Set the washer on spin

Shortly after lunch everyday I become briefly comatose. The same unbending urge to fall asleep that plagued me during my younger years and caused me to fall asleep at my school desk with my mouth gaping still haunts me to this day. The children are used to it. They flutter around me like fireflies to a lamp post while I slouch back on the couch in my moment of biological shutdownedness. This blackout period lasts less than five minutes and when I awake from the magical slumber I've uncorked Energy. I feel rejuvenated in a way that always surprises and, after bringing the living room back into focus, I usually bound from the seat ready to take on multitudes of chores. After an hour or so, my good energy is depleted and I tend to feel the weight of wanting to continue to pace manically from chore to chore but losing the battle to fallen blood sugar. Oddly enough, the children's adorable symbiotic play melts down at the same rate as my attitude and I begin to feel trapped. The children get louder, whinier, needier, hungrier...as do I. This breakdown of all that is good in the world happens in the same manner and about the same time everyday. My instinctual solution? Leave, with the children, of course. I usually suggest we either go for a ride or go for a walk. A few weeks ago I recognized the insanity of the moment and abruptly anounced we were going for a car ride. With the children in the back seat and I in the front, I somehow had a mental barrier between us that made it seem like I had a break. I drove a circle around town while the nutters dozed in the back seat. Close to home, I stopped by a fast food place and bought myself fried food. I sat in our driveway for ten minutes listening to music I liked and eating fries, feeling happy as hell. Amazing what a mental break can do for a mom.

Predictably, today followed this pattern: lunch, brief rest, energy, crash, escape. Today, escape meant a walk with the dog. The boy didn't want to join us, claiming he was too sick and after agreeing he'd stay behind while the girl and I walked the dog, he changed his mind the moment I opened the door. The poor dog went bonkers waiting for me to help the boy with his socks and shoes on because he was already leashed and didn't understand the hold up. The air outside greatly contrasted the air in our stuffy little house and improved our moods. When the walk was walked, although awkwardly since the boy insists on helping me push the stroller and the dog insists on pulling his lead, we decided to play with the newly fallen leaves in the front yard. I enjoyed a blissful parenting moment with my children; listening to the boy make up games and teaching the girl how to play them, until someone else required my attention. The children examined leaves on a young tree while I described peacefully how one was striped like a tiger and "Oh, this one looks like a painting! Do you see the purples, oranges and browns of Fall?" I was telling the boy how we shouldn't pull off the green leaves but to gently remove the dying ones because the tree would like that best when I felt a sting on my hand. I looked down and saw a biting black ant on my knuckle and quickly pinched him off, thinking "Oh well." I don't know why, because I didn't feel any other stings, but I looked down at my pants and, to my shock, realized my legs were coverd in hundreds of the little guys. And just like that, my whimsied moment was over as I jumped up, telling the children to step away from the tree because ants were upset with us and said we had to go in because Mommy needed to take off her pants. If they had been red ants, those blue jeans would've been stripped off in an instant but thankfully the ant god had mercy on my standing with the neighbors and allowed me to get my children and my dog inside before I stripped on the steps. I tried to do this calmly and with humor but did manage to scare the boy a little. He had three ants on the bottom of his pants and although I pinched them off easily, he insisted on being naked, too. After throwing on a skirt and starting the washer, I went outside to reclaim my pants as their rightful owner. Many of the ants had left their great enemy, but for those who stayed on, I'm sad to say met their demise in hot, soapy water.

The staples that wouldn't come out

Today marks the eighth day since the boy had three staples put into his head to close the cut caused by his fall. Since today is a teacher work day he didn't have school so I thought I'd take him to the hospital to have the staples removed and then reward him with visiting the train table at the bookstore. I made a grave mistake thinking I could handle this without his daddy. The boy has issues with people touching his head. Period. Always has. It took a very long time to convince him brushing teeth was a necessity and that when a boy has very long hair, it must be brushed daily. He screams every time we shampoo his hair, without fail. When he was two years old, he fell from the couch to the coffee table and his teeth pressed through his bottom lip. He has a scar to this day. There was lots of blood and after several hours his mouth still bled. I thought the teeth were secure but was uncertain so I took him to an emergency pediatric dentist. He wouldn't stay still for the professionals for the examination or the x-ray. Because I was pregnant at the time, they asked that I stand behind the glass wall while they held him down during the x-ray. He cried and strained under their hands and was quite traumatized. Standing with him today in the small exam room brought me back to that day. He let them take one out while his head was buried in my stomach but once he felt the pinch of the staple remover, he decided once was enough. He cried and shook and refused to listen to promises of visiting the book store afterwards or just the plain logic of once they are removed we can leave...poor kid. After many tries and different doctors and nurses with gentle tricks up their sleaves, they gave me the ultimatum: we can hold him down and force it or we can leave. We had already tried my hugging him tight while someone held his head still and that didn't do it so what did they have in mind, a vice? We decided to call it a day. I was given the staple remover and wished good luck. If we couldn't do it at home then we could try his pediatrician or just let the staples grow out. I know that if my husband had been there the boy would've felt more trusting...I'm just kicking myself for not taking care of this yesterday morning when he was available. What pissed me off was the way many of the nurses seemed shocked that he would act that way...like a four year old is supposed to be so damn mature and logical. It didn't help that they kept thinking he was a girl just because he has gorgeous long hair (yes, completly ignore the masculine clothing why don't you) and when i corrected them they blamed his haircut, thereby blaming us for not cutting it. I was severely grumpy after we left since the entire visit took an hour and a half and only one staple was removed. But, after buying myself fries and a biscuit on the way home, I decided one staple was better than none.

Children's Clothing Swap and chatter

This Saturday the Natural Mamas holds their third free Children's Clothing Swap.
Important details follow so pay attention...
Sponsor: Natural Mamas
What: Children's Clothing Swap
When: Saturday October 25th
Where: Sheppard Memorial Library
Meeting Room A
530 Evans St Greenville NC
Why: This event is intended for the community to bring donations of children's items such as
clothing, toys, feeding, sleeping and bathing gear, etc. Once at the swap, everyone is
allowed to look through the goods and take home whatever their family needs. If you
have nothing to donate, doesn't matter, come anyway and take what you need. Anything
leftover will be taken to local charities.
Legalities: This non-profit event is hosted by Natural Mamas and is in no way a Sheppard
Memorial Library event.

Check out these happy "shoppers".

Chit Chat: So who's really doing all the work for this thing? At this point, myself and a co-organizer who loves doing charity work- I suspect she gets immense personal satisfaction from helping others- who wouldn't? We have one confirmed volunteer and that's it for now so the work load appears dyer. My biggest concern, other than the lack of help, is that I haven't really advertised this go around. We were supposed to have this in September but a tropical storm came our way that morning and, after discussing the potentials of being blown away while carrying bags of stuff inside the library, we canceled the event. But in the month since the no-go, I've really lost interest in spreading the word and haven't put nearly as much into it as I should have. Thankfully I'm not the only one advertising (speaking about my co-organizer now) but I did find a glitch. A few weeks ago, I was at the library and noticed a flier about the swap. "Great!" I thought. But then I saw the date was a day off. Hmmm. She's since fixed the date and retraced her steps so hopefully no one will go to the library today for free stuff instead of tomorrow. At some point, tonight or early tomorrow, I will load my borrowed car with donations and will be off to spread pre-holiday cheer. I'll be glad to be rid of these things because they've been clogging the girl's closet for two months. It's time to move on with this stalled train and time to store up for the next swap in the spring.

Me and the girl, spring swap '08

Blood in the water

This late summer has been filled with the color red for me. I think it began with hosting the Red Tent Event and my filling my living room with the warm color. When the day was through, I was quite attached to the decorative change and kept the red pillows and chair coverings, vowing to repaint the walls as well. And then, during my month of hormonal changes I spontaneously dyed my hair red, something I hadn't done since before my pregnancy with my first child. I used a cautious strawberry blond but am now ready to go much darker. I wasn't, but truly was, aware that my body was building up a supply of menstrual blood to be released early last week, the first release in 27 months. Now that I'm using cloth mama pads as opposed to the disposable ones of the past, I see vibrant red every trip to the bathroom. I rinse these pads in cold water so the stain doesn't set and am impressed at the COLOR of life. Throw away pads don't give a woman this thrill since the color is dull on the dry weave and is just tossed in the trash, something to be disgusted by and forgotten. Seeing the rinse water change from clear to orange every time reminds me of using dyes as a fabric artist and also that I haven't dyed in a long time. Sunday the color of life was thrown in my face once again when I heard my oldest fall and cry out from another room. I was in the kitchen doing some type of kitchen activity and appreciating the silence coming from the living room as my children shared a snack together at the coffee table. Both children sat in a child-sized wooden chair each that my sister and I used when we were young. When I ran to the room I saw that the girl was still in hers but that the boy had tipped his over and he was laying on his back beside the fireplace. He came into my arms and I felt the blood dripping from the back of his head onto my hands. I noticed his shirt was soaked deep red as I lifted him into my arms and scrambled to the kitchen for a clean washcloth. I applied pressure to his skull and tried to focus on, on everything. His crying, his blood, his little sister still needing a parent, too. I told him I'd get some ice and the girl said "Ice, ice, ice mommy" My mother called at the moment and I flipped my cell phone on and said between the sounds that it wasn't the best time to talk. I hung up the phone and then called my husband's phone, only to leave a message. I then sent him a text one handed that read "Come home now". Amidst the chaos I remained cheery for the children and retrieved ice for them both to suck on before blowing up a surgical glove like a balloon, something I had read in a parenting book as a trick to keep things light. The boy's bleeding halted and I was able to see the gash underneath his bloodied brown hair. It was bad, but not too bad, but then again, maybe it was terrible and I was underestimating the damage...I was wishing I had a second opinion and my husband wasn't playing racquetball. As I rinsed the washcloth out in the sink, I saw the rusted orange color of LIFE, this time from my precious boy. Blood from an injury, a lot more than should come from a child, a lot more than comes from my mama pads. After finishing his ice, the boy seemingly perked up, asked if we could toss the new balloon around and I suggested we sit and watch a movie instead. My husband came home during 101 Dalmations and I felt shaken and protective. I said I was planning to surprise the kids with a trip to the park but that the boy's injury erased those thoughts. My husband, seeing our son happily eating, talking and watching a show felt the opposite. He hadn't witnessed the incident so he thought I was overreacting. After the show, I convinced the boy to take a bath. As I gently poured water on his hair the dried blood fell away and his bathwater turned orange. I tried to cut away his hair at the site of injury but the boy was resistant which made me tense. With a strained voice I yelled for his daddy to take over- the boy will let him do certain things over me any day. Once his cut was truly revealed we could see the damage: an inch long and gaping. We discussed the severity, our options, our indecision...it was Sunday after all so should we go to the emergency room or try to dress the wound ourselves? I was for the ER and my husband was for the latter, really leaving me to the big decision. I quickly packed our things and off we went. As we walked inside the building a helicopter was navigating the roof, a big thrill for a 4 year old. Inside we had our pockets and diaper bag searched by a policewoman and we were eyed by an officer on a Segway. We were there for a total of four hours. Four hours. The first two were spent in the large waiting area. We kept the children entertained enough...When a doctor came through two double doors and called the boy's number, 521, we cheered and proceeded to walk through the doors. I was told the girl was too young to go to the emergency area because of germs and I'd have to stay in the waiting area with her. The logic made sense, especially sense the girl isn't vaccinated, but that hurt me as a mother. I sadly communicated to my husband that he'd be with our son and I'd stay behind. That's when the other two hours of waiting kicked in. I nursed the girl twice and she briefly napped in my arms while I watched a Matthew Mcconaughey movie on one of the many television screens. My husband thankfully emerged when I thought I couldn't possibly stand pacing amongst strangers any longer and we drove home, my boy having gotten three staples in his head.
Last night my week of womanly bleeding came to an end and I look forward to the next one. This first cycle was interesting; long, painless, moody and just something different. But it was a natural occurence, a positive statement for me about fertility returning and where I am in life. My son's accident and the blood that fell from his body was something I could've done without. When something happens to one's child, who is it harder on...the parent or the child?

I do feel changed

It is fitting that I should start my period on a full moon. The girl is now 18 months old and I have been 18 months post-partum and period free until now. I'm not feeling elated and alive as I did when my fertility returned after the boy's 20 month birthday, but I do feel changed. My body has been presenting oddities for a month now: anger, sadness, hot flashes, sensitive nipples... My mind has been causing me to do impulsive, pre-children and also pregnancy related hormonal activites: shopping like mad, chopping off my hair and dying it, imagining the fun of piercings and tattoos...
(no, mother, I still to this day have no tattoos, so don't loose any sleep)

I've taken 3 pregnancy tests this month because of my odd behavoir. Thank goodness I saw only negative signs. Yesterday I wanted to run from my children. I needed space for just a moment but children don't want to be alone when mama is freaking out, understandably. So I settled for a pitiful cry in front of the kids which brought on hugs and "Its okay, Mommy" from the four year old.

I tried a new recipe that night for supper and it was given bad reviews and a sour face from the husband. That brought back my ill feelings and when the dishes were put away, I told him to watch the children because I needed to be alone. I walked to our bedroom and closed the door. I walked into our master bathroom and locked it behind me. I turned on the exhaust fan, turned off the lights and sat on the floor, crying. As my head was in my hands, I searched for words to explain why I was upset but nothing came. I accepted I just was and waited for the tears to pass. When I was done, I stood, turned on the lights, washed my face and comed my hair. When I left the sanctuary I felt over water again and found the husband playing with the kids in the living room. I suggested we go for a walk as a family.

Obama: one more for the ladies

I just created a new design for the Obama Mamas using cafepress.com. Check it out and spread the word. Bad Boy products
Are you looking forward to the final debate like I am?

Obama- yea or nay products

If you have a strong opinion about the election and a foul mouth, you'll enjoy these Obama shirts and other products. Doesn't matter who you're voting for, I've got you covered. Obama fan? check out "Fuck Yeah" products here. Obama hater? Get your "Hell No" products here.

If you like the Obama design but want a less abrasive message, (I'm talking only to the Obama supporters, now), check out these two links: progress and destiny

Happy shopping, happy voting!

Amidst the calm

I am in a peaceful place now; amidst the calm waters of the in between. This is a poetic and somewhat confusing way of saying I am not busy- for now. A few months ago I became involved with bringing an important message to my town; that women have birth stories to tell and we should all be listening to their voices and respect their experiences. That by hearing the truth of birth we can rise up together to create mother-friendly maternity care. BOLD, Birth on Labor Day, is a movement that brings this message around the world through the arts. I helped the event organizer bring Birth, a play by Karen Brody, to our town by spreading the word, creating a playbill and posters, and being a contact for advertisers. The play had three performances at a local church and we sold many tickets, though not as many as we had hoped. A week later, yesterday in fact, I hosted a Red Tent in my home as part of BOLD. With video camera in hand, I recorded women talk about their birth stories, including my mother. I was surprised that many of my Natural Mamas didn't come to either of these events but I know their lives have been full lately. I think many of them would've enjoyed the power and inspiration from the play and the warmth and closeness of the Red Tent.
Working on these events took a lot of my time (which my husband was quite irritated with) and I'm glad they are over, but I did enjoy tickling my talents. Playbill and ad design was fun and although I stressed to create a nice atmosphere for the Red Tent, I loved, loved designing the space. I'm feeling RED now. Our couches, walls, floors and tables were covered in one way or another by the warm tone and I'm not letting go of that easily. I'd like to create a Moroccan feel to my regular living space and am dreaming of a way to cover the ugly hole of a fireplace we have. But without the pressure of designing for someone else I usually give up easily and add the dream to my mountain of unfinished ideas.
In the coming weeks I plan to concentrate on my home, plan for several family birthdays, gift shop, grocery shop, spend time with the girl while the boy is in preschool...among other things. I hope to be creative, look for spontaneity and feel inspired. Oh, and I did something unexpected today; I dyed my hair RED.

Win a $250 Speesees organic cotton baby or toddler wardrobe from Nature's Child

Win a $250 Speesees organic cotton baby or toddler wardrobe from Nature's Child. I just signed up and hope you will too. Follow this link to enter: http://blog.thenatureschild.com/2008/08/win-250-speesees-wardrobe.html
es-wardrobe.html

Cord Blood Banking and Early Cord Clamping

I've noticed a lot of commercials about cord blood banking in between the delivery stories on TLC (the stories that raise my blood pressure because they mostly portray women being saved from their "inability to birth" by way of a surgeon's knife). My thinking is that the best way to prevent many of the diseases CBB is intended to cure is to simply allow the umbilical cord to completely drain before clamping and cutting- a practice not common in our medically managed society. In the United States a woman gives birth and as soon as the baby is born the cord is clamped and cut unless the parents request otherwise. My son was born in the hospital after an epidural laced vaginal birth and I don't remember when they clamped his cord- I think it was directly after birth. But my daughter was born at home in a take-your-time atmosphere and we didn't clamp her cord until thirty or more minutes after birth. Her cord was thin and white- completely drained of the life-giving blood which is a stark contrast to the still pulsing cord so often cut too soon in hospitals. I understand the benefits of collecting blood from the cords as well, though, but was alerted to an alternative to CBB recently from another Natural Mama: collecting stem cells from baby teeth that could be a better solution. I've listed some scientific research which sheds light on why babies need the cord blood directly after birth. Thanks Mother By Nature for providing this handy list.

Early cord clamping deprives the baby of 54-160 mL of blood, which represents up to half of a baby's total blood volume at birth. "Clamping the cord before the infant's first breath results in blood being sacrificed from other organs to establish pulmonary perfusion [blood supply to the lungs]. Fatality may result if the child is already hypovolemic [low in blood volume]". -Morley, G. (1998, July). Cord closure: Can hasty clamping injure the newborn? OBG Mgmnt: 29-36.

Early clamping has been linked with an extra risk of anemia in infancy. -Grajeda, R. et al. (1997).

Delayed clamping of the umbilical cord improves hematologic status of Guatemalan infants at 2 mo. of age. Am J Clin Nutr 65:425-431.

Premature babies who experienced delayed cord clamping--the delay was only 30 seconds--showed a reduced need for transfusion, less severe breathing problems, better oxygen levels, and indications of probable improved long-term outcomes compared with those whose cords were clamped immediately. -Kinmond, S. et al. (1993). Umbilical cord clamping and preterm infants: A randomized trial. BMJ 306(6871): 172-175.

Some studies have shown an increased risk of polycythemia (more red blood cells in the blood) and jaundice when the cord is clamped later. Polycythemia may be beneficial in that more red cells mean more oxygen being delivered to the tissues. The risk that polycythemia will cause the blood to become too thick (hyperviscosity syndrome), which is often used as an argument against delayed cord clamping, seems to be negligible in healthy babies. -Morley, ibid.

Some evidence shows that the practice of clamping the cord, which is not practiced by indigenous cultures, contributes both to postpartum hemorrhage and retained placenta by trapping extra blood (about 100 mL) within the placenta. This increases placental bulk, which the uterus cannot contract efficiently against and which is more difficult to expel. -Walsh, S. (1968, May 11). Maternal effects of early and late clamping of the umbilical cord. The Lancet: 997.

Clamping the cord, especially at an early stage, may also cause the extra blood trapped within the placenta to be forced back through the placenta into the mother's blood supply during the third stage contractions. This feto-maternal transfusion increases the chance of future blood group incompatibility problems, which occur when the current baby's blood enters the mother's bloodstream and causes an immune reaction that can be reactivated in a subsequent pregnancy, destroying the baby's blood cells and causing anemia or even death. -Doolittle, J. & Moritz, C. (1966). Obstet Gynecol 27:529 and Lapido, O. (1971, March 18). Management of the third state of labour with particular reference to reduction of feto-maternal transfusion. BMJ 721-3.

====

The above are excerpts from Sarah Buckley's "A Natural Approach to the Third Stage of Labour," Midwifery Today Issue 59

FREE Children's Clothing Swap, Eastern NC

Natural Mamas
Children's Clothing Swap
FREE FREE FREE

Saturday, September 6th, 2008
10:00 a.m. - 2:00 p.m.
Sheppard Memorial Library
530 S. Evans Street, Greenville, NC 27858
Meeting Room A

Bring gently used Fall or Winter children's clothing and baby items you no longer need to give freely to other members of your community. Browse through what others have brought and leave with what your family needs, regardless of whether you brought something or not!

Leftover items will be distributed to local charities.

Optional items for donation include:
Baby and children's clothing, maternity wear, bibs, hats, receiving blankets,
toys, diapers, breastfeeding supplies, nursery decor, bassinets, car seats, strollers, etc.

This non-profit event is hosted by Natural Mamas, a locally based social and support group for families interested in attachment parenting and environmentally friendly living.
This event is neither sponsored by nor endorsed by Sheppard Memorial Library.

For more information post a comment and I'll email you further.
To join Natural Mamas visit www.naturalmamas.com

Mine

I've heard it said that in other cultures the concept of possessions belonging solely to one person is nonexistent. That children in these non-violent, non-materialistic societies never primitively snatch objects from another's grasp and say "Mine!" It is said children are taught this selfish concept from adults and so we shouldn't be surprised when our own children work hard to hoard precious and rare blocks, crackers or foam letters. In the cases of my two children, the oldest didn't verbally claim things as his until he had a sibling. Before he was two and a half he had a difficult time sharing with other kids but for the most part was the "victim" rather than the aggressor (though some may disagree). Once his sister was born, however, objects became "his" that I didn't realize he had claim to like the coffee table, television stand and every chair we owned. I'm sure I had a hand in teaching him "mine" because when he'd get a hold of my necklace, glasses, ring, etc., I'd say it was "Mommy's very precious" and to put it back where it belonged. But I didn't have to teach this to the girl because she's picked it up from her big brother and now loves to torment him with it. Lately the game has been to pick up something, whether it be her brother's or not, and run around the couch saying with gusto "mine! mine! mine!" while he chases her with hands outstretched repeating the same mantra. My sister is four years older than myself and she was a more nurturing sibling than my boy is now. I remember some sibling rivalry but most of it was due to teenagers needing privacy and independence, not children clammering for parental attention or an innate need to control. I really wasn't prepared for sibling rivalry so, as my reader, be prepared, this could be a repeated theme within my writing.

The other journal

I have two journals; both of which are pitifully neglected. They both reside in the nightstand beside the bed. This morning I was reminded that they exist when my daughter pulled them out and began leafing through their pages. There's the journal with a picture of a celestial woman (you may prefer angel, but I don't) surrounded by cool, purple hues- she is reserved for collecting memories of my children, mostly good but some bad. I might write something in there like "Friday August 9 2008 8:40 a.m. The girl hushes her baby dolls. She hugs them close to her chest and says 'shhh, shhh' The boy is delving into pretend play like never before. His latest interest is pretending to be a super hero. I tell him his super power is the power to read (so true. He's been reading since 3 1/2)" Then there is the journal that is covered with a picture of an obese cat in a claw footed tub (who thinks of this stuff?) This one is reserved for moments I'm feeling particularly thoughtful. Admittingly this must not happen often because for the most part, the journal is empty. Or maybe when I am feeling "deep" I don't think to write it down or am simply too lazy to write it down. But luckily, there are a few entries. I'm writing you now because I want to share a poem I wrote last September. My girl was still an infant and benefited from the night air to help her relax. As you read, imagine circling around a small, landscaped tree with a child bundled in your arms.

The moon fills me with clear thought.
Trees lay shadows with outstretched arms on the ground.
My feet are aware and alive with sensation; wet. cold. earth.
The baby is at ease in the night air.
My body is hers, wrapped together, bound by fabric and heartbeat.
The stars have shifted. I'm reminded that I'm not stationary.
The cats are watching.
I am content, I am connected.
The baby is at rest.

Not the best writing, but I like how I'm instantly taken back to that night. Constant pacing, the still leaves of the tree, the cars rumbling in the distance, the light through the front door of the house, the feeling that the universe is never ending and I am but a small fleck of stardust... It is important to write things down and I regrettably don't do this enough.

Writer's block

Forgive me for it has been over a month since my last blog. I have one post that is in draft form that has been plaguing me. After visiting it again just now I realize I may need to just scrap it and move on. The post? Oh, it's titled "Dear Doctor" and it's a fake letter to the pediatrician I took my son to recently. The letter was meant to allow me to say to him what I was unable to say in his office but I find even my fingers get tied when I'm writing about why I choose not to vaccinate, choose not to take my children in for well visits or test them for anemia or lead poisoning. The issues are complicated and require debate and a quick tongue which I haven't. So, with your permission, I release myself from the obligation to finish the unpublishable. Ahhhh. May I now find the time and inspiration to share with you the goings on in my life and mind.

BabyWearing and Cloth Diaper Contests

This is too awesome. I'm hoping to win so these slings can go into the Natural Mamas sling library.

Win the Essential Babywearing Stash from Along for the Ride (one Beco Butterfly, one Hotsling baby pouch, one BabyHawk Mei Tai, one Zolowear Ring Sling, and one Gypsy Mama Wrap)

I would love this diaper package and I know you can't resist either. If you win, wanna split the stash?

Win a Bum Genius 3.0 Starter Kit from Nature's Child - Wholesome Goods for Mothers and Babies

You have less than a month left to enter these contests- good luck!

Lost and Found: A Letter to My Family

I am thrilled. I found the red three-ring binder that has been missing for months. Funny thing, I came across the notebook yesterday because I was looking for something else that is missing: the gray cord for our digital camera. Still looking for the cord, but at least I have the notebook. Why is this hunk of paper so coveted? Because when I was pregnant with my daughter and planning a home birth, I wrote a letter to my family in its pages. We had a scheduled visit with my direct entry midwife so she could answer any questions they had about the process of birthing at home. In attendance at this meeting was my midwife, husband, father, mother, sister and mother-in-law. My best friend was invited to the birth but lived in another state so I read the letter to her over the phone. She nor my sister actually made it to the birth because of a fast labor (sister) and miscommunication (friend). When I read this out loud to everyone I was very nervous and stuttered quite a bit with tear-filled eyes. Luckily, through the magic of the written word, you can read the letter without interruption. I wrote this letter with the mind of a very organized and emotional pregnant woman.


I am having a home birth because I feel deeply in my heart that our home is the safest place to have this baby. Instinctively and intellectually I know this to be true. Myself and the baby are healthy and strong which means this pregnancy is low risk. This being the case, I have the right to birth where I feel most secure, without the fear of unnecessary interventions and foreign germs. If at any time, the health of myself or this baby changes so that the pregnancy can be considered high risk, I will do what is right and transfer my labor and birth to the hospital. I have full trust in my body's ability to birth, my midwife's knowledge and skills, and my husband's gentle, supportive nature. What I need from you all, my chosen birth companions, is positive energy, confidence in the process of natural birth, quiet, respectful watchfulness when needed and calm, determined action if necessary. There may come a time when the intensity of labor causes me to lose heart and want to give in. I may make primal sounds, my body may tremble, I may even vomit. All of these things are positive and will mean the baby will be born soon. I will not need to be rescued or shown pity, but more than ever, I will need encouragement to guide me back to a place of concentration. I have chosen you all as my birth companions because I know you will do everything in your power to help us welcome this new life in the most gentle way as possible.

The day after

I've noticed a pattern with the boy's behavior. Usually the day after my husband and I, or even just myself, goes out and leaves him with a sitter, his attitude is hellacious. This is in no way the sitter's fault because he's commonly in good spirits for them (in this case my parents) and he and his little sister have a nice evening. But the day after fun is had by all is torture. He has been excessively grumpy, whiney and testosterone driven. My gut tells me (and you are obliged to disagree) that he is subconsciously getting us back for abandoning him. I got angry with him this morning (yes, my Zen attitude from last week was, uh, displaced) and after several attempts of setting things straight failed, I ended up putting myself in time out. He didn't nap today either which has put a stinker on our afternoon. Currently he's sitting at the kitchen table waiting for the good supper husband is making (not a common occurrence) and guarding the bubble around him from his sister at every turn. How will we survive the night? Like I said, he didn't nap so hooray for us, he goes to bed soon. Give me strength...

I signed up for PPP!

I began blogging over a month ago in hopes of making a little money when I heard of the popularity of mommy blogs. Although writing has also turned into therapy and a creative outlet, the original reason for the weekly upkeep of this blog remains: I need money. So when a fellow novice blogger referred me to PayPerPost and told me she spoke with another mom who makes around $400 a month writing reviews, I figured why not get my feet wet? I signed up right away but was disappointed when I found out my blog was too new at the time to qualify. But now that my blog has been running for more than 30 days and I've written over 10 posts, I'm ready to go! Once your blog is approved you can browse the open writing opportunities for topics that interest you. Like good swag? PPP has a shop from which you can buy blogging gear and promote PPP in the process: Who wouldn't think to ask you why your shirt says "I'll pay you to do it."? And now with this first blogging ad (for who other than PPP themselves) I begin the next step in my writing experiment. Wanna join me? Just check out these blog ads for more information. Happy blogging!

How to diffuse a bomb (or, How I relearned to discipline my 3 year old)

The stress level in our home has dissipated like a ripple of water. The boy has hit, shoved and kicked less and played games and used polite words with his sister more. I haven't been angry at him once or thought nastily about how little things he does irritates me. He has asked to hold my hand when we walk together and to be picked up and has responded better than expected when asked to change activities. The patience and creativity I needed to get my son to do the things he is resistant to have been flowing out from within me. What is the magic that has inspired our good fortune? I have been following the philosophy of the Golden Rule as suggested by the book: Raising your Child Not by Force but by Love . The book's Christian angle caught me off guard because I'm not the least bit religious and tend to feel squeamish when confronted with religion, but you don't have to be Christian to get what the author, a psychologist of over twenty years at the time the book was published, was trying to say. He first speaks of how children are biologically irrational and therefore incapable of benefiting from punishment. When a child is punished, shame, guilt, anger and resentment may be created and rather than think he shouldn't have been naughty he will project his guilt onto the parent (or in this case, his parent and sister) and make himself the victim. For example, the child in time out may think "I'm so mad, Mom's always so mean and taking her side. I'm going to get my sister when Mom's out of the room." The author asks that you imagine you are the child and to treat him the way you would like to be treated; to consider a time when you were upset or mistaken and how you felt when someone forgave you and gave you another chance rather than reprimand you. What if you were arguing with your husband and he decided the best way to convince you he knew best was to scold you and stick you in a corner, causing shame, humiliation and rage. What if this was a common occurrence, would you change your behavior because you learned it was wrong or because you wanted to avoid punishment? Funny how this would be considered spousal abuse and yet it is a perfectly acceptable treatment for children. The author isn't suggesting there won't ever be a need for discipline or a cool-out period for kids in their rooms, but just to keep in mind the way you would prefer to be treated if the roles were reversed and to respond accordingly. A main theme in the book is how repeated punishment that ignores their feelings creates so much repressed rage in a child that when they are older they will no longer be receptive to the parent's authority and will become withdrawn, depressed, delinquent and possilbly turn to drugs...

I'm having a difficult time writing this because it may not be well received, therefore, I'm defensive. Not giving your child firm consequences is perceived as weak, lazy or just plain irresponsible but for me it has been cleansing and powerful. I have taken the reigns on the terrible battle within me to control him because society deems it so and the reality of not being able to control him which makes me feel like a bad parent. The approach of acceptance and guidance feels more natural to my character. Once I allowed the psychological pressure of disciplining my child to disappear, I became happier. I'm not talking about permissiveness because I haven't been ignoring his bad behavior this week, but I've been addressing it with acceptance, forgiveness and suggestions of how to make the situation better for everyone involved. And instead of our days being interrupted repeatedly with time outs (that have been ineffective), we talked about what happened, apologized where necessary and moved on with a marked improvement in his behavoir. I've decided I am here to teach, not to make matters worse by creating more negativity. I haven't felt this consistently relaxed or loving towards my child in a very long time...

If you are interested in the method, read the book. If you think it's a bunch of baloney, read the book and make an informed judgment against it. I am no seasoned debater and my argument for the book may crumble to dust if you challenge me, so reading the book for yourself is best. Either way, it's a cheap read and when you're done with your copy you can mail it to me to go into the Natural Mamas' library.

Read more >> Options >>

Almond Recipes

This recipe was originally Jimmy Carter's Peanut Butter Pie but since I made this for my dad and he has a peanut allergy, Dad's Almond Butter Pie was born. If almond butter isn't your favorite peanut replacement, you may use soy, cashew or sunflower butters instead. You may find these butters with the regular peanut option in the jelly aisle.

Dad's (no bake) Almond Butter Pie

6 oz cream cheese, room temp. 3/4 cup confectioners sugar 1/2 cup almond butter 2 tbsp milk 1 cup whipped cream (cream beaten for several minutes with confectioner's sugar to taste) 1 9-inch graham cracker crust (I used store bought)

In a mixing bowl, blend together the cream cheese and confectioner' s sugar
for about 5 minutes. The longer you blend, the creamier the pie.

Add the peanut butter and milk to the mixture, and blend again. Fold in the
whipped cream and pour the pie filling into the graham cracker crust.

Refrigerate the pie to chill for several hours before serving. Serve with
additional whipped cream and fruit, if desired.

-----------------------------------

Since pie may not be your forte', I thought I'd share a cookie recipe I made several times over the winter holidays. This recipe yields only 2 dozen cookies and almond meal isn't cheap, so make these for a special occasion or to treat yourself- they are worth the pricey ingredients and are simple to make.

Almond Moons

1 cup Sifted Oat Flour
1 cup Almond Meal (store bought in flour section or made yourself with almonds
and a food processor)
1/2 cup Butter
6 Tbsp. Raw Sugar or Light Brown Sugar
1 tsp. Vanilla Extract
Cinnamon and Sugar for dusting

Preheat oven to 300* Grease cookie sheet, set aside. With a hand mixer, blend the butter, sugar and vanilla extract until creamy. Add the almond meal and the oat flour and mix until the dough sticks together. Form the dough into 1 1/2 inch balls. Place them on the prepared cookie sheet and bake for 30-35 minutes. Remove the cookies from the oven and roll them in the cinnamon and sugar while they are still warm.

Warm tonight

The air was warm and heavy as I stepped outside tonight. The girl on my hip and my husband at my heal, she said "bye bye" in baby speak over my shoulder. She and I circled the mailbox and after putting a letter inside, walked down and up the ditch back toward our house. Upon our return I stopped in front of the steps and set the girl down on her bare feet. My husband was examining the brick walk and told me of his plans to make it more level tomorrow. I joked with him about how manly it is to consider home improvement on Father's Day. I put my attention back on the girl and saw that she had climbed nearly to the top of the porch and I yelped as I picked her up; I remember too well the day the boy fell down those steps and caused his head to bleed. I began to pull dead flowers off the gardenia bushes and considered the mess in the grass below. I followed the baby around the corner and smiled as she ran toward three cats in our side yard. She loves our animals and tells me in an excited whisper whenever she sees one: "kee kee" for cat or "dah" for dog. As I show her the hydrangea bush and she touches their soft, blue flowers, her brother and father join us. The boy had just finished in the bathroom and was ready for bed but my husband couldn't resist sharing with him the warm night air. The two broke into a run and I soon followed suit; running around our side yard in a chain of I chase you, you chase me. The spontaneity was infectious for the girl and she ran in no particular direction, giggling and screeching. I was glad to see the boy's true colors come out as he protectively stepped in front of her and asked her to stay in our yard with his body language. His sister back on track, I held his hand and ran to the front of our yard, around a tree and back again where he was greeted with a hug from his father. I felt an insect hit my bare arm and wondered if we'd be seeing lightning bugs soon. The activity changed flavor when the boy spotted the moon and we all walked to the front of the yard again to examine it. "The moon!" Where? "In the sky" I told the girl her moon was out and told the boy his sun had gone to bed. My husband and I sat on the prickly grass while the children circled around each other, dizzy from the late hour. We decided to call it a night and I wonder now what tomorrow will bring.

This Week's Parenting Journey

Sunday
I actually remember little about this day. I admit I'm concerned about my short term memory and believe the culprit is a three part combination of lack of sleep, mommy brain and partying in college. I do recall an incident in the morning, however, involving a possible panic attack. First let me give some background as to why the P.A. may have taken place. The day before we had several family members over and had an overall fantastic visit. Great family days usually mean the boy and girl are well occupied and I can focus on myself, chores, cooking, chatting- you know, stuff people do when they don't have children. So the day was great and the kids were happy and there was minimal sibling rivalry. Back to Sunday morning. All the visitors having gone home, my husband wakes up and tells me he'll be going into work for a few hours. I'm used to his occasionally working on the weekends but somehow my world imploded with his words. I had been up for several hours already with the children and was ready to pass the baton, not hear that I'd be going solo until after lunch. We were all in the dining room and my breathing became shallow. I felt an odd pressure in my head and I put my hands on the side of my face. I told my husband to "watch the children, I'll be back in a minute" and proceeded to briskly walk through the house without knowing where I was going. I landed in our bedroom and thought "the bathroom!", walked in, closed and locked the door, turned off the light and sat on the floor. Of course, the boy was curious and followed me. He said "Mama, what are you doing?" and I replied with tight lips "Go find Daddy, Mommy needs a minute." I told myself to breathe all along thinking I was losing it...but then the moment passed; I was fine. I ascended from my freak out and wondered if I had experienced a panic attack so I did what any modern person with a question would do and Googled it. According to Wikipedia it could've been much worse but most likely was a panic attack. The mention of feeling like I was trapped was right on. Nonetheless, I was ready to put my mommy hat back on.

Monday
The temps were expected to surpass 100 degrees so I decided a trip to the local drop-off childcare center and then mall was in order. It's win/win, really. The boy plays for two hours straight in a cool environment with new friends and mommy goes shopping. The girl went with me and together we bought underwear, three tops and sunglasses. Just like anything else (eating, driving, etc.), trying on clothes and checking out took much longer than necessary and was more complicated than B.C. (before children). I sabotaged my trip before we stepped foot and stroller in the mall by forgetting her snacks and drink. The stores didn't open until 10:00 so we walked around with the mall walkers until Victoria's Secret lifted it's gate. The girl became quickly irritated and didn't want to participate in counting 5 pairs for $25 so we checked out and quickly exited. I parked on a bench to satiate her with mama's milk- all was well again. Next we went to Express where, upon our arrival, their dressing room became a play area and milk bar. Eventually everything was accomplished, albeit having taken two hours to visit only two stores, so we left to pick up the boy. I was happy to find him exhausted from playing well yet not tired enough to throw a fit leaving his playdate. We drove home and the children took refreshing naps while I cleaned the house for afternoon guests: win/win.

Tuesday
I chose to go to a playgroup in another town that had been organized by a member of Natural Mamas. The drive took half an hour and I felt a sense of destiny as I got closer. I thought of my difficulty parenting as of late and how perhaps speaking with women I don't normally have the chance to talk to would open up a door to wisdom. I felt reassured that's what the trip meant for me when I turned on the cd player and Raffi broke into a song about how it takes a village to raise a child. Once we arrived at the park; a well shaded vintage with sturdy structures, I felt disconnected from the other mothers but gradually began to feel more comfortable. Feeling like I was welcome couldn't be helped because I had brought all of these women, their children, their stories and advice, into my life. They asked how I was, listened well and offered their understanding- everything I needed. But oh golly, was it hot! After a few hours I loaded the children in the car, (all three of us covered in sweat and sand), and drove home.

Wednesday
I was feeling a need to be in control yesterday morning and the consequence was numerous, firmly handled time outs for the boy. I believe my militant attitude toward him was the result of having my judgment questioned by another mom several days ago, resulting in parental insecurity. I cleaned most of the morning in preparation for an afternoon playgroup at my house to which two moms came and we talked about how it is impossible to relax when our children are around. Later that evening, around 5:30, the boy fell asleep sitting up on the couch watching a show and I carried him to bed an hour later where he stayed until morning. My husband and I were given a gift when the girl fell asleep early as well. We celebrated by watching three episodes in a row of Dexter while eating tacos made with vegetarian meat.

Thursday (today)
I think I've found a happy medium with discipline. I am not yet a mom able to forgo all time outs like I would prefer but I have softened the "You must obey!" attitude of yesterday. So far the need for time out has been reduced by half and instead of using a timer and insisting he sit on his bottom, he is to count to 20 three times in his corner and can come back to play whenever he is ready to apologize and talk about feelings in a calm manner. I'm always asking him to be patient for things he wants but a little while ago I showed complete immaturity by needing to follow my own advice. I got so worked up when it was time for his nap that I sent myself to time out, which he was fine with. This week has been difficult because on top of trying to figure out the form and balance of discipline to use with my oldest child, my methods and judgment were questioned by another mom. Although this mother has yet to experience raising a three year old, it was still hard to take criticism and caused me to question my thinking. So as I look back on this week I can take comfort in knowing I've conquered self-pitying thoughts and a beastly attitude towards my child. Here's to moving on and learing more about being a mom!

The peach tree grows

I was looking today at the young peach tree beside our house. The trunk is thin and springy, its spotted leaves crescent shaped and the branches are dripping with small fruit. The pit-hard peaches are fuzzy and beginning to change their color from apple green to sunset orange. I love this tree. Its life and placement represents the connection between myself and my second child. Sitting here now I can close my eyes and envision the tree's roots just under the surface of the dirt, encircling our placenta.

- - - - - - -

The girl was born during the evening hours following a brief hail storm. Her birth came much quicker than anyone anticipated due to an easy labor and peaceful atmosphere. My husband and I planned a home birth soon after finding out I was pregnant so all the elements necessary for a perfect event were in place...well, nearly everything. Our midwife wasn't present but that was due to no fault of her own. She arrived ten minutes after the girl's birth and was full of excitement and pride but in wonder just the same. Why didn't we call to ask that she hurry? She could have easily been present for the birth. Why not? Because my husband and I were doing fine. We were a great team and fed off each others confidence. My family, however, were dealing with altogether different emotions. I knew I wanted my family present to witness her arrival and had educated them about birth at home. They met our midwife, saw several videos, read books and asked all the right questions to quell their worries...they were ready. But they did not plan for an absent midwife. When the baby's head emerged my husband and I were alone in our bedroom; I on our bed, he ready at the business end. If my husband was scared he didn't reveal it to me. I was flooded with intense love for him, the baby and the miracle of the moment. My mother walked in expecting to see me laboring only to be met with a surprising scene. She ran out to tell everyone the baby was coming and to hurry. She returned with my father, son and mother-in-law and began recording with a video camera. I attempted a few pushes to help the rest of her body out but was met with resistance. I decided to wait for the next contraction. My father and mother-in-law abandoned the room to look for the midwife as my mother continued to record, suggesting that I push the baby out. I waited until the natural urge came and the baby was born within moments. One by one, my family came to my side to welcome the child into our home.

- - - - - - -

This week has brought exceptionally warm weather. I worry the young peach tree won't be strong enough to fight the near 100* temperatures or the hungry insects sure to be eying its fruit. But these feelings of anxiety are familiar because they mirror how I felt about the girl during her first year of life. Would the child be strong enough to overcome life's challenges? I think so now- she has proven herself to be strong and wise. I hope the tree follows the same path.

Sleep escapes me

Sleep mocks me, laughing and teasing, with the aid of two children. This sleepless affair began sometime during my first pregnancy and I have yet to see the night light at the end of the tunnel. Sleeplessness during that time was tortuous due to the constant waking from the need to urinate and the consciousness that is required to twist a bohemith belly. The four foot body length pillow became a third partner in the marital thorn that was No Sex. I was caught in a catch-22 during the twilight hours: mommy and baby required plenty of water to remain healthy and yet, mommy required sleep to maintain a healthy pregnancy. The solution? I took naps at work. The onset of labor was disguised as a trip to the bathroom in fact. I woke around 1:00 a.m. with the familiar pressure on my bladder, sat up and walked towards the bathroom. I was half way there when a gush of liquid released itself between my legs and I scurried to the toilet. But I'll stop here, because that is a different story.

I believe prenatal sleeping habits are designed to ease the woman into the rocky cavern that is Sleep with a Newborn. I don't need to know if my theory is correct, it simply made the transition more bearable for me after my son was born. My boy was high needs, colicky and enjoyed nursing every two hours for at least thirty minutes in one sitting. He also took short naps during the day and slept no more than two hours at a time during the night- for four months. He began to sleep three to four hours at a time and that lasted til he was two or so. But I was a soldier and let my husband sleep while I got up in the night to nurse him back to sleep. I sat in a chair to nurse him because I couldn't figure out how to do so lying down. Luckily, this wonderful way to nurse came easily with my second child and I'm still enjoying latching a babe to my breast while semi-conscious. Although my girl is a better sleeper than my boy was at her age, now I deal with musical beds. Both children must go to sleep in their own beds but when they wake up during the night, they're allowed to come to the bed with my husband and I. We have only a queen sized bed which makes for a tight fit for the four of us, so if the baby is in our bed and the boy comes in, I take her to lie down in his bed. I'm pretty happy with this arrangement...I love being beside my sleeping children, but, I am tired...

My son has always woken early, usually around 7:00 a.m. I haven't used an alarm clock for nearly four years. Every morning I hear "Mama, get up. Mama, get up. Mama, wake up!" I drowsily sit up and make an attempt to wake up per his request but usually suggest he go to the living room or bathroom, claiming I'll be there "in a minute". In the past my groggy deceitfulness worked and I'd fall back onto the pillow to claim a few more minutes rest. But he is wise to my game now and waits for my eyes to close so he can continue his assault.

My lack of sleep isn't nearly as severe as it used to be in my early days of mothering and certainly isn't as bad as what other moms I know experience, but, it does reveal itself daily in small ways. I can fall asleep anytime, anywhere- just give me the okay and I'm out. I will put a filter in the coffee maker and a second later, try to add another filter, only to see that I've already added one. I have a hard time making grocery lists because by the time I walk from the bathroom to the kitchen with the intent to write down "toothpaste", I've forgotten what we needed. Here is an excellent example of how sleep deprivation has caused trouble for me recently: Two nights ago the boy came to our bed in the middle of the night and asked for water. I left the bed to get him some but wasn't fully conscious. Somewhere between our bedroom at the back of the house and our dining room in the front, my body transported me via sleepwalk express through the house. I was awoken instantly by the surprise of a cat leaping into my arms and leaving a three inch scratch on my wrist. I held the purring cat in a state of shock, considered the pain above my hand and wondered why I was out of bed... Oh yes, water.

Is there a lesson to be learned? Go to bed earlier, perhaps? Have the husband get up with the children more often? Wear protective gear before going to bed in case of surprise cat-ball? Hmm, I'll consider my options over a cup of coffee.

I escaped for half an hour

And what did I do? I cleaned cat litter. But, I did it without children and that was enough of a vacation as any. Today I had an intense desire to be by myself that felt like a burning in my gut. I feel that burn and remember to breathe deeply; oxygen is a good thing. I feel the tenseness in my shoulders and remember they should be back and relaxed, not near my ears like a tiger walking. Mothers or fathers who stay at home and are the primary caretaker of their children throughout the week don't get a lot of opportunities to be by themselves. At least, that's how it's been for me in the world I've created. When you do get the chance to go off by yourself, you realize how EASY it is to move one body around. Before stepping outside I grabbed my phone, keys and wallet. No diaper bag with drinks, snacks, diapers, wipes, change of clothes for both kids...just my stuff that takes no preparation. I climbed into the seat behind the wheel, turned the key in the ignition and drove off. I didn't need to air out the car so it'd the right temp for the kids, or open their doors and wait for the boy to climb up while strapping the baby in on the other side. There weren't any tears to calm or attitudes to check. Just me. I found a '90s rock station and turned it up; I wonder how common it is for parents to listen to bad adult music too loud just because its not Elmo raps the ABCs. I drove a few minutes away to a friend's house so I could take care of her three cats while she's away. I took both kids with me Friday and it wasn't worth the $5 I asked for per visit- not with them. The boy had a request to play in the back yard and repeated it the entire time we were there. The girl tried to "help" me clean the litter. The boy kept attempting to open the door which would let the cats out of the basement and into the rest of the house. The boy used his "dancing feet" on the cats which is a nice way to say he was chasing them. Both of the kids fought for footing on the steps. But not today. It was just me. Good thing, too, because the cats left three accidents for me to clean and I can imagine how the girl would've helped with that. The burning in my gut and the tightness in my shoulders forgotten, I came back home. They're back now though; must be one of those days.

One day at a time

Today was easier than yesterday for sure. I felt defeated and pushed to the limit by a three year old. We've been dealing with sibling rivalry for over a year and yesterday at lunch time I stepped outside while the children were in their chairs having lunch. A moment later I come back inside to see the baby in tears and the boy standing beside her. I asked why she was sad and he exclaimed with great joy "I'm hitting her!". That morning I had dealt out numerous time outs, explanations, heart-to-hearts and requested apologies over and over, only to hear he was now gaining pleasure from causing her pain and lapping up the attention. I took him directly to his room and told him how disappointed I was in his behavior with every muscle in my face and tone of my voice. I've never sounded or felt so firm, stern and angry. He knew something was different but still insisted on having jelly legs when I told him to sit on his bed. I told him to sit- he claimed he couldn't. My body was telling me to smack his bottom, my brain telling me not to. My body won. I hit his bottom for the first time- just once, but that was enough for him...and for me. My husband and I don't believe in spanking so it slipped past my better judgment to do so. He sat on his bottom and I told him to stay in time out. He did. After a few minutes I brought him some juice and told him to drink it and then lay down for nap. He said he wanted to talk and to apologize to his sister but I continued to tell him how disappointed I was in what he did; that its his job as a big brother to protect his sister from harm, especially when mommy is out of the room.
To make a long story a little less long, he stayed in his room for 45 minutes and then we went to playgroup. He had tons of energy at our friends house and was sent to time out for many poor decisions. I was feeling very down but the other moms tried offering suggestions which I was a dry sponge for.
I know he and I feed off each other's emotions. Today was a much better day because I had a better attitude about it. I made a pledge to myself to be proactive about this so we can both heal. I ordered a book for myself called Raising Your Child Not by Force but by Love which was recommended by a Natural Mama and a book for the boy called Hands are not for Hitting. I plan to create a responsibility chart to let him fulfill daily goals in order to receive a reward at the end of the week and I intend to spend more one on one time with him when the baby is sleeping. I moved his time out space to a corner in the living room instead or his room because I noticed he responded to it better during the time at our friend's home. I'm now using the timer on the microwave during time out so he can hear when three minutes is over. (We had a timer before and he loved it but it broke after a month or so and we never replaced it.) When he was sent to time out for hitting today, he stayed in the corner and didn't fuss. I know it's because he could see me. I think he just wanted to be a part of everything and know I wasn't going to abandon him. He needs to feel in control just as much as I do. He acts naughty to gain control of my attention and to feel powerful over his sister who takes my attention away from him. I get upset and yell, cuss, apparently hit because I'm losing control of myself and his respect. But, like I said, today was a better day. We made cookies together. I lay down with him at bedtime and said "I love you, angel." and he repeated it back.

Urban Dictionary

I feel like being playful. Let's visit the Urban Dictionary to look up some words close to my heart. Seeing as I'm a Natural Mama, let's explore what some cynical youth think of my kind...

crunchy:

a term used by hippies or a pothead of any kind to describe something they like. Things they like include sweet jams, things that are all natural, hacky-sacks, and other dirty things hey man, this is my favorite fish jam, its so crunchy If they're going to make fun of someone, at least they can spell Phish correctly.

tree hugger:

Tree huggers are people who aspire to live in trees for months on end in order to save the trees from being cut down to make room for commercial endeavors by the owners of the property on which the tree(s) are located. Their environmental activism is often funded for by the capitalism of their parents.

Myra is going to live in a tree for six months while her parents pay her student loans and credit card bills. She's such a good little activist.
This is a pretty narrow definition but I appreciate the capitalist comment.

granola:

A person who dresses like a hippy, eats natural foods (granola), and is usually a Liberal, but in all other ways is a typical middle class white person, and is likely to revert back to being straight when they finish college.

Did you see that granola chick at the farmer's market buying bean sprouts?
Yeah, her new Volvo was parked next to me.
Typical middle class person, yes. But my car was a 1974 volkswagon beetle.

natural:

A natural is a hippie-type person. They don't go all out to look hip, they just live. Like chicks who don't shave their legs and are all baggy and saggy. I mean, its not a bad thing. But like I've seen some people (my mom) who are SUCH naturals. They wear drapey clothing from the ORIGIN.

I saw this chick with dreads and she was such a natural.
I think I have some baggy saggy parts.

My heart is racing

I'm getting angry at the boy this morning and I need a break. I'm stopping now so I can find unconditionality. I've sent him to time out in his room three times this morning for jumping on and hitting his sister. This approach doesn't seem to be working and I don't feel like a gentle and patient parent right now. The baby isn't helping. She keeps walking down the hallway to see him over and over again...I need a gate...I need another adult here to take over so I don't explode. I wish I had some extended family close by. This is not me giving up, but this is me being tired of a 3 year old yelling at me like he's a teenager. It's not clear to me if all the problems I have with him is because of me, or his temperament, or his age...or all three. I'm hoping that when school begins this fall that a lot of our issues will resolve because he needs more stimulation in a calmer environment, or rather, with well-trained calmer adults. I suppose we all do. Is that why some SAHM's seek the work force again? I've enjoyed staying at home, up to a point (that point was when the boy turned 2 and I became pregnant) then everything seemed to get out of control. I think the way he gets frustrated and anxious and is shy and cautious are all symptoms of being my son. My parents claim my sister and I never acted the way he does- not listening and throwing tantrums in public...But maybe they've just forgotten all the not-so-fun and challenging times of parenting a young child. Since I began writing this post over twenty minutes ago, I have been interrupted numerous times and his one time out that is supposed to last three minutes, still hasn't seen the end. Correction, he finished the original time out but then shortly after he jumped on my back and hit me so he got a new one. Oh, what fresh hell is this?

I thought there would be cake

I tried not to make this about me. It simply wasn't my day and I shouldn't have been disappointed but I had strong feelings about it just the same. So this is your warning: ponderings soaked in selfish hues ahead.
Last night my mom came over to watch the boy while my husband and I got ready to go to a wedding reception with the baby. After last weekend's date night turned into three hours of "horrible" for my parents, AKA the loyal babysitters, I don't have any plans to leave the baby with them again in the near future. So I got dressed in a new outfit (thanks mom for the birthday money) and while I'm putting on makeup, which I have finally figured out how to use so I don't look like I don't know how to use it, my husband tells me he doesn't know how to get to the reception. We've been to Pat's Party Barn twice before but being that it is in the country, we somehow forget the exact location each time. Something like this was said: "I don't know where we're going. Maybe it's in my past emails... can you look in the phone book?" I said, "Now? I'm getting ready to leave!" (mind you, the baby is sleeping so it's the only and perfect time to do something for MYSELF) He says we can't go anywhere if we don't know the address. I think Ha! I'm going somewhere tonight, we have a sitter! So without anymore adieu, I'll tell you that the address was in the book and that with a few missed turns, we made it in time to be 20 minutes late. The first clue that the evening wasn't going to resemble what I had been envisioning it to be was the smell of chicken shit. I ask the husband if the dog kennel is the cause of the odor since it is just ten feet from where we parked. He claims only chicken shit smells like that so I have to take his word for it. We arrive and are greeted warmly by some very bored looking guests; "Maybe the happy couple couldn't find the place either" I muse to myself. I excuse myself while my husband holds the baby as a social shield and look for the gift table. There is none. Hmm, certainly there are gifts? I place our modest gift card on a small table. After 45 minutes of being bathed in the smoke of meat cooking in giant vats and listening to a talented, lone wedding singer spew out country songs, the bride and groom thankfully arrive. We were told the party would be casual so I wasn't surprised to see the groom and best men wearing tuxedo t-shirts. The bride was adorable in a summer dress with flip flops and wedding hair. They brought their dog. After much tinkering to get the two kegs up and running the hostess, Pat herself, grabbed the microphone. I thought "Oh good, some formality", but she simply told us the meat was ready for pickin'. Her father, a pleasant vintage with a cane, said a prayer. I usually nod my head slightly but don't close my eyes at public prayers. I notice others do the same, but not many. Us few rebels look nervously around to see if anyone else has the same mixture of respect and aversion. After prayer, husband tells me he's starving and will try the meat. Yay, now I am the only vegetarian at the reception. They have typical southern fare: barbecue (oink), beans (with oink added), cole slaw and potato salad (hate it) and yeast rolls (okay, I like yeast rolls). We sit down to eat. Husband and I have a wee tiff about how he's eating meat, something I'm not used to seeing since he became a vegetarian when we were dating and just recently, eight years later, decides to occasionally partake again. I pick at my starch and comment about how at least I'll eat wedding cake and that'll be nice. Husband says "I saw pictures of the cake." What? "The whole feeding each other cake and present giving thing happened before they came here." Oh. "That's why they were late." I see. Someone let the air out of my balloon. I was at an after party. Not invited to the wedding, or the "real" reception, but the after party, chicken shit and all. I looked around and reminded myself this wasn't about me. The family and the couple were having a good time. The neighbors who drove up onto the grass in a golf cart were having a really good time. Just the same, I instantly felt validated for wanting to leave. My desire to leave was thwarted by my husband finding a game of ladderball to play so I busied myself with saving the baby from numerous possible fatalities: the deaf dog eating someone's dinner in the grass, the splintered steps leading to the top of the barn, the rusted trampoline...the game of ladderball. But the evening wasn't all bad. Just before I could tell the husband it was time to go, I was given a disposable wedding camera; Aha! A task. I enjoyed myself as I took pictures of happy, not quite so bored now guests (thanks to the two kegs of beer). The jovial groom took a picture of us before we left and he said he'd send us a copy. As we left, we scanned the grounds for the chicken coop; its location will remain a mystery.

I am not above eating my placenta

Whoa now, stop the name calling. I know placenta eating isn't the most common practice in American homes and you may be concerned about my mental health. Let me put your mind at ease by assuring you I don't actually have a placenta to ingest, not above ground anyway. This Sunday my husband, children and I laid the partially frozen organ to rest under a young peach tree in honor of my home birth one year ago. But after reading an article in The Compleat Mother I'm feeling robbed of the experience of eating what nature gave me to balance out my post-natal hormones. The article I'm referring to was written by a woman who dealt with depression all her life and, instead of getting back on Wellbutrin after the birth of her second child, she dried her placenta, processed it into a fine powder and downed that sucker in capsule form for weeks. Her decision was well researched and based on scientific evidence that placentophagy (eating placenta) is highly beneficial. The result? Jodi Selander of Las Vegas, Nevada enjoyed a peaceful, joyous transition into life with their new addition, without drugs (and the bills that goes along with that). Jodi has now launched www.placentabenefits.info to help other mothers be more informed on this topic. I had heard of placenta capsules when I was pregnant but I had yet to experience post-partum depression so it disinterested me. But this past year has been tough and the depression oh-so-subtle. I was mostly angry, not sad. Angry at my little boy mostly, which is terrible to admit. I knew I was returning to my usual self, though, after petting one of our 6 cats- and realizing I hadn't touched them with affection in a year! When you think about the things people will eat or pill-pop, the idea really isn't that strange. People are human. Humans and animals. Many animals eat their afterbirth for strength and it would be a waste to leave a good source of iron and energy-dense nutrients around for the buzzards. And so, if we decide to have another child, the birth will be at home and my placenta will be ingested so we can all reap the benefits of a sane mother of three.

mommies have tantrums too

Funny how this morning all was well and then two hours goes by and I want to take off my mommy hat and burn it. I've sent the boy to his room twice already this morning and thrown a mommy tantrum and the baby gets the benefit of seeing it all, absorbing every juicy detail of how *not* to act. When I get overwhelmed with the way the boy acts, I try to channel my inner teacher (how will his Montessori teachers handle similar situations when he begins school in the fall?). After several attempts of calm and collected, I usually lose it. A few minutes ago the boy swings a shirt around, swacking me with it while I try to help the baby get dressed. I ask that he stop, he continues. I explain it hurts when he hits and to please stop. He continues. I say, with tension now, that if he hits me once more he will have a time out. Of course, he hits me. Instead of calmly standing and guiding him to his room, as I realize now would've been the best action, my animal self comes out (I didn't even know I had one 'til I had children) and I grab the shirt and proceed to hit the floor with it, so hard my hand begins to hurt. I'm yelling in frustration, too. Something odd I've noticed when I have a tantrum is that as soon as I start it comes from an uncontrollable place but very quickly I realize what I'm doing and instead of stopping, I make the conscious decision to keep hitting the carpet (or hitting the light switch or yelling loudly). It feels physically good to get the aggression out and then once it's over, a mere 10 seconds or so later, I feel calm and rational...clear headed. After the mommy tantrum I usually say something about how mommy shouldn't throw things or yell. I explain how mommy became overwhelmed/angry/sad, whatever. Many times I'll realize my body needs to get the frustration out and I should make it silly instead of possibly frightening to the children and I'll start dancing like a monkey. I have no clue where these outbursts come from. I wasn't spanked or abused as a child. My parents are calm and rational. I enjoyed parenting my infant but when I became pregnant with my second child and my son became a 2 year old, both of our temperaments changed. I know he mirrors my positive and negative attitudes so it is vitally important I stay centered and sensitive, but he is often intense and difficult to handle and doesn't transition well into new environments and I'm finding it all maddening.

thinking of possibilities

Monday morning and I'm enjoying myself. I have coffee, homemade bread from the farmer's market, the boy occupied with television and the baby still sleeping. My mind has been playing with ways to bring in extra income. I feel the key is hidden within my own creation: www.naturalmamas.com. But there would be a slight snag. For the longest time, since I started the group in spring 2005, the group has been non-profit. Somehow, without the smallest amount of greediness, I see this changing to benefit my family, to transform myself from a SAHM to a WAHM. I would need to have a heart to heart with the almost 100 members of my group. Hmm, 100 seemed like a large number yesterday but now it feels small compared to the possibilities. A friend of mine told me she had a dream there was a Natural Mamas store with natural family products. I'm amazed her subconscious was thinking of me with all the things her busy life entails. I know my own agreed upon boundaries keep me back from pursuing many things, but perhaps this can change, now that I'm 30...

turning 30

Welcome readers. Whether anyone will be reading these writings of mine, no one can say. But, perhaps I can reap some therapeutic benefit from this experiment just the same. I will begin by stating I am now a member of the esteemed 30 Year Old Club, as of yesterday. A few people have asked how I feel about this age and I can't seem to grasp anything concrete. The whole year I was 29, I thought 30 would be dandy and I envisioned being wiser and having more in common with my slightly older friends. Then as the impending day approached I felt a little, er, anxious. I have little problem getting older but when I think of my age in terms of others, it gets weird. For example, when my oldest child turns 30, I will be 57. Now from my 30 year old perspective, that freaks me out. How will my life experiences alter who I am today to create a 57 year old me? Twenty seven years is a long time away and the amount of heartache, adventures, joy, etc that lay ahead is yet to be created and mind boggling. I'm overwhelmed with how my children, now 3 1/2 and 1, will grow into 30ish year old adults...
Side note: I claim no religion and consider myself to be a pagan influenced agnostic who can lean towards atheism from time to time, but PLEASE GOD/GODDESS/UNIVERSE, PROTECT MY CHILDREN! Oh, the things I've done and escaped from in my life...I can only hope they will be as lucky as myself to get to the fabulous age of 30. End side note.
One of the things I've noticed about myself is that I can feel mature and in control around some people but young and naive around others. There is a certain type of friend I attract that is very easy for me to be around and, though it is difficult to explain the reason, I've been attracted to this type since elementary school. Then there's the type of person I want to be friends with, very badly, but feel nervous and dumb, beneath their intelligence and very young. Maybe its as simple as feeling someone who is older than me is untouchable and iconic yet someone who is younger than me can benefit from my "wisdom".
Hmm, I fear the cohesiveness of my writing slipping away. Back to square one: I'm 30 and I'm okay. My husband and I threw a party last night to celebrate my entering a new decade. I was pleased with the friends that came but wished I had invited more people. I wanted a shindig with serious drunks and serious embarrassing stories being revealed. Alas, all my friends are parents themselves and just my husband and I were left eating fancy cheese by 1:30 a.m. But being alone and a little tipsy in a pretty dress has its benefits as well...it was 3:30 a.m. before I collapsed from fabulous 30 year old sex.