Come by for a visit:
Thursday, August 13, 2015
Thursday, December 12, 2013
Wow, Who Wants To Be This Kid When They Grow Up
Yeah, so it's been a long time since I've written. Lots have been going on. Really. One thing after another since August or so.
Within seven days…
1.) Baby gets the flu
2.) Dog is throwing up for three days. I take her to two different vets and six hours later they tell me, "She needs to have surgery RIGHT NOW. Sign here on the dotted line." I ask how much it's going to be and they give me an estimate of $4,500-$7,500. Nice and precise.
3.) Boy gets the flu
4.) In between vomits, I am called to pick up Dog after three days in the hospital with a list of instructions longer than my arm. Things like "Don't let her jump, run, play, or lick the incision." Well, they must thing she's a snake and not a canine. How am I supposed to not let her do those things and be Florence Nightingale to sick boys?
5.) Dog is healing, children are healing, only to discover that little tiny winged insects are landing on my bed. By day three of finding them on my bed, I have found approximately 100 of them. And this is gross… they shed their wings all over my bed. Apparently these little insects are attracted to light so many of them have found their way into my pillowcases. Discarded wings, crawling insects inside my bed and pillowcases. We have no other bed so I'm not exactly sure where we are going to sleep.
6.) After a little googling I discover that our house has termites. Really?
7.) I frantically ask around for some eco-friendly treatments for termites and a few grey hairs later I discover that there is such a thing! They use heat instead of chemicals. Beautiful. However, in between all of this searching, none of these companies are really in a hurry to inspect because I have learned that termites don't destroy your house in a matter of hours or days. It takes a couple years before there is significant damage. So everyone is pretty relaxed about the whole thing, taking a day to get back to me. Little do they know that these little demons are landing on MY FAMILY'S BED!!!!!!
8.) I discover that they are entering thru a loose air vent right above our bed, so I put a step ladder on my bed (oh yes, very stable) and tape a trash bag around the vent because I will die if any termites decide to land on my face or in my mouth while I am sleeping. This trash bag stays up there for four more weeks till we finally make our appointment for the treatment.
9.) We discover…. WE'RE PREGNANT!!!!!
All this in one week. It's now December and things haven't slowed down. But with stuff totally not worth writing about. Except for the pregnancy part of course! Yup, Baby #3 due in May. We are beyond thrilled and loving the experience. I am blessed to have amazing pregnancies, amazing births, and well… amazing children if I do say so myself. But who doesn't say that about their own children! By the time it's all said and done, I think I will have been breastfeeding for eight or nine years straight without break. And hopefully tandem nursing this time around will go as wonderfully as it did the first time between Boys 1 and 2. Breastfeeding is like the magic elixir around here. It's what keeps us all sane.
Anyway, I really wanted to post this TED Talk by a 13 year old kid. Seeing how hard it is for me to write these days, this video got me to the computer to write this blog, THAT'S how great it is. At first I just thought it was my super weepy pregnancy hormones but I have shared it with others already and they are in agreement: It is worth watching!!!!! Really, just trust me on this.
He's a kid that talks about being happy. He really put a spotlight on what you've been doing your whole life and how miserable or less than satisfied so many people are on a daily basis because of societal pressures. And what's the point of living like that? He is of course a homeschooler… I wasn't surprised. He inspired me at just the right time on our own homeschooling journey. Second guessing whether I can really take on this experience. After watching him I realized that not only am I able to take it on, but I must. For my children's sake.
This is the kind of child I hope my own kids will grow to resemble. Not to be like him, copy him (although I did love his long hair!) or act like him. But I want my kids to know what makes them happy, as this kid so clearly knows about himself at the young age of 13. I'm not hoping for overachievers who have resumes as long as Steve Jobs by the time they're in college, I just want them to know how to make themselves happy.
Enjoy it...
http://thefreethoughtproject.com/13-year-boy-blows-myth-public-education-water/
Within seven days…
1.) Baby gets the flu
2.) Dog is throwing up for three days. I take her to two different vets and six hours later they tell me, "She needs to have surgery RIGHT NOW. Sign here on the dotted line." I ask how much it's going to be and they give me an estimate of $4,500-$7,500. Nice and precise.
3.) Boy gets the flu
4.) In between vomits, I am called to pick up Dog after three days in the hospital with a list of instructions longer than my arm. Things like "Don't let her jump, run, play, or lick the incision." Well, they must thing she's a snake and not a canine. How am I supposed to not let her do those things and be Florence Nightingale to sick boys?
5.) Dog is healing, children are healing, only to discover that little tiny winged insects are landing on my bed. By day three of finding them on my bed, I have found approximately 100 of them. And this is gross… they shed their wings all over my bed. Apparently these little insects are attracted to light so many of them have found their way into my pillowcases. Discarded wings, crawling insects inside my bed and pillowcases. We have no other bed so I'm not exactly sure where we are going to sleep.
6.) After a little googling I discover that our house has termites. Really?
7.) I frantically ask around for some eco-friendly treatments for termites and a few grey hairs later I discover that there is such a thing! They use heat instead of chemicals. Beautiful. However, in between all of this searching, none of these companies are really in a hurry to inspect because I have learned that termites don't destroy your house in a matter of hours or days. It takes a couple years before there is significant damage. So everyone is pretty relaxed about the whole thing, taking a day to get back to me. Little do they know that these little demons are landing on MY FAMILY'S BED!!!!!!
8.) I discover that they are entering thru a loose air vent right above our bed, so I put a step ladder on my bed (oh yes, very stable) and tape a trash bag around the vent because I will die if any termites decide to land on my face or in my mouth while I am sleeping. This trash bag stays up there for four more weeks till we finally make our appointment for the treatment.
9.) We discover…. WE'RE PREGNANT!!!!!
All this in one week. It's now December and things haven't slowed down. But with stuff totally not worth writing about. Except for the pregnancy part of course! Yup, Baby #3 due in May. We are beyond thrilled and loving the experience. I am blessed to have amazing pregnancies, amazing births, and well… amazing children if I do say so myself. But who doesn't say that about their own children! By the time it's all said and done, I think I will have been breastfeeding for eight or nine years straight without break. And hopefully tandem nursing this time around will go as wonderfully as it did the first time between Boys 1 and 2. Breastfeeding is like the magic elixir around here. It's what keeps us all sane.
Anyway, I really wanted to post this TED Talk by a 13 year old kid. Seeing how hard it is for me to write these days, this video got me to the computer to write this blog, THAT'S how great it is. At first I just thought it was my super weepy pregnancy hormones but I have shared it with others already and they are in agreement: It is worth watching!!!!! Really, just trust me on this.
He's a kid that talks about being happy. He really put a spotlight on what you've been doing your whole life and how miserable or less than satisfied so many people are on a daily basis because of societal pressures. And what's the point of living like that? He is of course a homeschooler… I wasn't surprised. He inspired me at just the right time on our own homeschooling journey. Second guessing whether I can really take on this experience. After watching him I realized that not only am I able to take it on, but I must. For my children's sake.
This is the kind of child I hope my own kids will grow to resemble. Not to be like him, copy him (although I did love his long hair!) or act like him. But I want my kids to know what makes them happy, as this kid so clearly knows about himself at the young age of 13. I'm not hoping for overachievers who have resumes as long as Steve Jobs by the time they're in college, I just want them to know how to make themselves happy.
Enjoy it...
http://thefreethoughtproject.com/13-year-boy-blows-myth-public-education-water/
Sunday, September 29, 2013
Addendum to Education Journey
So... after writing that enormously long blog I spent the day thinking about all the things I left out. I could talk about this stuff all day.
I specifically want to thank my sister for opening the door to the world of bioluminescence. She saw a learning opportunity and she went with it. She didn't have a hidden agenda to "teach" him something when opening that big book. She wanted to simply explore learning together. She had no idea that that idea was going to be carried on this far. She didn't stop the discussion until my son was ready to be done with it. There was no time limit on that learning moment. In our house, we all learn from each other at the most surprising moments. Thank you, Angella, for being in the moment and being present with what was happening in front of your very eyes.
I also remember in detail a conversation I had with our friend James who now, at 40, has created a successful career for himself. A memorable conversation happened when we were first discussing our choice to homeschool. With overwhelming support, he said he fully believed in the power of homeschooling. I didn't know James as a kid, but I can imagine him to be one of those guys that knows a lot about a lot. Well, he said that he was so completely bored in school from the time he was little. Very common for kids who know a lot about a lot. I think at 11 years old (if I remember correctly) he came home and asked his mother to homeschool him. He was desperately wanting to be challenged and stimulated - mentally, emotionally, and spiritually. He knew, even at 11 years old, that he was smarter and more capable than what the school could provide him. Just like how I, in the second grade knew that Julie Parker's god (or her parents who fed her this garbage) was idiotic for allowing her believe that I would go to hell for not believing in her god. James' story stayed with me and helps me to accept that my children will sometimes know what's best for them, better than I. I will remember to take the time and courage to listen honestly to them and not make judgements on their observations. They will tell me how they will learn best. Either through words or through actions, I will listen. James also told me, with a bit of sadness, that he often wonders how different his life would have turned out if he had been appropriately challenged during those early years. What if he was given opportunities to really follow his passions and intellect? Instead his spent most of his childhood trying to figure out how to stay sane long enough to just graduate and be freed of the system. Thank you, James, for sharing your stories with me. I'm sorry that you never had the educational experience that you knew you deserved. You have inspired me to make sure my children don't have those same regrets.
My earlier writing about my boys checking on their pumpkin patch in the front yard made me think of something important that I wanted to share. I was thinking about disappointments in life and how one learns to deal with them. How important it is to handle disappointments with grace and courage, so that you can move on and learn from them. It led me to thinking about the kinds of lessons from disappointments that I would I like my children to have. A while ago I was arranging a homeschool field trip to see the Alvin Ailey Dance Company at the Dorothy Chandler Pavilion. This was a big deal. I had 202 people signed up for this trip. Everyone knew that the chance to see Alvin Ailey Dance live was a BIG deal. A powerful and memorable experience. For some, it is even life changing. The coordinator I was in contact with was letting me know that sometimes there are classes or even whole schools that cancel at the last minute so there may be extra seats for us. This would not be known until the day of the performance. I wondered what would cause a school or class to cancel such a great field trip. The woman said that there were countless things that could cause students to lose their field trip rights. It could be because of the misbehaving actions of one student (usually the "class clown" I assume) after being warned that everyone in class must behave perfectly or the field trip is off. Or perhaps the class didn't perform well on the standardized tests which made the teacher look bad and therefore needed to enforce some kind of punishment. Or the ever popular... there were too many absences in the school which affects how much money they receive from the district. Or maybe something as simplistic as Mrs. Teacher woke up on the wrong side of the bed and snapped at her class, "All right!!! I've had it!!!!! If I hear another sound from this class in the next hour we are not going on our field trip!!!!!" Well, it's really hard for an entire class to not make a sound for an entire hour. And it's also really hard to be a teacher and not stick to your word. Field Trip to Alvin Ailey CANCELLED.
If my son were in those situations, that would enrage me to know that he would have to learn about disappointment in that way. He would be deprived of an amazing experience because of someone else's poor test scores, or "bad" behavior??? That is not acceptable for me. Nor is that fair. This year, our pumpkins practically rotted on the vine and only grew as big as cantaloupes. After all that hard work and tending to weeds and watering, Mother Nature was not fair to us. So I guess the overall theme is that life is not always fair. But which situation would you rather learn about disappointment from?
Which leads me to my son's soccer coach. Again, an all around amazing teacher. When I tell others about his classes and his style of teaching they sometimes frown at the price we pay to have such a great coach. In comparison, he's about $25 more than other programs out there. Not $2,500 more, just $25. That is the problem with our country. We seem to have a problem with paying teachers, great teachers, what they are really worth. There are a few bad apples in the bunch, but for the most part teachers are the one of the hardest working people I know. They are with not just your child, but several dozens of children for eight hours a day. We need to pay them like they are in charge of the future of our country and our world. Oh, yeah, guess what???? THEY ARE!!!!! Can we not recognize that teachers need to be compensated appropriately so that they can continue to do their jobs with joy? Why do we have such a hard time appreciating such a noble profession? And just because Rocco is a soccer coach does not mean that he is not a teacher. He helps guide kids to improve their coordination, boost their confidence, their resourcefulness, teaches them how to work together, problem solve, think ahead, be mindful of others, etc, etc, etc. Isn't that what a first grade teacher does when he teaches how to write the alphabet or do a book report? I feel sad for all the teachers out there who join this profession thinking they can makes changes in the world while being under the strict, unrelenting watchful eyes of our school district. The nice thing about Rocco is that he completely leaves out terms like: scoring, winning, losing, and beating your classmate. Thank you, Rocco, for being a great teacher to my son. You ARE worth it.
Now, leading to my dear beautiful friend who was a public school teacher for 15 years. She quit because she had had it. Her last school was in a rougher neighborhood. Often when seeing one child do some horrendously horrible act like punch a kid in the face, kick someone down to the ground, or threaten a student's life, she would send them to the principal's office. She would expect the principal to take appropriate actions which would support her. Soon this kid would be back in her classroom with a note from the principal stating that their school can no longer afford any more expulsions or absences, so therefore the student's horrific actions are ignored, or in other words: allowed. Did you know that each school gets docked money from the school district for every absence they have? Again, how is that fair to poor little Sally who never misses a day of school? How is my friend expected to do her job with no support or hope of being respected? She often would be held captive in her classroom because there was a lock-down going on. For those that don't know what that is: Lock-down is when there is a dangerous situation outside or on the school campus which could potentially endanger the students' lives. For example, a shoot out or an angered person who is waving around a gun, or a possible kidnapping/hostage situation. In those situations, it is the teachers' sole responsibility to keep all the children safe in their locked classroom until the police have arrived to say it's okay to leave. The children must pee in a bucket because they are not allowed to go to the bathroom. The children have no food or water. And it's all up to the teacher to keep order and sanity in the classroom. My friend would regularly be locked in her classroom until 8 or 9pm!!!! She did not get overtime, extra vacation, or even a little gold star next to her name for such commitment. What the hell is wrong with our attitudes towards teachers? Thank you, Rose-Yvonne for your 15 years of wanting to help our children.
You may be thinking that you don't really have to worry about that kind of environment for your child because you'd never live in that kind of neighborhood. Well, welcome to the other side of the tracks, in private schools where I hear kids can do horrendous acts in school (as above) and never fear of being kicked out because their parents donate absurd amounts of money. How is THAT fair? Neither environment is one that my children will have to endure.
And last but not least... on going to college. When I was entering as an 18 year old freshman and choosing my first semester classes along with choosing my major, I was a bit confused and overwhelmed. I had never been asked to pick my classes before. Except maybe whether I wanted to take P.E. during 4th period or 6th period. My mother was standing next to me in the orientation room helping me. I wanted to be a major listed as "Undecided". Why not? Was there some stigma to entering college and being undecided? To my mother, I guess there was. She said that I should be a Communications Major. What??? Why??? I don't even know what that means?!?! She made some cockamamie statement to me about how I was good at communicating with people. So she filled in that bubble for me on my form. I was undecided, but she decided for me.
To a naive and young 18 year old, being asked to decide on your major feels like you are being asked what you want to be for the rest of your life. Eternity. Until you die. I thought I was signing away my life on the dotted line, right next to the question about whether or not I was going to eat in the cafeteria that year. That was it, I was doomed to be a Communications Major and find a job with a company that knew what that meant. Really, this is no exaggeration. I remember being depressed for several days as I started school. I really thought this was the beginning of the rest of my life in hell. Then I met other students, Seniors even, who were STILL undecided! Thank god I was not the only one.
My entire school life had been controlled by teachers and the "system" and my parents. They told me when and how and what to study. Pressuring me to make certain grades and pursuing things that I didn't want to pursue so that I could look "well-rounded". With that upbringing and reins so tight on who I should be, how could any 18 year old answer such a heavy question with certainty and confidence. I did not know who I was. I only knew who they wanted me to become.
This is why we homeschool. Because my children came into this world to blaze their own paths. Not to follow every one else's.
I specifically want to thank my sister for opening the door to the world of bioluminescence. She saw a learning opportunity and she went with it. She didn't have a hidden agenda to "teach" him something when opening that big book. She wanted to simply explore learning together. She had no idea that that idea was going to be carried on this far. She didn't stop the discussion until my son was ready to be done with it. There was no time limit on that learning moment. In our house, we all learn from each other at the most surprising moments. Thank you, Angella, for being in the moment and being present with what was happening in front of your very eyes.
I also remember in detail a conversation I had with our friend James who now, at 40, has created a successful career for himself. A memorable conversation happened when we were first discussing our choice to homeschool. With overwhelming support, he said he fully believed in the power of homeschooling. I didn't know James as a kid, but I can imagine him to be one of those guys that knows a lot about a lot. Well, he said that he was so completely bored in school from the time he was little. Very common for kids who know a lot about a lot. I think at 11 years old (if I remember correctly) he came home and asked his mother to homeschool him. He was desperately wanting to be challenged and stimulated - mentally, emotionally, and spiritually. He knew, even at 11 years old, that he was smarter and more capable than what the school could provide him. Just like how I, in the second grade knew that Julie Parker's god (or her parents who fed her this garbage) was idiotic for allowing her believe that I would go to hell for not believing in her god. James' story stayed with me and helps me to accept that my children will sometimes know what's best for them, better than I. I will remember to take the time and courage to listen honestly to them and not make judgements on their observations. They will tell me how they will learn best. Either through words or through actions, I will listen. James also told me, with a bit of sadness, that he often wonders how different his life would have turned out if he had been appropriately challenged during those early years. What if he was given opportunities to really follow his passions and intellect? Instead his spent most of his childhood trying to figure out how to stay sane long enough to just graduate and be freed of the system. Thank you, James, for sharing your stories with me. I'm sorry that you never had the educational experience that you knew you deserved. You have inspired me to make sure my children don't have those same regrets.
My earlier writing about my boys checking on their pumpkin patch in the front yard made me think of something important that I wanted to share. I was thinking about disappointments in life and how one learns to deal with them. How important it is to handle disappointments with grace and courage, so that you can move on and learn from them. It led me to thinking about the kinds of lessons from disappointments that I would I like my children to have. A while ago I was arranging a homeschool field trip to see the Alvin Ailey Dance Company at the Dorothy Chandler Pavilion. This was a big deal. I had 202 people signed up for this trip. Everyone knew that the chance to see Alvin Ailey Dance live was a BIG deal. A powerful and memorable experience. For some, it is even life changing. The coordinator I was in contact with was letting me know that sometimes there are classes or even whole schools that cancel at the last minute so there may be extra seats for us. This would not be known until the day of the performance. I wondered what would cause a school or class to cancel such a great field trip. The woman said that there were countless things that could cause students to lose their field trip rights. It could be because of the misbehaving actions of one student (usually the "class clown" I assume) after being warned that everyone in class must behave perfectly or the field trip is off. Or perhaps the class didn't perform well on the standardized tests which made the teacher look bad and therefore needed to enforce some kind of punishment. Or the ever popular... there were too many absences in the school which affects how much money they receive from the district. Or maybe something as simplistic as Mrs. Teacher woke up on the wrong side of the bed and snapped at her class, "All right!!! I've had it!!!!! If I hear another sound from this class in the next hour we are not going on our field trip!!!!!" Well, it's really hard for an entire class to not make a sound for an entire hour. And it's also really hard to be a teacher and not stick to your word. Field Trip to Alvin Ailey CANCELLED.
If my son were in those situations, that would enrage me to know that he would have to learn about disappointment in that way. He would be deprived of an amazing experience because of someone else's poor test scores, or "bad" behavior??? That is not acceptable for me. Nor is that fair. This year, our pumpkins practically rotted on the vine and only grew as big as cantaloupes. After all that hard work and tending to weeds and watering, Mother Nature was not fair to us. So I guess the overall theme is that life is not always fair. But which situation would you rather learn about disappointment from?
Which leads me to my son's soccer coach. Again, an all around amazing teacher. When I tell others about his classes and his style of teaching they sometimes frown at the price we pay to have such a great coach. In comparison, he's about $25 more than other programs out there. Not $2,500 more, just $25. That is the problem with our country. We seem to have a problem with paying teachers, great teachers, what they are really worth. There are a few bad apples in the bunch, but for the most part teachers are the one of the hardest working people I know. They are with not just your child, but several dozens of children for eight hours a day. We need to pay them like they are in charge of the future of our country and our world. Oh, yeah, guess what???? THEY ARE!!!!! Can we not recognize that teachers need to be compensated appropriately so that they can continue to do their jobs with joy? Why do we have such a hard time appreciating such a noble profession? And just because Rocco is a soccer coach does not mean that he is not a teacher. He helps guide kids to improve their coordination, boost their confidence, their resourcefulness, teaches them how to work together, problem solve, think ahead, be mindful of others, etc, etc, etc. Isn't that what a first grade teacher does when he teaches how to write the alphabet or do a book report? I feel sad for all the teachers out there who join this profession thinking they can makes changes in the world while being under the strict, unrelenting watchful eyes of our school district. The nice thing about Rocco is that he completely leaves out terms like: scoring, winning, losing, and beating your classmate. Thank you, Rocco, for being a great teacher to my son. You ARE worth it.
Now, leading to my dear beautiful friend who was a public school teacher for 15 years. She quit because she had had it. Her last school was in a rougher neighborhood. Often when seeing one child do some horrendously horrible act like punch a kid in the face, kick someone down to the ground, or threaten a student's life, she would send them to the principal's office. She would expect the principal to take appropriate actions which would support her. Soon this kid would be back in her classroom with a note from the principal stating that their school can no longer afford any more expulsions or absences, so therefore the student's horrific actions are ignored, or in other words: allowed. Did you know that each school gets docked money from the school district for every absence they have? Again, how is that fair to poor little Sally who never misses a day of school? How is my friend expected to do her job with no support or hope of being respected? She often would be held captive in her classroom because there was a lock-down going on. For those that don't know what that is: Lock-down is when there is a dangerous situation outside or on the school campus which could potentially endanger the students' lives. For example, a shoot out or an angered person who is waving around a gun, or a possible kidnapping/hostage situation. In those situations, it is the teachers' sole responsibility to keep all the children safe in their locked classroom until the police have arrived to say it's okay to leave. The children must pee in a bucket because they are not allowed to go to the bathroom. The children have no food or water. And it's all up to the teacher to keep order and sanity in the classroom. My friend would regularly be locked in her classroom until 8 or 9pm!!!! She did not get overtime, extra vacation, or even a little gold star next to her name for such commitment. What the hell is wrong with our attitudes towards teachers? Thank you, Rose-Yvonne for your 15 years of wanting to help our children.
You may be thinking that you don't really have to worry about that kind of environment for your child because you'd never live in that kind of neighborhood. Well, welcome to the other side of the tracks, in private schools where I hear kids can do horrendous acts in school (as above) and never fear of being kicked out because their parents donate absurd amounts of money. How is THAT fair? Neither environment is one that my children will have to endure.
And last but not least... on going to college. When I was entering as an 18 year old freshman and choosing my first semester classes along with choosing my major, I was a bit confused and overwhelmed. I had never been asked to pick my classes before. Except maybe whether I wanted to take P.E. during 4th period or 6th period. My mother was standing next to me in the orientation room helping me. I wanted to be a major listed as "Undecided". Why not? Was there some stigma to entering college and being undecided? To my mother, I guess there was. She said that I should be a Communications Major. What??? Why??? I don't even know what that means?!?! She made some cockamamie statement to me about how I was good at communicating with people. So she filled in that bubble for me on my form. I was undecided, but she decided for me.
To a naive and young 18 year old, being asked to decide on your major feels like you are being asked what you want to be for the rest of your life. Eternity. Until you die. I thought I was signing away my life on the dotted line, right next to the question about whether or not I was going to eat in the cafeteria that year. That was it, I was doomed to be a Communications Major and find a job with a company that knew what that meant. Really, this is no exaggeration. I remember being depressed for several days as I started school. I really thought this was the beginning of the rest of my life in hell. Then I met other students, Seniors even, who were STILL undecided! Thank god I was not the only one.
My entire school life had been controlled by teachers and the "system" and my parents. They told me when and how and what to study. Pressuring me to make certain grades and pursuing things that I didn't want to pursue so that I could look "well-rounded". With that upbringing and reins so tight on who I should be, how could any 18 year old answer such a heavy question with certainty and confidence. I did not know who I was. I only knew who they wanted me to become.
This is why we homeschool. Because my children came into this world to blaze their own paths. Not to follow every one else's.
Saturday, September 28, 2013
Our Educational Journey
I just read this fantastic blog called Mind the Gaps written by another mama. It's all about our educational system. I was only half way through the first paragraph when I knew I was already in the right "place" with my kids, my family, and my mind. Please read and then come back and read my response to her insightful words.
http://www.demandeuphoria.com/
So... you read it and went "Aaaaahhhhh, I never thought of that." Didn't you? I wonder how many of you felt you were on a train during your schooling years.
We are an unschooling family. Pretty much from around the time my first son was about 9 months old. That's pretty young to start thinking about my son's educational journey, but I new I had to start opening some doors quickly. I live in an "okay" neighborhood" with lousy schools. My options for "just good enough" schools were 1.) Move to a neighborhood where I can be in a posh school district. Or 2.) Continue to live in my "okay" neighborhood and drive 30 minutes one way to spend $18,000 PER YEAR on kindergarten with a school that I am sure I would just love. For $18,000 I better not just love it but I want to see Jesus, Ghandi, and Muhammad walking down the halls and teaching children as they sit under apples trees.
Here's my problem with Option #1: I happen to love my house. Why should I move into a more expensive house that we can not afford to send my kid to a "good" school???? Shouldn't EVERY SINGLE FRICKIN' KID IN EVERY SINGLE FRICKIN' NEIGHBORHOOD get to have access to something so fundamental as a decent education? How are we supposed to advance as a race when more than half of our kids are not being inspired to learn, not being engaged to participate in life, or not being treated as an individual? I pay taxes as a resident of this state, taxes which supposedly go into our school system. Therefore, I should be guaranteed a good school no matter where I live. (Dream on.)
Here's my problem with Option #2: Even if we could afford the money, do I really want my kids to go to a school with other kids whose parents can afford $18,000 X (how many kids they have) = $54,000 PER YEAR???? What kind of attitudes would we have to deal with? What about the sense of entitlement that often comes with being so rich? Have you ever talked to a seven year old that thinks that $18,000 is like buying bread? I do not wish my children to not know what it's like to play with "poor" toys or the "poor" kids, or have a problem with wearing second hand clothes. I do not wish them to live in such a bubble. There's a lot of things our family can do with $18,000 and home educate is one of them.
The system is broken and I don't want my children to be the lab rats that our government is using to find the solution. Look at where "No Child Left Behind" got us. Bored, disinterested, intelligent kids waiting around for the other children that they were not supposed to leave behind. Is that really their responsibility? That program is a whole new rant for me, so I"ll leave it at that.
Anyway, that's how we ended up deciding to homeschool. I guess for the sake of this article, I should be clear: We UNSCHOOL. But I am starting to get bugged by the different terminology out there. The bottom line is that I feel that the educational system in California is failing us so we are taking matters into our own hands. I did not have children to send them away so other people can teach them in a way that is not effective for them. We are guiding our own kids to becoming free thinkers, creative geniuses, self-confident, and resourceful. This is what makes for a well-adapted, ready for the "real world" adult. Not whether they got a 4.25 or a 2.50 GPA, or whether they go to Cal State or Princeton. And certainly not whether they know Trigonometry.
People say, "Wow, that takes a lot of commitment and time on your part to homeschool." My husband's philosophy is you either take the time and have the commitment to guide them through their educational pursuits during their youth. OR you find the time and gather up the commitment to be involved with their six hours of homework every day, help them on reports on the weekends, find the right supplies required by the teachers, call teachers when there are problems in school, play phone-tag with teachers because you can't get a hold of them when there are problems in school, and last but not least DEAL with the problems in school that you didn't know were bubbling beneath the surface for the last semester. And then squeeze in the time to just have fun as a family, IF you are not too tired do that or if that's even important to you.
I started talking to a mom at the beach the other day about her 1st grader who just finished his first week of school in a very posh neighborhood. This is a neighborhood which they specifically moved to so that her kids could go to this particular school. After one week, this mother is considering pulling her 1st grader out because she is astounded by the amount of homework her seven year old son has. She says that he's in school for eight hours every day and then they have to work on homework together for three more hours when he gets home. That's completely absurd, she tells me through tears. When is he supposed to play? Just FREE play? Not organized sports, not art class, not recess where they have no choice but to inhale their food before they are forced to go back inside? (This is her rant, not mine.) And then asks where I send my kids to school to see if my school is any better. We homeschool, I tell her. So, yes.... it's better.
This is September, so the buzz is all around us about how or if Johnny likes school this year, how they're changing schools because they can't get along with the teacher, how one school has 32 kids in a classroom and the school across town has 40 kids in a classroom but they are blessed with a teacher's aide. Oh yeah, then there's the ever popular: We lie about our address so that we can go to the best school this side of the hill. (That's the best lesson of all... Teaching your kids to lie to get what you want.) After one month of hearing this at every corner, I am a firm believer in my husband's philosophy. The time and agony and money spent and sleepless nights trying to fix the school's problems I will never have to deal with. I get to spend the same amount of time and money finding really fun things to do for my kids.
I was talking to my son's soccer coach, who by the way totally rocks for coaches out there! He knows kids like no other teacher I've seen. Anyway, this amazing soccer coach and I were talking about education reform and how desperately we (as a country) need to make some serious changes. I think it's really ridiculous how we over-use the word "alternative" when it comes to education. Alternative to what???? Alternative as an escape, a loophole, a "back up" plan, a surrogate, a replacement, a substitute to what is considered the norm? Obviously we need an alternative because what we have now is not working. Why should I have to look for a school that labels itself "alternative"? My son's coach said, "What about just calling it LOGICAL education?"
After reading "Mind the Gap", I felt completely validated about my own childhood feelings going through school. All thirteen years. I went to a private Catholic elementary and middle school. We are not Catholic. My mother sent me there so that I could have a better education. Even she got caught in the rat race. So, for all those years I grew up having to pretend we were just as good as those Catholics so that I would be allowed to sit in their church during masses. I had to learn religious stories that didn't pertain to us as a family or as a culture, just so I could have a better education. I remember in the second grade Julie Parker said to me, "You're going to go to hell because you don't believe in God." I replied to her, "Well your god is stupid then if that's what you believe." College was really just about getting out as fast as I could- my train could not have been fast enough. Who cares what I learned, who cares how I learned it, and who cares how I regurgitated it back to the teacher.
I want to have children who LOVE LOVE LOVE LOVE learning. I want to have children who learn because they are inspired and passionate about what they see in front of them. I rode the "train" my whole life, and now I'm ready for a different experience. I was usually on the front of the train, but always wishing I was on the back because I wanted to "dilly-dally". I wanted to take my time. I was interested in things that teachers didn't even have knowledge on because it wasn't part of the curriculum.
I remember in the 8th grade during "silent reading" time I had questions about the meanings of words in a fairly advanced book. (She was a former English high school teacher and her reading list was representative of high school level reading despite the fact that we were in 8th grade.) Anyway, I went to her desk while she was busy trying to grade her stack of papers. Clearly, "silent reading" time meant "Leave me alone so I can get some work done." I went to her desk not once, not twice, but three times to ask her about three different words and to please explain it to me in the context of the different sentences. After the third time, she just glared at me and said that I needed to move on, and not ask questions every time I don't understand a word. She told me that I don't need to understand every single word all the time. Thank you, Ms. Leon. My lesson for that day was don't bother the teacher during "silent reading" time and when there is something that I don't understand I should just move on and pretend like I understand. Also, what about the underlying lesson of it doesn't really matter what I understand as long as I can fake it. Also, what about the other lesson no child should have to learn: Don't bother asking, no one really wants to help you anyway. To her, I have to say, many years later, "Why in the world are you giving 8th graders a reading list more appropriate for 10th graders and then not helping us with it when we seek help??????"
And Ms. Leon was one of my better teachers too.
We are a bike-riding family. Well, not really a bike-riding family because my sense of coordination is a bit out of whack so I crash pretty easily on real bikes. But in the vain of this article, we are a true bike-riding family. And it starts from when my boys are infants. Even now as my not-quite-two-year-old wants to buckle the big buckle on his car seat. Does it take him forever to buckle? Yes! Does he do it incorrectly half the time? Yes! Is it boiling in the car and I want nothing more than to turn on the air conditioner so that my other child doesn't melt? Yes! But is it soooooooo important for him to fasten this buckle all by himself? YES!!!!! And what's amazing is the amount of patience my older son has for his baby brother while he learns things. Around here, everybody gets to learn their own pace. That's what it's like in my house. We stop when something interests us. We change plans often and at the last minute because something else caught our eye. We drive all over town to have that amazing experience to milk a cow, hear some Taiko drumming, see an Alvin Ailey concert, learn about Jazz, sit on my lap to watch in detail how my teeth are cleaned at the dentist's office, sit and listen to the LA Philharmonic play Mozart, and then come home to see how much their pumpkins have grown in their gardens. And we do most of that in one week.
There is not one "train" in any country in this world that can guide my children better than I. I like to think I know what they like and with that I gently guide them towards those areas. And I am sure these areas are not on any curriculum for any school we can afford. When I'm wrong in some areas then they tell me so, without fear of being told they are wrong. Who am I to say what they must like and don't like? And for that matter, who am I to say what they must learn about and when they have to learn it? And why should they have to try something for a whole month before really knowing they don't like it? I just listen to them and let them guide themselves to find their own interests. And just like with food, something they may love and be obsessed with for a whole year can quickly change into something they are completely sick of. My son ate avocado almost every single day for about a year, getting as much of it as he could, filling his tummy to his content. Now, he barely eats it. He's ready to move on. The beauty of our learning environment is that it can often times work in the other direction. Something that they don't want anything to do with all of a sudden is what they are crazy head-over-heels about. And I don't tell them we don't have time to learn about what interests them. We will always have time to learn because we are learning every single time they breathe in. And they spout off everything they learned to their daddy every single time they breathe out. They learn while they live, eat, and breathe and this is what it should be. Not learning limited to the hours of 7:30am - 2:35pm.
I love this connection that I have with their little growing minds. I love that they trust themselves so completely to dive into areas they don't understand without fear of being told they're too young, too old, or something is too complex for them. Sometimes, as homeschoolers, you have to have a name for your "school" so you can apply to do some things that regular schools get to do, like see shows, go on field trips, etc. The name I came up with is the School of Curious Adventures and Risk Taking. Doesn't that sound so much more fun then Jefferson Elementary?
Am I ashamed that my 4.5 year old can't write, or read, eat like a normal person with a fork, or tie his shoes yet? Not at all. He knows all kinds of other things that other 4.5 year olds don't know. Does that make him better? Not at all. It just makes him unique.
There was a great cartoon illustrating the difference between regular schooled kids and homeschooled kids that I saw a few years ago. The illustration of the "class" who were in regular school was a can of sardines, half opened. Some of the fish were struggling to squeeze out the sides, but most of the sardines had no choice but to just stay squished together. All the sardines looked exactly alike and very unhappy. The illustration of the homeschool group was of life underwater where there were several different types of fish, shellfish, sharks, seals, sea anemone, a whale, and beautiful coral, etc. This is the diverse environment that I wish my children to grow into.
My sister was visiting last spring and looking through a book called "Big Book of Why" with my older son. They stumbled across the word "bioluminesensce" and had a nice long conversation about it. He really likes sea creatures so the word really stuck with him long after she left. Since then we have gone on to explore that word, and that world for that matter. Our bathroom is slowly starting to look like an underwater scene as we draw and cut out sea creatures and paint them with glow-in-the-dark paint. Then we have fun being silly sitting in our dark bathroom and imagine we are in the midnight zone of the ocean.
Yes, he knows what the midnight zone is and one days hopes to visit as a deep sea diver. I love our family bike rides.
http://www.demandeuphoria.com/
So... you read it and went "Aaaaahhhhh, I never thought of that." Didn't you? I wonder how many of you felt you were on a train during your schooling years.
We are an unschooling family. Pretty much from around the time my first son was about 9 months old. That's pretty young to start thinking about my son's educational journey, but I new I had to start opening some doors quickly. I live in an "okay" neighborhood" with lousy schools. My options for "just good enough" schools were 1.) Move to a neighborhood where I can be in a posh school district. Or 2.) Continue to live in my "okay" neighborhood and drive 30 minutes one way to spend $18,000 PER YEAR on kindergarten with a school that I am sure I would just love. For $18,000 I better not just love it but I want to see Jesus, Ghandi, and Muhammad walking down the halls and teaching children as they sit under apples trees.
Here's my problem with Option #1: I happen to love my house. Why should I move into a more expensive house that we can not afford to send my kid to a "good" school???? Shouldn't EVERY SINGLE FRICKIN' KID IN EVERY SINGLE FRICKIN' NEIGHBORHOOD get to have access to something so fundamental as a decent education? How are we supposed to advance as a race when more than half of our kids are not being inspired to learn, not being engaged to participate in life, or not being treated as an individual? I pay taxes as a resident of this state, taxes which supposedly go into our school system. Therefore, I should be guaranteed a good school no matter where I live. (Dream on.)
Here's my problem with Option #2: Even if we could afford the money, do I really want my kids to go to a school with other kids whose parents can afford $18,000 X (how many kids they have) = $54,000 PER YEAR???? What kind of attitudes would we have to deal with? What about the sense of entitlement that often comes with being so rich? Have you ever talked to a seven year old that thinks that $18,000 is like buying bread? I do not wish my children to not know what it's like to play with "poor" toys or the "poor" kids, or have a problem with wearing second hand clothes. I do not wish them to live in such a bubble. There's a lot of things our family can do with $18,000 and home educate is one of them.
The system is broken and I don't want my children to be the lab rats that our government is using to find the solution. Look at where "No Child Left Behind" got us. Bored, disinterested, intelligent kids waiting around for the other children that they were not supposed to leave behind. Is that really their responsibility? That program is a whole new rant for me, so I"ll leave it at that.
Anyway, that's how we ended up deciding to homeschool. I guess for the sake of this article, I should be clear: We UNSCHOOL. But I am starting to get bugged by the different terminology out there. The bottom line is that I feel that the educational system in California is failing us so we are taking matters into our own hands. I did not have children to send them away so other people can teach them in a way that is not effective for them. We are guiding our own kids to becoming free thinkers, creative geniuses, self-confident, and resourceful. This is what makes for a well-adapted, ready for the "real world" adult. Not whether they got a 4.25 or a 2.50 GPA, or whether they go to Cal State or Princeton. And certainly not whether they know Trigonometry.
People say, "Wow, that takes a lot of commitment and time on your part to homeschool." My husband's philosophy is you either take the time and have the commitment to guide them through their educational pursuits during their youth. OR you find the time and gather up the commitment to be involved with their six hours of homework every day, help them on reports on the weekends, find the right supplies required by the teachers, call teachers when there are problems in school, play phone-tag with teachers because you can't get a hold of them when there are problems in school, and last but not least DEAL with the problems in school that you didn't know were bubbling beneath the surface for the last semester. And then squeeze in the time to just have fun as a family, IF you are not too tired do that or if that's even important to you.
I started talking to a mom at the beach the other day about her 1st grader who just finished his first week of school in a very posh neighborhood. This is a neighborhood which they specifically moved to so that her kids could go to this particular school. After one week, this mother is considering pulling her 1st grader out because she is astounded by the amount of homework her seven year old son has. She says that he's in school for eight hours every day and then they have to work on homework together for three more hours when he gets home. That's completely absurd, she tells me through tears. When is he supposed to play? Just FREE play? Not organized sports, not art class, not recess where they have no choice but to inhale their food before they are forced to go back inside? (This is her rant, not mine.) And then asks where I send my kids to school to see if my school is any better. We homeschool, I tell her. So, yes.... it's better.
This is September, so the buzz is all around us about how or if Johnny likes school this year, how they're changing schools because they can't get along with the teacher, how one school has 32 kids in a classroom and the school across town has 40 kids in a classroom but they are blessed with a teacher's aide. Oh yeah, then there's the ever popular: We lie about our address so that we can go to the best school this side of the hill. (That's the best lesson of all... Teaching your kids to lie to get what you want.) After one month of hearing this at every corner, I am a firm believer in my husband's philosophy. The time and agony and money spent and sleepless nights trying to fix the school's problems I will never have to deal with. I get to spend the same amount of time and money finding really fun things to do for my kids.
I was talking to my son's soccer coach, who by the way totally rocks for coaches out there! He knows kids like no other teacher I've seen. Anyway, this amazing soccer coach and I were talking about education reform and how desperately we (as a country) need to make some serious changes. I think it's really ridiculous how we over-use the word "alternative" when it comes to education. Alternative to what???? Alternative as an escape, a loophole, a "back up" plan, a surrogate, a replacement, a substitute to what is considered the norm? Obviously we need an alternative because what we have now is not working. Why should I have to look for a school that labels itself "alternative"? My son's coach said, "What about just calling it LOGICAL education?"
After reading "Mind the Gap", I felt completely validated about my own childhood feelings going through school. All thirteen years. I went to a private Catholic elementary and middle school. We are not Catholic. My mother sent me there so that I could have a better education. Even she got caught in the rat race. So, for all those years I grew up having to pretend we were just as good as those Catholics so that I would be allowed to sit in their church during masses. I had to learn religious stories that didn't pertain to us as a family or as a culture, just so I could have a better education. I remember in the second grade Julie Parker said to me, "You're going to go to hell because you don't believe in God." I replied to her, "Well your god is stupid then if that's what you believe." College was really just about getting out as fast as I could- my train could not have been fast enough. Who cares what I learned, who cares how I learned it, and who cares how I regurgitated it back to the teacher.
I want to have children who LOVE LOVE LOVE LOVE learning. I want to have children who learn because they are inspired and passionate about what they see in front of them. I rode the "train" my whole life, and now I'm ready for a different experience. I was usually on the front of the train, but always wishing I was on the back because I wanted to "dilly-dally". I wanted to take my time. I was interested in things that teachers didn't even have knowledge on because it wasn't part of the curriculum.
I remember in the 8th grade during "silent reading" time I had questions about the meanings of words in a fairly advanced book. (She was a former English high school teacher and her reading list was representative of high school level reading despite the fact that we were in 8th grade.) Anyway, I went to her desk while she was busy trying to grade her stack of papers. Clearly, "silent reading" time meant "Leave me alone so I can get some work done." I went to her desk not once, not twice, but three times to ask her about three different words and to please explain it to me in the context of the different sentences. After the third time, she just glared at me and said that I needed to move on, and not ask questions every time I don't understand a word. She told me that I don't need to understand every single word all the time. Thank you, Ms. Leon. My lesson for that day was don't bother the teacher during "silent reading" time and when there is something that I don't understand I should just move on and pretend like I understand. Also, what about the underlying lesson of it doesn't really matter what I understand as long as I can fake it. Also, what about the other lesson no child should have to learn: Don't bother asking, no one really wants to help you anyway. To her, I have to say, many years later, "Why in the world are you giving 8th graders a reading list more appropriate for 10th graders and then not helping us with it when we seek help??????"
And Ms. Leon was one of my better teachers too.
We are a bike-riding family. Well, not really a bike-riding family because my sense of coordination is a bit out of whack so I crash pretty easily on real bikes. But in the vain of this article, we are a true bike-riding family. And it starts from when my boys are infants. Even now as my not-quite-two-year-old wants to buckle the big buckle on his car seat. Does it take him forever to buckle? Yes! Does he do it incorrectly half the time? Yes! Is it boiling in the car and I want nothing more than to turn on the air conditioner so that my other child doesn't melt? Yes! But is it soooooooo important for him to fasten this buckle all by himself? YES!!!!! And what's amazing is the amount of patience my older son has for his baby brother while he learns things. Around here, everybody gets to learn their own pace. That's what it's like in my house. We stop when something interests us. We change plans often and at the last minute because something else caught our eye. We drive all over town to have that amazing experience to milk a cow, hear some Taiko drumming, see an Alvin Ailey concert, learn about Jazz, sit on my lap to watch in detail how my teeth are cleaned at the dentist's office, sit and listen to the LA Philharmonic play Mozart, and then come home to see how much their pumpkins have grown in their gardens. And we do most of that in one week.
There is not one "train" in any country in this world that can guide my children better than I. I like to think I know what they like and with that I gently guide them towards those areas. And I am sure these areas are not on any curriculum for any school we can afford. When I'm wrong in some areas then they tell me so, without fear of being told they are wrong. Who am I to say what they must like and don't like? And for that matter, who am I to say what they must learn about and when they have to learn it? And why should they have to try something for a whole month before really knowing they don't like it? I just listen to them and let them guide themselves to find their own interests. And just like with food, something they may love and be obsessed with for a whole year can quickly change into something they are completely sick of. My son ate avocado almost every single day for about a year, getting as much of it as he could, filling his tummy to his content. Now, he barely eats it. He's ready to move on. The beauty of our learning environment is that it can often times work in the other direction. Something that they don't want anything to do with all of a sudden is what they are crazy head-over-heels about. And I don't tell them we don't have time to learn about what interests them. We will always have time to learn because we are learning every single time they breathe in. And they spout off everything they learned to their daddy every single time they breathe out. They learn while they live, eat, and breathe and this is what it should be. Not learning limited to the hours of 7:30am - 2:35pm.
I love this connection that I have with their little growing minds. I love that they trust themselves so completely to dive into areas they don't understand without fear of being told they're too young, too old, or something is too complex for them. Sometimes, as homeschoolers, you have to have a name for your "school" so you can apply to do some things that regular schools get to do, like see shows, go on field trips, etc. The name I came up with is the School of Curious Adventures and Risk Taking. Doesn't that sound so much more fun then Jefferson Elementary?
Am I ashamed that my 4.5 year old can't write, or read, eat like a normal person with a fork, or tie his shoes yet? Not at all. He knows all kinds of other things that other 4.5 year olds don't know. Does that make him better? Not at all. It just makes him unique.
There was a great cartoon illustrating the difference between regular schooled kids and homeschooled kids that I saw a few years ago. The illustration of the "class" who were in regular school was a can of sardines, half opened. Some of the fish were struggling to squeeze out the sides, but most of the sardines had no choice but to just stay squished together. All the sardines looked exactly alike and very unhappy. The illustration of the homeschool group was of life underwater where there were several different types of fish, shellfish, sharks, seals, sea anemone, a whale, and beautiful coral, etc. This is the diverse environment that I wish my children to grow into.
My sister was visiting last spring and looking through a book called "Big Book of Why" with my older son. They stumbled across the word "bioluminesensce" and had a nice long conversation about it. He really likes sea creatures so the word really stuck with him long after she left. Since then we have gone on to explore that word, and that world for that matter. Our bathroom is slowly starting to look like an underwater scene as we draw and cut out sea creatures and paint them with glow-in-the-dark paint. Then we have fun being silly sitting in our dark bathroom and imagine we are in the midnight zone of the ocean.
Yes, he knows what the midnight zone is and one days hopes to visit as a deep sea diver. I love our family bike rides.
Wednesday, September 11, 2013
My Day With Urine
So it all started at Bed, Bath and Beyond. I take my two boys into the bathroom and when I turn around from locking the private bathroom door I see my little tiny baby with both hands on the toilet seat. Not on it, actually. But holding the seat from underneath. I gasp. His immediate reaction to my gasp is to step back and stick both hands in his mouth. I breastfeed him IMMEDIATELY. Breastmilk will kill anything. Or so I tell myself.
Then at home, my older son says he has to go pee. Fine. He goes into the bathroom and then I hear his little brother say, "Uh Oh" several times. I ask what is wrong. Kien tells me some crazy story that I don't quite understand. "I lifted the lid and saw that it was stuck to the wood." We don't have wood anywhere near where he is peeing but I don't ask. And then what? "The pee went all over the place." Oh dear, let me clean that up right away before his brother slips and falls in it.
After I clean up that urine I notice that the little baby has taken the potty seat and is dragging it all over the house. Just because this potty seat is made for little bottoms and is not quite as heavy as a regular toilet seat does not mean that it is any less dirty.
Urine is fine. I hear that it is sterile.
And now at 3am, I am cleaning up a heap of my dog's vomit the size of a softball on the carpet. It is basically undigested kibble stuck together with stomach slime.
I am going to go to bed now.
Then at home, my older son says he has to go pee. Fine. He goes into the bathroom and then I hear his little brother say, "Uh Oh" several times. I ask what is wrong. Kien tells me some crazy story that I don't quite understand. "I lifted the lid and saw that it was stuck to the wood." We don't have wood anywhere near where he is peeing but I don't ask. And then what? "The pee went all over the place." Oh dear, let me clean that up right away before his brother slips and falls in it.
After I clean up that urine I notice that the little baby has taken the potty seat and is dragging it all over the house. Just because this potty seat is made for little bottoms and is not quite as heavy as a regular toilet seat does not mean that it is any less dirty.
Urine is fine. I hear that it is sterile.
And now at 3am, I am cleaning up a heap of my dog's vomit the size of a softball on the carpet. It is basically undigested kibble stuck together with stomach slime.
I am going to go to bed now.
Thursday, August 8, 2013
Bread Crusts and Other Cold Foods
I have realized lately that my relationship with food has changed over the past four years. To be clear, I still understand and taste the difference between:
1.) something yummy
2.) something slightly off yet still edible
3.) and then the taste buds that have been super refined which signal, "That's been left out for four days. You are an idiot for putting THAT in your mouth."
I've got those three categories covered.
I've always loved food. I'm a big eater, love trying new things, and love most all spices from all cultures. I never really "forgot" to eat. To my surprise, in the beginning of motherhood, I would forget all the time to eat. Around 3pm on most days I would discover the clean, empty bowl sitting on the counter that was supposed to hold my cereal at 9am. It's mostly because there was never time to prepare a meal (pour cereal in bowl, add milk), sit down with proper utensils, chew and swallow. I was so used to that style of eating. I know, I'm asking a lot right? I just kept pushing eating aside until I could follow these common steps in preparing my food. I never really noticed I was hungry because I was so busy- you know, being a new mom and all. Then after a few months or years of that style of eating, I found out I was losing weight because people said to me, "You're REALLY skinny. Are you eating?" Oh, I guess I'm not.
So now I have a new style of eating. I am, what I call, The Clean Up Crew or just The Garbage Collector. Now, I eat what I can, when I can- even if it means I'm not actually hungry at that point. And because I don't like to waste food, I eat all the left overs from two boys.
I eat whatever is in front of me because who knows when I'll get to prepare anything myself. I eat when I can because who knows when I'll see food again. And it kills me to see food go to waste, especially if I'm the one who prepared it.
Four and a half years later, I have to say with the utmost confidence that I am totally sick and tired of making entire meals out of:
sandwich crusts
very soggy cereal
toast
any crusty/crispy parts of a fried egg
half eaten egg yolks
the heels of bread loaves
half eaten containers of yogurt
grapes bitten in half
the skins of fruits (peaches, nectarines, plums)
half finished smoothies
Why not save it for later, you may ask? Why eat it when you're not hungry, you want to know? Just wrap it up and put it in the fridge. Well... how disgusting would it be to try to reheat a piece of toast? How about saving fried eggs for later? Drinking a green smoothie which has formed a thick crust around the edges? Has anyone ever saved sandwich crusts for future enjoyment? I think not.
No matter what it is, I am eating cold food. All the time. OR.... I actually have the opportunity to eat something hot because I was lucky enough to prepare something, but then I burn my tongue repeatedly because I'm so excited to eat something hot. And it's usually standing up by the stove, where I just dished it onto my plate or heck... right out of the pan using the spatula or large slotted spoon with which I used to cook the food. Who has time to dish it, find utensils, carry it to the table three feet away and eat???? Those three feet can really mean the difference between eating RIGHT NOW and eating two hours later. You probably haven't seen my house to know the vast array of clutter that covers the floor in those three feet.
And really, c'mon... waiting until it cools down defeats the purpose of eating something hot. There's countless amounts of things that can happen between really hot food and "hot yet not burn your tongue" food. In my house, ALL of those countless amounts of things DO happen, which brings me back to my plate when the food is cold. In the olden days, I would have heated it up again and it would have been no big deal. But I have learned that heating it up again just puts me back into that same situation- hot food, wait, crisis in the bathroom, come back, cold food. Besides, eating food that's been re-heated, really??? RE-heated??? That's almost as much trouble as preparing the food in the first place, with the addition of it not tasting quite as fresh.
Like this morning... my son wanted pancakes. Great! I can do that. I scrambled around the kitchen gathering whatever ingredients I figured would taste somewhat what a pancake is supposed to taste like, furiously mixed them in a bowl, since I only have 3.2 nanoseconds to complete my task. Started dropping them in the pan. Baby is screaming and pulling at my leg indicating that he wants one NOW! My older son is lying half awake on the floor asking repeatedly, "When are the pancakes going to be done." And sounding as if he has been waiting for 47 years for his one pancake. I take out the first four pancakes - one to child, one to baby, two to Daddy. Next batch - four more sizzling away. I watch and wait. The recipe says three minutes on each side. What???? That's six minutes.
Okay fine, I guess I have no choice but to wait. Because turning up the heat in the pan so they cook faster, when the recipe specifically says "MEDIUM HEAT" means that you'll burn the pancake. And there's all kinds of things that come out of my children's mouths when they eat burned pancakes- like um... the pancake. So I wait not four minutes, but at 5.25 minutes I hear, "I would like another pancake please."
Have I mentioned yet that at this point, I am hungry too? It's morning, my eyes are sleepy, and I am operating on minimal energy and no clarity in the brain. I WOKE UP hungry, so you can bet that 90 minutes later I have reached the level of starvation that comes close to the really poor people on the streets in India. Close, not quite. But really close.
So... my reply to the request for another pancake is, "Who said that?" Well, one of the three boys has no ability to form sentences. So, it could be Daddy who needs to eat because he has to go to work soon. Or my older son who needs to eat because.... because... because? Well, because he's four and without food there might be another upheaval or mutiny which would prevent me from eating any sooner anyway.
I succumb to my fate. Even closer to the streets of India, I give one pancake to child, one pancake to hubby. But what's this??? Alas! There's a pancake. FOR ME! It's just sitting there, steaming hot from the pan. But I have to watch the next new batch in the pan- six minutes and remember to flip at three so do not set the spatula down. However, all three boys are happy, pancakes are looking happy, and I get to grab a steaming hot pancake and shove it in my mouth. Utensils? Syrup? Butter? Plate? Chair? Who needs any of that! It's hot, a wee bit on the "Burn Your Tongue" hot but who really cares. I got to eat a pancake. I feel triumphant. Really. Triumphant is the accurate description.
And guess what? I am bold enough to think I can conquer the last pancake sitting there, because Baby wasn't quite ready to eat his second one yet. I hold it to my mouth about ready to shovel it in, and then I hear, "Ma, Ma, Ma, Ma, Ma, Ma, Ma, Ma, Ma, Ma, Ma, Ma, Ma." My precious baby is doing that cute little sign language sign for "more" (also repeatedly) and grins at me. Full of sheer joy and excitement for my yummy pancakes. He can almost fall out of his chair when he gets that excited.
I look at the pancakes in the skillet. Since I ate the first pancake in 13 seconds, I still had roughly five minutes and 47 seconds to go until that next batch would be ready to eat. Then there's the insanely long cooling down period so the baby can actually eat it. And it all sums up to me just giving him that pancake.
And just to round off what usually happens after every meal, both children quickly finish eating just as I'm about to take my next bite standing up near the stove. But I become paralyzed as I get my first glimpse of the crumbs that are stuck to their hands with the syrup, the clothes which are horrific, and often stuff in hair that needs to be cleared. They start climbing down from their chairs and threatening to touch every single wall in the house. They're done eating so they automatically assume it's play time, so I have to act fast. I herd them to the bathroom and try to wash hands as fast as possible so that I can still eat a warm pancake and flip the ones that are in the pan slowly turning black.
Some turned black- which will have my name on them for tomorrow's breakfast. I ate one hot and three cold pancakes. All standing up and over the course of about two hours. Yes, it sounds like four pancakes is a lot but to fully understand my definition of "Clean Up Crew" here's what it looked like: one nice and hot, one at room temp about 30 minutes later, and then while I cleared the table I ate the left over half of an eaten one drowned in syrup by my older child, and then I ate another left over half of my Baby's pancake that was squished so tightly in his hand that it resembled more like a brown sponge or loofah.
But I ate... and my stomach really can't tell the difference anyway. I have a pretty big clue as to what I'll have for lunch. Just pick something from my list above.
1.) something yummy
2.) something slightly off yet still edible
3.) and then the taste buds that have been super refined which signal, "That's been left out for four days. You are an idiot for putting THAT in your mouth."
I've got those three categories covered.
I've always loved food. I'm a big eater, love trying new things, and love most all spices from all cultures. I never really "forgot" to eat. To my surprise, in the beginning of motherhood, I would forget all the time to eat. Around 3pm on most days I would discover the clean, empty bowl sitting on the counter that was supposed to hold my cereal at 9am. It's mostly because there was never time to prepare a meal (pour cereal in bowl, add milk), sit down with proper utensils, chew and swallow. I was so used to that style of eating. I know, I'm asking a lot right? I just kept pushing eating aside until I could follow these common steps in preparing my food. I never really noticed I was hungry because I was so busy- you know, being a new mom and all. Then after a few months or years of that style of eating, I found out I was losing weight because people said to me, "You're REALLY skinny. Are you eating?" Oh, I guess I'm not.
So now I have a new style of eating. I am, what I call, The Clean Up Crew or just The Garbage Collector. Now, I eat what I can, when I can- even if it means I'm not actually hungry at that point. And because I don't like to waste food, I eat all the left overs from two boys.
I eat whatever is in front of me because who knows when I'll get to prepare anything myself. I eat when I can because who knows when I'll see food again. And it kills me to see food go to waste, especially if I'm the one who prepared it.
Four and a half years later, I have to say with the utmost confidence that I am totally sick and tired of making entire meals out of:
sandwich crusts
very soggy cereal
toast
any crusty/crispy parts of a fried egg
half eaten egg yolks
the heels of bread loaves
half eaten containers of yogurt
grapes bitten in half
the skins of fruits (peaches, nectarines, plums)
half finished smoothies
Why not save it for later, you may ask? Why eat it when you're not hungry, you want to know? Just wrap it up and put it in the fridge. Well... how disgusting would it be to try to reheat a piece of toast? How about saving fried eggs for later? Drinking a green smoothie which has formed a thick crust around the edges? Has anyone ever saved sandwich crusts for future enjoyment? I think not.
No matter what it is, I am eating cold food. All the time. OR.... I actually have the opportunity to eat something hot because I was lucky enough to prepare something, but then I burn my tongue repeatedly because I'm so excited to eat something hot. And it's usually standing up by the stove, where I just dished it onto my plate or heck... right out of the pan using the spatula or large slotted spoon with which I used to cook the food. Who has time to dish it, find utensils, carry it to the table three feet away and eat???? Those three feet can really mean the difference between eating RIGHT NOW and eating two hours later. You probably haven't seen my house to know the vast array of clutter that covers the floor in those three feet.
And really, c'mon... waiting until it cools down defeats the purpose of eating something hot. There's countless amounts of things that can happen between really hot food and "hot yet not burn your tongue" food. In my house, ALL of those countless amounts of things DO happen, which brings me back to my plate when the food is cold. In the olden days, I would have heated it up again and it would have been no big deal. But I have learned that heating it up again just puts me back into that same situation- hot food, wait, crisis in the bathroom, come back, cold food. Besides, eating food that's been re-heated, really??? RE-heated??? That's almost as much trouble as preparing the food in the first place, with the addition of it not tasting quite as fresh.
Like this morning... my son wanted pancakes. Great! I can do that. I scrambled around the kitchen gathering whatever ingredients I figured would taste somewhat what a pancake is supposed to taste like, furiously mixed them in a bowl, since I only have 3.2 nanoseconds to complete my task. Started dropping them in the pan. Baby is screaming and pulling at my leg indicating that he wants one NOW! My older son is lying half awake on the floor asking repeatedly, "When are the pancakes going to be done." And sounding as if he has been waiting for 47 years for his one pancake. I take out the first four pancakes - one to child, one to baby, two to Daddy. Next batch - four more sizzling away. I watch and wait. The recipe says three minutes on each side. What???? That's six minutes.
Okay fine, I guess I have no choice but to wait. Because turning up the heat in the pan so they cook faster, when the recipe specifically says "MEDIUM HEAT" means that you'll burn the pancake. And there's all kinds of things that come out of my children's mouths when they eat burned pancakes- like um... the pancake. So I wait not four minutes, but at 5.25 minutes I hear, "I would like another pancake please."
Have I mentioned yet that at this point, I am hungry too? It's morning, my eyes are sleepy, and I am operating on minimal energy and no clarity in the brain. I WOKE UP hungry, so you can bet that 90 minutes later I have reached the level of starvation that comes close to the really poor people on the streets in India. Close, not quite. But really close.
So... my reply to the request for another pancake is, "Who said that?" Well, one of the three boys has no ability to form sentences. So, it could be Daddy who needs to eat because he has to go to work soon. Or my older son who needs to eat because.... because... because? Well, because he's four and without food there might be another upheaval or mutiny which would prevent me from eating any sooner anyway.
I succumb to my fate. Even closer to the streets of India, I give one pancake to child, one pancake to hubby. But what's this??? Alas! There's a pancake. FOR ME! It's just sitting there, steaming hot from the pan. But I have to watch the next new batch in the pan- six minutes and remember to flip at three so do not set the spatula down. However, all three boys are happy, pancakes are looking happy, and I get to grab a steaming hot pancake and shove it in my mouth. Utensils? Syrup? Butter? Plate? Chair? Who needs any of that! It's hot, a wee bit on the "Burn Your Tongue" hot but who really cares. I got to eat a pancake. I feel triumphant. Really. Triumphant is the accurate description.
And guess what? I am bold enough to think I can conquer the last pancake sitting there, because Baby wasn't quite ready to eat his second one yet. I hold it to my mouth about ready to shovel it in, and then I hear, "Ma, Ma, Ma, Ma, Ma, Ma, Ma, Ma, Ma, Ma, Ma, Ma, Ma." My precious baby is doing that cute little sign language sign for "more" (also repeatedly) and grins at me. Full of sheer joy and excitement for my yummy pancakes. He can almost fall out of his chair when he gets that excited.
I look at the pancakes in the skillet. Since I ate the first pancake in 13 seconds, I still had roughly five minutes and 47 seconds to go until that next batch would be ready to eat. Then there's the insanely long cooling down period so the baby can actually eat it. And it all sums up to me just giving him that pancake.
And just to round off what usually happens after every meal, both children quickly finish eating just as I'm about to take my next bite standing up near the stove. But I become paralyzed as I get my first glimpse of the crumbs that are stuck to their hands with the syrup, the clothes which are horrific, and often stuff in hair that needs to be cleared. They start climbing down from their chairs and threatening to touch every single wall in the house. They're done eating so they automatically assume it's play time, so I have to act fast. I herd them to the bathroom and try to wash hands as fast as possible so that I can still eat a warm pancake and flip the ones that are in the pan slowly turning black.
Some turned black- which will have my name on them for tomorrow's breakfast. I ate one hot and three cold pancakes. All standing up and over the course of about two hours. Yes, it sounds like four pancakes is a lot but to fully understand my definition of "Clean Up Crew" here's what it looked like: one nice and hot, one at room temp about 30 minutes later, and then while I cleared the table I ate the left over half of an eaten one drowned in syrup by my older child, and then I ate another left over half of my Baby's pancake that was squished so tightly in his hand that it resembled more like a brown sponge or loofah.
But I ate... and my stomach really can't tell the difference anyway. I have a pretty big clue as to what I'll have for lunch. Just pick something from my list above.
Monday, July 29, 2013
a new era
For those that know my personal breastfeeding story... I think my son
is done. I know, I know... I said it before but then we had a few
moments of him needing some reassurance, family travels which I think made him feel disconnected, life, etc. And
now it's been about two weeks.
It's very strange for me. Wow. I experienced my first "baby" weaning from breastfeeding in the most uneventful, anti-climactic, non-stressful, easy, and completely child-led way. Exactly how I read about it happening. I feel great about it but.... I feel sad in a reminiscent way. Thinking about those early days (about 90 really hard ones) of pain, crying, and yet never giving up hope really seem like yesterday. Even though the weaning process had been soooooo gradual and sooooo smooth, why do I feel like it caught me off guard? Remembering all those extra tired nights when I secretly wished he would be done I want to take back. Perhaps he was ready for it a lot earlier than I was. Just as he was ready to show me his first tooth before I was ready to give up that cute toothless smile. Just as he is ready to jump down from the tree before I am ready. Just as he is ready to be away from me for an entire day before I am from him.
Someone asked me if I knew that the last time was "the last time". No, because it was happening so infrequently at the end and I started to lose track of when he breastfed last. But that question made me realize how I'm so lucky it happened that way. If I had known that the very last time was going to be it, I would have been a big, soggy mess. I would have wanted to take pictures. I would have eaten a whole tub of ice cream. I can't imagine it going any smoother and I'm so glad that it followed his timing. For kids, there are so many emotionally eventful things in their lives that happen based on someone else's timing or rules. A child starting kindergarten at five, whether they're ready or not. A child having to give up playing with a toy whether they're ready or not, so they can learn a lesson about being polite. Their mommy or daddy leaving them to go to work, whether they're ready or not. A child getting a new sibling, whether they're ready or not. Being forced to grow up quickly, whether they're ready or not.
Not this journey. No Ma'am. This journey ended for him when he was ready, no sooner and no later. He was able to decide when and how, and he owned that process. He is a more confident boy because of it. And I am the mother that I am today because of that journey that we went on together.
My tandem nursing days are over. Luckily for me, I still get to breastfeed my other "baby" at 22 months. And luckily for me, my older son still loves to snuggle and hold my hand tightly as he falls asleep every night. I am lucky and grateful for what lessons breastfeeding has taught me.
It's very strange for me. Wow. I experienced my first "baby" weaning from breastfeeding in the most uneventful, anti-climactic, non-stressful, easy, and completely child-led way. Exactly how I read about it happening. I feel great about it but.... I feel sad in a reminiscent way. Thinking about those early days (about 90 really hard ones) of pain, crying, and yet never giving up hope really seem like yesterday. Even though the weaning process had been soooooo gradual and sooooo smooth, why do I feel like it caught me off guard? Remembering all those extra tired nights when I secretly wished he would be done I want to take back. Perhaps he was ready for it a lot earlier than I was. Just as he was ready to show me his first tooth before I was ready to give up that cute toothless smile. Just as he is ready to jump down from the tree before I am ready. Just as he is ready to be away from me for an entire day before I am from him.
Someone asked me if I knew that the last time was "the last time". No, because it was happening so infrequently at the end and I started to lose track of when he breastfed last. But that question made me realize how I'm so lucky it happened that way. If I had known that the very last time was going to be it, I would have been a big, soggy mess. I would have wanted to take pictures. I would have eaten a whole tub of ice cream. I can't imagine it going any smoother and I'm so glad that it followed his timing. For kids, there are so many emotionally eventful things in their lives that happen based on someone else's timing or rules. A child starting kindergarten at five, whether they're ready or not. A child having to give up playing with a toy whether they're ready or not, so they can learn a lesson about being polite. Their mommy or daddy leaving them to go to work, whether they're ready or not. A child getting a new sibling, whether they're ready or not. Being forced to grow up quickly, whether they're ready or not.
Not this journey. No Ma'am. This journey ended for him when he was ready, no sooner and no later. He was able to decide when and how, and he owned that process. He is a more confident boy because of it. And I am the mother that I am today because of that journey that we went on together.
My tandem nursing days are over. Luckily for me, I still get to breastfeed my other "baby" at 22 months. And luckily for me, my older son still loves to snuggle and hold my hand tightly as he falls asleep every night. I am lucky and grateful for what lessons breastfeeding has taught me.
strange to be back
Some time has passed since I last visited here. Just about four years or so. No biggie, stuff happened. You didn't miss much. Oh, except that now my son is 4.5 years old and he found a baby brother along the way, who is now 22 months old.
I started posting my blog on my own handy dandy Mac which teaches tech challenged people like me how to have their own website but then they took that away from me. So I'm back to this place which welcomed me back with open arms.
Quick update:
Sleep is STILL for wussy mamas. Really. That's just what you tell yourself so you can get through the day without overdosing on coffee or seeing your brain fall out of your head as you listen to yet another rendition of Old MacDonald. Instead of asking for a song to repeat, because I think my son doesn't know how to ask for it that way, he says, "Mom, I want that song to play over and over and over and over again. Make it play over and over and over and over again."
Then I give him a look which he misinterprets as needing to add a word at the end which will let me know that he is appreciative. "Make it play over and over and over and over again please."
I don't care about the please. I care about seeing my brain fall out of my head. I hit "repeat" on the music thingy and just pray that my dirty hair which hasn't been washed in a week will hide the mess of my brain falling out of my head. Or maybe the tangles will catch it so that I can put it back in at night.
The part that salvages the whole experience is getting to watch two really cute, half dressed, peanut butter crusted boys dance around the room.
We homeschool (unschool, life school, home educate or whatever it's called nowadays), we garden, we "do" shows, we have amazing adventures, we study butterflies going through their metamorphosis, and we ourselves grow. But we don't sleep. Well... rarely.
I started posting my blog on my own handy dandy Mac which teaches tech challenged people like me how to have their own website but then they took that away from me. So I'm back to this place which welcomed me back with open arms.
Quick update:
Sleep is STILL for wussy mamas. Really. That's just what you tell yourself so you can get through the day without overdosing on coffee or seeing your brain fall out of your head as you listen to yet another rendition of Old MacDonald. Instead of asking for a song to repeat, because I think my son doesn't know how to ask for it that way, he says, "Mom, I want that song to play over and over and over and over again. Make it play over and over and over and over again."
Then I give him a look which he misinterprets as needing to add a word at the end which will let me know that he is appreciative. "Make it play over and over and over and over again please."
I don't care about the please. I care about seeing my brain fall out of my head. I hit "repeat" on the music thingy and just pray that my dirty hair which hasn't been washed in a week will hide the mess of my brain falling out of my head. Or maybe the tangles will catch it so that I can put it back in at night.
The part that salvages the whole experience is getting to watch two really cute, half dressed, peanut butter crusted boys dance around the room.
We homeschool (unschool, life school, home educate or whatever it's called nowadays), we garden, we "do" shows, we have amazing adventures, we study butterflies going through their metamorphosis, and we ourselves grow. But we don't sleep. Well... rarely.
Sunday, October 4, 2009
I've got my own site!!!! Moving up in the world...
Yay! I've finally got it together. It took me forever plus infinite amounts of time at the Mac store to learn how to do the basics, but alas, here it is:
Make sure you go there for all my blogs now. The difference is that it will be much simpler to post pictures and video. Now, I just have to get more organized!
It's also super easy to post comments on this new site, so please send me a note to let me know what you think! It keeps me writing when I know people are actually reading. Really!
THANK YOU FOR READING!!!!
Saturday, October 3, 2009
A group I'm starting!
For all you parents out there reading this in the San Fernando Valley, I'm starting up a chapter of Holistic Moms Network. It's a national organization with over 120 chapters, but there's no chapter in the valley. This shocked me, so I'm taking things into my own hands and starting up our very own chapter. Also, because I just felt like I didn't have anything to do with all my free time.
It's a support group for people who want to try to live more holistically and learn how to raise their kids in this same way. It's for moms, dads, adoptive parents, gay/lesbian parents, and significant others!!! Bring your kids~ everyone is welcome. We meet once a month and we'll always have a topic to discuss with various speakers, health care providers, or sometimes just a bunch of us sharing our stories.
We're still looking for a place to hold our meetings but if anyone is interested in finding out more info please email me at HMNsfv@me.com so that I can notify you once things are set. We'll meet on the second Monday of every month, with our first one happening on Nov. 9th! Put it on your calendars and make sure you pass on the word to other like-minded peeps!!!
Also, if anyone has any cool connections to free meeting spaces, then let me know. I will forever be indebted to you!!!!!
If you want more info on the organization itself check out: www.holisticmoms.org We're a pretty cool group of people, if I do say so myself.
Hope to see you there!
Another audition but no more smiles
Well, the good news is that I booked that gig I auditioned for from my last blog!!! Yay!!! It is for a sketch on the comedy show, Important Things with Demetri Martin (on Comedy Central). I play a pregnant woman who goes into labor on an airplane. I'm quite certain that my charming boy was the reason for me getting this job. He definitely had the room entertained.
I shot the scene this past week and had a ton of fun! It was really amazing to be back on a set again after such a long hiatus. The fun part was putting on a "pregnant belly". It looked so real, everyone thought I was really pregnant. It didn't weigh nearly what a real nine month pregnant belly weighs, but it was just as hot! The only big bummer was that I was gone from the boy for 10.5 hours. I missed him terribly. And of course, having been away from him for that long, I had no choice. I HAD TO PUMP!!!!! Argh. And this could not have been in a worse situation.
We only got a half hour lunch break and pumping took 25 minutes. And my location choices were trailer #1 (woman's dressing trailer), trailer #2 (make-up trailer), trailer #3 (wardrobe trailer), or a small, stinky bathroom. Trailer #1: way too small. Trailer #2: the make-up artist was a man. Stinky bathroom: no way. So I chose lucky Trailer #3. At least they had an outlet that I could use to plug in the pump but I had to stand up and be about two feet away from the door. Gee, I didn't think to bring my extension cord...
Overall, it was pretty painless. The two very sweet wardrobe ladies came in to eat their lunch while I was all hooked up. The younger one seemed a bit embarrassed and felt like she couldn't really look at me. Or maybe she thought I was embarrassed and wanted to give me some privacy. I declined letting her know that 1.) after having a baby, very little embarrasses me and 2.) I gave up all semblance of privacy since hhhmmmm, when would that have happened? Oh yeah, after having a baby. But that was very gracious of her. The other sweet lady was totally amazed that my boobs could be hooked up to a machine and milk can drain into plastic bottles which are suctioned onto my nipples. Watching it happen is really like a visit to the dairy farm. It's easy to be amazed at the capabilities of the female human body when witnessing such an event. I'm more in awe of the inventor who came up with the idea and wonder how painful it was for all of the lactating moms who were willing to be test subjects.
Anyhow, 25 minutes later, the deed was done. The bottles went into my handy milk cooler and off I raced to the lunch line where of course, everyone was just finishing their meals and heading back to the set. I ate fast. Other than that, a really great day.
So, that was one audition that panned out to be work. I had another audition that same week. This one was actually a callback at the Mark Taper theater so I was pretty excited about it. I had my initial audition on a day when my husband could watch the boy so there were no issues there. But I had no choice but to bring the boy on this day. I scrambled around for some plans on how to handle the situation and I came up with one that seemed to be flawless. For theater auditions, it's nearly impossible to bring a baby into the room. Theater auditions lasts longer than tv/commercial auditions so if I brought him into the room, there would be a strong possibility that the boy would start to make some noise (and probably a cute one). Then all of a sudden, what I thought would be my audition would actually turn into the boy becoming the star of the room. That would not be the time or place to be upstaged by my own child. Wasn't there some famous actor that said, "I will not work with children or dogs"? Smart move.
So my "flawless" plan was to have my friend watch the boy while I went into the audition. Brilliant! Until we decided to sit in traffic for over an hour just to get to downtown LA. Leaving with plenty of time, I picked up my friend who coincidentally lives less than 10 miles away from the theater. At this point, the boy was just about to experience his meltdown but he was so good. He held it back as long as he could. With 60 minutes in stop and go traffic, he still had somewhat of a smirk on his face. The remaining 10 miles is where he lost it. Of course, living in LA, those 10 miles took about 20 minutes to drive. Meltdown slowly escalates.
I pull into the parking lot that I went to last time because I thought it would be safe to stick to things that I am familiar with given the circumstances. It's 4:35 pm and the sign on the parking lot attendant's window says that he leaves at 4:30 pm. Surely there's some way to pay for the parking spot during "after hours", right??? The parking lot is open all night with no gate to let people know that it closes. Not one sign that lets you know what to do in case he's gone for the day. But of course, the biggest sign of all says "ABSOLUTELY NO FREE PARKING AT ANY TIME!"
The flawless plan was that my friend could walk around the area and entertain the boy for 30 minutes or so. He would without a doubt be distracted enough by all the cool things to see. There was even a beautiful fountain that he would have loved. But without paying for our parking spot we didn't want to chance leaving our car there. Oh yeah, after the fierce warning in bright red letters about no free parking, they listed the towing company that you should call in the event that they find out that you parked for free. No messing around with these folks.
At this point I now have 10 minutes to get to my audition. Definitely not in a good place. I wanted to quickly feed the boy before I left so he wouldn't be too hungry but because of his meltdown he was not interested in food one bit. So off I went to my audition leaving my poor friend in the parking lot with my poor boy, crying madly. He was really quite pissed that after making him sit in the car for so long I hand him over to someone else to hold him. Mommy-guilt. On top of it all, there was not an ounce of shade for them to hide under and it was about 100 degrees. And the scenery was worse than uninteresting. It was downright ugly. Just rows and rows of cars. Certainly not the beautiful fountain that I promised him.
I arrived at my audition sweaty and stressed. Definitely not in the mental or physical place I wanted to be. Especially after having prepared so hard for the callback, to be in such a state of chaos was very disappointing. But I had no choice. I did my thing and felt okay about it. Not great. Just okay. The only glimmer of hope I got was that I managed to make the playwright and director snicker a few times and then the playwright actually applauded when I was done. I figured this meant I did a good job or he was just really glad that I was the last person for the day and he was excited to go home.
Either way, I have no idea what they really thought of me but I haven't gotten "that" call yet. It's been well over a week so I've come to accept that they won't be giving me "that" call. I was beating myself up for quite a while though afterwards because I felt like I should have given a better performance. That's the tough thing about being an actor. The bruises and mental torture we endure which take us from one job to the next.
As my husband says, why can't I just focus on the good things that happened? Out of two auditions in one week, I booked one of them! But I wouldn't be a neurotic LA actor if I didn't obsess about the things that I could have done better. It's part of the job description. And like motherhood, it's a job that takes forever to see the pay off.
Wednesday, September 23, 2009
WHAT?!?!?!?! WHO IS THE FASTEST CRAWLING BABY IN ALL THE LAND???
Okay, it's insanity. I thought I had no time before? INSANITY, I tell you. If there were no major obstacles (and by major, I mean like a steel wall) the boy could get from here to Nevada in about four hours. Alas! My new job as a mother involves being creative, being quick, and being the "bad guy" all at the same time.
Everything he wants, he can't have. Well, he shouldn't have. Otherwise, poison control and 911 would be frequent phone calls. So, I am constantly taking things from his hands or his mouth. The dogs tail is one of them.
Of course, anything on the floor was always ignored in the past. Heck, that's why I put it on the floor in the first place. I didn't want to look at it anymore, or I just couldn't deal with it at the time, so the ground has always been as good a place as any. But now, super human, turbo charged vacuum cleaner and floor polisher (aka: my son) sees all these things that I wanted to ignore. He picks them up and within an instant the meanie-monster-mommy has snatched it away from him. Gone are the days where he didn't know any better. Now, he realizes that whatever he's not supposed to have is probably the best "toy" of all.
Something that has taken the place of his regular baths is his frequent visit to the dogs water bowl. Certainly that is safe! After all, I spent all summer teaching him how fun water is and encouraged him to make really big splashes while we swam. So, there's no reason why he shouldn't splash the dogs water all over the kitchen. He's actually tried to climb into the bowl because I think it reminds him of a swimming pool, on a smaller scale. Again, meanie-monster-mommy steps in.
Excuse me as I write this. My brain is being infiltrated with Baby Einstein music and I can't think straight. At the same time, I am hoping that the boy will be distracted enough with his own toys so that I can write something. Instead, he finds crawling directly under my chair to be the most exciting option. I'm sure there are safer places but at least I know where he is.
Today I had an audition and I had to bring the boy. Always a very anxiety-filled event. For me, not for him. The audition times are NEVER convenient, I spend an hour deciding what to wear, then another hour griping about having to actually shower and wear make-up, then I usually have to wake the boy from some precious nap, and drive in LA traffic to actually find where I'm going.
Of course there was some "event" happening on Hollywood Blvd. so there were all kinds of detours, crazy drivers, and lost people trying to drive past the cones that said "Do Not Enter". Clearly, a big red circle with a line going through it is not a universal language. But oh well, I'm pressed for time. My next mission is to find a parking spot that is within reasonable walking distance from the building that I need to go to. Otherwise, I know exactly how I would look after pushing a stroller uphill ten blocks in 90 degree weather. And I didn't put on this make up for nothing!
I find a spot a mere two blocks away. Lucky me! My next issue was a parking meter that kept eating my quarters but not giving me any credit for it. So either pride, being rushed, or the fact that I already gave it $3.00 prevented me from moving my car to a "working" meter. The sign said, "$2.00 for each hour" but the meter was only showing that I had 58 minutes after giving it three bucks! MAD TIMES!!!! Anyway, the boy was already in his stroller, and I very well couldn't have left him on the street as I moved my car to another meter. Surely, that would be called in as child abandonment. And I hadn't even gotten to the audition yet! I think I put in over $5.00 before it finally read that I had two hours.
Dazed and confused, I strolled our way down Hollywood Blvd. looking like a lost tourist. Luckily, I ran into an old friend of mine at the audition. It was so lovely to see him. He helped me find the elevator in the building. And lucky for me, the casting director was very "kid friendly"! She didn't mind one bit that I lugged the boy into her waiting room. The stroller took up the entire hallway, but she maneuvered around it without a second thought.
I spent the next several minutes reconnecting with my friend, and wouldn't you know it? The boy had everyone entertained! He smiled, laughed, and soaked in his admirations. There wasn't a person there who couldn't help but smile at him. It's like I put a quarter in him and he was all ready for some tricks.
I'm just about ready to be called in so I decide to breastfeed him really super fast. Ya know, to keep his chipper personality just a little bit longer. So, I snuck into what seemed like the office supplies room and shut the door. I sat on several reams of paper as the fax machine was spouting out papers and the coffee machine was making funny noises. Out came the booby for feeding time. I tell ya! If you told me I'd be doing this when he was two weeks old, I'd have laughed in your face.
A mere five minutes later, I hear my name being called over and over and over again. My lovely friend tells them where I am. There's nothing discreet about, "She's breastfeeding in the supply closet." So, I hurriedly pull my shirt down and hop out the room. I throw the boy like a sack of potatoes to my friend who's agreed to hold him while I have my audition. Then as I enter the audition room I take a split second to make sure I'm all put together. And, alas! That darned breast pad was half sticking out of my shirt. Seconds before the casting director turns around to say hello I managed to shove it back in. But god knows how the rest of me looked.
Well, it didn't take long for me to actually figure out how I looked. After the audition, I looked in my car mirror: raccoon eyes from the mascara because it was so hot out, and my hair was a mess because I had my sunglasses on top of my head for the past three hours.
Auditions now that I'm a mother have proven to be quite difficult. But once I get there and see other moms lugging around their kid(s) I feel like I'm a part of some secret masochistic club.
Okay, it's taken me three days to actually write this. I don't know if I got out the point that I had started out with. But more will be coming shortly!!!
Tuesday, September 15, 2009
Is That a Toy Boy I see?
Why is it when the boy has every imaginable toy in his possession the most exciting thing to play with is the metal trash can?
Right before this picture was taken he was attempting to put the dog's tail in his mouth. Can't you just see the guilty look on his face?
And actually, this picture shows only half of it. It does not show the toys that were too heavy to add to the pile, or the toys in the shed that are not for his age yet. The picture also does not show the three cribs, two playpens, a crawling safari tunnel, and two jumpers he has. Almost all of these toys make some kind of noise, light up, or roll around. They do not, however, clean my house, wash the dogs, or cook dinner. Useless, I tell you!!!
Now in my defense, I did NOT buy him all of these things. In addition, most of them were not even gifts. Thanks to the wonderful world of my old job I was able to obtain loads and loads of toys. For free! Nice, huh? I don't feel guilty at all... until I see some poor child playing with a metal trash can because that is his only toy. One of these days I will make it into a donation center.
Now, as I am typing he is getting the biggest kick out of hitting the metal trash can with his rattle. He prefers the noise the trash can makes over the noise of the rattle. Hours of entertainment. But selling a metal trash can as a child's toy just wouldn't be marketable.
What a Sweet, Sweet (Potato) Face!
Well, he did it. Had his first bite of food! Sweet potatoes in honor of our fall weather. Daddy got to feed him, as promised. The reaction was as expected~ uncertainty, confusion about whether to like it or not, and then much more interest in throwing the spoon around. I think he got about one ounce in his mouth, a 1/2 ounce down to his stomach, and about 2 ounces on his shirt.
We did get it on video and of course the commentary is much more exciting than watching him. "That's too much." "I need a napkin." "Oooohhh, yummy Kien!" I'm not sure we convinced him.
So, our first adventure with food went quite well. I did make Daddy clean up his chair, tray, and surrounding area. That was the trade off for being the first one to feed him. Not to mention that I'll probably be stuck with that task from here on out...
I think the only thing we have to work on is stop having dinner at 9:30pm. I'm sure somebody somewhere will tell me that that is too late.
Thursday, September 10, 2009
Stupid theory
Yesterday I came up with a theory.
I was lying in bed and playing with the boy. I was getting so tired of him pulling one or two strands of hair. Not pulling it completely out of my head, but just pulling enough to cause torture. So, I thought I would take a chunk of hair out of my 3-day old ponytail so that he could pull on a larger piece of hair. I thought it wouldn't sting quite so bad.
That was a dumb theory.
Completely different thought: I was told by my good friend that her 4 year old daughter weighs 30 lbs. Kien weighs 20 lbs. at 7 months old. Her daughter did not reach 20 lbs. until she was about 2 years old. (I think they even started out at the same birth weight.) Could this explain the great arm work out I am getting every day?
Thursday, September 3, 2009
What's a mom to do?
The ever popular questions for holistic mamas: co-sleeping, vaccinations, breastfeeding, homebirths, cloth diapers. Or in my case, diaper free... We all sit around drinking our organic tea, with our organic sunscreens, working in our organic vegetable gardens wishing our cell phones could be made from organic, sustainable, free-range materials. To be or not to be?
I had an epiphany the other night. Well, I should start off by saying that when I went to the pediatrician for the boy's check up, he (the doctor, not Kien) suggested that we find some kind of sleep routine that included him going to bed at an earlier hour. It wasn't a must-do, or a threat to call social services. It was merely a suggestion. Then he said, "Of course, you and your husband have to determine if it's worth it to give up that time that the dad gets to spend with his son." You see, if I make the boy go to bed at 8pm (as is the "suggested" time) then Dad and Son will hardly ever see each for at least three days a week. And the other days of the week would be very limited in "play with Daddy" time. But I was sucked into this "You really SHOULD..." business.
So, that night I rocked him to sleep and when he was still somewhat drowsy but not quite asleep I placed him in the Co-Sleeper. Now, let's talk for just one second about this thing called the "Arm's Reach Co-Sleeper". This product deserves some recognition. It's basically a crib with a raised platform so that when the baby lies in it, he is basically at the level of your own mattress. You then have it pushed up against your bed so that you can be close to the baby.
Well, for the longest time, it's definitely been pushed up against our bed. You better believe it! It looks really special~ soft and cozy just like in the advertisement. Well, our only adjustment to using this product was that we didn't actually use it to place the baby in. No, the baby slept with us. Now that was soft and cozy. Very special. We got used to placing other things inside the co-sleeper. In fact, for a while we were using it as a night stand. Just place a book inside and it instantly becomes stable enough to hold your water glass. It's also great for keeping extra diapers, blankets, and toys. Our main purpose for this contraption was to store our nice, frilly pillows from our consistently unmade bed. You know, the "decoration" pillows that you don't really ever use. So, after a month or so of utilizing this storage facility, my husband began calling it "The Pillow Holder".
Where is the My Breast Friend? Where else? In the pillow holder. What did I do with that bra pad? Of course!!! Check in the pillow holder. I can't find my phone. "Did you check the pillow holder?"
At times it held more than pillows. But not once did it actually hold a sleeping child. This too also came with a constant reminder of how much we paid for our "pillow holder". I remember many early mornings when the boy was sleeping in the bed with us, perpendicular to the rest of it's inhabitants which causes me to lie on my side at the utmost edge of the bed. This is because his foot made it's way to my rib cage. It was those overly tired mornings when I actually considered crawling into the pillow holder so I could have more room. Unfortunately, there's a weight limit which I definitely exceed.
Anyway, after some time, we graduated to putting the boy in the pillow holder. Unfortunately, I had to find another place for our pillows. He would sleep in this thing for various amounts of hours through out the nights (sometimes seven hours, sometimes we didn't get past two hours). However, it was enough hours in the night to re-qualify it as a co-sleeper. However, just as we're getting used to it, the boy is on the edge of reaching the weight limit. Luckily, I have a place to put my pillows again.
Okay, back to this great epiphanous night. (Is that a real word?) I place him in the co-sleeper when he's not totally asleep and he instantly wakes up to realize what is going on, and starts with low grunting noises showing me his discontentment. So, I think that if I lay next to him (on the adult mattress) and sing to him he'll go back to sleep. This went on for 10 minutes, and after 10 minutes his face was beet red and he had snot spilling out of his nose because he was crying so hard. He even looked at me through those humongous tears and reached out his hand to try to touch me. Several times. I was sad. Severely disturbed. This "method" just didn't feel right.
Now, I know all about not spoiling a child, helping them become independent, blah blah blah. Spoiling a child, in my terms, is giving them everything they want and never saying no. Not picking them up when they want to be comforted, in my book, is refusing love. Especially when this child is only seven months old.
So, I picked him up and told him I was sorry for just watching him cry. My singing just wasn't that good, I suppose. Then came the epiphany. This whole "crying it out" thing IS NOT FOR ME!!!! It does not resonate with me at all. There's not an ounce of my intuition that tells me that this is the way to handle the situation. Now, I understand perfectly well that other parents are capable of this tactic and some people believe that this is the ONLY way to make a child independent. (I must point out that my doctor did NOT say this was the only, or "right" way to handle this. He said if that was my style then I could try it.) That ain't my style. I'm not ashamed to admit it. If that makes me a pushover then so be it.
After I picked him up and kissed him, I nursed him for less than 60 seconds before he happily entered dream land. He looked so incredibly peaceful and calm, and his body language told me that he felt very safe and secure back in my arms.
As I stared at this beautiful creature, I pondered on what had just transpired. I didn't think "Okay, we'll try that again tomorrow." Hell no. I thought long and hard about what my intuition was saying. It was actually incredibly sacred to sit there on the bed, with the boy asleep in my arms, as I dug deep into my heart. It's like everything became so clear.
I've never been one to follow the rules, or go along with the current trends simply because that's what "everybody else is doing". It actually hurts my brain to think about other people being led so easily. My point is that I never would have considered myself to fall under a certain parenting style, mostly because I never knew what any of them were all about or what they were called. Referring back to my "Happiest Baby on the Block" story, I've always just felt that if you listen carefully enough then your baby will tell you what he/she needs. In my past, whenever I've listened to my intuition closely enough it leads me to exactly where I want to go. Perhaps it's all those years of acting that helped me hone that skill.
Back to this night... What I first concluded was that I am going to completely throw away this notion of getting the boy to bed by "bedtime". When he was two months old, he very clearly let me know when he was tired and wanted sleep. At seven months old he gives me pretty much the same signals. So, I decided then and there that I was going to let him tell me when he was tired. First of all, getting him to bed earlier would mean that he would wake up earlier. I kind of like the fact that we all sleep in until 8am together. I really don't need him awake at 6am. I don't understand the point of having a huge fight with him for two hours as I try to get him to go to sleep at 8pm only to have him finally fall asleep at 10pm. Why can't I just make those last two hours of our day fun, memorable and happy?
Then I began to think that if we have a big battle every single night trying to get him to go to bed at 8pm then surely he will not have good feelings associated with going to sleep. RIGHT?!?!? I mean, this is all sounding like common sense to me. On the flip side, if every night we only spend five or ten minutes rocking him to sleep and the whole process is us snuggling together as he dozes off, then I have to believe that he will have really great memories of going to bed. Now, remember to check back with me when he's six and I'll let you know how this theory plays out. But for now, this feels good to my inner-mama. As I said before, it's not like he's got an important meeting to go to in the morning...
The second phase of my epiphany-filled evening has to do with this issue of WHERE he sleeps. That famous question that troubles all the new moms that I know. Some don't want to admit that they sleep with their babies in the same bed, and some think it's the greatest thing since, well... since the day their baby was born.
I remembered several (at least 20) nights where my hubby is half awake on the couch watching tv while I finish up whatever I'm doing. Usually I'm writing until 1 or 2am. I have always told him, "You should go to bed. You don't have to wait up for me." His response is sweet and dear and what every wife wants to hear. "I don't like going to bed with out you. I can't sleep until you come to bed anyway." Now, while this is sweet, I don't think he's just saying it to score points. I have seen him toss and turn in bed while waiting for me to stop saying "I'm almost finished." for the 100th time. He really doesn't like to go to bed until I'm there.
So, again, as I held this sweet, peaceful baby in my arms I remembered my husband's words. Let's remember that my husband is a grown man with the ability to reason and understand logic. He understands that he is not actually lost in a dark abyss if left alone in a dark room. He understands that if I'm not there he has not been completely abandoned. He fully realizes that this room is not going to swallow him whole. Yet, he still insists that he sleeps better when I'm there. So, if he hates going to sleep in an empty, cold bed then why would I think that the boy could do it. Or more importantly, why should he have to do it? He does not have the ability to reason. The boy does not understand why he feels so scared. And worst of all, he does not feel safe and secure.
After I thought about these things, I realized that it's unfair to ask my son to understand why I'm leaving him to cry hysterically in the bed all by himself. And him adapting, or just getting used to the idea that I wont be there for him is not acceptable for me. That's not really a lesson that I want him to learn.
That night he slept very close in the bed right next to me. I reassured him that the world was safe.
Afterwards, I told my husband about this epiphany. He was very understanding and in fact, after I gave him the example of him not sleeping until I got into bed, he really didn't have much of a counter argument. My other argument was that if human babies take the longest of all mammals to learn how to survive on their own, then why would we think they don't need us during this incredibly vulnerable time called SLEEP?
I have heard before the phrase, "Gaining independence through dependence". I like this phrase. It resonates with me. To me, it means that if my son gains a sense of security by knowing that I will always be around if he needs me, then he will be more brave and willing to venture out on his own (because he knows exactly where the safe zone is). This translates into the boy having confidence. The opposite would be a child never knowing where to find his security, therefore never feeling as if he could walk forward with confidence.
This is only how I see it. I am okay with people not agreeing with me and I am certainly okay with people practicing other parenting styles. Some people think my approach will lead to him being too needy or too dependent. After being with my boy for seven months, I just don't see it that way.
Of course, I really know nothing when it comes to textbook parenting. I could be way off base here. But I have to tell you, these past three nights have been really wonderful. No more fighting to make him fall asleep. He just goes, peacefully and at his own free will. (Well, okay, free will for a seven month old...)
I sometimes think that these modern techniques, books, and theories are all about making the child fit into your schedule. "The 8 o'clock bedtime is so that you can feel like you have time to yourself." Not necessarily because it's healthier for them. "They need to understand who is the authority figure." By making them go to bed at the specified time? What's more important- authority or trust?
In today's very busy society of super-moms, working moms, do-it-all moms, some women are having children thinking that nothing will change. They will continue on with their lives, go back to work after six weeks of maternity leave, and make the baby fit into their carefully planned agenda. Sometimes I felt like the facilitator of my support group (which I disliked) approached childrearing as a inconvenience and a nuisance.
Well, I have news for her followers! It IS inconvenient. I brought another human being into this world. We're not talking about goldfish here! Motherhood threw a huge wrench into my already steady life. The boy is not just an extra something to add to my to-do list.
So, here's what I'm screaming about: Having a child IS a lifestyle change, no matter how you slice it. And unless you have a nanny or Netflix, you better get creative in how you plan to raise this creature that desperately needs you to survive. Isn't it the parents job to adapt to the new lifestyle? And in return you will teach them how to be flexible. An important life skill, last I checked. I don't think it's the kid's job to already know where he fits into your busy calendar.
I mean, for crying out loud, I quit my job in order to take care of the boy full time. Talk about change in lifestyle! And I will be the first one to admit that accepting this fact is really hard. It's also been really hard to learn how to not give up my identity completely. (That is a work in progress.) And by all means, I'm not saying working moms are bad, or "crying it out" is wrong. There are a million different ways to parent and there is definite validity in each of them. Finding the right one for your family can be challenging. I just think we have to look at the reasons behind why we are doing things. And it shouldn't be just because the doctor said so.
Thursday, August 27, 2009
Happy Seven Months
It's kind of shocking to me to realize that the boy is already seven months old. I'm already experiencing the bitter sweet feeling of watching him enter into new phases. I'm ooohhing and aaahhhing as I pack away clothes that he can no longer wear.
Maybe it's because I never actually had him wear half of the stuff. We were completely inundated with hand-me-downs and gifts. I'm definitely not complaining. Keep them coming! I am a big fan of second hand clothing. But the amount of stuff we collected was enough for the Octa-mom.
I also have every single Baby Einstein product made in the last two years because of a job I had. While this has been a great gift, it's really difficult to hear Mozart or Beethoven played on a xylophone over and over again. You don't think it's possible to hear Bach's Menuet in the key of F coming out of a caterpillar's mouth? Come over to my house. The best is when the batteries start to wear out and the sound is warped, and you don't actually realize that something's wrong with the music. Or... when the toy was never turned off so the music has been playing for the last hour and I have no idea why I have a headache.
I went into a store the other day where I had gone to a breastfeeding support group when the boy was a newborn. I passed the room to see a group meeting and it was almost comical seeing all these first times moms with these panic stricken looks on their faces holding their 4 week old babies. They clearly had no idea what they were doing. I say "comical" because I know I looked like that. So I had to chuckle because I really wanted to point and laugh and say, "I'M SOOOOO GLAD I'M NOT YOU RIGHT NOW!!!!!" But then the more sympathetic side of me caused me to shoot a knowing smile to sleep deprived mom #7.
Speaking of sleep deprived... I have been trying out this reading program called Your Baby Can Read. I am thoroughly impressed and think it's a great program. I completely agree with the philosophy behind it. It comes with books, flashcards and several DVDs, all of which are very interactive. Well, yesterday I put on the DVD for the boy to watch. I put him in his little chair, which is like a little cushioned seat that you can place anywhere. And then I sort of curled my body around it as I layed on my side. This way I could still participate with him and help him do the actions and repeat the words. Brilliant plan, I thought. Well, laying down is generally not a good thing to do if I want to stay alert. Next thing I know, I wake up and the DVD has finished playing. The boy is just sitting in his chair, kicking his little feet, and staring at the tv which now just says "Main Menu. Parent's Guide. Kids' Songs." I'm quite certain that in the "Parent's Guide" it advises that the parent (that would be me) also participates in the interactive portions of the DVD. He is still a bit too young to point to his nose all by himself.
Other things to catch you up on...
We're still sitting on the fence about starting him on solids. Well, okay, it's me really. Dad is all excited to get the food flying through the house. But our pediatrician has told me that we can wait up to a year if we wanted so that is buying me a little more time. He said that there's no real set time that makes it "right". His check up was great. He's definitely a "big" boy. So, I know that exclusively breastfeeding him is not malnourishing him in any way. I know it's for completely selfish reasons, but breastfeeding is just soooooo convenient. There's nothing to prepare, clean up, heat up, and I don't have mashed peas stuck to my floor. Yeah, I know. We'll get to it.
Right now the boy is having lots of floor time. He's moments away from crawling. Well, actually he does crawl. Just not in any kind of straight line. Or forward, for that matter. He's got the backwards scoot down really well. And he's also practicing his Olympic sprinting pose. This is when he has his arms and legs straightened and his butt is pointing straight up into the air. He's like a little pyramid. He's usually on his tiptoes when he does this so his balance is WAY OFF. I think he actually thinks he can be mobile in this position. But instead he's just the Leaning Tower of Butt as he sways his butt left and right to try to gain momentum.
Okay, I've got to cut this one short. I've been asked about my homebirth story many times so I'm trying to edit the letter I wrote to Kien about how he was born. I'll try to get that posted in the next day or so. And the boy is anxiously waiting for someone to play with him. He's adorable I tell you!!!
I have to say the best sound in the entire world is hearing him laugh.
Friday, August 21, 2009
I'm Old (er) and still breaking the law
Today is my birthday. Not quite sure how to think about it. I've been completely kicked out of the cool group, Early 30's. So "Friends". And even when I was in that age group I was far from cool. But upon entering your "mid 30's" you start to get those special insurance rates. So not "Friends". My hubby tells me that I'm 12 for the 3rd time. Why would I want to be 12 again? Kind of like that movie w/ Zac Efron where some grown man gets to be 17 again. Well, if you looked THAT good when you were a teenager, then okay, maybe being a teenager ain't so bad. But I didn't look that good. I don't want to be a teenager. (Why do I even know about this movie?)
Side note: I could be totally misunderstanding the movie because I have NOT seen it. But do we really believe that Matthew Perry looked like Zac Efron when he was in high school?
My 20's. Meh. A lot of growing still. A lot of "I know EXACTLY what I'm doing", and not really knowing a damn thing.
Early 30's. A lot of "Oh, my god. I really don't know what I'm doing. But I told everyone that I knew what I was doing. So, let me keep trying this tactic because it's working GREAT!" (You see how easily I am fooled?) I have also seen the effects of being out of shape, car accidents, and broken bones. Most of this early decade has been graced with a jumbo 1,000 count bottle of Motrin, courtesy of Costco. I've looked at the expiration date and thought, "Oh yeah, I'll be finished with this WAAAAY before then."
Now, I am solidly into my mid-30's. I hung on to the "Early 30's" label as best I could. In fact, I have tried to hold on to a lot of things that have fallen. Expensive bras, face creams, and promising lotions are now replaced with bra pads, spit up, and singing nursery rhymes ad nauseam. Things will fall where they may. Good thing my stomach is there to hold other parts up.
So, just as I was getting used to fooling myself that I knew what I was doing, I decided to have a kid. Now, I've drastically jumped head first into "OH MY GOD!!! I'M GOING TO SCREW THIS KID UP!!!"
Of all things in the world, a child keeps you honest. At least mine does. Maybe he'll have a future in the judicial system. He'll look at me when I do something stupid and the look on his face is screaming, "Really? YOU are going to raise me?"
Like when I put him in the car (which takes me 10 minutes because of the extensive strapping down system called a car seat) he miraculously sits patiently through it all as I pull his arms through the straps, then tug at his legs to get the buckle free, and then snap the chest strap snugly level with his arm pits (as the instructions say to do). Quietly he sits, watching me as I contort his body into Lock-Down position and tell him stories of way long ago about how when I was a kid seat belts weren't the law and how I could have legally thrown him in the back of a truck with the dog. However, he does not sit quietly as he tells me (through body language) that the buckle for the seat belt is scorching hot because it's been roasting in the car in 100+ degree weather. So, okay, he is not the perfect child.
This routine (I dare not say my daily routine because I sometimes give up the notion of getting out of the house if I've been trying for more than two hours.) is then followed by me getting behind the wheel, putting on my seat belt, starting the car, backing out of the driveway and then realizing that I've forgotten my wallet. I then re-park the car, put all the windows down, run to the door, then run back to the car because I've forgotten that I need the house keys. After I grab the house keys, I race about the house looking for my wallet. Mind you, the boy is still in the car because I'm not going to go through that whole shenanigan again. Racing, racing, racing, WHERE IS MY WALLET???? Well, maybe I did put it in the car. So, I check the car again and there it is sandwiched between a peed on diaper and yesterday's half eaten lunch, a Luna Bar. I'm remembering now that the wallet has been left there since yesterday so it smells kind of funny. What I actually forgot in the house is my phone. Go back to the house, NOW WHERE IS MY PHONE??? Oh, there it is, in his play crib hidden underneath all of his toys. I totally do not remember putting it there. Oh, and there's my sunglasses. I meant to grab those too. Race back to the car just in time to see the boy's expression on his face. "Really? YOU are going to raise me? I'm supposed to put my health in your trust?"
And this is how it is for me getting out of the house. Now, this does sound lame. I admit, it sounds like I am not of sound mind and body. But I'll have you know that during yesterday's excursion, after only two times of in and out, in and out of the car seat, my husband handed me the boy for his third visit to the car seat and said, "Your turn."
Uh-huh. That's what I thought. It wears on you. The car seat alone is enough for you to go criminal. Once, he was asleep in the car seat, so I raced into the pet store to get some dog food. Success. Of course it helped that I yelled at the cashier as soon as I entered, "SLEEPING KID IN THE CAR. I NEED DOG FOOD. NOW!" I think that because I was not holding a gun, she got over the shock of thinking that this was a robbery. The next day, however, I've learned that I could actually get fined for leaving a child in the car. I understand that I have just incriminated myself. But it was an ugly and desperate situation. Since he'd already been in and out of the car seat five times that day, I was thoughtful about my child endangerment. I left all the windows open and made sure to take my car keys with me. I also parked illegally in front of the store entrance to be close to him. And then of course, wouldn't you know it? There was a news story about a car jacking some where in LA where two kids were also kidnapped because they were left in the car. Okay, yes a horribly scary story and lesson learned. But I'd like to point out, isn't there some stupid advice about "Never wake a sleeping baby"? You just can't win.
Who ever gave that advice never had a child that slept in the car. Or perhaps they never ran errands. Otherwise, you'd be driving around in circles all day long just waiting for him to wake up so that you could legally run your errands. Yes, I have done this.
So, now I'm another year older. This time with a baby to show me all my flaws. I take that back. The boy loves me no matter what, at least for now. My society is quick to show me all my flaws. I'm doing the best I can.
A few hours have passed now since I wrote the above. I'm coming back to my entry as my birth date nears completion. I just wanted to say that I had a wonderful day. My husband made me breakfast. Then we actually got out of the house to go for a hike. It was after 4pm by the time we got in the car, but never the less, we got out. Then I had an incredible meal prepared for me. Again, my husband came through. And I end my birthday nursing the boy. He sat up from his feeding, leaned over and spat up onto my leg. I watched it drip down my sock and straight into my shoe. I LOVE my family.
Happy Birthday, Momma.
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