tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11773476683820461502024-03-05T19:05:06.833-08:00FidgetFacecdhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00406284020390728464noreply@blogger.comBlogger198125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1177347668382046150.post-79110867773734818102012-07-23T10:10:00.002-07:002012-07-23T10:10:18.804-07:00A public complaint about you, darling daughterYeah, super neglectful of this blog, but only because I'm so preoccupied not-neglecting you - especially at bedtime.<br />
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This is going to be a super big problem starting this Friday.<br />
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You see, darling daughter, the 2012 Summer Olympics start on Friday and because of stupid TV network ratings crap, 99% of what mommy is going to want to watch will be airing between 8pm and midnight. <br />
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This means your ass needs to learn to go to sleep on time, pronto. Mommy's kind of done with it all right now and she really wants to watch the Olympics. So, get with the program, please.cdhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00406284020390728464noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1177347668382046150.post-50314305373993411272012-06-06T09:48:00.002-07:002012-06-06T09:48:08.848-07:00The Transit of Venus<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVo15zKB-m80POpWSlKT1JCG467UO5XC_t7LV5ASCUkuhSxMZwpZDnkCxCIvEdgIy2s7SrO3mNr8b3dEMtZvQnBkTIm65TvxGmeCIzFXPjm-lhnwEALu1P_aMvu7r1PRPb82cXTwV0uBA/s1600/transit+of+venus.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="230" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVo15zKB-m80POpWSlKT1JCG467UO5XC_t7LV5ASCUkuhSxMZwpZDnkCxCIvEdgIy2s7SrO3mNr8b3dEMtZvQnBkTIm65TvxGmeCIzFXPjm-lhnwEALu1P_aMvu7r1PRPb82cXTwV0uBA/s400/transit+of+venus.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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Yesterday, June 5, 2012, was a big day. It was Election Day. Only 24% of eligible voters bothered to vote. That's sad.<br />
<br />
But aside from that, yesterday also bore witness to one of the rarer predictable celestial events: The Transit of Venus. Venus, the second planet from the sun and the planet closest in size and character to Earth, passed between the Earth and the sun. This even happens in pairs, but the pairs of events are spaced many, many years apart. The last transit was in 2004. The next will be in 2117.<br />
<br />
That is 105 years from now.<br />
<br />
People were urged to check it out as it wouldn't likely happen again in our lifetimes. What they mean is, our lifetimes won't likely extend long enough to see it happen again. That's the sort of statistic that makes adults pause.<br />
<br />
I didn't put the special glasses, obtained for the annular eclipse of just a few weeks ago, on you and urge you to look as I was scared you might look again without the glasses and hurt your eyes. You won't remember, anyway. And if you don't take to science, you may never know about the event.<br />
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But I probably share a hope with the parents of your other 2010 baby friends: maybe you'll see the Transit of Venus in 2117. A few people live to be 107 nowadays and why not hope - even think or expect - that it might be more common by the time you near the century mark.<br />
<br />
Thinking about events outside of my own lifetime is troubling. Thinking about events outside of your lifetime makes me feel entirely too mortal, small, and transient.<br />
<br />
Footnote: Yesterday, on that celestially important day, famous Science Fiction writer Ray Bradbury also died. I hope he saw the Transit before he went. He was 91 years old and might have seen the 2004 event, but not one before that. Somewhat relatedly, he wrote a story called "All in A Summer's Day" about a girl who moves to Venus from Earth and misses the sun, which is only visible on Venus for 2 hours every 7 years. She is bullied for being the only person to know what the sun is like from her time on Earth. Her classmates cause her to miss the sunshine.<br />
<br />
Ray Bradbury was the commencement speaker at my college graduation.<br />
<br />
He was quoted in a newspaper article saying something I want you to remember and take to heart:<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
"In my later years I have looked in the mirror each day and found a happy person staring back." he wrote in a book of essays published in 2005. "Occasionally I wonder why I can be so happy. The answer is that every day of my life I've worked only for myself and for the joy that comes from writing and creating. The image in my mirror is not optimistic, but the result of optimal behavior."</blockquote>cdhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00406284020390728464noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1177347668382046150.post-25310650323684811142012-06-01T15:40:00.002-07:002012-06-07T16:55:06.614-07:00Lies Your Parents Tell YouThe other night, I accidentally stepped on a snail on the top step of our front path. The crunch was loud and sickening. I hate stepping on snails. I like snails. They eat our vegetable patch and leave nasty, slimy trails, but I don't like killing them. It just feels like we have far too great an evolutionary advantage over these slow movers to wantonly squash them.<br />
<br />
The look on your face, darling daughter, was horrible. You looked to my foot and then to my face, locking eyes with an expression equal parts horrified and accusatory.<br />
<br />
"It's okay! The snail wasn't in there! It was just his shell! He's out for the evening. I swear." "Yes, yes," chimed in Daddy. "The snail moved away, he's on holiday, he needed a bigger shell."<br />
<br />
Your knitted brow eased somewhat and you moved on to some other front yard mischief.<br />
<br />
Later, I noticed two new snails <i>eating the remains of their friends</i>. I could see the motion of their swallows, chunks of Cousin Snail moving through their snail heads and down their snail throats and into their snail gullets deep within their snail shells.<br />
<br />
Maybe they don't need my deference after all.cdhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00406284020390728464noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1177347668382046150.post-70982401472305665432012-05-21T09:19:00.000-07:002012-05-21T15:31:03.219-07:00Three Months Post-Mup: An Evolution of Thoughts On Weaning<div style="color: purple;">
<b>Welcome to the Carnival of Weaning: Weaning - Your Stories</b></div>
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<i>This post was written for inclusion in the Carnival of Weaning hosted by <a href="http://codenamemama.com/2012/05/21/weaning/" target="_blank">Code Name: Mama</a> and <a href="http://www.ahaparenting.com/" target="_blank">Aha! Parenting</a>. Our participants have shared stories, tips, and struggles about the end of the breastfeeding relationship.</i></div>
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It's been nearly three months since we officially transitioned from nursling-and-mamma to toddler-and-mamma. After reading <a href="http://codenamemama.com/2012/04/16/weaning-carnival-call-for-sub/">about the call for submissions for the Carnival of Weaning</a>, I realized I had more left to say on the topic. And of course, it would be a lie of omission if I failed to note the influence of a certain magazine cover image on my renewed thoughts.<br />
<br />
To review: after a terrible, horrible, no good, very bad 10-week introduction to nursing, my daughter and I hit our stride. Around her third month, <a href="http://www.nursingfreedom.org/2010/11/joys-of-nursing-in-public-5.html">I finally latched on to nursing in public</a>. And we enjoyed - or at least engaged in - a nursing relationship for 24 months until February of this year when my husband went home to England to attend a good friend's wedding and took our daughter along (mainly to visit doting grandparents and family, but also because, since he's a stay-at-home-dad and I work outside the home, his two-week trip presented insurmountable child care challenges. It would be another lie of omission if I failed to note that the thought of a working mommy staycation wasn't a little bit thrilling as well).<br />
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We knew about the wedding a year in advance. At the time, she was still very much a nursling and I had no intention of cutting her off and she showed now signs of walking away from the tap. Surely, though, we thought, over the course of a year, we'd find a way to gently manage the two-week separation from mummy and "mup" (her word for nursing/milk). Maybe she'd even have chosen to wean by then herself.<br />
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A brief flashback is in order: four years ago or so, I called my sister one evening and knew immediately when I heard her cracking voice answer the phone that something was wrong. I felt my heart pound in my chest - what's wrong! I asked in alarm. "Liam [sniffle sniffle] . .. . weannnneeedddd," she cried into the handset. Is that all, I asked? Hey, I wasn't a mother yet and thought it was weird and a little crazy that my over-two year old nephew was still on the boob anyway. I was, I'm sad to say, of the "well, if they are old enough to ask for it by name, then . . . ." camp.<br />
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Flash back to my present motherhood and I get it. I got it from the end of year one onward. A 13-month old is still a baby. I was thankful every day that her sometimes-picky eating would be supplemented by mup every morning and evening and frequently throughout the night. Frankly, it eased my worrying about eating habits generally. I am nothing if not lazy, after all.<br />
<br />
I still had an inkling back then, however, that I wouldn't react to weaning the way my sister had. We're strikingly similar in many ways, but divergent in some - our natural affinity towards motherhood being a key area. I love my daughter, of course, but my sister could teach a master class in nurturing. She inspired my desire to nurse from the moment I first saw her nurse my newborn nephew - I swear I could see a heavenly shaft of light beam down upon her - or at least beam from her face to her son's - and I'm pretty sure those were faint angels' choirs singing in the background. Piece of cake! (Haha, as if).<br />
<br />
When it came time for our trip, however, I had a minor freak out. It wasn't based on my feelings - well, I guess it was - but based on my fear about my daughter's feelings. We had, of course, made zero progress towards weaning - at least, I thought. Everything I'd read put a skull-and-cross-bones-like danger sign over the Cold Turkey Method.<br />
<br />
Despite weeks of talking about her "big adventure" with daddy and reading <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Maggies-Weaning-Mary-Joan-Deutschbein/dp/0912500581">Maggie's Weaning</a> approximately eleventy trillion times in the months before, there we were, 24-hours before her flight departed for England and she was still the same nursling she ever was. Whose bright idea was this, anyway? Did she get it? Was she going to sob all the way to England? The books and stories and discussions and preparation and hugs and kisses and photos - had any of that stuck in her brain?<br />
<br />
I think the message was received, at least enough for daddy, toddler, and family to have a great two weeks. Thanks to her rock-solid bond with daddy and because they had their own system of comfort honed over the daily stay-at-home grind, she was fine in England. She ate fine. She slept fine (well, after the jet-lag passed). She was fine. With Skype chats and phone calls, everything was okay. I think this was because I wasn't there not-nursing her. She was days from two-years-old - it's not like she didn't get that mup came solely from mummy and if mummy wasn't around, then no mup, either. And maybe the weaning book had helped.<br />
<br />
I made no effort to preserve my milk supply while she was gone. Pumping was never effective for me and I had abandoned the practice when she was 11 months old (we used goat's milk and slowly transitioned to cow's at around 13 months - though she mostly drank water with meals and was, of course, still getting human milk anyway). I felt little discomfort until the day before their scheduled return when, I can only assume, my subconscious completely betrayed me and I felt a few hard, burning milk sacs swelling on my chest.<br />
<br />
She nursed one final time when she arrived home and once more at night. We had two slightly rough nights where, in her half-asleep, jet lagged state, she was pretty pissed that mommy wasn't as all-access as she wanted me to be. (Considering her age and her proclivity towards tantrums generally, though, these weren't too bad - one grumble session per night.) "Please mummy, mup?"<br />
<br />
I remembered the book. Remember Maggie? I asked her? Uh-huh, she nodded? Remember Maggie was a big girl and didn't have mup anymore and she was sad too, sometimes? Uh-huh, sniffle snarffle. But Maggie's mommy still loved her and Maggie still loved her mommy, right? "Okay, mommy," and back to sleep.<br />
<br />
Ultimately, I think she's her father's daughter and his nature plus his nurturing helped tremendously. She's a roll with it kinda kid. She has flashes of her mother's temper, to be sure, but her calm side prevails. She didn't hate me. She didn't regress.<br />
<br />
And we moved into the next phase. There are still days where she'll wake up and point at my chest and say "there's no mup in there!" (we still bed share). In a very strange way, I feel like our relationship is more rewarding now - I feel like the cuddles are more for me than for my milk, if that makes any sense at all (though I know, at least on a rational level, that it was the same when we were nursing, too).<br />
<br />
If she hadn't taken that trip, would I have taken steps to encourage weaning? At some point, yes. When? I'm not sure. I've certainly evolved since that late-night conversation with my crying sister. Would I nurse a three-year-old? Probably. A four-year-old? I don't know. Five? Less certain still. There may be a line, but it's not my line to demarcate, that's for sure.<br />
<br />
The two truths I'm left with at the end of two years of nursing are these: First, as Hanna Rosin wrote in <a href="http://www.theatlantic.com/magazine/archive/2009/04/the-case-against-breast-feeding/7311/">her infamous article</a>, "[nursing is] only free if a woman’s time is worth nothing" which I think is extraordinarily important to remember as we struggle, culturally, in America to encourage increased nursing and longer nursing. And second, that weaning isn't the end of the world for anyone and it is, in many cases, a cause for celebrating what's been accomplished - whether for 3 months or 3 years or anything in between, given the <a href="http://www.bestforbabes.org/what-are-the-booby-traps">barriers to breast feeding that challenge women so frequently</a>.<br />
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I still point out nursing animals in books and nursing children we see in public or pictures because I want to raise her to remember and to understand that it's normal. Sometimes she notes it on her own, sometimes she doesn't bat an eye. <br />
<br />
Sometimes, I miss nursing because it was a handy way to quiet a fussing child or get an overtired child to sleep. Mostly, I embrace my new freedom - and hers. There may be no more mup in there, but there's a lot of world out there that we still get to explore together. And there's no weaning off that excitement.<br />
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<a href="http://codenamemama.com/wp-content/uploads/2012/05/Carnival-of-Weaning-Button.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" class="alignright size-thumbnail wp-image-9018" height="150" src="http://codenamemama.com/wp-content/uploads/2012/05/Carnival-of-Weaning-Button-150x150.jpg" title="Carnival of Weaning Button" width="150" /></a>
<i style="color: purple;">Thank you for visiting the Carnival of Weaning hosted by Dionna at <a href="http://codenamemama.com/" target="_blank"><b>Code Name: Mama</b></a> and Dr. Laura at <a href="http://draft.blogger.com/ahaparenting.com/" target="_blank"><b>Aha! Parenting</b></a>.
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<i>Please take time to read the submissions by the other carnival participants (and many thanks to Joni Rae of <a href="http://jonirae.com/">Tales of a Kitchen Witch</a> for designing our lovely button):</i></div>
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<i>(This list will be live and updated by afternoon May 21 with all the carnival links.)</i></div>
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<ul>
<li><b><a href="http://naturalparentsnetwork.com/breastfeeding-weaning-identity/" target="_blank">On Breastfeeding, Weaning, and One Mother’s Identity</a></b> — Jessica at <b> Natural Parents Network</b> has been nursing one or more of her children since 1993 - breastfeeding is wrapped up in her concept of mothering and herself. She shares her thoughts on weaning.</li>
<li><b><a href="http://draft.blogger.com/blogger.g?blogID=1177347668382046150#" target="_blank">two tales of weaning</a></b> — Aspen at <b>Aspen Mama</b> writes about their countdown to wean.</li>
<li><b><a href="http://www.pleasesendparentingbooks.blogspot.com/2012/05/wean-me-gently-our-story.html" target="_blank">Wean Me Gently</a></b> — Tam at <b>Please Send Parenting Books</b> shares a beautiful weaning ceremony.</li>
<li><b><a href="http://anelie.wordpress.com/2012/05/21/you-say-potato%E2%80%A6ay-bleeeuuuuch/" target="_blank">You say potato, I say bleeeuuuuch...</a></b> — Anelie at <b>Mindcradle</b> had read the books and knew just how to introduce her baby son to solids—unfortunately, he had other ideas.</li>
<li><b><a href="http://awfullychipper.blogspot.com/2012/05/post-called-weaning.html" target="_blank">A Post Called Weaning</a></b> — (Not) Maud at <b>Awfully Chipper </b> writes about how weaning her son took longer than she expected.</li>
<li><b><a href="http://theartfulmama.com/2012/05/on-weaning-pregnancy-and-emotion" target="_blank">On Weaning, Pregnancy and Emotion</a></b> — Shannon at <b>The Artful Mama </b> talks about her mixed emotions as she allows her son, Little Man, to guide her through his weaning process.</li>
<li><b><a href="http://springpatchjam.blogspot.com/2012/05/half-of-her-life.html" target="_blank">half of her life</a></b> — Staci at <b> Springpatch Jam</b> looks back on her nursing relationship with her first born.</li>
<li><b><a href="http://draft.blogger.com/blogger.g?blogID=1177347668382046150#" target="_blank">Is it just this After Forty Mom or is it harder to wean when its your last?</a></b> — Amanda of <b> After Forty Mom </b> shares her emotional journey towards the impending self-weaning of her toddler daughter.</li>
<li><b><a href="http://www.mommajorje.com/2012/05/nursing-limits.html" target="_blank">Nursing Limits</a></b> — Jorje of <b>Momma Jorje</b> shares how she has weaned her toddler down to minimal nursing and her guilt about the decision to do so.</li>
<li><b><a href="http://codenamemama.com/2012/05/21/weaning/" target="_blank">Weaning Video Series #1: Preparation for the Weaning Process</a></b> — Why is weaning such a taboo topic? Dionna at <b>Code Name: Mama</b> got mamas from across the blogosphere to start talking about weaning - on video. Come check out the first video in a series of five that she'll be posting this week.</li>
<li><b><a href="http://draft.blogger.com/blogger.g?blogID=1177347668382046150#" target="_blank">On the weaning of the boy in the middle</a></b> — Kelly at <b>Witness To Hope </b> shares the lessons of a little one self-weaning at 18 months in the middle of an unexpected pregnancy, after nursing his older sister for three years.</li>
<li><b><a href="http://maydela.blogspot.com/2012/05/weaning-due-to-anxiety.html" target="_blank">Weaning due to anxiety</a></b> — Shannon at <b>Pineapples & Artichokes</b> talks about how she had to wean to preserve her mental health.</li>
<li><b><a href="http://www.hybridrastamama.com/2012/05/when-will-i-wean.html" target="_blank">When Will I Wean? A Guest Post</a></b> — Jennifer at <b>Hybrid Rasta Mama</b> hosts a guest post from a mama who contemplates when her breastfeeding relationship will end.</li>
<li><b><a href="http://www.momeeezen.com/2012/05/on-his-own-terms.html" target="_blank">On His Own Terms</a></b> — <b>Momeeezen</b> shares her heartbreak from when her son weaned much earlier than she anticipated.</li>
<li><b><a href="http://www.thatmamagretchen.com/2012/05/our-weaning-story-sudden-surprised-and.html" target="_blank">Our Weaning Story - Sudden, Surprised, and Embracing a New Season</a></b> — Weaning doesn't always go how we imagine. <b>That Mama Gretchen</b> shares the story of her daughter's sudden weaning and how she has embraced this new season of motherhood.</li>
<li><b><a href="http://mommainprogress.blogspot.com/2012/05/tale-of-two-weanings.html" target="_blank">A Tale of Two Weanings</a></b> — Valerie at <b>Momma in Progress</b> shares the similarities and differences of how her nursing relationships with her now six-year-old and four-year-old daughters came to a close.</li>
<li><b><a href="http://lactationnarration.com/index.php/2012/05/she-doesnt-remember/" target="_blank">She Doesn't Remember</a></b> — Alicia at <b>Lactation Narration</b> finds that her 6 year old no longer remembers nursing, only one year after weaning.</li>
<li><b><a href="http://nevermindtherain.wordpress.com/2012/05/21/its-the-end-of-the-world-as-we-know-it-2/" target="_blank">It's The End of the World As We Know It</a></b> — A story about the end of a tandem nursing relationship on <b>Never Mind The Rain</b>: A toddler moves on to a new phase in her life before mom is fully ready.</li>
<li><b><a href="http://wp.me/p2ce7l-13t" target="_blank">A Natural End To Our Breastfeeding Relationship</a></b> — With two self-weaning children, Jennifer at <b>Our Muddy Boots</b> does not know when the end will come, but that it will be natural and without regrets.</li>
<li><b><a href="http://wp.me/pMVLj-1hT" target="_blank">Child-Led weaning: It's Not Extreme; It's Biological</a></b> — Mandy at <b>Living Peacefully with Children</b> explains why child-led weaning is based on biology rather than social constraints.</li>
<li><b><a href="http://minimalistmum.blogspot.co.nz/2012/05/6-years-of-natural-weaning-in-5-steps.html" target="_blank">6 Years of Natural Weaning in 5 Steps</a></b> — Jess at <b>miniMum</b> shares how and why she let her first child stop when he was good and ready.</li>
<li><b><a href="http://alivingfamily.com/2012/05/14/is-this-weaning/" target="_blank">Is This Weaning?: A Tandem Nursing Update</a></b> — Sheila at <b>A Living Family</b> bares all her tandem nursing hopes and fears during what feels like the beginning of the end for her toddler nursing relationship.</li>
<li><b><a href="http://hippiehousewife.blogspot.ca/2012/05/memories-of-weaning-unique-and-gentle.html" target="_blank">Memories of Weaning: Unique and Gentle</a></b> — Cynthia at <b>The Hippie Housewife</b> shares her weaning experiences with her two sons, each one unique in how it happened and yet equally gentle in its approach.</li>
<li><b><a href="http://gentlemamamoon.wordpress.com/2012/05/21/weaning-aversion/" target="_blank">Weaning Aversion'</a></b> — <b>Gentle Mama Moon</b> shares her experience of nursing and unplanned weaning due to pregnancy-induced 'feeding aversion'.</li>
<li><b><a href="http://fidgetface.blogspot.com/2012/05/three-months-post-mup-evolution-of.html" target="_blank">Three Months Post-Mup: An Evolution of Thoughts On Weaning</a></b> — cd at <b>FidgetFace</b> describes a brief look at her planned (but accelerated) weaning, as well as one mamma's evolution on weaning (and extended nursing)</li>
<li><b><a href="http://ayoungmomsmusings.blogspot.com/2012/05/weaning-my-tandem-nursed-toddler.html" target="_blank">Weaning my Tandem Nursed Toddler</a></b> — After tandem nursing for a year, <b>Melissa at Permission to Live</b> felt like weaning her older child would be impossible, but now she shares how gentle weaning worked for her 2 1/2 year old.</li>
<li><b><a href="http://hannahandhorn.blogspot.com/2012/05/every-journey-begins-with-one-step.html" target="_blank">Every Journey Begins with One Step</a></b> — As Hannabert begins the weaning process, Hannah at <b>Hannah and Horn</b>'s super power is diminishing.</li>
<li><b><a href="http://%20http//dulcefamily.blogspot.com/2012/05/carnival-of-weaning-love-changes-form.html%20" target="_blank">Reflections on Weaning - Love Changes Form</a></b> — Amy from <b>Presence Parenting</b> (guest posting at <b>Dulce de Leche</b>) shares her experience and approach of embracing weaning as a continual process in parenting, not just breastfeeding.</li>
<li><b><a href="http://positiveparentingconnection.net/weaning-gently-three-special-ideas-for-success/" target="_blank">Weaning Gently: Three Special Ideas for Success</a></b> — <b>MudpieMama</b> shares three ideas that help make weaning a gentle and special journey. </li>
<li><b><a href="http://farmersdaughterct.com/2012/05/21/guest-post-carnival-of-weaning/" target="_blank">Guest Post: Carnival of Weaning</a></b> — Emily shares her first weaning experience and her hopes for her second nursling in a guest post on <b>Farmer's Daughter</b>.</li>
<li><b><a href="http://www.ahaparenting.com/_blog/Parenting_Blog/post/Gentle_Weaning/" target="_blank">12 Tips for Gentle Weaning</a></b> — Dr. Laura at <b>Aha! Parenting</b> describes the process of gentle weaning and gives specific tips to make weaning an organic, joyful ripening. </li>
<li><b><a href="http://%20http//babydustdiaries.com/2012/05/quiz-should-you-wean-for-fertility-treatments/" target="_blank">Quiz: Should You Wean for Fertility Treatments?</a></b> — Paige at <b>Baby Dust Diaries</b> talks about the key issues in the difficult decision to wean for infertility treatments.</li>
<li><b><a href="http://ourcrazycorneroftheworld.blogspot.com/2012/05/i-thought-about-weaning.html" target="_blank">I thought about weaning...</a></b> — Kym at <b>Our Crazy Corner of the World</b> shares her story of how she thought about weaning several times, yet it still happened on its own timeline.</li>
<li><b><a href="http://www.anktangle.com/2012/05/celebrating-weaning.html" target="_blank">Celebrating Weaning</a></b> — Amy at <b>Anktangle</b> reflects on her thoughts and feelings about weaning, and she shares a quick tutorial for one of the ways she celebrated this transition with her son: through a story book with photographs!</li>
<li><b><a href="http://www.intrepidmurmurings.com/2012/05/naturally-weaning-twins/" target="_blank">Naturally Weaning Twins</a></b> — Kristin at <b>Intrepid Murmurings</b> discusses the gradual path to weaning she has taken with her preschool-aged twins.</li>
<li><b><a href="http://wp.me/pDcm9-WG" target="_blank">Gentle Weaning Means Knowing When to Stop</a></b> — Claire at <b>The Adventures of Lactating Girl</b> writes about knowing when your child is not ready to wean and taking their feelings into account in the process.</li>
<li><b><a href="http://trueconfessionsofarealmommy.blogspot.com/2012/05/weaning-unweaning-and-reweaning.html" target="_blank">Weaning, UnWeaning, and ReWeaning</a></b> — Jennifer at <b>True Confessions of a Real Mommy</b> discovers non-mutal weaning doesn't have to be the end. You can have a do-over.</li>
<li><b><a href="http://www.hobomama.com/2012/05/prelude-to-weaning.html" target="_blank">Prelude to weaning</a></b> — Lauren at <b>Hobo Mama</b> talks about a tough tandem nursing period and what path she would like to encourage her older nursling to take.</li>
<li><b><a href="http://www.amywilla.com/2012/05/demands-of-nursing-kind.html" target="_blank">Demands of a Nursing Kind</a></b> — Amy Willa at <b>Me, Mothering, and Making it All Work</b> shares her conflicted feelings about nursing limits and explores different ways to achieve comfort, peace, and bodily integrity as a nursing mother.</li>
<li><b><a href="http://abcsandgardenpeas.com/2012/05/21/breastfeeding-if-theres-one-thing-i-know-for-sure/" target="_blank">Breastfeeding: If there's one thing I know for sure...</a></b> — Wendy at <b>ABCs and Garden Peas</b> explores the question: How do you know when it's time to wean? </li>
<li><b><a href="http://touchstonez.com/2012/05/21/five-four-three-two-one-two-three/" target="_blank">Five, Four, Three, Two, One, Two, Three?</a></b> — Zoie at <b>TouchstoneZ</b> discusses going from 3 nurslings down to 1 and what might happen when her twins arrive.</li>
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</div>cdhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00406284020390728464noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1177347668382046150.post-51599929582588852052012-03-14T16:51:00.002-07:002012-03-14T16:51:32.366-07:00Save this for when you're much older, Darling DaughterI wonder if, years from now, when you're studying American history in high school or political science or gender studies in college, if this year will really seem as hostile toward women as it does currently, while we live in it. I won't clutter this with links to what's gone on, but suffice to say, it seems like an insane number of voters are extraordinarily concerned with possible abortions and promiscuous women above all other concerns like the economy, national security, poverty, or the environment. It's a bit of a scary time, frankly.<br />
<br />
A lot of this came to a head a few weeks ago when a popular, loud-mouthed "shock jock" (oh I hope that term is unfamiliar to you in 15 years time), jokingly (he claims) called a young woman who testified to a congressional panel about access to birth control a "slut" and a "prostitute." (Oh I hope those terms are unfamiliar to you in 15 years as well).<br />
<br />
Let me pause here and tell your Nana to skip the next part. Nana, skip the next part. I think our views might diverge.<br />
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<a name='more'></a>This young woman who testified was addressing concerns that have arisen since President Obama, through his administration of health care reform measures, said that all employers who provide health coverage must have that coverage pay for contraception for women. Some employers, like the Catholic Church - of which you are a member - run schools and hospitals and they don't want to pay for contraception because it is against their - our - faith to use it.<br />
<br />
This young woman's testimony, like many counterarguments, focused on the reasons women use hormonal contraceptive medication that have nothing to do with preventing pregnancy. These pills can also help alleviate menstrual pain, various uterine issues, etc. You often here these concerns raised as a way to refocus attention away from the sexual implications of The Pill.<br />
<br />
So this is what mommy wants to tell you: it is not wrong to use the pill or other forms of contraception because you want to enjoy sexual activity without becoming pregnant. You don't need to come up with another excuse. If you do, medically, need to take the pill, that's fine, too. But forcing women to sanitize their decision to use contraception, to veil themselves in chastity, dials back the feminist clock in a way that mommy isn't okay with and hopes you won't be okay with either, when the time comes that you are concerned about such things.<br />
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Now, don't mistake this message as approval of sexual activity before you are ready. Our faith says marriage. You are Catholic. You should follow that faith. Lots of women don't. Lots of Catholic women don't (and they also use contraception). I hope you will wait until you are really ready and that the decision will be entirely yours, free from coercion or pressure of any kind.<br />
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For the record, your mom made it through both high school and college before worrying about this stuff directly. I think I was able to wait that long because I had wonderful adult support in my life from your grandparents and from my church youth group. I decided to wait. I'm glad I did. When I finally was ready, I embraced my sexuality in a way that was safe - taking appropriate steps to avoid any negative, or negatively timed, consequences of sexual activity.<br />
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You also might not want to talk about this with me when you are at an age where these questions loom large in your mind. I hope that when they are looming, you have non-parental, positive adult influences in your life in whom you are comfortable confiding. That's essential to life, I think. I had those adults. I promise to remember that if you confide in someone but not me, it's not because you don't love or respect me, but because you needed a non-parental person, and that's okay.<br />
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In the end, I hope that you will value your body and your sexuality. For some people, that means waiting until marriage. For many others, it means waiting for "the one." Maybe you marry that one. Maybe you don't. But if you're sufficiently mature and ready to take that step then you better do it responsibly because there are many, many ways to prevent pregnancy or catching a disease and I already know you'll be too smart not to employ them.<br />
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I fear that even when you are grown up, a woman's sexuality and role in society will be far from a settled matter. It will feel unfair that so many people will be concerned with what you do with yourself. Know that your mother will always been in your corner to help you navigate the waters if you need my help, to make sure you are safe, and to make sure that you feel loved and in control of your autonomy, always.cdhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00406284020390728464noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1177347668382046150.post-79204964976112085932012-03-13T14:36:00.004-07:002012-03-13T14:36:52.098-07:00Nursing: A Brief Two Year Review<i>Ed.'s Note: We're more than a bit behind on monthly updates. And we've also flown past a birthday post due date. We'll get there. Promise. But first, some boob chat</i>.<br />
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<br />
After a punishing birth experience, some serious jaundice issues for baby, and more pain than I was prepared for, I sat in my OB's office convinced I was suffering from some sort of breast infection. Surely that was the cause of the fiery pain and abject discomfort I experienced with each, interminable nursing session. No dice. I was fine. It was the worst clean-bill of health I'd ever heard. There would be no magic medicine to ease the pain. My OB said it had taken her 6 weeks to get into the nursing groove. I had a 3 week old daughter. I cried. And cried and cried. No way was I going to make it to 6 weeks. In the end, after one particularly nasty week with a nipple blister that caused me to sweat, writhe, and claw at the bed sheets while I nursed, it took a full 10 weeks until both she and I hit our stride on this whole feeding thing. So now, twenty-four (that's 24. double digits, y'all) months later, was it all worth it? What would I tell a friend about establishing and pursuing breastfeeding?<br />
<a name='more'></a>Well, I suppose, to borrow from <a href="http://www.theatlantic.com/magazine/archive/2009/04/the-case-against-breast-feeding/7311/?single_page=true">Hanna Rosin's still controversial article</a>: <b>Breast feeding is only free if a woman's time is worth nothing.</b><br />
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But let's back up a bit because that's putting the sippy cup before the nipple.<br />
<br />
<u>The challenges</u><br />
I faced some challenges that most women, fortunately, don't face when establishing and continuing nursing. First, the aforementioned marathon of sh*t birthing experience. Diagnosed with a rare and rarely, but possibly heartbreak causing pregnancy complication, my kid came early but only after 43 hours of medically-induced labor, 3 hours of pushing, and an eventual emergency C-section. I was a little off my game, then for the initial few hours and days of baby bonding. Eventually, I learned that me and my Medela were not destined to be buddies. Pumps and I don't mix. No one mentioned that I might not let-down for a pump. I assumed I would take a break or two during work and fill up a couple of bottles. I even bought a special storage box for the freezer to keep all of those bags of frozen liquid gold organized.<br />
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This pump problem led my kid to reverse-cycle, since I was determined to keep her exclusively on the boob juice but only pumped about 6 ounces per day, maximum, while I was at work. So she had one meal while I was gone (for the equivalent amount of time she would've slept without eating at night), and then ate a normal daily amount when I was home, which was overnight. So we became a family-bed family. Never say never!<br />
<br />
<u>The stress</u><br />
It seemed there was always something stressing me out. Getting a latch and dealing with pain. The hours and hours and hours of clusterfeeding and entrapment on the couch. Transitioning to work with zero milk supply in the freezer. Pumping at work. Trying to politely decline the million bits of advice on how to increase my supply when I didn't have a supply problem - I had a let-down problem. Trying to navigate family opinions on my dedication to nursing, on bedsharing, on sleeping-through-the-night-or-lack-thereof. Then introducing solid food. Of continuing to defend my choices about nursing as the months passed and she grew older. Learning to nurse in public or just away from the safety of the couch. There was always something. Always.<br />
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<u>The choices</u><br />
It's hard to make statements about nursing without feeling like you're being perceived as judging others just by making the choices you've made. If you can't unravel that sentence: I mean it's hard to talk about nursing with other friends who have - through choice or circumstance - ended, or never begun, nursing their own babies.<br />
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I suppose, on some levels, my hell-bent commitment to nursing was driven by what I felt were failures during the birthing process. Had I really tried hard enough on every push? Had I "dogged it" like I had dogged those runs around the parade field during soccer practice when I was 11? Fine, I would nurse the hell out of this child, no matter what. Screw anyone who gets in my way! But in truth, my commitment wavered plenty and the thought, "why are you still doing this to yourself" came up frequently.<br />
<br />
My kid still had colds. Breast milk wasn't a magic elixir that kept her protected from all germs. She did go for over two weeks without pooping for a period of a month and a half or so. No, she wasn't constipated. No, I didn't believe that could happen either. Yes, I'd still think something was wrong with a kid in that situation, but it's true, it happened.<br />
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<u>Nursing in public</u><br />
I had steeled myself for battle. I had read the internet-spread anecdotes of women shamed for nursing in public - asked to leave restaurants, admonished to think of the children. I had a quiver of pointed comebacks at the ready. <br />
<u> </u><br />
The first time I really nursed in public without wrestling with those stupid, frustrating hooter hider contraptions was at a Picture People at the Roseville Galleria. It was a bit of a turning point for me. From then on, my kid was going to eat whenever and wherever she needed to eat. And I never had so much as a side-eye or snide remark from anyone. The internets were wrong! I certainly, vehemently believe nursing moms must continue to normalize and model the practice. There still aren't enough women out there with a boob out. There are still too many rushed "but of course, I mean, if you do it discreetly" apologies tacked on to the practice. And too many women register for and receive those infernal hooter hiders that reinforce the "of course, just be discreet" message. Maybe we'll get there eventually. I don't know.<br />
<br />
Of course, key for me really living the public nursing life was finally figuring out how to nurse when my baby was in a carrier. Mei Tais and our Ergo were worth their weight in gold for the freedom they gave me, not only to avoid having to find an elevator and a ramp everywhere, but to continue activities while feeding and calming my child. Hands-free! Not blue tooth, but milk tooth, I suppose.<br />
<br />
<u>Would you I do it again? What would I tell a similar woman about to birth her first child</u>?<br />
<br />
This is tough. Really tough.<br />
<br />
First, I think, at my core, I am suspicious of formula. But I can't be suspicious of the choice to use that. This brings us back to Rosin's astute observation that nursing is only free if a woman's time is worth nothing. Nursing is frequently hailed as "Free" - and, I suppose, since you don't have to go buy it at Target, it is free. Except that, because you can't go buy it at Target, it's not free. Time is money, especially for working moms. It also takes an intangible toll: less time networking, less time attending after work events; it can affect business travel; it can affect work relationships generally. Because not every woman can merely pump and leave her baby with a supply of fresh milk, pretty much every decision about planning one's day can be compromised or made more complicated by a decision to pursue exclusively one's own breast milk as the source of baby's sole nutrition.<br />
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The tide is shifting in many communities today, based on sound research, that processed foods maybe aren't doing great things for our longevity and quality of life. Formula is the ultimate processed food at arguably the most vulnerable stage of life. So there's that concern, too.<br />
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I suppose, what's hardest about this particular topic is that its nearly impossible to decry the negative aspects of formula feeding without being perceived as judging parents who rely on it for a host of reasons, voluntary and involuntary. Really, our ire should be focused on the institutions and cultural beliefs that both block nursing and celebrate science's chemical alternative. But we don't so focus - we're happy enough to beat each other bloody in this debate.<br />
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I wish there were human milk banks accessible to all women. I wish there were a thriving human milk industry, but there's not. What does exist is a largely informal and always tenuous underground swap market. I was blessed by milk donations from friends and family that saved our exclusively-breast-milk plan on several occasions. There must be a way to make this an industry in a way that is safe and free of exploitation of the women who produce to supply it. But, aside from the current legal and logistical barriers to wider milk banking or sharing, we've yet to beat back the "but that's too Hand That Rocks The Cradle" reaction to feeding a child non-familial milk. Somehow, powdered other-animal milk remains far preferable.<br />
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What would I tell other women? That I support the choice that gets you from your child's birthday to their future in the way that best works for you. But that if you want to commit to nursing, cowgirl the hell up and get ready for some major obstacles.<br />
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If I did it again - and I don't think I will be - I assume I'd have the same pump issues. If I had the same pump issues, I freely admit I would turn to donor milk or even to formula because I'd like to see if I can avoid another reverse-cycling situation. And how many opportunities did I miss because I had to rush home to nurse? That's not unimportant. I didn't grow up planning my wedding and I didn't grow up planning how I would mother - so blithe "whatever is best for the baby" is far too simple an attitude for the complex decisions facing parents.<br />
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<u>In the end</u><br />
I nursed my child from her birth day until sometime on the night of March 6, 2011. That's just over two years. Subtract two weeks she was in England if you must. And add the one week or so of 1 ounce formula supplementation directed by an LC/RN to help get us past jaundice issues if you must. She was exclusively fed breast milk from birth (save disclosure above) until about eight and a half months. She was fed on demand. She was fed in public. When she got some words, she called it "mup." She was sad to see it go.<br />
<u> </u><br />
I think I'll always have a complicated relationship with nursing - both my own experience and generally. I wish more women were able to engage in longer-term, exclusive nursing relationships, but there are <a href="http://www.bestforbabes.org/what-are-the-booby-traps">so many booby traps making that nearly impossible</a>, it's impressive that anyone can do it. My most fervent wishes for the future of nursing in America are 1) that women see the call to increase nursing not as a criticism of them or of their choices, but a criticism of the culture and market that limits the true range of choices and then hopes they don't notice those limitations and 2) that publicly nursing moms become an every day sight.<br />
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So long, mup. So long nursing pillow. So long nursing bras and tanks. So long to a lot of what has been our - mine and my daughter's - everyday life for two years. I'm looking forward to what comes next.cdhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00406284020390728464noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1177347668382046150.post-39299171578648599272012-01-06T15:09:00.000-08:002012-01-06T15:09:05.462-08:00The Fidg at 22 monthsI'm still looking for the right photo to match this post. And I'm still looking for the Fidg at 21 months. Time isn't my friend these days, my little one.<br />
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It's 2012 and you are two months shy of two years old. You speak in sentences now. Sometimes they seem very complex for someone so little.<br />
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This week, we weathered our first bout of family stomach flu. It was a New Year's gift from your god-cousin, Lucas. We knew what we were risking and gambled anyway. Sorry about that. I'm usually a real stickler for minimizing exposure, not sure why I rolled the dice this time except we so rarely get to see your godmommy, Debbie, that we went for it. I'm still glad we were able to visit with her. It's been a long, trying week. I'm not sure when the house will feel germ-free again. This was, without a doubt, the part of parenting I've dreaded since . . . always.<br />
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But enough of that, let's get on to what I wanted to say to you at this time of new beginnings and yearly renewal. <br />
<a name='more'></a>I've been thinking about resolutions - everyone does at this time of year and 90% of those resolutions involve hitting the gym and recommitting to fitness. This is why I take January off from the gym. That and I'm lazy.<br />
<br />
But it's made me think about things I'd like for you - if I could resolve to do things on your behalf (meaning both to do things for you and to make promises for you). These are some important things I want for you. I'm sure I've mentioned some before, but I'll repeat them anyway:<br />
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1.) Learn to write and write often. There is no other skill in the world that will get you farther or get you more than writing clearly, effectively, and, if you can, beautifully, too.<br />
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2.) Art is the only permanent thing and the only universal truth. Art is pretty hard to define. It's beautiful, though frequently in unconventional ways. Maybe I mean beauty is the only universal truth and it's most frequently captured in art, which can take many forms and be conveyed in many media.<br />
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3.) After art, I think Olympic accomplishment is a universal truth. Your mom's a sucker for the Olympic games. They may not be pure these days, but if there is a medal given to someone who hasn't used some unfair means of bettering herself or where the judging isn't questionable, then that's true human accomplishment.<br />
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4.) Don't get bogged down in things. You come from a line of people prone to saving receipts because they might be needed or that dinner was particularly memorable. Maybe there'll be a museum dedicated to me in the future and that receipt will be important, but probably not. Don't save too many receipts. Don't buy too many things from the dollar bin. Don't buy a large house when a small one is fine. Don't get wrapped up in your stuff. It will take up too much of your time. Little of it will be art and, as we've discussed, art is lasting. The other stuff might be around a long time, but it won't be to your advantage.<br />
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5.) Money is freedom. Some people might argue with this. There are many idioms about money: it doesn't buy happiness. It doesn't buy love. I firmly believe, however, it can buy you freedom. Freedom from having to work to pay your debts. Freedom from having to work for someone or something you don't like. Freedom from worry about things like obtaining healthcare, food, or shelter. Freedom to ensure your friends, loved ones, and fellow man can access healthcare, food, or shelter. You can do a lot with money, but make sure you are using it as a tool and it's not using you as a slave. Your mom has violated the crap out of items 4 and 5 on this list and my pursuit of stuff has rendered me with much less money and, therefore, much less freedom. I hope, desperately, to teach you to be unlike me in these regards.<br />
<br />
6.) You really probably should work to your potential but don't confuse that with work efficiently. Let mommy tell you about the frogs. See, in kindergarten, there was an assignment to count the number of frogs on a worksheet, write the number on the line, and then color in the frogs. So mommy counted the frogs (there were twenty), wrote the number down, and then took an orange crayon and colored across the whole sheet of paper which had the effects of coloring all the frogs without having to spend time on each individually. My teacher was displeased. I couldn't understand the problem since the frogs were now colored and I was the first to finish my assignment. This has always struck me as my defining anecdote but my view on what it means changes sometimes. I still think working efficiently is best. But make sure you're going to something productive with that saved time. All the times I got away with taking the shorter route because I was blessed to write A papers the night before they were do or cram for the last minute to get a good-enough grade on the test, well, that might have made me less able to really buckle down and put in effort where I wanted to make something the best I could make it. Look at mommy's attempt at crafts, you'll see what I mean. Mommy wants to do more, it's just hard for her to actually do more. I think there's potential I'm not meeting and, after hearing that I should be working to my full potential so frequently as a child, it's finally registering as perhaps an important thing to do. Or it was all lies designed to get me to have a healthy self-esteem. Who knows.<br />
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7.) Have patience. It's very, very hard for your mommy and she has a feeling that all this rushing will eventually be shown to have been pointless and she'll be a super-bummed 80-something year old.cdhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00406284020390728464noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1177347668382046150.post-68326484989317292712011-12-20T14:09:00.001-08:002011-12-20T14:09:43.529-08:00Merry Christmas, Baby<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgV3u_tFbsNbA7OLwuztaidUfFgwA4gYWv4iNZGnl_gM8F0ahRwW3F5UYfFToLk5F96TWDSOSuy9nT2Og9sFG7KSq23vFU7GkolDtbp1s9JZQGtvf0WXTfm2EVNo_SkJFRhyQxLildOw9c/s1600/santa+photo.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgV3u_tFbsNbA7OLwuztaidUfFgwA4gYWv4iNZGnl_gM8F0ahRwW3F5UYfFToLk5F96TWDSOSuy9nT2Og9sFG7KSq23vFU7GkolDtbp1s9JZQGtvf0WXTfm2EVNo_SkJFRhyQxLildOw9c/s640/santa+photo.jpg" width="456" /></a></div>
<br />cdhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00406284020390728464noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1177347668382046150.post-2537794715462712892011-11-29T15:34:00.001-08:002011-11-29T15:52:44.555-08:00The Fidg at 20.9 months (mommy is really behind)<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgI0ErXHW2XTCZ5gkJFENU746CjCyDqdaXgkdjBHnCVXlijSw3LL1p4Xf5OWQCrDbzT73PT8QJcC95GO8LdTRS3z9j4SLfoRL527y9R4mvoKS4HS3TL6hBnLvnCgSfxB0SUMdgjT1ktoGg/s1600/headshot.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgI0ErXHW2XTCZ5gkJFENU746CjCyDqdaXgkdjBHnCVXlijSw3LL1p4Xf5OWQCrDbzT73PT8QJcC95GO8LdTRS3z9j4SLfoRL527y9R4mvoKS4HS3TL6hBnLvnCgSfxB0SUMdgjT1ktoGg/s1600/headshot.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Your cousins have been cropped form this photo. Hope your Auntie isn't mad about that.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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So, kid, I was late on your 19 month and now, on the eve of your 21st month post, I'm just getting to your 20th month post and I still have yet to write up a proper Disneyland trip recap (from early October). Sigh. Such is life, kid. I've fallen right off the blog wagon. If you flashed back to me in 2004 or so, you'd find that statement hard to believe. Those were early blog days, my dear. On the cusp between the first internet and the 2.0 era. These terms won't mean anything to you, I'm sure. Sort of like explaining Compuserve or Prodigy to most people today. Or Z TV. Or the ON channel. Something like these things will rise in your lifetime and be replaced by something else. I can't imagine what. Your dad would probably say it'll be roll-up screens so you can have an actual virtual book or magazine in your pocket, not the rigid tablet that are ALL the rage this holiday season. Kindle Fire - will it be your Zack Morris phone? Your Atari?<br />
<a name='more'></a><br />
This phase of your life is mostly about verbal development. Physically, while you are growing taller and your cheeks are slightly less chompy and your hair is still not pig-tail-able, you've sort of plateaued. Oh, except that after months of trying to achieve jump lift-off, you finally have. You can jump now and you love. it. You love it a lot. You'll jump up and down and across the room. Jump jump jump. Last week you started Tumblebunnies (or pumbletummies) toddler gym classes where there are giant, long trampolines and having seen the videos, well, it seems like a baby's dream come true. All that bouncing. You're nuts for it, you are.<br />
<br /> <br />
You also play a mean harmonica solo. And you have started singing. You sing along to some Gideon Kahn songs your daddy plays you during mealtimes and dance times. And you sing this song that one of your toys plays:<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<i>It's fun to hear you laugh and sing</i><br />
<i>Learning while you play</i><br />
<i>And when I see your smiling face</i><br />
<i>This is what I say:</i><br />
<i><br /></i> <br />
<i>I love you, I love you</i><br />
<i>Morning, noon, and night</i><br />
<i>I love you, I Love! you</i><br />
<i>You make my world so bright.</i></blockquote>
<br />
Except your version is sorta:<br />
<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<i>Fun noo heree oo laff an ing</i><br />
<i>lening wi ooo payyyy</i><br />
<i>An en I see you smiying face</i><br />
<i>Dis iss wha I sayyyy</i><br />
<i><br /></i> <br />
<i>I laffff you I lafff you</i><br />
<i>Moring oon and ight</i><br />
<i>I lafff you I laAFFFF OOU</i><br />
<i>You ma my wod so brighhhhh</i></blockquote>
<br />
Approximately.<br />
<br /> <br />
The language development is something I knew I'd be really keen on since before you were born and you're not disappointing. You try most words out loud now and pick them up quickly. You've started with short sentences. "Daddy is?" "Mommy is?" And over the past two days "Mommy, where arreeeee ouuuuuuu?" in a very sing-songy voice. Don't even know where that one came from. And of course, you still ape daddy's "ummmm" when you we ask you a question you don't know the immediate (or any) answer to. Also, about a month ago now, you one day just stopped calling me mama and moved to Mommy. That's cool. Daddy has been daddy pretty consistently. And now when you wake at night you can call for someone by name which is simultaneously cute, heartbreaking, and annoying. (Truth.)<br />
<br /> <br />
You show no signs of being ready to ditch nursing. I can't believe we're coming up on 2 years of this nursing business. I didn't think I'd make it to 6 weeks, let alone over 80. Yikes. And for the most part, we all still sleep together for most of the night. It's not ideal, but then again, I can't blame you - I mean - who doesn't want to snuggle with people all night? Everyone wants to snuggle with people all night because snuggling is awesome. I assume that once we're past nursing we'll be able to merge you into your crib for a full night and, probably distressingly soon, a big girl bed. We've already purchased that, btw. It's going to be painted turquoise for you and it's going to be awesome. I hope. But who knows when you'll sleep in it.<br />
<br /> <br />
This still doesn't really cover your accomplishments over the last month (or two). I'll try to get back on this wagon, my dear, but if you wonder what keeps me from focusing more on, well, anything, just grab a mirror.<br />cdhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00406284020390728464noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1177347668382046150.post-52028864959512895272011-11-02T09:23:00.000-07:002011-11-02T09:23:29.709-07:00Pinterest Challenge - I actually did it!At the risk of blowing Christmas gift surprises (mom, stop reading!), here's my entry into the fall Pinterest <a href="http://www.younghouselove.com/2011/10/its-baaaack/">Challenge</a>.<br />
<br />
I had pinned this project (first seen <a href="http://www.centsationalgirl.com/2011/10/dot-painted-dishes/">here</a>, then pinned from <a href="http://ashleyannphotography.com/blog/2010/11/12/diy-painting-on-ceramic-and-porcelain/">here</a>, and recreated in part from templates found <a href="http://www.marthastewart.com/268832/dot-painted-china">here</a>)<br />
<br />
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<a href="http://pinterest.com/pin/428467602/" target="_blank"><img border="0" height="227" src="http://d30opm7hsgivgh.cloudfront.net/upload/110690103311027302_JGV7O3Gl_c.jpg" width="554" /></a></div>
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Source: <a href="http://ashleyannphotography.com/blog/2010/11/12/diy-painting-on-ceramic-and-porcelain/" style="color: #76838b; font-size: 10px; text-decoration: underline;">ashleyannphotography.com</a> via <a href="http://pinterest.com/fidgetface/" style="color: #76838b; font-size: 10px; text-decoration: underline;" target="_blank">Christiana</a> on <a href="http://pinterest.com/" style="color: #76838b; text-decoration: underline;" target="_blank">Pinterest</a></div>
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But, could I, and more importantly, would I, actually do this myself? Look, I did it!
<br />
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<a href="http://pinterest.com/pin/428489177/" target="_blank"><img border="0" height="312" src="http://d30opm7hsgivgh.cloudfront.net/upload/110690103311027309_Jz3KPbFx_c.jpg" width="554" /></a></div>
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<div style="color: #76838b; font-size: 10px;">
Source: <a href="http://draft.blogger.com/blogger.g?blogID=1177347668382046150" style="color: #76838b; font-size: 10px; text-decoration: underline;">Uploaded by user</a> via <a href="http://pinterest.com/fidgetface/" style="color: #76838b; font-size: 10px; text-decoration: underline;" target="_blank">Christiana</a> on <a href="http://pinterest.com/" style="color: #76838b; text-decoration: underline;" target="_blank">Pinterest</a></div>
</div>
<br />
<br />
A pitcher and a little sugar packet holder to beautify my Splenda stash.
Crappy pictures, but fun project! I used <a href="http://en.pebeo.com/Creative-leisure/Decorate-surfaces/Porcelaine-150">the recommended pens</a>, purchased at Michaels, and was impressed . . . by the ones that actually worked.<br />
<br />
There were limited colors available and of the assortment I purchased, several weren't working at all, which was frustrating. But I was able to make do with the ones that did work properly. They were baked to cure them last night and I did the fingernail test on the fatter black dots in the pitcher's flowers. Didn't budge!<br />
<br />
I have a few other pieces to make and ideas for what to put on them. Ross was a great resource for inexpensive porcelain pieces (I was careful to select on the ones labeled porcelain or that clearly said oven-safe on them, just in case), though I noted at least one of the pens I purchased (the peridot green) said it air-cured in 72 hours. It air-cured but then got baked as well. Seems to have done fine. So, uh, Merry Christmas, friends and family! And hooray to me for actually completing a project!cdhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00406284020390728464noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1177347668382046150.post-7540958446931691602011-10-27T15:54:00.000-07:002011-11-02T09:24:44.048-07:00On birthingI read <a href="http://melissaneal.blogspot.com/2010/06/becketts-birth-story.html">this</a> today:<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
If you've never gone through unmedicated labor before, there is no way
you can understand the urges your body has to birth a baby. I had no
idea how natural it would be to want to push. How irresistible.</blockquote>
That's not true. <br />
<br />
Darling daughter, if you decide to have children, I want you to know that the above statement is not true. It may be true for some women, but not for all women. It may be true in some situations, but not in all situations. I was medicated and you were born via c-section, but by God, I felt the urges fully. I felt the need to push. I felt the phases of consciousness change. I felt it all.cdhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00406284020390728464noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1177347668382046150.post-72643845094301665442011-10-20T12:04:00.000-07:002011-10-20T12:04:35.209-07:00You are a child of 9/11. You are not a child of 9/11<i>(this was started on 9/11/01 but not finished until over a month later.)</i> <br />
<br />
Checking the parent blog, I find that my recounting of Where I Was seems to have been lost in the big comments crash of ought-whatever. I've only touched on 9/11 a few times <a href="http://www.phoblographer.com/2004/09/three-years-later.html">over</a> <a href="http://www.phoblographer.com/2006/09/one-more-on-bush-911-in-election-year.html">there</a>.<br />
<br />
So here's my 9/11 story. Here are my thoughts about what it meant, what it means, and how it ties into to your story.<br />
<a name='more'></a>In May, 2001, I graduated from college. I spent the next 5 months being a camp counselor and working out at the Y. I had a fellowship in the State Assembly lined up, but that didn't start until October. In early September, 2001, I took a road trip up to Sacramento to meet a prospective roommate and find some housing.<br />
<br />
I rented a car since my 1984 Mercury Marquis wasn't up for the trip. It was a white Ford Focus. I didn't realize the difference between newer and older cars until I looked at the speedometer on the 110N in downtown LA and realized I was going 100mph because the car hadn't alerted me to my speed by shaking when I hit 82mph.<br />
<br />
My first stop was at your Auntie Jacqui's house. Back then, they were living in a very rural part of Watsonville - up in the hills, off the grid, secluded and hard to reach in a storm. It was a cute, small house, with a view of the hills and valleys below where the tap water was too nitrate-rich to consume and your Uncle Chris had to haul their garbage away. I remember thinking, at night, staring out the windows into the pitch-blackness, that an ax-murderer or other danger was surely lurking just beyond the warm glow of the house lights.<br />
<br />
After a day or two in Santa Cruz and Watsonville, I set off for what ended up being a much longer than anticipated drive to Sacramento to meet a potential roommate and check out a potential house. The meeting was short and productive and we agreed that I'd move in at the start of my program in about a month. It was a darling 2 bedroom cottage in a small neighborhood I later came to know as the Thrifty Thirties in East Sac. A large red dog, two mostly ill-tempered cats, and a nice roomie lived there. It was a lucky find.<br />
<br />
I spent that night with my friend Alecia - you know, Lola's mommy (long before there was a Lola, of course). She lived in a cute apartment in Midtown carved from a larger old home. The sink had two taps - one hot and one cold. I found that odd (foreshadowing to life with English daddy and the English predilection for outfitting even new houses with two taps). There was a shooter or a murderer or something loose in Sacramento (probably not in Midtown) that I found slightly alarming. I went to bed. It was September 9.<br />
<br />
The next day, having acquired housing more quickly than I thought, I set off for Watsonville to spend some extra time enjoying the coast and summer weather. I don't remember what we did that evening. I remember going to bed on the old futon in the front room. It was September 10.<br />
<br />
The next morning, your Auntie Jacqui gently nudged by shoulder and said "you might want to get up, there's, like, major world events unfolding," and I followed her to the couch and television.<br />
<br />
The timeline gets a bit fuzzy here. I know your Auntie told me she had only gone to the TV because what she'd heard on her regular BBC radio news feed that awakened her each morning confused her. Something about an attack on the World Trade Center and she'd initially assumed it must have been an anniversary of the WTC bombing from years before. But the tenses weren't right.<br />
<br />
I can't recall if I was at the TV to watch the second plane strike or if the footage I saw was already a replay at that point.<br />
<br />
The house was so far off the path that cable was required for a good television signal. Due to a long-standing argument between affiliates and the cable provider, NBC wasn't available. Auntie really needed her NBC people to talk her through this. So did mommy. Uncle Chris was sent outside to rig up an antenna to give us more feeds.<br />
<br />
At some point, we called your grandparents, though I don't remember talking to them that morning. I tried to call my ex-boyfriend and then-best friend but he wouldn't answer his phone. I talked to my friend Rich, at school in North Carolina. I remember his fear. We were both scared for Washington, DC. We both love the Capitol in a way (we felt) few people do and worrying about its fate kept us on edge. He swore he'd never watch CBS again. Their cameras lingered on the people above the impact zones. The ones gasping for air at shattered windows. Looking for salvation. Jumping when it was a better option than dying by flames and smoke. I missed most of that footage. I'm not sure I'd have been able to absorb it anyway.<br />
<br />
Newscasters were wondering whether the buildings would fall. They leaned precariously and I remember thinking, well, of course they were going to fall. Of course they would. Then they did. And for a few moments, it felt like it was over. It was still.<br />
<br />
We watched all day. Your aunt and uncle went to work but came home again. Jacqui brought McDonalds for lunch because . . . well, just because. We watched into the evening though there wasn't anything else to see. I remember the paper - so much paper - blowing around lower Manhattan. And the strange chirping noise I later learned were the sound of sirens clogged with dust.<br />
<br />
That night, the seclusion of the house no longer felt menacing. I felt glad to be well away from big cities, from urban threats.<br />
<br />
I stayed in northern California a few more days, eventually driving home later in the week. I don't think the airports were even open again by then. I remember pulling up at your grandparents' house and my mom coming out to the car and hugging me.<br />
<br />
You are a child of 9/11 because a lot of things changed that day. I discounted its effect on me until I really thought about it on this anniversary. I should note, we left town on this anniversary because I didn't want to marinate in all the 9/11 sadness and pomp flooding the airways. As my friend Bethany correctly quoted from the West Wing - we haven't yet learned to remember 9/11 without reliving it. I don't need to relive it. I don't need to remember because I haven't forgotten.<br />
<br />
After 9/11, our President led us into two wars. One arguably justified, the other, decidedly not. Mommy's reaction to the second war was anger. And she was living in a really liberal city at the time. Combined with a few other influences, she eventually quit law school to work on a Presidential campaign in West Virginia. This is still mommy's defining moment. <br />
<br />
Had she not - had she kept the same school schedule - she'd never have been in Lake Tahoe to meet your daddy that Sunday evening in May. And you'd never have existed. So there's a direct line from that day in September to this one.<br />
<br />
You are not a child of 9/11 because 9/11 didn't happen to everyone. Not the way we try to coopt its anguish. It affected our lives but didn't touch them - not for most of us, anyway. We are outside it's fiery penumbra. Yet we all seem to yearn for its pain. On this anniversary, I read statements from more than one directly-affected family that they couldn't wait for this date to pass. Each time that plane is shown hitting the building, said one woman, she's watching her son die. Again.<br />
<br />
It saddens me that there will surely be an event for your generation. I hope it affects but does not touch you. Each generation has one. Or more. Your great-grandfather stormed the beach at Normandy but would never speak of it. We may speak too much these days, but maybe you'll find the right balance.<br />
<br />
You are a child of 9/11. You are not a child of 9/11.cdhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00406284020390728464noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1177347668382046150.post-52217131406591367632011-10-20T11:37:00.000-07:002011-10-20T11:37:37.597-07:00+4<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrx46dIGgxraRGSp70iZRiXvPAPZwBiHI_tPcrE5HJdpCxVWc7YNYSCUhD9_BcEQe82YKYOZm60oUjJrurIUzPjMTtALjzekACYiqJ_VhLnXehBquqghhV1nsVPGhRXURY5eLXF3NtbP8/s1600/2005955716_97d59ff413_o.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrx46dIGgxraRGSp70iZRiXvPAPZwBiHI_tPcrE5HJdpCxVWc7YNYSCUhD9_BcEQe82YKYOZm60oUjJrurIUzPjMTtALjzekACYiqJ_VhLnXehBquqghhV1nsVPGhRXURY5eLXF3NtbP8/s640/2005955716_97d59ff413_o.jpg" width="427" /></a></div>
<br />
Four years ago today, your daddy and I made it offical. This was great for several reasons. First, we loved each other. Second, he needed a green card. (Kidding, USCIS/ICE! Well, I mean, he did, but that wasn't the reason we . . . nevermind, you guys have no sense of humor.) Third, we really like cake and man, did we ever get a good one at this party. A few years later, poof, you existed, deaf Fidg. First comes love, then comes marriage, then comes little time to date and more challenging travel. But the love and marriage are still there and that's no small thing these days. Lately, when daddy and I kiss good-bye in the morning, you, from your perch on daddy's arm, stretch out your arms and squish our heads together for encore kisses. Repeatedly. If that's your way of asking for a sibling, it's cute, but you're more likely to get a pony.cdhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00406284020390728464noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1177347668382046150.post-2944374775974571722011-10-20T11:30:00.000-07:002011-10-20T11:30:55.557-07:00The Fidget at 19.6 monts (mommy's a little behind)<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEKLLZx16-Oixbaq_ibszoYB91i6Hj4la5C0Yg63-o5aUqhW6QEUeiCJhUf12KdelYDuJaHvg_F8l4nT_Bcc1uQ1-endT1tbkCerXzU1XS0rSy_hc2BinX5Tnult6fFXXhaMbQoyv32SY/s1600/photo.PNG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEKLLZx16-Oixbaq_ibszoYB91i6Hj4la5C0Yg63-o5aUqhW6QEUeiCJhUf12KdelYDuJaHvg_F8l4nT_Bcc1uQ1-endT1tbkCerXzU1XS0rSy_hc2BinX5Tnult6fFXXhaMbQoyv32SY/s400/photo.PNG" width="266" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">No, you don't need these yet, but given your parents, it's only a matter of time.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
So, this is going to be short and we'll just do-it-up for the 20 month post - but your little blog has been woefully neglected lately. Because why? I started a new job? Guests? Travel? General laze - ding! winner!<br />
<br />
You're certainly more of your own person every day. You like to impress upon us this fact as frequently as you can. Normally, this is done with a combination of kicking and yelling. But you're as sweet as you are feisty - not a bad combination. (Though, if you're curious, more sweet would be welcomed, too).<br />
<br />
Your Auntie Sarah came to visit in mid-September and compiled a grand list of Fidget words. I'm still - a-hem - waiting on their being emailed to me, but suffice to say, you have lots and lots now and you're more willing each day to try your mouth at a new one, or two, or even short phrases or sentences. Daddy believes your first sentence was "me sleepy." Other short sentences now include "it's okay baby" (these are all sort of one-worded slurs of sentences, but we know what you're saying) - you offer this to any fussing child we come across, mimicking our reaction to crying babies in books where mommy says "it's okay baby!" and pets the book-babies to calm them. You're pretty cute when you try to do the same in real life. <br />
<br />
It's only lately that I've begun to realize we're done with baby things and that you certainly aren't the bald ball of pudge you were this time last year. Each day your legs seem to stretch and your proportions morph from baby to toddler to kid. I forget how young you still are as often as I forget how old you are. The ever-changing temporal aspects of parenting still trip me up.<br />
<br />
Sadly, I find that parenting your new personality doesn't always bring out the best in me, but I'll work on it, kiddo, I promise. Patience was never my virtue, though I think I had gotten better at it for a time. I've regressed now, to put it mildly. Lucky for you, your daddy is far, far more patient. Hopefully, once you're past this innately impatient time in your life, you'll take after him.<br />
<br />
More on these fluid few months soon.cdhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00406284020390728464noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1177347668382046150.post-5979077926284332582011-09-06T08:56:00.000-07:002011-09-06T08:56:14.133-07:00The Fidg at 18 months (that's 1.5 years)<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3KjzR5FaQZHyPT4_mjb3A2MBA_NDiGyrqp6Oku0BnNFyLVMOI9qIlESXwrLNA1LbitWoD3A8z3890d5KYOye1rJBR7Q0_MhmIJBEJubglH-ipDmzlG2tAbmCcJzEd2SXSU-oeG_q03lA/s1600/photo+2.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="298" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3KjzR5FaQZHyPT4_mjb3A2MBA_NDiGyrqp6Oku0BnNFyLVMOI9qIlESXwrLNA1LbitWoD3A8z3890d5KYOye1rJBR7Q0_MhmIJBEJubglH-ipDmzlG2tAbmCcJzEd2SXSU-oeG_q03lA/s400/photo+2.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
<br />
This is a pretty good illustration of you these days. The word on the street is "mercurial." Such is the toddler way, however, and as sad as your sads can be is as happy as your happies are, so I'll take it. The words are multiplying daily - we can understand them, though maybe not everyone. You have a funny way of first trying a word to yourself, sort of inside your mouth behind closed lips. Then you'll venture out and about with the word. Yesterday it was "lamp." <br />
<br />
This post is a few days late and, for now, short, because this is a time of transition for mommy. Mommy doesn't do so well with change, but she's working on it. But it has put me behind on some projects - like this record. On the brighter side, though, we did get to spend a few quality weeks together - one all on our lonesome as daddy went to the Bonneville Salt Flats with Martin (you remember Martin, the one you scowled at for most of his visit? But then would also high-five? Yeah, him). You're a pretty exhausting little kid, but I love the always increasing level of interaction and inquisitiveness. You're growing. It's not too-fast for now, but maybe it will be in retrospect.cdhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00406284020390728464noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1177347668382046150.post-68776098653142165832011-08-26T23:21:00.000-07:002011-08-26T23:21:49.246-07:00One Year LaterMonterey Bay Aquarium 2010 and 2011<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4w3oxbS2ZMO6rlj3KiCeDiRM5MItDG6Sy3kLnH8y5Xm6os5U5FE8qdjrKBD0tjao-dt_DCZXonQw643qovJUDht1WWKW6mXkP6YNsspdLpO5jszcf7aY5y4stuEygGywra_DbbCu3Hxo/s1600/clamshells.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4w3oxbS2ZMO6rlj3KiCeDiRM5MItDG6Sy3kLnH8y5Xm6os5U5FE8qdjrKBD0tjao-dt_DCZXonQw643qovJUDht1WWKW6mXkP6YNsspdLpO5jszcf7aY5y4stuEygGywra_DbbCu3Hxo/s640/clamshells.jpg" width="405" /></a></div>
<br />cdhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00406284020390728464noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1177347668382046150.post-77065180008662011872011-08-15T16:02:00.000-07:002011-08-15T16:02:01.345-07:00Words as Images, Images as Words: by genderToy advertisements, <a href="http://www.wordle.net/show/wrdl/3372936/Words_Used_in_Advertising_for_Girls%27_Toys">by gender</a>. Can you guess which is which? <br />
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<br />cdhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00406284020390728464noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1177347668382046150.post-52756569642698415962011-08-02T17:01:00.000-07:002011-08-02T17:01:38.440-07:00The Fidg at 17 months<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwvnacEzZF9AUSjCj8eDf3SPVm9GBZX9beCNt_fel-IzYDnVkVmJik9H7_PwjEP1wd3cXv3NGriIKR02k1AVcuC31BWkjxZplL4wKJhLBVzxtHysgMvGEBSgg68BFJLpfoko267xzgVxA/s1600/baseball6.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwvnacEzZF9AUSjCj8eDf3SPVm9GBZX9beCNt_fel-IzYDnVkVmJik9H7_PwjEP1wd3cXv3NGriIKR02k1AVcuC31BWkjxZplL4wKJhLBVzxtHysgMvGEBSgg68BFJLpfoko267xzgVxA/s640/baseball6.jpg" width="456" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Crazy like a Fidg. At Raley Field, July 31, 2011</td></tr>
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It's happening.<br />
<br />
You're teeth have come in. You know how to walk - to run! You're working on jumping. You dance. You've babbled for ages. But now . . . your words are coming.<br />
<br />
"Cat" has been a favorite for several months now. Still your first and best word (though we think maybe the nod should go to "tickle" or "ticka ticka" which you've been using even longer thanks to the book Tickle Tickle). Cat was joined by:<br />
<br />
Banana<br />
Cheese<br />
Shake<br />
Cookies<br />
Carrots<br />
Tickle (or followed this one)<br />
One definite use of "Din-saur" per George pig.<br />
Peppa (Peeeppa) as in pig<br />
Teddy<br />
Brown Bear (ba-beh)<br />
<br />
And just this past weekend, a definite, gleeful ownership and application of mama and dada. Pointing at us, calling the right person the right name. Chasing daddy down the street shouting dada dada dada! You're using your words and trying out more of them. I couldn't be happier. Mom likes to talk, so she wants you to enjoy it as well. And there's this lingering fear of whether your birth might have taken any sort of toll on you combined with normal parental worries about normal development. Words, to me, are a sign that your noggin' is doing its job.<br />
<br />
These new language skills, of course, aren't necessarily lowering your frustration at not being able to do things or explain things when you want to. The temper tantrums happen. Frequently. More when you're teething, we think. And those molars are coming in. Causing you to nurse more aggressively. Which mommy loves, of course. You swing back and forth between allowing us to change your diaper and actively thwarting all efforts toward cleaning your bottom. That's fun, we love that. Tons.<br />
<br />
It's hard to imagine that by this time next year we'll be having conversations. More of you will be unlocked to yourself and to us. Development is a magnificent thing to watch.<br />
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<br />cdhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00406284020390728464noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1177347668382046150.post-46461032120473865102011-07-18T11:26:00.000-07:002011-07-18T11:26:30.624-07:00prep·a·ra·tionSo maybe the storm sleeping isn't possible, however, don't let the previous post fool you into thinking that I'm wandering these streets morose, sad, and aching. <br />
<br />
You see, my job so far has required me, on many occasions, to east that transition between working and not-working for my clients. To remind them that it's just a job and jobs can be replaced. I am healthy. My daughter is healthy. No one died.<br />
<br />
I've seen clients fold up and cease functioning when faced with job loss. It's so bad to watch. That's not me. I listen to songs with new ears. I appreciate the world with new eyes. I am reminded that, no matter what, I really am in charge of my own life and I can do what I want to do. Even with the extra and important responsibilities of parenting. <br />
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<span class="st"><em>Montani Semper Liberi.</em></span><br />
<span class="st"><em><br /></em></span>cdhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00406284020390728464noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1177347668382046150.post-57073936949048957952011-07-15T22:21:00.000-07:002011-07-15T22:21:06.561-07:00I can['t] sleep through a stormIt's summertime. This causes thoughts of summer camp to dance in my head. One of my favorite things at camp were the evening devotions - the stories we tell campers to wind them down and get them to sleep. Give them a message to mull if they are old enough or just some soothingly spoken words to comfort them if they're littles.<br />
<br />
One story I remember well was called "I can sleep through a storm." A ranch hand looking for work approaches a farmer and answers every question with "I can sleep through a storm." Farmer is perplexed but hires him. One night, a few weeks later, a raging storm strikes and the farmer leaps from his bed and doesn't see the hand anywhere, he's angry, so he runs around the farm to find the animals safe in the barn, the hay covered, the plants protected, etc, etc. The hand is snug in his bed, snoozing away. The morale, duh: be prepared for the storm.<br />
<br />
Second storm reference: the end of Terminator/the paint ball episode of space, a character looks to the gathering clouds and says Viene Tormenta. A storm is coming.<br />
<br />
This was my facebook status on Wednesday afternoon when I heard my boss ask my neighbor to go get coffee with him.<br />
<br />
My boss doesn't go for coffee. He doesn't even drink coffee.<br />
<br />
And then he came for me.<br />
<a name='more'></a><br />
And laid me off. Just like that. After 5 years I get 30 days notice (which apparently was nearly just 2 weeks), no severance pay, but I get to take my cell number with me. No formal announcement has been sent to my client organizations yet and I don't think one will be. The three of us being let go will just fade away. We were helpful, thanks so much, and now we're gone.<br />
<br />
I flash back to the encounters I've had with others looking for work. That faint discomfort I felt - I can feel your desperation, your worry, your weakness, and I'm ignoring it. I can't pause to think about that right now. I'm bleeding improv-polished weakness all over the place. Via email to basically every contact I've ever made. Via facebook to all my friends. The outpouring of support is humbling. I feel empowered. I feel powerless.<br />
<br />
It's hard to pace myself right now. I'm everywhere at the same time. Is it available, here's my resume. My lack of focus is crashing around me and my head keeps hitting the rocks. I am 32. I will be unemployed. Do I take the first job? Do I gamble on the right job? What is that anyway. Rudderless. Aimless. Focused. Determined. Predatory. Emboldened. Fearful. Angry. Hurt. Betrayed. Unsurprised. Resigned. Finished.<br />
<br />
Thursday I drove to work like a rock star. The right songs came on the radio. Things were going to be okay. Today, I am less sure. But, because I'm me, I still don't believe this will last too long. Something will come. It just will. I am happy. I am sad. I am laid-off. "This economy" has become my economy.<br />
<br />
The final irony, of course, is that after all the worries and the negotiating and the PERB filings and the victories: none of my clients were laid off. They all kept their jobs. And I lost mine.<br />
<br />
Back to the storm and the sleeping. In April, I finally got on track. I was making plans and saving. Readying for the storm. But I started too late. I didn't sleep Wednesday. It's storming and I'm awake. The most I can hope for is a nap.cdhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00406284020390728464noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1177347668382046150.post-72960643560945996662011-07-12T16:52:00.000-07:002011-07-12T16:52:59.225-07:00New Shoes<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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The little Roobez mocs were leaving the worst pressure marks on your little ankles, so it was time for some new shoes. It was 103 as we headed out to Arden Fair Mall and the Stride Right store that had shut its doors two months prior, according to the helpful woman in The Children's Place. But Nordstrom sells them, she said, so off we went.<br />
<br />
Third floor, children's shoes - both a wondrous and disconcerting place. Look! Mini shell-toes! Look! all the girls' shoes are spangled, shimmery, pink.<br />
<br />
You have big feet, I fear, and that's my fault. The woman came to measure your feet and you must have worried this was some sort of doctor's office because the tears sprang immediately from your eyes. The sales woman ran off to get a balloon and came back with a pink one - of course - which held your interest until she insisted on touching the small plastic measuring plate to your foot again. More tears, but she had your number and scurried back to get some shoes to try.<br />
<br />
In the meantime, a little girl of 4 or 6 who might have had some developmental delays came over to us from her spot at the coloring table, intent on capturing your balloon as her prize. Her red harness strap dragged along the carpet behind her, wrapping around her foot once or twice as she stopped to ponder a baby TOMS.<br />
<br />
She reached your balloon and your mood darkened again. "Emily, no!" her mother said sternly, fatigue slipping between the syllables. You held your balloon. <br />
<br />
Emily then though you would like to color and grabbed your wrist in both hands and started to pull. You pulled back and looked to me with mostly anger written on your face, upset rising again in your lungs. Her mother intervened and you were saved.<br />
<br />
Trying on shoes was much less daunting than sizing. You sat in my lap while the sales woman and I urged you to uncurl your toes. A size 6. There were pink glitter converse and some nice See Kai Run mary janes (also pink - the palest tone no playground would let survive). In the end, I opted for some $40 Stride Rite shoes with an acceptable level of glitter in a non-offensive silver and gray. With hints of pink. You tap danced in them immediately and wore them home, just as I wore home every new shoe purchase I can recall as a child. You danced in them some more in the kitchen for daddy, enjoying the new sounds your new shoes make.<br />
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<br />cdhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00406284020390728464noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1177347668382046150.post-52530389494264239182011-07-12T16:35:00.000-07:002011-07-12T16:35:16.323-07:00The Fidg at 16 months<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<br />
Mom's a little late on this one.<br />
<br />
You're 16 months old now. We just celebrated your second 4th of July in East Sac style, just the way mom likes it. You had fun. Eventually. Here you are crying on your stroller. I'm still not sure why and though it was wrong of us, we laughed a bit at your expense and took you picture. Twice. To be fair, we didn't realize you were crying initially. But you were. I think you were tired and hot and overwhelmed. Maybe teething, too, that's usually a safe bet.<br />
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<br />
Poor little Fidget.<br />
<br />
Lately, you've become quite the mimic. You feed your toys and brush your teeth and are just starting to follow along to "head, shoulders, knees and toes." Watching your development remains lots of fun. Cat is still your favorite and most frequent word, but there are others. "Fan" is a biggie. At a recent Twilight Thursday at the Zoo, we went to see the giraffes. A keeper was there and feeding them leaves and they were SO close! So we ran up the platform ramp and I set you down. You went tearing off toward the other side of the platform, away from the giraffes. You pointed up and said "Fan! Fan! Fan!" at the ceiling fans swirling above. Atta girl.<br />
<br />
You might say mama now and you might mean it, but I'm not totally convinced.<br />
<br />
Last night, I was nursing you to sleep and you did something new. You didn't seem to want to sleep (not necessarily the new part). You rolled around the bed for a bit, eventually settling by my feet with your face half mashed under the pushed back covers. You mooched around on your side, flopped your arm across the comforter, and went to sleep. Just like that. I had no idea what to do with you. So I picked you up, causing some more squirming, and deposited you in your bed. You opened your eyes and I thought we'd surely be starting the whole process over again, but no, you just went back to sleep.<br />
<br />
I emerged from your room to find your father scrutinizing the label on a baby tylenol bottle from which we had just dosed you for teething pain by the light of his iPhone. It's fine, I assured him, you're just sleeping, it shouldn't be something we find so strange. But we worry - we do. It's our thing.<br />
<br />
You were fine, obviously. Though you did nap again today, in your crib, which is crazy. If this becomes a thing, that's fine. My theory is that you heard the neighbor talking about Ferber last night and decided that, to avoid that fate, you'd better just get with the program on your own.<br />
<br />
Or maybe you're weaning, which I had earlier be complaining about needing to happen anyway. And if you are, of course, I had an immediate pang of guilt - was I rushing you? Unlikely you understood, though. Basic commands, okay, but past that, not so sure. Hope not, in fact.<br />
<br />
You're growing, though, no doubt about that. More inches and pounds, more teeth. More words, more skills. More fear and more joy for mommy and daddy. And more stress. Just different. cdhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00406284020390728464noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1177347668382046150.post-52333721247416974442011-07-12T16:14:00.000-07:002011-07-12T16:14:56.580-07:00On ClassAll societies have classes. It's unfortunate, but true. At least as far as I can think. These days, there's a lot of bad news about the growing disparity between the lowest classes and the highest classes. Historically, this never leads to much good.<br />
<br />
You won't be aware of your own status for a long time. I suppose we're upper middle class. If there was still a professional class, maybe we'd be that, but I don't know that we are. I think our choices are low, lower-middle, middle, upper-middle, and rich. And crazy rich.<br />
<br />
I never felt my class until relatively recently. I guess that's good.<br />
<br />
I went to an expensive, elite college (that lately makes decisions making me question its level, but that's another post for another blog). I knew there were many kids there with more money in their backgrounds, but never did I care much or feel disadvantaged or poor. I felt fortunate when I enjoyed some nice trips or meals or travels by virtue of the richer aspects of the school's board and clientele. But still, I never felt different. Until last year.<br />
<br />
A really nice trip was organized, an alumni event, which I wanted to attend. It was so nice, however, that it was completely out of my price range. Even for a (formerly) credit-card happy person like me. It seemed needlessly exclusive. There's not much challenge in beefing up the price tag on something. You can always find a more expensive version of whatever you're looking for, from cars to furniture to food. So I complained. And it was explained to me that the event wasn't designed for me. It was designed for the people who like to spend money. Who need to spend a lot of money or they won't attend. Because if it costs too little, it will be lower class, lack value, and not be worth their time, I suppose. It's why the college books rooms at the Ritz for Alumni Weekend - because even though that hotel is in Pasadena, not Claremont, some people just need it.<br />
<br />
I never felt more like a scholarship kid.<br />
<br />
This is something I'm still working through.<br />
<br />cdhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00406284020390728464noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1177347668382046150.post-84134048826181388222011-07-12T16:03:00.000-07:002011-07-12T16:03:32.425-07:00Girl Questions, Sunroofs, Leaning In<a href="http://www.newyorker.com/reporting/2011/07/11/110711fa_fact_auletta?currentPage=all">I'm not sure what to make of this woman, over all</a>. For most of the article, I was angry with her. For part of it, I liked her.<br />
<br />
But I think her bit about "girl questions" will forever leave a bad taste in my mouth.<br />
<br />cdhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00406284020390728464noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1177347668382046150.post-60635163700842170382011-07-11T15:33:00.000-07:002011-07-11T15:33:07.044-07:00Running lateI'm 11 days behind on the 16 month post. <br />
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I'm also apparently like 32 years late on creating some sort of master plan or set of goals for myself. When I think about this, it becomes paralyzingly difficult to offer advice to my daughter. Good thing she's too young to retain much anyway.<br />
<br />
Aimlessly yours . . . .cdhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00406284020390728464noreply@blogger.com0