Cognosco

My mother and I haven’t always gotten along.

But we have gotten along more often than not.

We haven’t always agreed with each others’ life choices.

For a long time, I resented her for staying with my father for so long, and only finally leaving him when my brother and I were out of the house.

In the last few years, I have forgiven this. I have forgiven my father for his abuse as well.

In spite of all of our disagreements, my mother has always been there for me when it really came down to it.

When I was 17 years old, I dropped out of college and left the state with a weasel-boy. We headed for "utopia" in Northern California. Never mind that I had scholarships. Never mind that I left other members of my performance ensemble one player short. Never mind that it broke my mother’s heart. Never mind that I was too much of a coward to even tell her I was leaving. My best friend had to tell my mother I was gone. She didn’t speak to me for about a year, but after all these years, she’s still my best friend. I am grateful for her–my soul sister of 18 years–for loving me whether I deserved it or not.

Dropping out of school, leaving everything behind, and heading to an area I’d never seen to live with people I didn’t know in Northern California seemed like a good idea at the time.

I needed to "find myself".

Did I mention that I had been doing A LOT of psychedelic drugs?

I had been in California for about 2 months, when I found out I was pregnant.

My first thought was to put the baby up for adoption, because I was afraid that everyone would hate me if I had an abortion. I, personally, didn’t have a problem with having the abortion, but I was terrified of the judgment, and I was in a situation that would have required the knowledge and help of several others in order to obtain one.

The woman we were living with said that I might want to reconsider. She said, "look at this puppy you’ve had for 8 weeks, and how attached you are to him. Do you really think you could give up your baby?"

She had a point. She also made it clear that there was a place for me there if I carried the pregnancy to term and kept the baby, and that she had no qualms with banning weasel-boy from the property.

But I. did. not. want. a. child. Couldn’t even fathom it. I realized that I had made a huge mistake with my life, and all I wanted was to terminate the pregnancy and go back to school.

I told weasel-boy I was thinking of terminating the pregnancy. He called me a selfish whore.

And I realized that I definitely wanted no ties to that man for the rest of my life.

The next time I was able to get to a pay phone (this was a very rural area), I called my mom, and at the same time asked weasel-boy to get me a snack from the store. 

While he was gone, I whispered to my mom, "I am pregnant. I don’t want this baby. I want an abortion. I need help".

My mother an I had barely spoken for several months, and all she said was that she would be there soon.

She lived in Mayer, AZ at the time. I was just south of Eureka, CA. It’s a 1,000 mile trip.

She was there the next morning. And as we drove home, she told me the story of her abortion, back when you had to sit before a panel of male doctors and justify your choice. She said it was humiliating.

The next few months were rough, but I survived. There were many more times that my mother came to my rescue, and she is doing it again this week.

When the panic attacks and crying jags started. When I couldn’t open my computer without my hands shaking. When I started waking up at 3 in the morning, suddenly, with racing heart, racing mind, and a feeling of doom. When my two-year-old son was up for two hours by himself last week and I didn’t hear him because I was beyond the point of absolute exhaustion (the house was a disaster, but he had only gotten into his toys). When one particular dissertation committee member pushed me over an edge that I have avoided for 32 years. After two years of asking for her help, and not getting it, she finally gave her input, had asked the impossible given the time constraints, but I DID IT. I DID IT! And then, she asked for something else. Something else that meant I had to start the impossible all over again. Because she hadn’t bothered to read my documents. Any of them.

When all of these things happened, my mother said she was coming here as soon as she could.

That same committee member also contributed to the end of one of the friendships I made in graduate school that really mattered to me.

I have survived an abusive upbringing, 26 years of multiple school stressors, two abusive boyfriends, a manipulative ex-husband, a first year of graduate school that involved a divorce, moving 5 times during that first year, and being banned from seeing my stepson of 5 years. I also survived caring for a crippled friend for a year, sitting by the bedside of my father for 6 weeks after a motorcycle accident that we thought had taken away his mind (he was convinced his bed was an airplane), and I even the postpartum period after the birth of my son (I did struggle with anxiety, but it didn’t exceed my coping resources–and my husband encouraged me go stay in a hotel room now and then just to sleep uninterrupted). All of these things I survived, and though I was sometimes emotional, I knew it would get better and I could always get through whatever I needed to do. And yet, this committee member pushed me so far over the edge that I stumbled into campus health crying and asking for help and have now been given a prescription for anti-anxiety medication. It makes me sleepy, but I can actually open my statistics program without feeling like my throat is closing off.

And I can sleep.

And my mother will be here on Sunday. It’s not a 24 hour turn-around like when I was 18, but it is impressive nonetheless. She is coming because she has never seen me like this, and she knows what’s it’s like to totally lose your shit. And when she lost hers, no one was there for her.

I am not embarrassed to say that right now, all I want is my mommy.

I am grateful for my mother.

I am also grateful for the psychologist at the counseling center, who recognized the immediacy of the situation, assured me that I can do this, and said that the problem wasn’t me–that I was having a completely normal reaction to an abnormal situation.

I am grateful for my primary adviser, who has referred to my condition as "Academic PTSD" and who has done nothing but stand up for me and call to check on me and give me permission to just walk away for a day. And who has repeatedly assured me that I am not crazy.

I am grateful to my son, whose response to me bursting into tears was to climb onto my lap, take my face in his hands, ask "boo boo?", and give me a big kiss and hug.

I am grateful to the universe for giving me this son. 

I am grateful that today has been a good day.

I am grateful that I will survive. I know I will survive because my mama will be here, and then it will be okay.

Today, I am grateful for these women.

They give me hope.

Personally, I’d rather a friend nurse my baby than give him or her formula. It would be nice if that were viewed as an "normal" option.

It’s been a long day, holed up in my office at school, staring a computer. The rest of the building is empty.

I’ve been here since 1 p.m. and the clock now reads 12:15 a.m.

I am grateful that I finally conquered the problem I was struggling with all day. 

I am grateful that I have a job, and that my work challenges me.

I am grateful that I finally get to go home.

I am even more grateful that I have a home to go to, and food to snack on when I get there.

Not everyone can say that.

I know I am one of the lucky ones.

I skipped a day. Oh well.

First of all, I’m kind of tired and crabby right now. I’ve been fighting a chest/nose/I’m-so-freaking-tired bug for 2 weeks now. Albie got it too, and seems to have kicked it much easier than I did. I am grateful that his speedy recovery means few nights of me lying awake in bed, waiting for his next coughing spell, so I can…well, there’s not much I can do aside from steaming the hell out of the room and slathering him in smelly stuff.

Albie decided that 5:45 was an appropriate time to start the day today. This, after two months of sleeping until 7 or later. I was REALLY grateful for the 8:00 days. Today was the second time this week he’s been up before 6. I am not grateful for the early rising–his early rising has been THE HARDEST part of motherhood for me. After two years, you would think that I could adapt to his schedule. It hasn’t happened yet. I’m just not built to go to bed and rise early. Even when I am dead tired, if I go to bed early, I just wake up in the middle of the night and can’t go back to sleep. And when I am overtired, I become a horrible parent and a horrible spouse. I am terrified that 5:45 will become the norm again. Blackout curtains, my ass.

But, I tried to stay positive. I decided I’d just nap when he did. Except that he fell asleep in the car, and when I carried him inside, he decided that 10 minutes was a long enough nap for today. I am also not grateful for the lack of nap.

I am, however, grateful that when we went to the Farmer’s Market today, I was able to leave the stroller in the car and Albert actually stayed with me (more or less). We fed some baby goats. We munched some kettle corn. We ate some tamales. He even at a mushroom tamale–mushrooms and all! I am grateful for the lovely farmer girl who always gives us whatever he grabs and starts to eat for free. Today it was a tomato. I am also grateful that he didn’t try to punch me, kick me, pull my hair, or otherwise assault me when it was time to leave. I am grateful that we made it to Pane Bianco right as they were opening and so we barely had to wait for our sandwich. I am grateful that Albert seemed to be feeling better, and so we stopped at the playgound for the first time all week. I am grateful that when Albert fell in love with a little girl’s tractor at the playground, the mother said he could keep it. And this was a mother who I could tell did not own much. I almost felt bad that she gave it to us, except that it seemed to make her so happy to have something to give. I am grateful that again, I didn’t get punched, kicked, or otherwise assaulted when it was time to leave. I am grateful that Albert has been especially impish today, and has made me laugh several times. He is currently dancing to pre-programmed music on his kiddie keyboard, and it’s kind of adorable. Now he’s asking to watch 101 Dalamations by saying "woof woof" and patting his leg. I’m grateful for old Disney cartoons that have a certain charm that is not present in the newer Disney cartoons (except for Pixar movies, which are charming in a different way). They may not be educational, but they make me all warm and fuzzy, and that counts for something.

I’m grateful that Albie is sporting his adorable self today, because if he was wearing his difficult suit, it would be really hard to resist feeding him to the dogs.

And then I could sleep.

After four years of marriage, my idea of a good date night is blowing a wad of cash on fine food with this guy:

(the one on the right…)

We have covered miles of roads together, seen fantastic live music acts together, spent way too much money eating out together, created a little monster together, and welcomed that monster into the world at home together. We’ve also argued, fought, and gotten really angry together. But after four years of marriage, we’re still in love. And for that, I am immensely grateful.

The boy and I are both raspy and sore and coughing. No fever or major discomfort–just sleep disturbances and a stuffy head.

Instead of being frustrated by our sorry state, I was grateful for the sick day. Luckily, neither one of us was supposed to be anywhere today. I didn’t even bother to get us dressed at any point in the day. And I had no guilt about how many cartoons we watched…

This year, if all goes well, I will graduate with a Ph.D. in Psychology. No one in my family–parents, grandparents, aunts, uncles, siblings, or cousins–has ever gone to college for more than a few classes. I am excited and humbled to be the first.

I am grateful that I have been able to go to college, and that I have had mentors who have been supportive and understanding throughout a divorce, pet deaths, family deaths, horrific auto accidents (not me, but family members), a pregnancy, and the first two years of parenthood.

I am grateful that my mother always told me I could do anything I set my mind to.

I am grateful that my husband has been supportive and has shared equally in parenting duties.

I am grateful that I have the privilege of loving my work and that my work is meaningful to me. 

This has been a horrible year for those of us looking for academic positions. Almost half of the 40+ jobs I applied for canceled their searches due to budget cuts. It is especially frustrating to know that you have spent more than 20 years in school and that you may not be able to find a job. I have many peers who have yet to find jobs. 

In December, I applied for a "back-up" job at University of North Dakota. It was a "back-up" job because it’s a non-tenure position. Tenure is sort of the Holy Grail of academia, because it means that you basically have job security for life. You are eligible for "tenure review" after about 6 years, but the exact number of years varies by institution and sometimes department. I found out later that this particular position has a great renewal policy, you are still eligible for raises and promotions, and the expectations and respect are equal to those of the tenure-track faculty positions. Prior to knowing all of this, I still applied, because I figured that at the very least, I might get to visit North Dakota, a state that I have been obsessed with for years for no apparent reason. I was offered a phone interview, and I thought I blew it. But then I was invited for a campus interview. Surprisingly, I really loved the department, loved the town, and had compatible interests with many of the faculty members.  Additionally, many of the faculty members have kids under the age of 4. By the time I boarded the plane home, I REALLY wanted that job. 

I got the job.

So, today I am grateful that I found a job. Not only a job, but a good job in a place where I think we’ll be happy for at least a few years. I am simultaneously excited and terrified about moving, but count myself as lucky to have the opportunity. And, I’ll be able to justify a whole new wardrobe .

Today, I am grateful that despite all of our, ahem, disagreements, my husband and I still love each other. In fact, we are still so committed to each other that we are willing to permanently disfigure our physical bodies as a tribute to one another.

We love Radiohead, and last year we took a little romantic vacation in a secluded cabin up north. We listened to a lot of music on that vacation, but the latest Radiohead album, In Rainbows blew our minds. So, we decided to get the Radiohead "scary bear" as (mostly) matching tattoos.

In particular, the song "Videotape" really affected us. Here are the lyrics:

When I’m at the pearly gates
This’ll be on my videotape
my videotape

When Mephistopheles is just beneath
And he’s reaching up to grab me

This is one for the good days
And I have it all here
In red blue green
Red blue green

You are my centre when I spin away
Out of control on videotape
On videotape

This is my way of saying goodbye
Because I can’t do it face to face

No matter what happens now
I won’t be afraid
Because I know today has been the most perfect day I’ve ever seen.

 

I am grateful to have such a wonderful husband, even when we have rough days.

And, as I predicted yesterday, I am grateful Chris Bianco lives in Phoenix. The pizza WAS amazing.

 

 

 

 

Jeanette tagged me on FB to participate in a little "30 days of gratitude" challenge. I’m taking the bait. I’ve wanted to do something like a gratitude diary or journal for some time, but it’s hard to be motivated to actually do it. There’s actually quite a bit of literature on the role of gratitude in one’s outlook, and there have even been interventions designed around the simple concept of writing down what you’re grateful for. Every day. It has been shown to reduce depression, increase positive emotions, and generally make you happier. So, why not now?

So, what am I grateful for today? I’m grateful that last night, I ate not one, not two, but THREE perfect oranges. I had purchased them from the Farmer’s Market that morning, so not only were they delicious, but they were chemical-free. These were those perfect oranges where the segments separate from the peel easily, there were no seeds, and they were so sweet that I almost forgot they were a citrus fruit. I stood over the kitchen sink with the juice running down my face and my hands, and I just couldn’t stop at one. It’s a miracle I didn’t eat the whole bag, but thought it would be a shame if no one else got to taste them to agree with me. I am also grateful for organic farmers. There is something deeply satisfying about acquiring your food from the people who grew it.

I am also grateful that I have a wonderful MIL, with whom I can trust to leave Dude for two whole nights. Hubby and I had originally planned to get away for the weekend and stay in a cabin up north to celebrate our anniversary. We ended up postponing the get-away until after I am done defending my dissertation, so that I can spend a chunk of this weekend working on it. So, since we already have a sitter, we’re going to hit Pizzeria Bianco tonight. We have never been, but have heard it is phenomenal. I predict that I will be grateful that Chris Bianco lives in Phoenix, AZ.

I am grateful that yesterday I was able to spend my day with two fantastic women and their children. I am grateful that all of our children are healthy, and that my son has a body so strong that he does things on a playground that 3 year-old children are just mastering. I am grateful that he is now having a verbal language explosion, and that I have one less thing to fret about…for now.

I am grateful that my husband has been letting me get extra sleep this week as I try to kick this cold. Mornings are so hard for my anyway, and I get way more than my share sleeping-in days. I owe him big time…oh, wait. I birthed his son. We might be even .

I am grateful for many other things, but I’ll hold on to some of them just in case I have to pull them out later.

 

 

Dear Albie,

I know it’s been a few months since your last update, and for that I apologize. It’s been crazy busy in our household, what with you mama applying for jobs and finishing a dissertation and trying not to explode on you in the mean time.

You are now two years old, and like every other mama whose baby has just turned two, I can’t believe it. You are so tall, and so active, and so charming when you want to be. I find it unbelievable that you were once a baby who could not be put down. Now, I count myself lucky when I get to cuddle with you.

I want you to know that I like you. I really enjoy your company. I’m not sure when caring for you became less work and more relationship, but I like it. We still have rough days, and both of us are prone to temper tantrums. I have resigned myself to the fact that you will grow up knowing that yes, mom blows up, but it’s over soon, and really, she is all bark and no bite. That’s just me, and while I am trying to cultivate patience, I’m trying not to beat myself up for not being the mother I think I should be. Because I’m just me. And you’re who you are. And we are both kind of explosive, but I like us that way.

Your latest obsession is TRAINS! We bought an Ikea train set and some accessories back in November, and there are days when you will run your trains around the track for hours. It took some practice and patience for you to learn that you must be gentle or the trains will not obey.  You recently acquired a few trains from the actual Thomas Wooden Railway, and you cherish them. They are special to you and you manage to keep track of them very well. You are obsessed with books about trains, stories about trains, and you even take trains with you to bed. You have been known to call out and sign “train” in your sleep. Obsess much? I have no idea where that trait came from.

You are very good at feeding yourself and often use a non-sippy cup at the table. You like help us unload the dishwasher and fill the dog food. You (sometimes) help pick up your toys and are willing to help put laundry away. You are a total monkey on the playground even Teacher Jan was impressed and also pretty freaked out that you were able to scale the curved ladder thing on the big kid equipment. Not just scale it, but scale it fast and with great aplomb. You are a very physically present little dude. I’m thinking you should have a lot of sports options as you grow because you need an outlet. You even run everywhere. Although you can focus on a single task for a long period of time, when you move from task to task, there is no walking. You run. All the time. Guess you and I will both need to work on that whole enjoying the journey thing…

You are finally saying words, and will say yes (“yeth!”), hi, mama, cat, uh-oh, oops, zipper ("zippa-zippa-zippa"), ball, Bob (the builder), Wally (the robot) and “chow” as in “ka-chow” like Lightning McQueen says. That last one is accompanied by a little jump. Obviously, you have never been shown any TV or movies (oops!). You say baby very clearly (“bay-bee”) and now will say bubble and binky as well. You say your name as either “Alb” or “Abbee” but haven’t quite fused the two together yet. You will also make animal sounds, including a funny, stilted laugh for goat, “oof oof” for dog, “mow” for cat, and you even have a "la-la" sound for Elmo and a funny trumpet sound for elephants. There are other words that you have mastered the first syllable of, and you continue to learn new signs. You know at least 150-200 signs, and now that you are actually getting around to talking with your mouth, I am far less worried about your speech development. For a long time, I would hear you practice words by yourself, but you wouldn’t repeat words to your father or I. A few days ago, you pointed to your lunch and I said, “hot dog”. You repeated, “ottog”. Yesterday, I realized you were saying outside and today you said inside. You point to things and say “that?” if you want to know the name and will try to repeat the word about half of the time. You seem excited and confident about repeating the words you hear. It’s exciting for me to watch too.

You love playing outside with the dogs, and when they run and wrestle with each other, you squeal and giggle with glee and make the sign for silly. Recently, you’ve added the word “slee” to the sign. I think it’s awesome that you took a term like silly and applied it to something that I never have. You actually get the abstract concept. The whole language thing just fascinates me…

A few days ago while we were playing outside I was chasing you and pretending to be a big monster. I have chased you with these same noises ("raaaaawr!") and Great. Big. Slow. Giant. Steps since you were able to walk. A timer in the kitchen went off, and I turned to go back inside. You protested and signed “more, more” and then you signed “elephant”. I was momentarily perplexed. Elephant? I looked around. There were no elephants. It slowly dawned on me that maybe I was the elephant. I pointed to myself and said “mama’s an elephant?” and you jumped up and said “yeth” (yes). I continued to raaaaaawr! and take big steps and you squealed with glee and signed elephant over and over as you ran away. It was the first time that it was obvious to me that you had used your imagination to create something. I had never played that monster with an elephant in mind—but you superimposed an animal onto me. It. Was. Awesome. I got so into playing an elephant that I forgot about the kitchen timer. It was soon followed by the smoke alarm.

You have FINALLY started sleeping later, and it wasn’t a later bedtime that helped. It was moving your nap to later in the day. By shifting that along with your bed time, your whole day shifted. Now you sleep until anywhere from 7 to 9, usually between 7:30 and 8:00. This has been the norm for the last two months. Thank God. Seriously. You have no idea how much happiness this little change has brought your poor night owl mother. However, you have been up by 6:30 a few times in the last week or so, and I fear that this may be a sign of things to come. Please, let this be a fluke. I beg you. If you start waking up super early again, I will seek revenge during your teenage years. Mark my words.

Speaking of sleep, you transitioned to a toddler bed about three weeks ago. The transition has been quite smooth, but keep in mind that your bed is still in our room where your crib used to be. I don’t know if you are ready to be in another room, and more honestly, if I am ready for you to be in another room. Our house is so small that it actually makes more sense this way so it’s sort of a moot point.

You started showing interest in an actual bed when you saw characters in books lying in beds, and then you couldn’t resist laying on the beds at Ikea and signing “sleep” accompanied by snoring sounds. So, I jumped on the chance to make the change while you seemed like you were interested. For the most part, you still go to bed easily at night and stay in bed through the night. Even when you do wake and need some reassurance, you almost always ask to get back into your bed rather than fall asleep next to us. You like your space. So long as you are put to bed with enough light to look at pictures in a book, along with a few cars or trains, your Tiggy, a handful of binkies, and a sippy cup with water in it, you are easy to deal with. I know, it seems like a lot of stuff, but I think it’s great that you have your routine. You usually stay awake for 20 minutes or so, looking at books, playing with your trains, and then you decide to just lay down and sleep. I love that you can do this.

You have also turned into a morning cuddler, and now climb from your bed into our bed to snuggle. I love those early cuddles. I have never been a morning person, but getting a huge hug from you and asking you about your dreams sure makes it easier to get up. Note that it is particularly helpful when it occurs after 7:30…

We recently got you a little Elmo potty to keep in the living room because it was becoming apparent that you had gained more control, but didn’t want to have to get help from us to get on the big potty. We let you run around without a diaper, and for the most part you use the potty. When you have a miss, you let me know right away, and even try to help clean it up. I am trying hard to not pressure you, and so far we are making little steps every day. In the last few days, though, you don’t seem to like the Elmo potty, and want to go back to the big potty. The problem is, you want to get up there yourself, and you just can’t quite do it yet, even with a step stool. So, when we let you at least try to get up yourself, with just our help as opposed to being lifted onto the potty, you are happy to go there. No one can accuse you of not wanting to be independent.

You now recognize pictures of friends you haven’t seen for some time, and will even indicate that you remember where you last saw them. When you saw a picture of your friend Preston, with whom you had ridden the light rail, you signed train. When I dropped you off at Nanna’s house last week, you saw a picture of your cousin Hanna (who moved to another state about 6 weeks ago) and you signed “cousin”. I didn’t know that you had even learned that sign, or that you could apply it to her. You are also able to communicate things about your day, like the day I asked you if you had chicken for dinner, and you said yes and then signed “apple”. Turns out, you’d had an apple too. As a psychologist, this kind of memory development is ridiculously exciting for me.

You still go to the parent-toddler class once a week at the Child Study Lab preschool on campus. It has been such a joy to watch all of the kids change over the last few months, but of course, I love watching you the most. Last week, I was chatting with some other moms across the room from where you were. I looked over, and you and another little boy were playing with one of the toys where you send a ball down a track and it keeps falling to the next track and eventually rings a little bell at the bottom. There are many variations of this toy and so I’m sure you get the idea. It was noteworthy that you and the other boy weren’t fighting over the toy. Then I looked closer and realized you were taking turns. You were taking turns placing balls on the track and picking them up at the end. No adults were standing near you and so the two of you had worked this out on your own. I was so proud of both of you. You and this little boy have played together quite often in the last few weeks and it’s awesome to see that you have a new friend.

You still love your binkies, and now that you are actively trying to speak, I don’t really care how long you love them. Some days, you don’t use it at all. Other days, I can’t get it away from you. And if I hide them from you, you just end up shoving your fist or random toys into your mouth. I think the binky is the lesser of many evils, especially since I am almost totally confident that there is no lead paint on your binky.

You still have long hair in the back, and are regularly called a girl, no matter how masculine your clothes are. I have suggested to your daddy that when we do finally cut it, we should dress you in pink and see what happens. I have a theory that you will still be called a girl. This would indicate that a child is automatically a girl unless s/he is masculine ENOUGH, which requires appropriate clothing and hair. I will spare you my feminist diatribe on the subject, because I guarantee that by the time you are old enough to read these updates, you will have already heard similar diatribes. Frequently. It’s part of my charm.

I used to be really diligent about tooth updates for you, and have totally slacked on that in the last 9 months. So, for the sake of some sort of consistency, you now have your first set of molars, and your four canines came in about two weeks ago. The molars came in last fall.

I feel so lucky to have you as my son. It has been a rough adjustment, and I was completely unprepared for how having a child would rock my world. It got so much easier once I stopped thinking things would get back to “normal”. This is the new “normal”, and it is constantly shape-shifting. Every time I have a handle on your behaviors and routines, you change. It’s your job, this growing up thing. Now that I realize this IS our life and it is what it is, I kind of like it. And like I said, I like you. You have never been an easy child, but this passion of yours has become one of the things I love most. Happy birthday, sweet boy. Despite all of the challenges, you have been the best two years of my life.

Love,

Mama

The teacher for my son’s parent toddler class gave all of the parents a copy of this on the last day of class. It’s adapted from The Velveteen Rabbit by Margery Williams. At the top of the page, the teacher said, this says something about the way we sometimes feel as parents.

Read it, and tell me if you think she’s right . Personally, it makes me all weepy every time I read it.

 

                               

 "What is real?" asked the Rabbit one day

when they were lying side by side.

"Does it mean having things that buzz inside you

And a stick-out handle?" "Real isn’t how you’re made."

said the skin horse. "It’s a thing that happens to you

When a child loves you for a long, long time 

not just to play with but really loves you–

then you become real." "Does it hurt?" asked Rabbit.

"Sometimes," said the skin-horse (for he was always truthful),

"When you are real you don’t mind being hurt."

"Does it happen all at once, like being wound up or bit by bit?"

"It doesn’t happen all at once. You become. It takes a 

long time,

That’s why it doesn’t often happen to people who break

easily, or have sharp edges, or have to be carefully 

kept. Generally, by the time you are real, most of

your hair has been loved off and your eyes drop out

and you get loose at the joints and very shabby.

But these things don’t 

matter at all because once you are real,

you can’t be ugly, except to people 

who don’t understand"

                                                                

Indeed.

I read a lot of blogs. Unfortunately, I can’t always remember who said what or where I read something. But someone this week said that Barack Obama inspired her to be a better person. This is the kind of statement that would normally seem rather dramatic to me, except that I had already been thinking the same thing myself.

It is strange to say that someone you have never even met has inspired you to be a better person. It could easily be misconstrued as me elevating Mr. Obama to the status of a religious figure. So I feel the need to clarify what I mean when I say that the next President of the United States inspires me to be a better person.

I spent most of my early 20s stomping my ideological feet and wailing like a toddler. I was obsessed with beliefs and belief systems and "truth". I was all too quick to criticize any system that wasn’t mine, along with the people who endorsed it. I thought all Christians must be fools. I viewed everything about “organized religion” as bad. I was righteously indignant…at everything. I was married to someone who shared my "beliefs" but who was also a lazy asshole. I myself was a judgmental bitch. And I was miserable.

Over the last few years, I have worked to overcome this tendency. I have struggled to be more tolerant and to really listen to other people. Many of them will not return the courtesy, but understanding and cooperation has to start somewhere. Why shouldn’t it start with me?

The problem with cultivating understanding has been that I didn’t know HOW. I didn’t know how to be tolerant or how to listen. I’ve had no role model. I’ve had no example. And I don’t know how much you know about Mr. Obama’s background or how much footage you have watched of him interacting with others, but he can do both of these things VERY well. That’s why the caricature as a far leftist radical was ridiculous. I actually think that many hard-core progressives may be disappointed with his approach. Already, many are criticizing him for making centrist choices for his cabinet positions. Apparently, some people voted for him while overlooking his history as a mediator and pragmatic problem solver. When he spoke of uniting the country, did they think that meant he was going to somehow force everyone who didn’t vote for him magically swing around to a more liberal point of view? How would that be possible?

Here’s the deal. We pinko commie liberals are only a subset of the people who live in this country. And he has been elected to be the next President OF THE UNITED STATES. You know, THE WHOLE COUNTRY. If we wanted more of someone who only listens to their "base" and ignores the other half of the country, then we should have elected another Bush. Like most people, I think that my leftist-liberal-progressive-radical opinions are the correct ones to have. I disagree with many conservative views, but also recognize that not all conservatives are religious zealots. Yes, religious zealots freak me out, but even evangelicals and fundamentalists are still a part of this country. I don’t want them to hold the power. I don’t want their policies to succeed. But I do want them to be listened to and respected. I am sick of the divisiveness, but am personally ill-prepared to find solutions that incorporate the opinions of others. I would really like to see a good example of how it can be done.

I think that deep-down Obama is pretty leftist. But he also has a gift of listening to others and focusing on solutions rather than differences. It’s called pragmatism, and I think we could all use a little more of it. Politicians, organizers, voters and everyone else could take something from this example. I learned after all of my early adulthood ideological foot stomping that it didn’t really matter what people say they believe—it mattered far more how they behaved, the actions they performed, how much kindness they cultivated, and whether or not they were willing to focus on solutions instead of conflict.

I have given a lot of thought to the way the Obama campaign was run, and I find it amazing that this was a campaign that was really run by “the people”. Me. Us. We. When asked to make phone calls, you were given a script to work with, but encouraged you to make your own and speak about your own views and perceptions and goals. The focus was on relationships between people rather than pushing an ideology. Obama was often criticized for his rhetoric of “Change”, and that he didn’t give enough specifics about the kinds of Change he was referring to. I personally think that the reason he didn’t always specify exactly what “Change” meant is because he wanted to leave room for our input. It IS enough to just endorse Change. Change in and of itself is a radical concept. I want a President who is listening to you and me and “them” and all of us. I don’t want a "Decider". I want a moderator. I want a "Uniter".

You can go to the Obama-Biden post-campaign website right now and make suggestions and comments. You don’t have to prove that you are a card-carrying communist in order to make a comment. Anyone could write in. I wrote about midwifery being a respectful, cost-effective alternative to hospital births and asked that birth options be expanded under the new health care plan. I pointed out that poor women and minorities were disproportionally screwed over by the current system, and that we could greatly improve maternal and neonatal outcomes by endorsing a midwifery model of care no matter where the woman chooses to give birth. The next thing I’ll be writing in about is the needs of working mothers and the need for legal protection for breastfeeding and pumping time/space in the workplace. I have heard that one of Michelle Obama’s goals as the First Lady after she and the family get settled is to focus on the needs of working mothers. I think that would be simply fantastic and LONG OVERDUE. (Off topic—shouldn’t First Lady be a paid position? I mean, if it’s not, and she’s working and organizing and hosting and going to events and such, doesn’t that make her husband her employer? More about his here.)

What do you care about? Why don’t you speak up? It can’t hurt—even if it gets overlooked you at least were forced to articulate it. That is where this all starts—with communication. Being able to put your concerns into grown-up words and listen to others.

I have spent most of my life hoping others would find me smart or funny or hard-working or “cool”. When I say Barack Obama has inspired me to be a better person, it is not because he is smart, funny, hard-working, or “cool” (though I think he IS all of these things too). I mean that I want to be a person that others look at and say, hey, she really listens well, or, hey, she really tries to understand me. When my children are grown, I hope they can use these words to describe me as well as think that I’m funny and hardworking. And I hope that my example helps them to embody these qualities as well.  

Today, I got an email that said this:

You couldn’t get a job at McDonalds and become district manager after 143 days of experience.   
    You couldn’t become chief of surgery after 143 days of  experience of being a surgeon.
    You couldn’t get a job as a teacher and be the superintendent after 143 days of experience.
    You couldn’t join the military and become a colonel after a 143 days of experience.
    You couldn’t get a job as a reporter and become the nightly news anchor after 143 days of experience.
   
    BUT…  

    From the time Barack Obama was sworn in as a United State Senator, to the time he announced he was forming a Presidential exploratory committee, he logged 143 days of experience in the Senate. That’s how many days the Senate was actually in session and working. After 143 days of work experience, Obama believed he was ready to be Commander In Chief, Leader of the Free World…after 143 days.

    We all have to start somewhere. The senate is a good start, but after 143 days, that’s all it is - a  start.

    AND, strangely, a large sector of the American public is okay with this and campaigning for him. We wouldn’t accept this in our own line of work, yet some are okay with this for the President of the United States of America ? Come on folks, we are not voting for the next American Idol!

I replied (all) with this:

Hello all,

I think it is fair game to respond to emails I receive and speak my opinion, so here we go…

I believe I am one of the "large sector of the American public" that is campaigning for Obama. This email conveniently overlooked his seven years in the Illinois Senate, as well as other relevant experience, such as community organizing (I know many jokes have been made about this, but community organizing is hard work and an effective organizer MUST HAVE great leadership skills to be effective), being elected the first Black editor of the Harvard Law Review, and working as a constitutional law professor from 1992 to 2004. Furthermore, I don’t think that 20 years of experience automatically qualifies someone, and think it is a mistake to overlook a candidate just because he doesn’t have 20 years of experience in Washington DC. That’s what advisers are for.

He is clearly an intelligent man, a person who is experienced in organizing groups and mediating disagreements, a person with a wide range of political experience (from the grassroots up), and someone who is educated in constitutional law (lest we forget that the constitution is something that’s kind of important in this country).

I would much rather elect someone who is familiar with the needs and struggles of people like me, a person of the middle class, a student who is working her way through college even though it is difficult. I am impressed with the fact that a person who did not come from a wealthy or particularly educated family managed to be admitted to and be successful at Harvard. That is no small feat, and shows an ability to work hard as well as a good measure of intelligence. I, for one, would like to see someone intelligent in the White House.

I am very put off by McCain’s shapeshifting and flip-flopping over the last eight years. I am also disturbed by he and Palin’s abysmal records on women’s rights. They are both opposed to abortion, yet simultaneously opposed to programs that prevent unplanned pregnancy and STDs. We can all see how "abstinence-only education" worked out for her daughter, right? Palin also thinks that women who have been raped should have to PAY FOR THEIR OWN RAPE EXAMS. That’s like a cop charging you to investigate a burglery. She also thinks that women who have been raped or molested should be denied abortions. How compassionate. McCain has voted against legislation ensuring equal pay for women for equal work, as well as legislation designed to prevent violence against women and bolster victim’s rights. I cannot, in good conscience, vote for people who do not care about women’s rights, safety, and health. Just because a candidate is a woman doesn’t mean she speaks for me. I also find it creepy that in the debates, the only thing McCain could say about Palin was how "proud" he was of her…as if he were her father. I found that to be patronizing and demeaning and don’t think it’s an appropriate way to speak about one’s running mate. I am impressed with Obama’s record on women’s rights. In fact, I am impressed with his record on just about everything, and proud to be volunteering for his campaign.

Be well,
Heather

After which, I received this (from someone I do not know on the Reply All list):

 

DO NOT EVER EMAIL ME!!
 
I DID NOT EMAIL YOU!!.
 
I NEVER ASKED FOR YOUR PINKO COMMIE, LIBERAL VIEWS ON THAT SOCIALIST SWINE!!
 
YOU RESPONDED TO EVERYONE WHO WAS SENT THAT EMAIL YOU BLIND FOOL!
 
THIS EMAIL HAS BEEN SENT IN CAPS BECAUSE YOU PISSED ME OFF AND I AM YELLING!!

 

 

Yes folks. I was called a Pinko Commie Liberal. For real. In the year 2008. I once listed this as my political view on my Facebook page (Pinko Commie Liberal Whackjob, to be precise), because I thought it was funny. I was, needless to say, stunned, infuriated, frustrated, and…PROUD. 

 

 

 

 

 

A grad school buddy of mine (who was my maid of honor and also threw my baby shower) has a blog, which can be found over here:

 Qwanty

She is wicked smart, and very funny, and you should check it out. I guarantee you will laugh. 

Dear Albie,

Wow, did I drop the update ball or what? Here I was, all obsessive and reliable about posting a monthly update, and then I went and skipped FOUR MONTHS. Because that’s how I roll. It’s all or nothing. Someday, when you read these posts, you will probably sympathize with that sentiment, because you are the same way. The mother’s curse has come true—my child is just like me.

So many things have happened since your last update. In June, we went on a road trip that lasted 18 days and spanned over 5,000 miles. We drove through up through California, and you got to see Redwoods. We continued up through Portland and Seattle, and then stayed a few days in Bellingham with MB and her lovely daughters. You had a great time with them. You got to cross the border into Canada, and so you have officially been to another country. I couldn’t claim that until my teens.

Your Daddy met us in Bellingham, and we continued east through Idaho into Montana. It was during this phase of the trip that you caught herpes from my cold sore. Turns out that herpes is a real bitch for little guys. You had a “real” fever that got high enough for me to watch closely, and your mouth was so swollen that some of your hard-earned teeth threatened to disappear beneath your gums. You also happened to be cutting your 7th tooth (3rd bottom tooth) during this time, and had a huge cold sore thing where the tooth was coming in. What was particularly sucky is that you were stuck in a CAR in a CAR SEAT for a large portion of this time period, and you couldn’t even have snacks to distract you because your mouth hurt. There was much heartbreaking screaming and crankiness and overall tension. We still made it to Glacier National Park, and because it was a freak year with snowstorms in June (we even drove THROUGH a snowstorm when we were travelling from Washington to Montana), the park had snow on the ground and it was simply beautiful set against all of the spring growth.

The original plan had been for you and your Daddy to fly home from Missoula, and then Ozo and I were going to take our time driving home, and I was going to get extra work done while I stayed in hotel rooms along the way. By myself. Then you got sick. And I couldn’t’ bear the thought of being away from you because I was kind of freaked out about you being sick . And I didn’t want your poor Daddy to fly home with you because you were prone to screaming. A lot. So, we ate the plane ticket, and I forfeited four days TO MYSELF to instead drive home with a cranky toddler. THAT was when I really realized that I was a mother.

Overall, the whole road trip was amazing. I got to know you out of our normal context. It’s one thing to know how you react to events in your normal routine. It was quite another thing to find out how you react to unpredictable events. We had a good time.

After we got home, my best friend Dani visited for a few days, and you two had a great time together. Someday, when you ask about the tattoos on my ankles, I will tell you that “anam cara” means soul friend, and that my soul friend, known as your “auntie Buddon”, got the same phrase tattooed on her back, and that we got those tattoos during this particular visit.

You are what so many of the celebrity pediatricians (Dr. Karp, Dr. Sears, Dr. Greene) call “spirited”. That means that you FEEL things. You don’t just get a little happy. You absolutely shine and radiate love and generosity. You have a HUGE heart. It also means that when you are pissed, it is a mess. Your Nanna (your Daddy’s mom), who birthed and raised eleven children and now works as a nanny, has commented on the intensity of your resistance and protest. My mother, after watching you for a week, said you were indeed, “not an easy child”. Here, all this time, she had thought I was exaggerating. She was amazed by your passion and your tenacity. It’s one thing to have a temper (like your mama). It’s quite another to be so damn tenacious with your tantrums (like your father). I hope it serves you well later in life. The challenge for me is to try to teach you coping skills and emotional management skills that I myself have never mastered. I will try my best for you. I am not always calm. I am not always kind. I yell more than I like and other times I just completely shut down. But I am trying to be something else, something more, because I love you, and I know that the most powerful way we learn is through example. I am learning about deep breaths and just LETTING. IT. GO. I am trying to teach you to do the same.

My mother also told me I was good mother, as evidenced by the fact that I am convinced I am a bad mother. She explained that truly “bad” mothers aren’t worried about their mothering skills. That’s the problem. They don’t care. Good parents agonize and ruminate and struggle to be the parent they want to be. If rumination is really a key component of parenting, then maybe I’m in the top percentile after all.

At the end of June, we all traveled to Washington, DC so that I could go to a conference. It was your first flight experience. You are, for the most part, what I would consider a good sleeper. You go down without a struggle, and love your crib. In fact, you won’t sleep anywhere but a crib, unless it’s perhaps a pack-n-play or car seat. You like your own space. The down side of you being a good sleeper is that you won’t fall asleep, or stay asleep, in arms. When I initially booked the flight, you were at an age where you could still be fairly entertained on my lap. Not so by 16 months of age. You wouldn’t sleep, and you were pissed about being confined. It would have been ABSOLUTELY worth it to have purchased a ticket for you, because you actually like the car seat. And you probably would have slept. The irony is that on 3 out of 4 of our flights, there were empty seats. I should have taken Leigh’s advice and schlepped the car seat along. In any event, for all of the struggle, you at least got some plastic wings. And you met some very nice older grandma types who offered to try to entertain you. I let them take you. And thanked them enthusiastically.

During July, you spent a lot of time with your uncle Matt because I had a teaching job that required me to be gone for about 6 hours every day, and your Daddy was working a lot too. You two had a lovely time together. In August, your Daddy and I travelled to Boston for six days, and your Mamma (my mom) came to stay with you. She simply adored you, in spite of your tantrums. Although I missed you, it was nice for your Daddy and I to have some time together to rediscover ourselves aside from being parents. There have been considerably less arguments since we returned, and I think that’s probably a good thing for you too. You were so excited when you and Mamma picked us up at the airport, you just giggled nonstop and kept giving me big noisy “mwah!” kisses all over. I didn’t realize how much I missed you until I saw you that day. I’m smiling now just thinking about it.

In terms of random developmental stuff, you cut your 7th tooth during the road trip and your 8th tooth followed the next week. You cut your first four molars AT THE SAME TIME right after the Boston trip. You are now cutting two more.

You are very sweet when you want to be, giving great big hugs and loud sloppy kisses. You also have a bad temper (I cannot emphasize this enough) and are prone to lashing out by hitting or throwing things. The “Happiest Toddler on the Block” book and DVD by Dr. Karp have helped considerably, but when you are upset, you often get completely out of control and don’t know how to stop. Sometimes, giving you some time alone helps. Sometimes, you just need space, and will calm down if put in your crib. Maybe it helps you save face in front of me. Other times, I don’t know what you need, but we’re working on it.

You used to use the potty pretty consistently, but around the same time the tantrums escalated, the pottying stopped. We’ve backed off of the whole thing for awhile, but in the last few days, you’ve actually signed “potty” and wanted to go to the toilet. We are careful not to praise you too much, lest you feel pressured or decide to not go just to spite us. I think it’s amazing that you use the toilet at all.

You stopped nursing in May, but even now you occasionally pretend to nurse. You have totally lost your latch, so you don’t actually get very far with that (even though I do still have milk). You mastered a spoon and then a fork, before you decided to just start using your hands. Sunflower butter hair gel, anyone? You are pickier about food lately, but overall still a good eater. You do not seem to care for milk. You love berries, bananas, cheese, crackers, and peaches.

You love the dogs, cats, babies, and books about animals or babies. You love your blocks, and are fascinated by things that go (trains, planes, automobiles, bicycles, buses, etc.). You want to fill things, empty things, push and pull things. Anything. You still love water, and love to blow bubbles in the water. Now you’ve developed a fondness for bubble baths. You love your sleep sacks, and won’t let me take them completely off in the morning, so I unzip them, turn the bottom inside-out, and make them into “capes”. You love hats, necklaces, scarves, and anything that you can easily put on your body as a fashion accessory. You were obsessed with washing your hands, and love your toothbrush (though you suck on it more than brush with it). You love music. You love the movie Monsters, Inc. You will watch the entire thing in one sitting. It’s kind of creepy. You love turning light switches on and off and pressing buttons of any kind. You are fascinated with electronic devices, and are especially enamored with the espresso maker.

You can run. You try to climb everything. You can use the big boy slide at the playground. You are trying to jump. You have great balance. You are very physically engaged with your world. You sometimes resist your naps lately, and September 8th was the first time in your short life that you went the entire day without a nap of any kind. The end of the day was a disaster. You still need naps, even if you don’t know it yet. We went to a toddler “yoga” class, which was kind of like herding kittens, but since then, you love to at least lay on a yoga mat. With your Tiggy. Because Tiggy still goes everywhere with you. You aren’t always willing to point to your own body parts, but you will point to them on Tiggy. You know how to point to your nose, ears, eyes, mouth, belly, hands, and feet. You will give high fives, or “footie fives” that are just high fives with your foot. You can stack five blocks. You enjoy chasing birds and hugging other children. Sometimes you knock them over with the force of your love, but that’s okay.

We started a once-a-week parent-toddler class at the university, and on the first day of class, you managed to climb into a bin of tiny pom-poms. The bin was designed for filling cups with the fluffy things and dumping them out and just playing with them. Nope. Not good enough for you. You climbed right in without any warning. The teacher said, “now there’s something no one else has thought of”. And that is how you roll. You do things just a little differently than many other children. The second time we went, I was glad that I brought a change of clothes, because you climbed into a water bin and lay down. This was after you had been intermittently obsessed with playing in the sinks. The teacher now calls you “our water boy”. How appropriate for an Aquarius child. You really are the poster child for that astrological sign–science be damned. You also refused the little shakable bells that everyone used for the good-bye song, seeking out a drum instead. People remarked on your sense of rhythm. You rock.

My favorite time of day with you is bedtime. You have a bath and then we read books and it’s one of the few times of day that you are consistently snuggly. Many other kids your age will still sit on their mama’s laps and want to be held, but you want to go, go, go, on your own unless something frightens you. Then you turn into Velcro. Briefly. Before you run off to do more of your experiments.

You know about 50 signs, but only say a handful of words. I have been kind of worried about that lately, but since you don’t show a lack of communication skills, I am less worried than if you were showing warning signs of autism. I think you are just working on other things and signs are easier than words, so that’s what you choose. You will say cat, dog, mama, dada, bath, car, and binky. Mostly you just say the first syllable. When you say cat, you sort of squeal it in a high-pitched voice, as if the tone and the syllables are inseparable. It makes me laugh every time.

We had a well-baby visit this week, and after hearing about your tantrums and tenacity, our lovely naturopath asked a few other questions about your physical health and suggested a homeopathic supplement for you to try. We’ll see how that goes.

I have made it a habit over the last few months to take time after you have gone to sleep to just go and look at while you sleep. I do this because it reminds me that you were once so very tiny, and now you have tripled in size (27 and a half pounds, 34 and a half inches as of yesterday). It reminds me of how quickly the time passes, and that I will long for THIS time the same way that I long for the times when you were younger. It also reminds me that even now, you are still just a baby. It’s easy to forget how fragile you are when we are moving through the day and I am putting out emotional fires. But when I watch you sleep, it is so clear to me that you are still so very small, and that I am so very lucky. I work to carry that feeling with me into each and every new day. I strive to just live each day as it unfolds, rather than struggle to make it conform to my plans. I want to ENJOY you, rather than just parent you. Because there is so much to enjoy, when I just let us be.

I also recently revisited my pregnancy journal. It was filled with so much hope and anxiety, and it’s surreal to revisit it now that you’re actually HERE and have been for some time. At one point, I remarked that I hoped you would be filled with curiosity and love to laugh. Both of these things are definitely a part of who you are. So I try to remember that I WANTED you to be curious, even if it means that I have to comb strange things out of your hair, worry about whether fruit pits will work their way out, and rescue socks from the VCR. I asked for it. As for your laughter–hearing you laugh is the highlight of any day. I hope that as you grow and look back on your childhood, the ratio of laughter to tears will be ridiculously disproportionate. I would consider that a huge success, considering our temperaments.

I love you Albiegondas.

Love, Mama

I’m leaving tomorrow on a 2 and a half week road trip. There’s piles of "stuff" all over the house in various degrees of packed. I am ridiculously giddy.

I’ll try to post frequently from the road.

I described how I feel about driving once over here. 

Woot! woot! 

Super-flare from a Red Dwarf.

I’m just going to skip the part where I apologize for being late on your update…

You’ve been through a lot of changes since your last update. First of all, you weaned yourself. There are many who would say that it wasn’t “true” child-led weaning because you use binkies and sippy cups. I think babies are not so easily fooled and I am just prone to guilt-tripping myself. If the average age of weaning worldwide is between 2 and 3, then for every child who nurses to the age of 4, there should be one who weans at 1. That’s how averages usually work.

I wasn’t sure at first if it was a nursing strike, or a real weaning, but since the days kept rolling by without you nursing and I wasn’t engorged, I figured it wasn’t really all that sudden. It just seemed like it to me. You’d really only been nursing once a day, if that. Of course, I was devastated. But I’ll get over it.

On the plus side, you actually hug me more and cuddle more than you did when you were still nursing. I am more than happy to provide that comfort for you.

My favorite story from the last month is a Tale of Two Tiggers. You have had a stuffed Tigger that you absolutely adore since last September. The problem is that it’s not really washable (though we washed it anyway) and we could not find a spare. I finally found them at Target and bought about 6 of them. Just to be safe.

We presented you with a “new” Tiggy while you were holding “old” (now stashed in a sentimental box) Tiggy. You picked up one and then the other. You squeezed the paw on one, and then the other. You squeezed the beanie butt of one, and then the other. You picked each one up and tasted it. Then you cast the new Tiggy aside, rejected. I laughed so hard I almost peed myself. Toddlers are natural scientists. Luckily, we snuck the newbie into your crib while you were asleep, and without having the old one as a comparison, you were fooled.

Sometime in the last month, my sweet boy was replaced with a tantrum spewing pod person. The onset of tantrums coincided with two other events that I think are significant (recall that I am a psychology grad student). First of all, you were no longer fooled by the baby in the mirror. You know it’s you. Second, you started pointing to yourself when you wanted something. In other words, you now know that you exist. And by god, you have opinions and you will not be swayed. When I tell you no and remove you from a situation, I just go ahead and gently lay you on the floor, because if I don’t, you will fling yourself on the floor and bonk your head. So I just go ahead and help you out with that.

Other random stuff:

You love to climb. Everything. You love to dance, and have your own sign for music that looks kind of like you are conducting the song. You are pickier about your food, but still a great eater. Your favorite food is whatever is on my plate. Or peaches. You love playing hide and seek or chasing games. You love car rides. You love pushing a stroller around. You have no new teeth (still 4 on top and 2 on bottom). You love the Cosby show more than Sesame Street. All these years later, I can say that it is really a great show, but good lord, the clothes are awful. You still want to wake up at 5:30, but it’s easy to get you to lay back down until after 6. You scream when initially put down for a nap (you’re down to one per day), but then will sleep for 2 to 3 hours straight. You don’t scream when put down at night. You love your bedtime routine. You love water. You love books—all books, my books, your books, magazines, whatever. You can stack 3, sometimes 4, blocks. You are running now. You try to jump but can’t quite do it yet. You like to brush your own teeth and are fascinated by shoes. You covet electronic devices of all kinds. You reliably say Dada, Dog, and Bath. You squeal with delight when I let the dogs into the house, when your Dada gets home, and when you see a cat. You love stacking things, emptying things, and scribbling.

What don’t you love? Limits. The word “no”. Having your face wiped. That’s pretty much it. It’s the “no” thing that really pisses you off. Even your Nanna, who had eleven children and is a nanny, commented on your temper. I have no idea where you got it…

You don’t have much interest in speaking, but know soooo many signs:

More, book, ball, and shoes are all pretty much signed the same, but in different contexts. Dad and phone also really close, but one involves your thumb to your ear, and the other is your forefinger. You will also sign finished, Tiggy (which is awfully close to “sleep”), Mama, eat, drink, bath, sleep, brush teeth, cereal, milk (which you now use for anything you want really badly—I take it as a compliment), water, car, bus, music, diaper, dog, bird, bye-bye, train, baby, cat, help, wash hands, binky (your own sign—you put the back of your hand to your mouth), cracker. Some of these signs you use more reliably than others, but you have successfully used them all at some point. You will also shake your head “no” and blow kisses.

Things I have learned:

• Every day is a new adventure.
• There is no "catching up" on housework–just learn to roll with it.
• My mother told me that there are times your child will be replaced with someone you do not know, and don’t really like. She was right.
• Just like I have never gotten used to the summers in Phoenix, I will never get used to waking up before 6 a.m.
• In the dictionary, next to the definition of "toddler", there should be a picture of a tornado.
• That happiness I felt when you could start entertaining yourself? It’s been replaced with horror by the level of destruction you can accomplish in five minutes.
• You know that one tone of whining that makes you want to bang your head into the floor? Your toddler will find it. And use it. Liberally. With glee.
• If all else fails, crank the music.
• If that fails, just leave the house.

Some days, I feel like I am absolutely the wrong mother for you, and others I feel like I am THE champion at toddler motherhood. There seems to be no in between. We either have good days, or horrible ones. We’re either in the groove, or NOT. But I feel blessed to have all these days with you.

Thank you, Albie, for being YOU. I don’t always like you, but I always love you. And you have made me into a better person that I would have ever been without you.

Love,

Mama

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

It’s only fair that I also post links to stories that inspire me and give me hope for our species.

Here’s a video (nice and short if you don’t have much time) clip of a police officer in China who took it upon herself to nurse hungry infants in during the chaos following the earthquake. She is still nursing two babies (in addition to her 6 month son).

Do you think she would be sued for doing that in the U.S.? 

Thanks to Navelgazing Midwife for the link. 

I cannot help myself.

Every now and then I have to share something that makes me angry. I usually keep these things to myself in blogland because really, there are a lot of things that make me angry, and I don’t want to be an overall downer. I started this blog, mostly, to celebrate insights and precious moments.

But,

I read a lot of shit and am addicted to googlesearch. And there is a lot of rank mess in this world.

Once in awhile something makes me so angry that I want to smash my computer. I wish I could breathe fire, because there’s fire in my chest and it seems like it would feel good to exhale all of that fire and I have always wanted to be a dragon. Seriously. Dragons can fly and breathe fire and deliver destruction. They are also narcissistic and antisocial.

When I read some things, I feel like I’m on the verge of a panic attack. I’m not kidding. And then I just want to curl up under a comforter and hide in a small dark closet. Until my head explodes.

I am occasionally driven batshit nutty crazy by some current event or another. I have to take news vacations now and then. Until I come back. And I always come back. Because my #1 addiction (and there are many to choose from) is instant information.

So, I’ve decided to celebrate this compulsion of mine, and thus I have given it a name. Anger and all. It shall be called, "Random Minutes of Hate". Like in 1984, where the characters engaged in a daily, mandatory, two minutes of hate. Mine’s not mandatory. And there is no number of minutes specified. Swearing at your computer screen is not only allowed, but encouraged. You may also shake your fist at the sky. But please, no spitting. That’s just gross.

It should really be minutes of "anger", but "hate" just feels so much better. Admit it.

The only thing I have to say about this segment is that I can’t believe this is happening in 2008. That, and I am never living in Georgia. 

Here’s the link: 

http://feministing.com/archives/009206.html

but here’s the take-home message:

This was after the judge had dismissed the evidence: Ross could have received lacerations and redness documented in a rape kit from shaving, and “[b]ruises can come with a bump into furniture or from other causes.” As far as the claim that Day gave Ross a rape drug, defense counsel responded, “neither Day, nor anyone else for that matter, would have to use any type of drug to convince Plaintiff to participate in sexual conduct.”

The judge found that since Ross and Day had previously had a sexual relationship, Ross should have known her claims were “frivolous… there was no reasonable belief that a court would accept Plaintiff’s claims…”

The nightmare of this case, for Melanie Ross and for all future rape victims in Georgia, is that she was forced to discuss in elaborate detail her sexual past, and then she had her claims dismissed in part because she wasn’t a virgin. Moreover, not only did Ross lose her case, the judge fined her $150,000 for bringing it in the first place - a fee sure to dissuade other victims from coming forward with their own claims. This case is currently being appealed to the Supreme Court of Georgia, which can choose to hear it or not - let’s hope they right this wrong before it hurts more victims.