There’s a poem I ran across tonight while blog surfing. I’d love to include the poem in its entirety, but instead I will send you to Bugbear:
This is exactly how I feel. Why do I allow myself to get chained to the computer, inside, on a perfect day?
Mealtime Lessons
Alex eats everything in very small bites. The more he likes it, the slower it disappears. When he reaches the bottom of his yogurt cup, or the melted remnants lining his bowl of ice cream, he turns to the nearest unoccupied (and sometimes occupied) adult for help getting the rest of it onto his spoon. He is neat and tidy. Aside from a milk/juice moustache, he tolerates no mess. If something falls on the floor, he retrieves it immediately. He is meticulous and methodical, and suspicious of new foods—and he doesn’t like to mix foods on a utensil. Now that he’s resigned himself to reality (we will NOT give him a separate spoon for his peas and his ice cream), he has adapted. He wipes it carefully on a napkin when he’s changing foods.
Julianna, on the other hand, tears into whatever she’s offered with reckless abandon. She grunts and squeals as you cut it, and inevitably puts her hand in harms way, trying to get to the biggest piece—the one you’re still working on with the knife. Left to herself, smears her breakfast, lunch and dinner all over her face and neck, using it to glue her hair together. (This means that certain foods—PBJ, mac & cheese—are only on the menu on bath day.) She hurls food everywhere, but especially on the floor. She signs frantically for “drink,” and then guzzles it as if she’s been in a desert for two days without water.
And Nicholas? At the end of every “meal” (at least, the ones that don’t end with him asleep), he leans back on his Boppy and looks up at me with unadulterated adoration. All I have to do is look down and smile, and I get a huge, silly grin in return—and lately, some adorable “ghe-heh” cooing and early laughs as well.
What can I learn from my children?
From Alex, I learn to savor the moments. I learn that quality is more important than quantity.
Julianna shows me how to approach life with exuberance, without inhibitions.
And Nicholas teaches me that a smile does more to change the world than the most expensive, elaborate feast ever could.
Trouble, Trouble, and More Trouble
Fresh home from the grocery store, where Julianna flirted with every person we passed, and giggled her way through all my racecar antics, Daddy put her on the toilet and went to put up painter’s tape in Alex’s room. He came back to this:
- Ooooohhhh, yeah, I’m cute. Adore me!
A Week’s Worth of Gratitude
A filigree-and-marmalade sunrise
A perfect evening for a mile and a half walk with my baby…air shimmering gold in the sun, and brooding blue in the shade, with the perfect breeze nudging fluffy clouds across a pristine sky, newly washed by rain.
Bright baby eyes turned behind in the stroller, fixed upon me, the center of his universe (oooh, that’s a moment!)
Hours spent outside
New friends
The serious business of baby bath time, which ends with a lot of water kicked out of the tub
Three hours circling a race track…time in which spouses can talk
Christian’s boss, who kept Nicholas for several laps so we could walk hand in hand…
Julianna’s first bounce house
Sleeping with the windows open
Julianna Gems
Vignette #1: Seriously Scary Foliage
Perhaps you might remember how Julianna deals with things that scare her. Yesterday at the park, we had all retired to the shade of a stone wall beneath a low maple tree, whose swooping branches created a dark, enclosed spot. Nicholas had been giving me trouble about nursing under the cover, so I retreated to this “secret room” to nurse, so I wouldn’t have to use the cover. Julianna sat on the ground for a while, entertaining herself with wood chips and the stroller tires. Then the movement of the sun-dappled branches above her head caught her eye, and she started grunting and pointing, trying to get my attention.
They were about a foot out of her reach, and I thought she wanted to touch them. So I leaned forward and pulled them down beside her. The trouble was, I was sitting behind her, and she didn’t see me pulling them down. She just saw this big green monster attacking her.
“AAAEAAAAAAAAAAH!” she shrieked—once again, fists clenched, chin jutted out, and I realized what I had done. Poor Nicholas had to lie down on the wood chips so I could gather her up (laughing) and snuggle and comfort her. She wanted nothing whatsoever to do with those lovely maple branches after that, at least not until I picked a single leaf off. She could handle a single leaf. She carried it all the way home. Very cute. But you really had to be there.
Vignette #2: Night Crawler
It was like something out of “Chicken Heart.”
Nicholas woke up at about 2:15 this morning to nurse. When I went in to pick him up, Julianna stirred, but she didn’t make any noise, so I figured she would go right back down, and I didn’t talk to her; I just took Nicholas back to our room to nurse.
No sooner had we latched than I heard, in the quiet house, THUMP.
THUMP—sssshhhhhhh.
THUMP.
THUMP—sssshhhhhhh.
I knew perfectly well that Julianna was crawling out of her room and down the hall to ours, which was dimly-lit and thus a beacon in the dark house. But it really sounded like a horror movie. I couldn’t decide whether to giggle or scream.
THUMP—sssshhhhhhh.
THUMP—sssshhhhhhh.
She must be pushing a book across the room, I thought. “Christian,” I said, “Julianna’s out of bed.”
“Mmmm,” he mumbled, and stretched awake. “Okay, hang on.” He hauled himself out of bed and went into the bathroom.
THUMP—sssshhhhhhh.
THUMP—sssshhhhhhh. THUMP—sssshhhhhhh. THUMP—sssshhhhhhh. THUMP—sssshhhhhhh. THUMP—sssshhhhhhh.
“Julianna?” I said, to break the creepy mood.
THUMP—sssshhhhhhh.
“Julianna?”
“Uh,” she said. THUMP—sssshhhhhhh.
“Julianna, honey…”
At last, she poked her head around the corner. “Heh-heh,” she said, grinning.
“Daddy will be here in a minute, honey,” I said.
“Uh!” She signed “Daddy.”
Christian came out of the bathroom. “Hello, little girl…”
And furiously she began signing, MUSIC! MUSIC! MUSIC!
Christian and I both cracked up. “No Julianna, we’re not playing any music. It’s two o’clock in the morning!” he said, and scooped her up to change her diaper.
Nothing quite like those moments.
Random Tidbit #3:
Would you believe me if I said within six weeks, Nicholas will be wearing the same size diaper as Julianna?
When using cloth, this is slightly problematic. It means we have to buy extras!
Strong-Willed
Life with Alex has not been easy in recent months.
Not so long ago, Alex was a good-natured toddler and then an easygoing preschooler. Loud, but easy to get along with. When other kids bossed him, he didn’t get mad, he didn’t buckle, he just ignored it and did his own thing. It drove them nuts, but that was their problem, not his.
He’s always been a good kid, and he remains a good kid, basically. He’s frequently helpful, he’s virtually always a caregiver for his younger siblings, passing Julianna her cup or some grapes while I’m nursing, safeguarding Nicholas from her overzealous love. Yes, we have battles…frequently…but for the most part I’ve taken them in stride, figuring it’s just the age of three. (And four?) But a couple of weeks ago, my brother-in-law said, “Where did he get that strong will from?”
And suddenly I stopped and took stock, and I realized: He is strong-willed. The process was so organic that I didn’t realize it had happened at all. The answer to my brother-in-law’s question is that Christian and I are both pretty strong-willed ourselves, under the right circumstances. So that means that there are days in our household when all life is a battle. You will try what we gave you for dinner, or you will go to bed with no food at all. You will take a bath right now, or you’ll lose all your bedtime privileges (stuffed animals, light, etc.).
But then, there are days when we do just fine all day long. Like yesterday. And then I think, Maybe it is just the age of three and four. We had a great day yesterday.
Until last night, when I made Greek Pizza for dinner.
Now, I fully expected him to turn his nose up at it. In fact, I made mac & cheese for the little ones, b/c I didn’t expect them to eat the pizza—but I did expect them to try it. Julianna went along gamely, and then went berserk. She loved the stuff, cooked tomatoes, spinach, onions and all. (For the record, it’s really good.) Alex, however, refused to try it at all. Finally, I said dinner was over in 15 minutes, and I set the timer. When it goes off, I told him, there’s no more food. And you have to eat one bite of Greek Pizza before you get macaroni.
We spent 14 ½ minutes answering the question “How much time is left on the timer?” before he finally ate it, and pretended to gag because we always cave when he gags. Only this time, Christian made him swallow.
There’s an article at http://www.applest.com/strongwilled.asp which lays out the “qualifications” for a strong-willed child. Here are some excerpts:
- can move with lightning speed from a warm, loving presence to a cold, immovable force.
- may argue the point into the ground, sometimes just to see how far into the ground the point will go.
- can turn what seems to be the smallest issue into a grand crusade or a raging controversy.
- doesn’t do things just because “you’re supposed to” –it needs to matter personally.
- refuses to obey unconditionally—seems to always have a few terms of negotiation before complying.
- is not afraid to try the unknown; to conquer the unfamiliar (although each SWC chooses his or her own risks).
I would like to add to the list:
- Asks “Why?” for EVERY SINGLE INSTRUCTION, even when he’s been told “why” a hundred times before.
For instance:
“Alex, it’s time for bath.”
“Why?”
or:
“Alex, you don’t get dessert unless you eat your dinner.”
“Why?”
I can feel it coming on; it’s like he takes a minute to gather a mental lightning bolt before he hurls it my way. Oh boy, here we go, I think, and I find my brain racing frantically to try to stay a step ahead of him, so I can work from a plan instead of reacting on the fly. At least I can be grateful that he gives my problem-solving skills a workout. On the Battle Days, I find myself trading wry glances with other parents…wry on their end; simply tired on mine.
I’d love to wrap up with some insight, some revelation that makes me feel better about it all, but the fact is that all I know to do is put my head into the wind and barrel on through, and pray that I stumble onto the right path to teach him to be, if not easier to handle in the short run, at least a good man when he reaches adulthood.
Letting Go
Alex doesn’t nap much anymore. He goes to bed willingly enough, because he is tired, but he doesn’t usually go to sleep, and it’s not long before he gets bored and wants to get up again. I make him lie down for an hour, and then he can play upstairs. But he’s a very assertive young man, and he’s hard at work eroding the rules. Actually, there’s only one rule: Do Not Talk To Me While I’m Working. But he’s incapable of following it.
Erosion is my problem as well as a result of his pushing. I want to be a decisive parent who holds to her limits. But I also want to be reasonable, and this is a time of transition; we’re trying to find a new equilibrium that allows me to have “nap time” productivity even as the kids stop napping.
Anyway, Alex promised to leave me alone, so I let him go to the basement. But of course he came up and talked to me. He promised he would leave me alone and work his puzzle, but of course he wanted to share every triumph. There is nothing so discouraging when writing as having your train of thought broken every four minutes. Yet how can I gripe about my son wanting to share every part of his life with me?
Today his new idea was, “I want to go outside.” This opens up a whole new can of worms.
When I was a kid, Mom gave us a lot of time outside her direct supervision. By the time I was ten, I think, we were playing in the hay barn, in the woods, on the tractors, and in the shop. By twelve, I was riding my bike three miles to the orchard to work as a strawberry picker. At thirteen, my older sister and I were riding into town to shop, visit Grandma, and eat ice cream.
Now that I am a parent, I don’t understand how she had the guts to let us out of her sight. I puzzle over this frequently. I would love for my kids to be able to go outside and play without my presence, without me having to distract myself worrying about them. But how do you develop the placidity that allows you to let go of your children in a world where cars fly over the hill and spin out on gravel, where there is no shoulder on the county highway that leads to town…much less in a town where there are regular murders, a world in which child disappearances have become so commonplace that we have an alert system in place? We’re only talking about a ride of six houses in either direction. But what if some loon comes around the corner and snatches Alex? Yet I am resolved to avoid being a helicopter parent, and the only way to let go later in life, I think, is to begin doing it incrementally earlier. All parenthood is a slow process of letting go.
Well, I did let him go…but I only managed to work on my novel for three minutes before I had to go out on the porch and make sure he was okay. Five minutes later, I did it again, and was relieved to discover that the mother of his new friend, who lives six houses down, was outside with her kids, and that Alex had attached himself to them. But then I had to shout down the street, “IS HE BOTHERING YOU?” because of course, I still have two other kids sleeping in my house, so I can’t just run down to supervise.
That was the point at which I closed up the novel and set out to reflect on the difficulty of letting go.
And as I type, Alex walks back in. “Hey Mommy?” he says. “By the way…”
Pro-life versus anti-abortion
This is not what I wanted to spend my writing time on today. I detest writing about things that make me angry, and upon which I am powerless to effect change. Besides which, I can’t imagine that I can write this post without infuriating a large part of my readership. Yet the news of the last 24 hours compels me to address it. The murder of a man who made a living doing something I find to be morally repugnant—namely, providing abortions—illustrates in horrifying clarity the distinction between “pro-life” and “anti-abortion.”
Language is imprecise. Labeling is even worse. On both sides of this debate, the labeling is subject to pandering, to inflammatory remarks. Pro-lifers call their opponents “pro-abortion,” which is inaccurate—that implies that they’re trying to abort as many kids as possible. Pro-choicers use the word “anti-choice,” which is just as unfair— what choice are they offering the unborn? Abortion deprives a person of every choice he or she could ever make.
But calling yourself “pro-life” must, MUST mean more than simply protecting the unborn.
Life is threatened in all its stages. If you’re going to object to the morning after pill because it prevents implantation (which I do), follow it through to its logical conclusion. The MAP is just a high dose of regular birth control. If you’re going to object to abortion, then you have to object to the death penalty too. Innocence versus guilt is not a justification for taking a life—as the current news surely, tragically illustrates.
It is inconceivable to me that this man, this Scott Roeder, who gunned down a fellow human being, could do so thinking he has any justification whatsoever. We’re not supposed to pass judgment, but it’s really hard for me. I’m sure that his thought process works like this: Dr. Tiller takes the lives of the unborn. If I kill Dr. Tiller, I’m actually saving (fill in the blank) number of lives; therefore killing Dr. Tiller is justified. Perhaps he even thinks he’s a soldier of God.
But he is wrong. There is no asterisk on “Thou shalt not kill.”
I am angry—so very angry with this man for casting shame on all those who believe that life is sacred in all its forms.
The prolife movement is not responsible for Roeder’s heinous crime. But it will always and forever suffer because of his actions. Pro-lifers should be (and I’m sure they are) just as “outraged” as the President by what happened yesterday. If any good can come of this, it will come about because everyone, on both sides of this issue, sees the natural outgrowth of “choice” and “life,” and takes stock of the natural inconsistencies in what we claim to believe.
