite hand, Christopher was totally overwhelmed and wanted to stand by a

tree, shake, jump up and down, and scream at me. I would chase Colin down while Christopher yelled at me to please don't leave him.

By the time Christopher got comfortable enough to leave his tree, Colin was ready to leave the area with all the activities. Fine. We went on the nature trail. Well, Christopher and I went on the nature trail. Colin, never to be confined to trails and the suggested route, simply ran off into the woods.

Then came the screaming. He would run into the woods, I would chase him down, pick him up, and then he would scream. Add onto the screaming some pummeling of me in the face, and you have the world's most charming 21 month old.

The moment I finally lost it was the exact moment that Colin took his little pumpkin with one eye and a half a mouth and smashed it into my mouth. My upper lip began to swell immediately, and I couldn't help but just let the tears come.

The day didn't end there, but that's quite enough to share. It sucked. The picnic sucked. The day sucked. I hated every minute of it and spent a good deal of time contemplating going back to work full time.

But here are the pictures I will post on Facebook. Here are the smiles and the cuteness that I captured with the camera before I had to put it back in the car because I couldn't hold it and defend myself against my horridly violent toddler at the same time.

What a lovely couple of children and a lovely day. Fine. I'm not going to argue with the pictures.

Penis

Let's just call it what it is. It's a penis. Boys each have one. A girl has a vagina, or as Christopher calls it, a "vaginis." You know, almost rhymes with "penis."

We use the almost correct terms in this house.

What we haven't done enough of yet, which has become glaringly obvious this weekend, is teach which parts of our bodies are private.

The lessons I'm learning the hard way just keep piling up.

Friday night, I was on my own for bed and bath with the boys because Kevin and Mallory were at a football game. I put Christopher and Colin in the bathtub together, like always. After I turned off the water, I left them for a minute to go get their dirty clothes basket so I could gather a few days worth of their clothes.

When I walked back in, there was a brother's penis headed into the other brother's mouth.

Are you aware that this is NOT covered in any parenting books I've read so far? And are you aware that if you try Google for help on the subject, you come up with some pretty disturbing results, making you wish you had been FAR MORE SELECTIVE on what you Googled for advice?

Yeah. I wasn't either until Friday night.

So the conversation of private body parts began in full force that night. Putting other people's body parts in your mouth became something that is off limits. Just don't do it. Fingers, penises, toes, penises, elbows, penises, ears, penises, any of it. Just keep it out of your mouth. Also, penises are something that come out in the bathroom only. All other times, they are to be covered and kept to yourself.

I was secure in the way I handled it. The situation had freaked me out - don't get me wrong - but I felt as though a balance between "this is something you need to listen to and remember" and "I don't want to put too much emphasis on this behavior" was met.

And of course, as soon as I gain any sort of confidence in my parenting, I take my children out in public so that they might knock my off my pedestal in a most splendiforous way.

The day after the incident I don't care to speak of again, I took the boys up to the neighborhood fire station with our friends from down the street. The weather was perfect. We walked with our double strollers filled with our four perfect children through our almost perfect neighborhood up to meet the fireman and see the truck. It was as storybook as it sounds.

Perfectly storybook until Christopher says to one of the fireman, "I have a penis."

I was standing a few feet from him, and I thought I heard him say, "I have a penis." However, I was far enough away and was able to conjure enough immediate denial that I thought, "He didn't just say that."

That denial didn't last long. Almost before I could finish the thought, and certainly before I could imagine what he might have said instead of, "I have a penis," he dropped his pants. And his underwear. Right there in the firehouse.

As a friend said later, I guess he was just whipping out his own hose.

Seriously though, NOT FUNNY. I'm pretty sure the look of horror on my face will forever be burned into the memory of my three year old. Or at least until the next time he drops his pants in public. Which might be tomorrow. You just never know.

Later, I decided to casually inquire as to why he thought it was a good idea to show the fireman his penis. The conversation went like this:

Me: Hey Christopher, why did you try and show the fireman your penis?

Christopher: Because he will like it.

Me: Why do you think that he would like it?

Christopher: Because it is beautiful.

There's not a lot of arguing with that. The kid has good self image. I'm going to start complementing him a lot more on his hair and his smile though. Hopefully it will catch on, and he won't feel the need to show off what he obviously feels like is his best feature.

Boys. Nothing can quite prepare a mama for boys. I'm sure of that.

Mama models

Look at this. How she has made herself be on the level of the children. She is looking at what has captured their attention. She is explaining the how and why of the science.

I have more pictures from the visit. Pictures of train tracks, post office tents, and fish feeding. I stood back a lot and took pictures, watching and learning from my best friend.

She is the kind of mom I want to be. A mom who finds something to teach in every activity. A mom who cuddles when cuddles are needed, but who also goes to great lengths to learn how to empower her children.

Finding the balance between security and independence for our children is so very difficult.

I'm lucky to have such great mama models in my life. I'm lucky that this one is my best friend.

A better fit

One morning last week, as Christopher was walking into preschool, he dropped some of his Easter eggs. I had his backpack in one hand and Colin on my hip, and was slow in helping him. Another mother stooped down to pick up an egg for him. She was chatting 90 miles an hour with a mother who looked exactly like her and didn't even look at Christopher. She just held out the egg and kept talking.

She noticed the egg, but didn't notice the little boy.

It's a good school. It's where we go to church. It would be alright if he stayed there.

But he isn't going to stay.

In the two years he has been there, we have had exactly one playdate with another child at the preschool. That means that not only has he not been invited anywhere, but also that I have not invited anyone anywhere either.

They just aren't our people, and neither are we theirs. It's not a matter of liking or disliking. It's just a matter of fitting.

I know that feeling. I spent my entire high school career not really fitting in, but not really being that upset by it.  In Jackson though, my parents believed that there weren't a lot of choices, and I did get an excellent education.

However, this isn't Jackson, and I don't have to defer to what seems like the path I should take just because of history. This is Raleigh. This is my turn to be the parent. This is my responsibility to find somewhere that my children can thrive in all aspects of life.

So I've pulled him from his preschool and enrolled him in an arts immersion preschool. I'm so excited I can hardly contain myself. At the same time, I'm so nervous I can hardly think about the switch.

The "supposed to's" are so ingrained. I rail against them, and I fall into them for security. I use them as a crutch, getting by for awhile and not realizing that they don't really fit until they start to blister.

"Now, Marty, tell me how you ended up at White? Because you just don't seem like a White kind of person."

This is what the mom at the one playdate said to me. It wasn't an insult, so please don't read it like that. It was just a curious question of how we ended up at that preschool. It's easy to stand out when everyone else looks pretty much the same (and DAMN if I know how all of those mama's of preschoolers are all a stinking size zero).

That was the moment I knew.

It was when I knew I wanted to make a change. I wanted to keep stretching my comfort zone to be the kind of parent that my boys need me to be. It was the same kind of light bulb moment when I decided to leave my OB's office and move to the Birth Center.

Scary, but oh so right.

If you grew up in the deep south, you probably get this. It's hard to be someone you aren't, but it's even harder to figure out how to be who you really are if you don't fit the common mold.

I'm breaking that cycle now. Starting this fall, I'm giving Christopher the kind of education that will allow him all of his drama, his eccentricities, and foster his love of music and art. It's the least I can do for him - allow him to figure out who he wants to be.

Echoing love

The big news in our house is that Colin has moved into the boys' room and is sleeping in the crib. For the most part. He has been napping in his crib and spending the first part of the night there. But I have to admit, when he woke up at whatever time in the middle of the night last night, I just brought him back to bed.

I'm too spoiled now to sit in the rocking chair half asleep and try to get him back down.

Tonight, both boys were way wound up before bedtime. We had a very exciting day with a New Year's Eve party where we counted down to noon instead of midnight. And then we played Xbox and Wii together - it was a fun day that they obviously didn't want to end.

Christopher was in his bed, being pretty quiet, but not still. I was rocking and nursing Colin, but he kept biting me. Hard. He just didn't want to go to sleep and was having no part in my soothing songs and nuh-nuhs.

After a particularly painful chomp down and refusal to let go, I had to put him down and get up to take a break. I placed him in his crib and went to lay down next to Christopher.

Now, Christopher repeats a lot of what I say, and most of the time, I'm not proud of it. Lately, he's been saying, "Stop talking to me. I'm mad." Which, I don't mind the telling me that he is mad. It's the harshness of the "Stop talking to me," that bothers me - because I hate that I must sound like that to him.

But tonight, when I climbed into bed with him, he reached over and touched my face.

He said, "Don't be mad, Mama. He's just a baby. He didn't mean to hurt you."

Then, if he hadn't squeezed my heart hard enough, he says, "It's okay, sweetheart," and leans over to kiss my cheek.

And in that moment, I heard myself again, but in a much different light. I heard him echoing the love.

In a year that I have often felt like a failure as a mama - having little to no patience - yelling when I should be listening - jumping to anger when I should be looking for a way to teach - in the very end of this year -

My son echoed the love I show him.

Suddenly, I have high hopes for 2011.

Co-sleeping in a too small bed

Our bed is getting smaller.

Colin takes up almost an equal third of our queen size bed, leaving Kevin retreating down the hall to sleep with Christopher or in Mallory's room when she is at her mom's house.

That's not my idea of a family bed. Not how I want co-sleeping to be.

However, we won't be buying a bigger bed. Soon, it will be Colin moving down the hall to sleep in Christopher's room. The crib has been moved, and Christopher is anxiously awaiting his new roommate.

But my heart. I go to bed and lay down next to my baby. He looks up at me through sleep glazed eyes and smiles. A little baby arm is tossed up onto my breast, and he closes his eyes again while sighing back to sleep.

I'm having a hard time letting go of that.

Day 25 - The reason you believe you are still alive today - 30 days of truth

Also appropriate for Thanksgiving Day.

This is part of the 30 Days of Truth series. You can find the entire list here.

Day 5 - Something you hope to do in your life - 30 days of truth

There are two little boys sitting with me right now, enjoying Jack's Big Music Show. They are what I hoped most to do in my life.

Short of that, I would like to find my place in the world as a mama.

When they go to school, what will I do with my days? Will I be able to re-enter the work force? Will I want to? Will I be able to find a job that I enjoy?

Now, if you'll excuse me, I must got do the cookoo dance with Jack and my oldest son. It is definitely something I've always wanted to do in my life.

This is part of the 30 Days of Truth series. You can find the entire list here. Also, you can check out my Life List for more things I hope to do in my life. If you're bored and all.

Natural infant hygeine, because it's really cute

A few months ago, I switched the boys to cloth diapers. I got a lot of advice from friends, and something that Kara said stuck in my head. She mentioned in passing that most mamas who cloth diaper do elimination communication as well. Elimination communication (or EC) being the use of timing, signals, cues, and intuition to take care of your baby's need to eliminate waste.

It didn't immediately take hold in my brain, it just simmered there for awhile. Then, on a whim, I picked up this tiny potty at a consignment sale. And all of the sudden, I am checking off two more things on my "I'll never do that" list of parenting.

1. I'll never buy a used potty. It's just gross.
2. I'll never do elimination communication. It's just weird.

You'll be happy to know that I am holding on to another rule, "I'll never take a picture of my child's poop," even though I was incredibly tempted to break it as well this past week.

Recently, another friend posted on Facebook that she had "caught" her child's first pee and poop. He was about two weeks old at the time. That comment that Kara made - the one that had been simmering - reached a boil. The next time I saw Erin, I asked her about her experience with elimination communication.

What she said made perfect sense. She said that you learn to read your baby's cues. That just like you know when they are hungry, you know when something needs to come out the other end. For whatever reason, the way she put it clicked with me, and I decided to give it a shot.

Colin is seven months old, which is actually a little old to start "infant potty training," but the up side is that he doesn't poop as much now, and I really do know when he is about to go. Our first run of EC found us on a five day streak of poop free diapers. I'm not as good at catching his cues for pee yet, but I'm working on it.

I realized that I already knew these things. I already knew when a diaper was going to need to be changed, and it just made sense that if I could put him on the potty before instead of wiping his bottom afterwards, wouldn't that be more comfortable for him? I mean, wouldn't he probably prefer not to poop all over himself? It is certainly less work for me to dump out a potty and spritz it clean than it is to change a diaper, rinse it, put it with the dirties, run them through the wash, dry them, sort them, and fold them.

I think he does prefer it - he loves sitting on his little potty. We have a song we sing that goes to the tune of "De Do Do Do De Da Da Da" by The Police, just with potty appropriate lyrics. I sit on the floor with him (because as my friend Tara pointed out, yes, he will fall off if I am not watching him closely), sing, and make a "ssssssssssssss" sound to remind him to pee.

This is by no means a guide to elimination communication. I'm fairly certain what we are doing probably can't even be called that. We are being really laid back about it, and if I can keep him from pooping on himself, then I call it a success. Or maybe we are really doing it; I don't know. What I do know is that what you call it doesn't matter. This is just another in a list of things that feel right and natural for our family that I might have tried sooner if I had been more open to my instincts.

I don't have any grand expectations of "potty training" my baby before he is ready. I still expect for him to be in diapers a grand long time (heavy sigh), but IF we can help him not have to sit in pee or poop, and IF we can get him comfortable with the idea of the potty, then I think we have done a good thing.

And IF Christopher starts showing an interest in it because Colin is doing it? Bonus.

This is not a rehearsal

I think I've probably screwed my oldest kid up. He's only 2 1/2, but I'm pretty sure that I've taught him how to yell, how to be socially awkward, and how to withdraw into your imagination so far that you literally have to be shaken out of it.

He can't walk to the other side of the room without being distracted by a book. He can't figure out how to join in a group where he would like to play too. He can't find a way to express his anxiety, frustration, anger, nerves, or whatever, without yelling.

Is is wrong to want for your child to stop being so much like you?

I want for him to be like his father. I want him to take that ability to be so deeply distracted and turn it into the ability Kevin has to concentrate for hours on a tiny task until it is completely complete. I want for him to be slow to anger like his father, saving a raised voice for a time when it really matters, not over the stupid stuff for which I raise my voice.

And I really want for him to be able to make friends more easily than either of us do.

But none of that is going to happen unless I model it for him. Two and a half years of crappy modeling, I've done.

I yell too much. He yells too much.

I slam something down in anger. He hits the wall when he's mad.

I constantly intervene when he does anything that I think might be interpreted as "mean" or "rude" to another child. And not for the right reasons. He has had no real lessons of real human interaction because I'm too busy butting in and manipulating them.

Say you're sorry. Give her a hug. Don't talk like that to your friends. Don't yell. Wait your turn. You have to share.

I know there is guidance I have to give him, but I watch him lately and fret. I worry that I've already screwed the pooch on this one. How much of his personality is already ingrained?

Kevin says that he is only two. I worry too much.

Yes, I suppose I do.

But I really don't want for Christopher to suffer through life as my "practice run."

World Breastfeeding Week, tandem style

I have a picture of both boys nursing in tandem. It shows the top of their heads, the bottom half of my face, a whole lot of boobie, and the two brothers holding hands.

It is one of my favorite pictures.

I considered sharing it for World Breastfeeding Week, but I decided not to use the whole thing. There is something way too personal about that moment. Something that I want to keep for myself. But I had to share the little hands. I love that they have this bonding time together.

Tandem nursing won't last much longer. As it stands, Christopher only nurses now about once a week. It is truly a social thing for him. It's about being with Mama and Colin. And I'm okay with that. He knows that most of the time I'm going to offer him water or milk or a snack instead, or that I'm going to try and divert his attention with a book and a prime spot on my lap.

But it's been 30 months. 30 months of nursing my first born, and I'm so happy that it worked out that way. We had such a rocky start, so to know that we've got 30 months under our belt is very gratifying.

Breastfeeding is just one of the choices I've made in mothering my children. My hope is that I'll be able to support other mamas who want it to be one of their choices too. Happy World Breastfeeding Week, y'all.

Glass houses and logs in your eyes

Last week, the boys and I headed to North Hills to get our stroller fixed and buy me some new sunglasses so I could be guaranteed to find my old ones (which I did the very next day). It was lunch time, so we headed over to Chik-fil-a, but stopped by the commons to play for a minute first.

There is always something going on there in the mornings for kiddos. That day, they had tents set up for shade and play mats out for tumbling. Christopher took his shoes off and started to play.

Another mom was standing near me. She had twin girls that looked to be about two. Maybe a little younger. The girls were busy busy, getting water in cups from the cooler that Starbucks provided and dumping it out onto the mats. Every time the mom would wrangle one of the girls and get her to stop, the other one had started doing it. She was trying her best, but they were playing her.

I had my hands full with my two boys, but tried to give her an understanding smile as she ran circles trying to corral the twins. A third mom sat on the ground, watching her phone mostly. She looked at the twins' mother and said, "Can you clean that up please? Someone is going to slip."

She had a point. Water on the mats was kind of dangerous, but rather than just telling her, couldn't she have helped her?

I blew it off because it didn't seem to bother the twins' mom. She went into Starbucks (having to leave the twins to get more water while she wasn't watching) and got some napkins to pacify the bossy mom.

Meanwhile, an older boy had started chasing Christopher. Even though they were the same height, it was obvious that the boy was a good two years older than Christopher. As soon as he would catch up to Christopher, he would spit on him.

Mama wasn't happy.

I watched for a second to see what my little boy would do. He turned to the older boy and said, "Please stop."

Just like that. Please stop, politely. Of course, when the older boy didn't stop and just pursued him more aggressively, the polite voice that Christopher had turned into screaming pretty quickly.

I headed over to get him away from the older boy and finally figured out which one was his mom. She had turned to see who was screaming at her son.

Bossy mom. That's right. Little Miss Clean-up-that-mess was too busy bossing around other moms to notice that her son was bullying a two year old.

Nice.

My passive aggressive kicked in as we stood next to her to put Christopher's shoes back on. I praised him loud enough for her to hear. I praised him for asking the boy nicely to "please stop" and told him that sometimes kids didn't listen or play nicely. Then I told him he could always come to me for help if that happened again.

I doubt she took any notice of any of that though, because she most likely was already back to patrolling the other, less perfect than herself, mothers.

Bad parenting

Last night, Christopher sat in the tub and played with his toys. His toys were using their angry voices as he splashed them around yelling, "Stop that! Stop it!"

It hurt my heart.

My goals today are to go back to trying to redirect and not yell. Wish me luck. I'm seriously going to need it. Luck, and a lot of Rescue Remedy.*




*Not a sponsored link, I just know my momma is going to wonder what that is.

Mama wings

It is finally sinking in why mamas get baby fever. After Christopher, I didn't have baby fever. I knew that I wanted another baby, but it was more practical than feverish. I really wanted two little ones in the house at the same time. I wanted them to be siblings close in age.

But now, Colin is sitting up. He reaches for me after I unbuckle his carseat straps. He reaches to turn pages in a book. His gums are swollen from the teeth that are considering making an appearance soon.

He is not my little baby anymore, and I don't know where the time went.

When I was a mama for the first time, the days and weeks, hell - the hours - drug on like a Jim Jarmusch film. It took forever for me to get comfortable and confident with going out in public. It took forever for me to feel like I could gracefully nurse my new baby. It took forever for me to settle into life as a dyad, a coupled unit with my firstborn son.

When Christopher turned six months old, it felt like an entire lifetime to me. So much had changed, and I had endured the tempest of the trial by fire education of a first time mama. It was a relief to get to six months.

As a second time mama though, things have been entirely different. Colin's birth serves as a beautiful metaphor for how I feel with him. We were immediately attached. Connected. We never broke that dyad bond after he was born, so we never had to reform it. It was just there.

Realize here, that I'm not comparing my sons. I'm comparing my mothering. That's completely different than comparing my children.

After Colin was born, we were back home in a matter of hours. It was as if he had just magically appeared into our lives - as if he had always been there. Christopher was just at a morning playdate, and when it was time to come home and eat lunch, well shucks - his baby brother was miraculously there.

And it's been that way ever since, leaving the days and weeks - and hours - to simply fly past. It's not that I'm not noticing milestones, it's just that I can't believe they've already come and gone.

First time mama was so frustrated if the baby wasn't asleep at a certain time. Second time mama is just proud that the baby has finally started napping on his own every now and then. He'll sleep when he's ready.

First time mama was ready to feed the baby rice cereal exactly two weeks before his six month appointment. Second time mama is just amused at the way the baby pushes his banana around on the tray and licks it. He'll eat when he's ready.

First time mama was trying to figure out how to get to BlogHer with the baby and still feel connected to her old self. Second time mama is just happy to be at home with her family and still feel connected to her whole self. I'll venture out when both boys are ready.

It's strange. On the one hand, I feel so relaxed; like there is time for everything. On the other hand, I feel like time is slipping away; like my baby is growing up a million times faster than his big brother did. I can blink and get a glimpse of next year, and the next, and the ones not too far away when Mallory is leaving for college, Christopher is starting school, Colin is more than a toddler, and I'm turning 40.

Life is becoming a fly by for me in some ways, and I'm grateful - because it's my children who gave me my wings.

Bird's first movie: Toy Story 3

I was going to be one of those moms who didn't introduce the TV or movies until after her child was two years old.

*pause here for explosive laughter*

Right. So, that. Didn't really happen.

Christopher loves Cars. He loves Toy Story. He loves Elmo. He loves Jack's Big Music Show. He loves Wonder Pets, Dinosaur Train, the rest of Sesame Street, and he LOVES Super Why almost as much as he ADORES Kipper.

At any given moment of the day, he can be heard flying a Buzz Lightyear toy around the room and yelling, "Super Readers to the RESCUE!" Occasionally he will actually put Buzz's lines with Buzz, but for some reason, he just really likes to yell, "Super Readers to the RESCUE!"

Do I regret having a 2 1/2 year old who loves the TV like he does? A little bit. I admit it. I wish that he didn't, and I'm thinking of canceling our cable so that we don't feel anymore fiscal obligation to sit on our asses in front of it.

However.

Taking the family to see Toy Story 3 in the movie theater yesterday was one of the most fun things we have done yet.

We explained to Christopher that we were going to see a NEW Toy Story movie - one that he hadn't seen before. It would be dark in the theater, and the screen would be really BIG. He wouldn't be allowed to talk or get up and walk around, but there would be popcorn. After we told him that yes, he could take Woody and Buzz with him to the movies, he was completely sold on the whole plan.

While we waited on Kevin to buy the tickets, I followed Christopher around the lobby while he found every movie poster that had Toy Story on it and cried out, "LOOK! MY TOY STORY!" and then he would begin to sing his most favorite song in the whole world while his plastic Woody toy danced along.

"I got a friend in me. I GOT A FRIEND IN ME!"

As you can see, he has appropriately changed the pronouns to match his mother's introverted and socially stunted personality. Awesome.

With the exception of the previews, which were louder than the second coming of our Lord and all the heavens, it all went well. Colin fell asleep on the boobie as planned, and Christopher sat literally on the edge of his seat the whole time, only moving to dance whenever the music took any part of the forefront.

He had the BEST time, and I'm afraid that we will never ever be that family who remains untouched and unscathed by consumer marketing.

Bah. Who cares, really? After all, my son's first favorite song is by Randy Newman. If that's the result of all this media? It's not so bad after all.

*Note the completely sold out to consumerism Toy Story t-shirt that Bird is sporting, but paired with some hipster homemade pants out of some awesome Micheal Miller fabric. Such an oxymoron of an outfit.

The era of play

I had lunch with one of my oldest friends today. She is going to make an amazing mama one day. For now though, she is still taking notes. Literally. Which is funny, because some of the things she reminded me I said after Christopher was born are things I have totally thrown out the window now.

Like the soothing. I needed the five S's in that baby book so badly with Christopher. What I figured out this time around was that I needed them because I tried to have him on a nap schedule and bedtime schedule by the time he was 3 months old.

Dude.

I can't even imagine doing that with Colin now, and he's almost 5 months.

It's not that I necessarily think I was wrong with Christopher. Okay, about the nap thing, I was - but it's just that I'm so much more laid back this time around. I know everyone says that, but I'm talking lovely prescription drug induced anxiety quelled laid back.

Yeah, Colin still sleeps with us. No, I don't think he's going to still be sleeping with us when he's 10. Or even when he's one. I fully expect him to transition to his own bed. At some point. I just don't particularly care when.

Granted, with Christopher, I went back to work. Part-time, but still work. I had to pass him off to the nanny every afternoon, and keeping a work schedule made me feel much more rigid about him having a schedule too. Plus, I'm naturally uptight. Just saying.

HOWEVER.

We've moved into a new era here at Chez Canape. It's the era of play.

Play, play, play, all day, day, day.

We are all about getting to the pool, hitting up Marbles, visiting with our friends, going to Music Together, playing at North Hills, and whatever else we can find to do.

My new goal is to have tired, tired boys at the end of the day. Of course, we've been a little derailed by some summertime colds and the discovery of Jack's Big Music Show on at 9:00 AM, but I fully expect to be back in the swing of things by Thursday when we are meeting some friends at Marbles.

When we play, we learn. When we play, we're happy. When we play, we are connecting with each other. When we play, we are celebrating childhood.

When we play, we aren't keeping a perfect house. We aren't having gourmet meals every night. We aren't blogging as much. We aren't sewing as much. We are neglecting the piano.

But everything in life is just a phase. The dust can be swept up tomorrow or even the next day. And I can get back to writing and sewing next month or next year. For this afternoon, we danced to Elizabeth Mitchell and then simply had scrambled eggs for dinner.

It was a good day.

Photo of Kara's kiddos joining Christopher in an impromptu jam session with Colin playing roadie in the back. Now THAT'S what I'm talking about. Rocking.

Happy Mother's Day, Kevin

I didn't think I would get to be a mother.

In my first marriage there were plans of adoption, disappointment, plans of insemination, and more disappointment. Then, there was an end to that marriage. That's the extremely short and shallow version.

Kevin is my proof of grace in this life. The reason that anyone gets to wish me, "Happy Mother's Day."

On a day where we honor our moms, I find myself wanting to shower my husband with adoration. He saw me for who I am, where I was, and loves me still even with all of my flaws. He trusted me to have his sons and provides for us so that I can stay home with them. He sees us as partners in parenting, making it only my "job" for the time that he is at his "job."

So thanks, Kevin. Thanks for knocking me up a few times. Thanks for being my support in pregnancy, birth, labor, and postpartum. Thanks for being the daddy-half. Thanks for loving me and loving your children like you do.

Happy Mother's Day to us.

Pampers Dry Max and other evils on the shelf

Bird is at school and Squeak is sleeping in his bouncy seat. He slept on my chest for 90 minutes, but then want to move, so he's vibrating and snoozing, and I have two free hands. Two free hands which should be cleaning something, writing thank you notes, doing laundry, or organizing the boys' clothes for storage - but I'm actually trying to put writing back into my list of priorities, so here I sit.

I have a copy of Healthy Child, Healthy World that I have been putting off reading because I'm scared of all the things I could be doing better for my children. That's so lame. After this week of recalls and dangerous products, I'm thinking it's time to dive into it.

Squeak had almost finished his trial size bottle of Infant's Tylenol that has been recalled. It could have tiny particles - of what, they didn't say - in it or it could contain too much of the active ingredient. Either way, it's not good for him.

Bird had on a Pamper with their new "Dry Max technology" the other day. When I went to change it, he started grabbing the inside of his thigh and telling me that it hurt. I lay him on the changing table, and he began to scream before I could even get his shorts off of him. The blisters on his legs and bottom were unbelievable. I immediately began trying to calculate when the last time I changed him was and starting cursing myself for letting him have a wet and dirty diaper - even though I hadn't done anything different that day than from any other day. I changed him right when I noticed, and it wasn't that long from the last change.

I was mortified and cried right along with him. I stopped trying to clean him up at the changing table and put him straight into the tub. I wanted to make sure he was 100% clean, and rubbing the blisters wasn't an option.

After I put him to bed that night, I noticed a buzz online about Pampers and their new Dry Max diapers. A friend from my LLL group had posted a news story, and after watching it, I started searching for more information. What I found was unbelievable.

Thousands of reports of chemical burns and unusually bad blistering and rashes have been reported with these diapers. I couldn't believe it. The pictures I saw of those poor babies look just like Bird. The bigger than a quarter raised blisters - they were on all of these babies.

No more Pampers for us. I don't care how much that box cost me. I'm not using another Pamper ever again.

So begins my foray into cloth diapering. I tried it with the gCloth inserts for our gDiapers and hated them. They were terrible. But I've got some friends who are willing to give me lessons in all of the other ways to cloth diaper, so we are getting ready to make the switch. And for the times we need a disposable one, I'll be using a Huggies natural or a Seventh Generation diaper.

I feel so strongly right now, that as a mama and a consumer, I have got to start making better choices for my family. Choices based on their well being instead of cost and convenience. I did that for Squeak's birth, and now I need to continue that throughout their lives. I owe it to them to keep them safe and healthy.

It's frustrating to not be able to trust as a consumer.

Today

I've been on maternity leave. That's my story and I'm sticking to it.

It's hard to get back in the habit of writing when you slump off like I have. I still have blog brain. You know, when you walk through the grocery store checking items off your list while simultaneously thinking about which of the carts you are passing would make for good blog fodder. I still have blog brain.

There are too many things going on right now that I just can't blog about yet. When something is holding me back a little, I have a hard time saying anything at all. But I'm going to try. I'm missing out on chronicling some of the best times of my life - watching my boys grow up.

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Today, I had changed both of the boys' diapers. I had stepped out of the room to wash my hands when Bird tripped over a bag of dry cleaning. He wasn't hurt, but he was whining for me to come help him. He was still whining when one of Squeak's shoes came off.

Bird got up by himself, picked up the shoe, and declared, "Oh no! Colin's shoe!" He brought me the shoe, insured that I put it back on his little brother properly, and then he went back to the bag of dry cleaning. He repositioned himself over it, as if he had fallen again, and started back in with, "Mama, help! Help, Mama!"

Snort.

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Today, I took the boys to a Durham Bulls game with Abby and Linus. We had great seats (once Abby convinced me to move into the shade), and Linus was kind enough to share his Matchbox cars.

There was arguments over Wool E. Bull being a cow. There was popcorn. There was hand holding and running through the grass. Squeak fell asleep by the fifth inning. The Bulls lost, and I think they need some new pitching, but we still had a great time.

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Today, I took the boys on a walk with my friend and doula, Julie. Her boys, my boys, a couple of strollers, and a bicycle defied the rain back into the sky and took our walk with just a few sprinkles. The Greenway in Raleigh is one of my favorite places to be, and walking it with a friend is the best way to be there.

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So you see, we are busy. There are stories to tell. I want to get back here telling them. Maternity leave is officially over.