From there to where?

My dear friend Erron wrote a fantastic piece on her blog today about parenting styles and the judgment and guilt that go along with our choices. I've been mulling it over all day and trying to put to words my feelings on the whole topic.

First, I believe that judgement in parenting is real. I've been on the receiving and (sadly) the giving end of it. It happens on the mainstream and the "crunchy" sides of the coin and it can get downright ugly.

And then, a certain percentage of it is what I think is perceived judgement. A mom breastfeeding in public who feels angry eyes on her is in fact being watched by fellow breastfeeding moms who would like to make eye contact and send on a visual "Go you!" message. The mom who feels like 15 mothers are watching in disgust as her 2-year-old has a full out tantrum in the cereal aisle is really being seen by those mothers are remembering those rough moments and wishing there was something they could do to help.

I'm a big believer in energy (in case the Reiki, reflexology, flower essence work I do didn't tip you off). I believe that the more we sit and stew about judgement, the more energy and vitality we give to the mommy wars. The more we parent our children differently from our peers and fear their biting comments, the more we draw in those cutting and harsh remarks.

I love the "what if" game. What if you didn't have to worry about what other parents thought? What if you expected to be greeted with acceptance and understanding by everyone you met? What if you looked at other parents with the knowledge that they were doing the very best they could in that moment? What if we shared nothing but empathy with other mothers?

It's something to think about, isn't it?

I've had moments in my life where I've been checking off all the right boxes (Breastfeeding? Yup. Babywearing? For sure! Co-sleeping? Of course!) and yet I've been too busy looking at how I look to pay attention to why I'm doing all the things that I'm doing.

Attachment parenting isn't a checklist to complete. It's a loosely-defined parenting approach that I've come to see as pretty much describing my parenting style. We co-sleep, extend breastfeed, babywear, EC, discipline gently, unschool, and love unconditionally because these are the things that promote the types of relationships and environments for my children that I want.

When I'm too busy looking out there in the world, I'm not able to see those moments that are happening right inside of my home and my heart. When I'm able to let go of all that crap out there and just focus on these people I've been blessed to call my family, incredible things happen. There are moments of divine beauty and heart-bursting tenderness that I never could have imagined possible. My children and husband bring blessings and meaning into my life that I have to be fully present for in order to appreciate.

And in the end, isn't it that what it's all supposed to be about?

A Decade of Days

Me and my little Nick and my friend Jo.

Ten years ago today, I gave birth to Nick at the hospital I can see today from my bedroom window. I was young and unaware of what was in store for me, he was small and beautiful and soft.

Right about at this time on that day, my visitors left and the room was quiet. I was there all alone with this tiny bundle in the bassinet beside my bed. I distinctly remember switching the lights down low and his tiny eyes flashing open only inches from my face. It scared the living daylights out of me.

We made it through that first night in a bumbling fumbling way. Every time he squawked at me I did my best to painfully sit upright and convince both of us that my breasts were actually some kind of food source.

Morning came eventually and I watched the world outside of my hospital room grow brighter. It was the dawn of my first day as a parent. Something deep and unseen in the world was altered from the day before. I stood at the window with this tiny little person held to my heart and it was the most beautiful moment I've ever lived in my life.

A Robert Duncan painting that I have in my livingroom which is like a reflection of that morning.

I've just now sent Nick off to bed, this shaggy-haired, big-eyed, lanky kid full of laughter and stories. I can't quite wrap my brain around superimposing that tiny delicate baby and this boy half way to adulthood. Where did they go, the days that spilled into years? How did my son grow into this boy bursting with ideas and dreams while I could swear that I still feel him nestled into my shoulder?

Nick in the ravine a couple of weeks ago.

This journey he's taken me on is beyond anything I ever could have imagined. He's taught me more about myself in ten years that I'd learned in the 20 years before I knew him. He's opened up a depth in my heart I never knew could exist and he's made me look at the world through the eyes of a mother. Nick came to me at a time in my life when I needed him as much as he needed me and I could never ask for a greater gift.

Happy birthday Nick! I love you so much and I can't wait to see what the next ten years bring you!

What is babywearing?

Babywearing is historical.

Babywearing is multicultural.

Babywearing is for tiny babies.

Babywearing is for kids.

Babywearing is for siblings.

Babywearing is how Mom is able to make meals.

Babywearing is how Mom is able to parent the big kids.

Babywearing is how Mom takes care of two sick kids at once.

Babywearing is how we get the snow shoveled.

Babywearing is one of the best ways to snuggle.

Common Ground

The kids and I spent today at a friend's home with a handful of other families. The premise was to do some planning work for our Attachment Parenting group but, as always, the "working" portion of the day was only a small part of our time. We chatted about the kids, we ate, we stopped to take care of our kids, and we discussed the things on our minds and hearts.

I've been reflecting on how meaningful and powerful these moments with friends are. There is something so fundamentally important about spending time with people who get me and see the world through similar eyes. Our family has made various parenting, schooling, and lifestyle choices that aren't typical and having a community of people who are operating under the same general principles is something I truly treasure.

On the kid side of things, too, there are some beautiful moments. There are all the bellies of the last couple of years which have now like magic turned into toddlers and small babies in our midst. The older kids seem to randomly make huge developmental leaps and the child who a few months ago may have sat holding Mom's leg is now off adventuring in the trees with friends.

Watching the children is inspiring, the way their imaginations come together to sweep them up in a day of play. They play together as a large group, in smaller groups, or alone in an ever-changing dynamic that is mostly smooth. Sometimes there are hurt feelings, scraped knees, or coveted toys and a parent helps them to work things out and then the fun resumes.

This, I believe, is at the center of what it is to be a person. We're social creatures meant to share moments big and small with the people we hold dear. Sometimes it feels as if our society is so isolated, so cut off one family from another. Coming away from a day like today leaves me with a sense of contentment and comfort, and helps me to remember to appreciate the deep value of friendship.

The Ten Un-Commandments of Parenting

Parenting is a personal and deeply emotional thing. No two people parent the same and everyone feels like they're trying their hardest (and yet usually failing in some way).

I've seen people latch on to theories from books, advice from others, and behaviors linked to labels. And I've seen a lot of people uncomfortable with their parenting. (And yes, I totally include myself as having been in each of those situations.)

In my almost ten years of parenting I think I've figured a lot of stuff out. Not all of it, obviously, or Nick would be much more zen than he is but I think that having read and experienced a lot of things has given me some perspective and allowed me to find my groove.

In pondering my general parenting philosophy today, I came up with the Ten Un-Commandments of Parenting. They're Un-Commandments because I'm not telling anyone to do them, I'm just sharing the framework I try to work and grow within.

1) Parent consciously

Make choices. Form habits, say words, take actions, and set priorities because you've chosen them, not because you've fallen into a rut or because you're following someone else's "should"s.

2) Parent respectfully

Respect your children as individuals from the beginning of their existence. Trust them, let them make choices, have their opinions count.

3) Assume the best

Assuming your child is operating from the best of intentions changes the tone of interactions. They should have to show you that their behavior is unkind/selfish/hurtful rather than having to prove their good intentions.

4) Parent from the gut

Parents have strong instincts that can guide them in so many different situations and yet we ignore our gut feelings so often because of fear and worry. Following our instincts can bring us amazing things.

5) Touch your child

Touch does some really neat things, from stabilizing heart and breathing rates in babies to diffusing tense situations with older kids. Hug and hold and wrestle with your kids!

6) Do less

We're always so busy doing and going and talking. Sometimes our kids want us to just stop and sit down on the floor with them. Or they want us to give them space to be. Do less and make more room.

7) Have empathy

Getting out of our own head space and seeing things through our children's eyes can change the way we react to situations or can help us to avoid difficult moments.

8) Seek balance for the family

Try to find a way for situations to mostly work for most of the family. Be flexible in finding ways to keep everyone's needs a priority.

9) Be real

Be authentic with your children. They know the difference. Stop worrying about whether you should let them see you cry or find out where your weaknesses are. They can smell fake from a mile away and it doesn't help to build a trusting relationship.

10) Grow yourself

Grow and learn and read more all the time. Become a better parent, a more accomplished artist, a healthier individual. Walk the talk of being a great person and set that in front of your child as an example.

Weekends

I know that as a stay at home mom, and as an unschooling mom on top of that, weekends aren't really quite the same as they are for the majority of the population but I love it when Friday night rolls around. Nope, it's not because I go out on Friday nights (ever) or because I get a couple of days away from dirty dishes and laundry. It's because that guy who spends his weekdays in front of a screen downtown comes home for an evening and two days straight. Woo!

James has talked in a few entries about how huge a deal it is to know when that other parent is going to walk through the door and offer backup and it's so very true. But where 5:45 on a weeknight is like drinking a cup of super awesome coffee, the weekend is more like eating the centers from cinnamon roles for supper.

There are twice the number of parents! All day long! If I need to pee, I can actually go in to the room alone and close the door. And have time to do my pants up before I come out again! If I'm nursing the baby down for a nap and the kids start fighting, Liam steps in and gets it sorted out. I don't have to stick my head out the door and yell about what a horrible mother I'll end up being if the bleeping baby doesn't get a bleeping chance to have her bleeping nap. And! If the kids are starving to death but I can't manage to throw a sandwich together because I'm too busy cleaning pee off the floor while simultaneously keeping the baby from launching herself off the recliner repeatedly, Liam the Sandwich Superhero can step in!

And in case you think my excitement about Liam's time at home is all about his mad parenting skills, I assure you that my wifey self is happy to see his husbandy self too. I like Liam. Like, really really like him. He engages me in some pretty great conversations and (don't tell him I'm admitting this) he's pretty funny too. After all these years together I really can't ever get enough hanging out with Liam time. He makes me happy and when he's wearing shorts his legs make me really happy.

And so, with that, I'm off to sit back beside Mr. I'm A Hot Commodity On The Weekends. We have some important TV to watch before I fall asleep half way through the show. Not that I ever do that.

Whole Again

The big kids are home!

After heading out on Tuesday afternoon to go camping at Miquelon with my Mom, the kids are back home tonight. We ended up picking them up on our way out to weed and mound some potatoes we have planted at a friend's farm so our day together consisted of an afternoon at the farm and a late supper while watching America's Funniest Videos.

This week has been like a fantastic mini vacation for me as I tend to spend very little time away from the kiddos. I've cleaned, I've spent some one-on-one time with Olivia, I've had date nights with Liam (and Olivia of course), and I've had all sorts of quiet space to air out my mind.

But man, if it doesn't feel good to have Nick and Lily back home. The quiet turned to emptiness at times without their incessant happy chatter and I found myself frequently looking forward to being able to tell or show them things when they got back. They were thrilled tonight to see how beautiful I'd made their room. Lily jumped up and down with her huge surprised face and both she and Nick spent most of their time in the house playing up there. I got to show Nick the special places I'd put his wool felting supplies and his Transformers collection. Lily was thrilled to meet a couple of new stuffed animals we'd picked up for her from Ikea.

I just went and tucked a sleeping Olivia into bed a few minutes ago and I couldn't help but steal a few moments of snuggle time with my sleeping kids. Lily was mumbling and flopping around in her sleep. Nick had the blankets pulled up right under his chin so his brow was sweaty under my kisses.

The time apart from them has helped remind me what a joy it is to share my home and heart. These kids of mine are beautiful and inspiring and I'm so very blessed to be their mother.

Monkey See

One day, we were hanging out in the playroom and I grabbed a pad of paper and some felts and crayons and I drew the picture on the left. The kids watched as I was drawing it and asked some questions about what I was drawing and why. Shortly after I finished, Lily pulled the pad of paper over to herself and carefully picked out the same felts and crayons as I had. Looking back and forth between my paper and hers, she drew the picture on the right. She was very pleased with herself and pointed out to me all the ways that our pictures were the same.

This photo, right here, represents my approach to parenting. I wanted to do something (drawing an abstract picture for the fun of it) so I did it. My kids observed and imitated. There was no lesson, no expectation, no token reward at the end. There was simply the normal imitation of adult behavior in a child who is a social being and the shared pleasure in a moment of closeness.

My kids' eyes and ears follow me throughout our daily lives. No amount of lecturing, praising, cajoling or punishing makes a bigger impact than how I live my life. I make an effort to act in ways that I want to model to my children, whether it's speaking kindly, expressing frustrations, enjoying music or making healthy food choices. Sometimes my words and my actions are not the best and I try to make amends and discuss it with the kids after.

Those moments when I see myself played out in my children fill me with a sense of joy and sometimes with a sense of enormous responsibility. These days, this life, these moments are going to form the images of their childhoods and will serve as a platform from which they build their adult lives. Trying to grasp the enormity of it is inspiring and sobering and I hope that I set the best example that I can.

******

As an add-on, if anyone is interested in reading more about children being social creatures who are naturally geared towards wanting to please and fit in, the book The Continuum Concept is a good read, and the book Why Love Matters has a lot of solid research backing its ideas about how love and affection are so very important in laying the adult brain's foundation in the early years.

I'm having one of those weeks where I feel like motherhood is swallowing me whole. It's inevitable, this losing of myself from time to time, in the land of little people and their intense needs. Olivia's illness has meant that I've only had one evening in the past week where I haven't held/nursed her all evening or fallen asleep putting her to bed. This has meant practically zero personal time in a week and that's just not good for the brain.

Sitting here trying to think of a blog entry for tonight I keep coming up with ideas about homeschooling or breastfeeding or babywearing and I want nothing to do with any of those things right now. And so I'm going to write about the things I love that have nothing to do with my kids. (Sending mental "Nya nya"s to Olivia as she sleeps in bed right now)

I love to read. My love of books took root early in my childhood. I went through the Black Stallion series, the various Sweet Valley books, and everything about Ramona Quimby. I moved on through Piers Anthony, Mercedes Lackey, and Jean M. Auel. I've also spent some significant time with Belva Plain and Rosamunde Pilcher along with Marion Zimmer Bradley, Nora Roberts, and Morgan Llywen. I've delved into some really fantastic non-fiction along the way, but there's something so truly satisfying in being swept away in a great story line.

Scrapbooking is also something I greatly enjoy. I'm not sure if I love poring over old photos or coming up with new layouts more. There's something very satisfying in pulling papers, pictures, and embellishments together to make a piece of art. I don't consider myself to be artistic, but when I scrapbook I feel like an artist.

Running is another "me" activity that I love. I love the aloneness of it, the quiet space that it carves out in my day where all I hear is my breath and the music coming from the headphones. The repetition of my footsteps is like a moving meditation and somewhere along my route my life all seems to fall into place.

Looking at these things and remembering how they make me feel leaves me feeling sad at how little they've been a part of my life these days. I've been reading very little, mostly picking away at The 7 Habits and reading short things online. I don't think I've scrapbooked in at least 6 months and I've only gone for a handful of runs so far this summer. It's so easy to let it all slide, to let the never ending work in the house take over during the days and then to have some brain-dead screen time once the kids are in bed and I'm too tired to do much of anything.

For someone who talks about balance and health I'm doing a darned poor job of living it lately! Sounds like I'd better do something about that...

Riding the wave

No two days in the life of parenting are quite the same.

There are the days when things run along all tickety boo and the kids are happy, the meals are easy to prepare, and we do amazing things. These are the days I feel I can do it all: new projects, adventurous outings, huge amounts of housework.

And then, then we have the days like today.

I'm tired. The kitchen is a mess. The baby is a huge, feverish, sobbing disaster. I'm too tired to remember to make coffee until almost lunch time and I can't seem to get the dog fed because I'm too busy cleaning up baby poo.

I get frustrated. And it does no good. I wish everyone would just chill and let me do my work. But still it does no good.

Eventually, even if it takes most of the day, I get to the point where I realize that it's ok if all I do is nurse the baby for hours on end and let the rest of it go. The mess will stay. The dog got fed eventually. My coffee will make its way into the microwave eventually.

And tomorrow? It might be a better day. For now I'm going to hold my sleep-nursing baby and do puzzles with the kids.

Today

Today was a good day.

There was nothing exceptional about today, no big excitements or anything of huge significance, but it was a day and it was good.

I accomplished a lot of work in the house and it made me happy. I fed my family three good meals and a couple of snacks.

I had fun with my children. We had a tea party in the morning and we played at a spray deck in the afternoon. We laughed, we danced, we sang, we talked. We hugged, we snuggled, we dozed off to sleep together.

All of these things are little things, but they're oh so big that they fill my heart and my soul if I give them room. When I don't worry about the fight we had yesterday or the things I didn't get done last week, my eyes are filled with the sight of my children playing and the sounds of their laughter spilling out of them.

As I think of this, I think of the principles of Reiki:

Just for today do not worry

Just for today do not anger

Honor your parents, teachers and elders

Earn your living honestly

Show gratitude to everything

There, right there, are the words I need on my wall and in my mind for those times when I get swept up in the negativity.

For tonight, I sit with my heart filled and happy.

The Momness of it all

Being a mom is an experience like nothing else.

I parent day and night, day in and day out without predictable breaks or vacation time. My home is filled with toys and craft supplies, my bed has little people sleeping in it, and my shoe size has been dictated by the widening of my feet through three pregnancies. The skin of my belly is striped with stretch marks and my breasts do a great impersonation of an all-hours buffet. I spend my days pulled in fifteen directions at once as dirty laundry, hungry bellies, and chattering mouthes all clamor for my attention. I wake up in the mornings with overwhelming amounts of work waiting for me and I go to bed at night wondering where my days have gone.

And yet...

I watch miracles unfold daily. I see moments of deep and heart-melting tenderness between siblings. I see lightbulbs flashing over heads, I watch dreams swirling behind eyes, and I witness wonder and intrigue awakening in young minds.

I spend my days with these beautiful young souls who pounce on each day like it's a fresh adventure and I watch in awe as they squeeze in every last moment of fun. I stand beside them as they step into the world like its' animals and plants and people are the greatest treasures ever, and I get to see the world through their eyes.

My body has played a part in making people. I have felt the flutterings of tiny feet dancing beneath my skin, the rush of milk flowing from my breasts into hungry mouthes. I have birthed three babies, bringing them from deep within my body out into the world that awaits them. I have held their soft little bodies against my chest and I have experienced a pure love that I have never seen elsewhere.

And so the days may sometimes be long and the pile of dirty dishes may grow bigger by the day, but the struggles and the difficulties in parenthood can never come close to being equal payment for the joy and love of which I am a part.

True selves

As a homeschooling mom I spend a lot of time with my kids. I'm with them practically all day every day, and while it's an enormous blessing to witness the multitude of moments and the slow unfolding of their personalities, sometimes I realize that I'm in too close to really see their true present selves.

I notice it most with Olivia because her changes are so rapid. In my mind, she is firmly set in the "Baby" box. She's brand new, my life revolves around her needs, and she's really not her own person yet. And then I find that she's crawled across the house and is playing in the open toilet and I realize "Holy crap, this child here in front of me isn't a newborn. She's a baby blossoming into a toddler!".

With Lily, she was for so long my baby girl. She was independent but her youngness was magnified by the 5 years between her and Nick. Physically and emotionally she was nestled right in next to my heart all the time and then all of a sudden Olivia was here and Lily was bumped over a bit. When Lily was born and Nick got nudged over, I remember feeling such guilt. But with Olivia's birth I recognized that it's normal and that there isn't any way that a relationship between a mother and an older child can be quite as intense as the one between a mother and her new baby.

So these days when I look at Lily I feel like I'm searching to see who she is. At 4 1/2, she's got one foot in the preschooler world and one foot dipping into the world of big kids. Sometimes I see her as being my young baby still, and at other times I expect her to be more independent than is fair.

And then my Nick! I used to know every tiny speck of him so intimately. I knew where he picked up that phrase, when he'd pooped last, how many bites of supper he'd eaten. And now he has this swirling depth to him, this whole level of experience of the world through his own adventures and readings that I'm not a part of. So many times I've seen him as such a big kid only to have Lily reach that age and make it look so young. Is it because Nick feels older than his age? Is it because as my oldest I always expect more of him? Only time will tell I suppose.

All of this really makes me wonder who my kids really and truly are. If I were to take away the filters of who I expect them to be now and the shadows of their past selves, what would those kids standing in front of me look like?

The Ugly Side

I have a confession. Sometimes, like during days like today, I resent my kids.

I love them, I adore them, I know that being their Mom is the best place in the world for me. But my goodness if I don't sometimes just want to get in the van and drive so very far away from the fighting, the messes, and the NOISE!

This afternoon, I sat on the steps of city hall listening to the symphony orchestra during a ceremony to celebrate the arrival of the Olympic torch with my busy little family. Wiggly baby Olivia was getting tired and fussy and the kids and I were just cooling off from a huge fight ("No, Lily, for the fifteenth time you CANNOT be a part of the Olympics no matter how many times you ask and Nick I swear to God that if you poke me in the face one more time with that inflated noisemaker I'm going to cram it into the nearest garbage can!"). It was, you know, one of those times.

As we listened to the glorious music rising up from the group of beautiful musicians, I started watching this one violinist. She swayed, she glowed, she was the music personified. And I was so suddenly jealous. I instantly had a vision of her elegant and artistic life. The spotless sweeping studio apartment with gleaming counter tops and gigantic stainless steel appliances. The small gray cat who greets her with purrs and ankle-rubbings every night when she comes home. The hours upon hours she spends laboring luxuriously over her violin.

And there I was with my 30 lb diaper bag, my squirmy children, and my frizzy hair, not knowing the last time I'd read two consecutive pages in a book without being interrupted by scrabbly baby fingers or rowdy children, and functioning on far too little sleep.

I want gleaming counter tops! I want hours to spend following my artistic passions! I want a home that welcomes me with its silent refuge at the end of the day! I want to just step away from my life for a couple of weeks, to put the dirty dishes and the piles of laundry on pause while I slip out the back door and float in a pool somewhere with a strong drink and a thick book. I want that life, that peace, that I can imagine others have all attained but which I know isn't really anyone's reality all the time.

Part of me feels terrible for my moments of resentment. My children are good kids, needing and wanting from me nothing out of the ordinary. They are here, with me, when there are parents whose children are not within arms reach and may never be home again. They are blessings in my life, invited into the world by my choice, and they are utterly amazing little people.

Which, I guess, points out the obvious: this has everything to do with me and nothing really to do with them. I'm the adult, the one in charge of taking care of me. It's not their fault that the dishwasher is on the fritz (again) or that my choice to homeschool them has created a large amount of work for me. It's my own responsibility to make sure I get enough sleep at night and time alone, enough mental stimulation and room for exploring my passions.

This, I think, is the crux of motherhood guilt. Well, for me anyhow. I feel like I should give my kids my all, pour every last ounce of my energy and enthusiasm into creating an enriching and inspiring home environment. But I can't. Because I need some of that for me, so I can grow and be fully myself as well.

Because shouldn't I be living the lessons I want my kids to learn in life? Hhmm...

Trade-offs

The other day I was talking with a friend about how sometimes the various things I like are mutually exclusive and I was just reading a blog post that's got me pondering the idea again.

My life, these days, is a very full thing. There are three children in my family. And we have three animals. And we homeschool. And Liam works both a full-time and a part-time job. And I do volunteer work. And I like to read. And scrapbook. And write. And spend time with my friends.

I could go on and on about all the things the people of my family require and enjoy, but my point is that there comes a time where things get pushed out. Trade-offs are made and I feel myself constantly trying to prioritize what should get bumped and what should remain front and center.

Should we go to the science center for the day or should we enjoy some quiet time at home? Should I do laundry or dishes first? Should I sleep like my body wants or stay up and decompress like my brain wants? Should I focus on cleaning the house or sit and play with the kids?

There are days when I feel as if I'm constantly balancing and juggling, trying to make sure as many people get as many of their most important needs met first. As much as I would love to say that I'm working as hard to meet my needs as I am to meet those of my children, the reality is that at this stage in my family it's not often the case.

But then, there are pay-off to certain trade-offs as well. (Ooh, that sounds like a good chant: Pay-offs to trade-offs!) Letting Lily help with baking might lead to eggshells in the batter, but watching her sense of pride as she does a job all by herself is immensely rewarding. Wearing Olivia while doing housework makes some tasks more difficult, but the joy of having her close and happy is very satisfying. Stopping everything to listen to Nick recount in painful detail the scene from a TV show might make me want to pull my hair out, but listening sends him the important message that his interests matter to me.

Hopefully in the long run I'll have mostly made the best choices most of the time and have many years of happy memories to look back upon.

Priorities

Life these days seems like an endless series of bodily functions. Someone needs to eat. Someone needs to sleep. Someone needs to pee or poo. Part of it has to do with adding another person into our family and part of it has to do with how much that small person's bodily functions require my personal attention.

Every day is a bit better, but we're still miles from what was normal life a few weeks ago. Today, the sum total of my productivity was keeping most of my family taken care of and purchasing $300 worth of groceries. A year ago, that would have been a small part of my day and I could have gone on another outing or two and still had time and energy to spare. Today, though, by the time I shipped the older kids off to Grandma's house, fed the baby, washed the puke off the baby, dressed the baby, fed the baby, changed the baby's diaper, and got the baby to sleep so I could drive the five minutes to the grocery store, it was 4:30 in the afternoon. That's an entire day gone. Woosh!

Times like these help me determine my true priorities. Sleep, food, clean(ish) clothing. Those are the bare minimums. From there I can add in things like getting some cleaning done, playing with the big kids, poking around on the computer or talking to someone on the phone (or not, right Chad?!). A big leap above that is actually leaving the house. I'm only finding that I'm up to that feat every couple of days, which should make the upcoming 5 day stint of Folk Fest very interesting.

And now my priority is shifting from this rambly blog post to the frustrated baby who won't settle for her Dad...

My days

Feed the baby.
On, off. On, off. Pull her fist out of her mouth again.
Soggy diaper. Again.
Feed her starving mouth once more.
She's almost asleep...ugh, poopy diaper now.
Feed her again. Please go to sleep child.
Finally, she's asleep!
Shove some food down, chug water, make coffee, play with the big kids.
Scramble scramble scramble.
Baby's grunting, stretching, yelling.
Feed the baby again.
And on, and on...

Coming and going

Life has, unsurprisingly, turned into a giant blur of newborn care: nursing, changing diapers, cleaning up spit-up, trying to scarf down half a sandwich before baby starts howling for yet more milk. I've been here twice before, but it's been 4 years since the last time and 5 years since the time before that and memories have a way of getting smoother around the edges as time marches on.

At the same time as I'm trudging through the trenches of bodily fluids, I'm watching a massive change take place in Nick. This winter, I started to see small bits of the pre-teen boy pushing their way through the little kid in him and all of a sudden over the past few weeks he's hit a new stride in his independence.

He's spent years (yes, years) trying to learn how to ride his two-wheeler. Actually, trying is not the right word. It was more avoiding and fighting and ranting about not being able to do it at the drop of a hat. And then suddenly last month something clicked and he got it. And he's been out there biking at all times of the day. In the yard, down the road, up and down bumps, around in circles while he stands on the frame. Yeah, he's my all or nothing kid.

And then the Green Shack programs started up for the summer. The city sets up small sheds in some of the local parks and fills them with craft supplies and sports equipment and a paid employee hangs out at the playground for something like 30 hours each week.

Green Shack program + Nick biking = a kid who is gone from the house every single hour that he can manage

He grabs a bag, puts in a water bottle and a hat and my phone, and he's gone. And he's loving it. There's a different glow about him, a different kind of inner peace and satisfaction that comes with taking on a new level of independence and thriving.

It's such a strange spot to be in, for me. I watch one child make a mighty leap forward while I start anew with another. I have moments of overwhelm with the tiny body that needs such constant care, and then I look at Nick and wonder how it is that the past almost 9 years have flown past.

Some thoughts from the doorway

I'm in a limbo, that vague unpredictable world of waiting for our baby to arrive. I'm now two days past my "official" due date, a number on the calendar I don't put a whole lot of stock in but which still served as a sort of compass point these past months. And so I sit and I wait. And my heart beats faster each time a contraction seizes me. And a not-so-small sense of disappointment settles upon me each time a subsequent contraction fails to materialize.

Emotionally, I have one foot in the "I can't wait to get this kid out and meet him/her" camp and the other in the "Birthing is huge. And kinda very intimidating" camp. Each day as I lumber around with all the various aching and stretched-out parts of my body hoping for relief, but then my mind tries to figure out how I'm going to cope with caring for a newborn on top of my full days. Baby come out. Baby stay in!

There's something very divisional about pregnancy in general. Throughout the 40 (or so) weeks, there's a part of my attention that's always focused inward at the growing person inside me. The awareness of the early flutterings and the later lurching rolls and kicks pulls on my mind while I'm driving, parenting, reading, eating. Always there's this split between the outward world and the private connection between baby and me.

Also, there is the further division of me as a mother. Four years ago I learned how to make the transition from being the mom of one to the mom of two. I'd never imagined that so much conscious effort would go into the daily balance of my energy between parenting both children. Now, already, the two older ones are sharing me with the baby as my energy drops, my patience shortens, and my ability to focus on nurturing them is cut back. Soon I'll be figuring out how to juggle caring for a baby while homeschooling, a process which I'm sure will be ongoing.

When Liam's mom passed away this winter I found myself in the midst of another type of divided awareness. Within me there was a new life, a growing spark. Around me was the suffering and an ending of a life. It was an intense situation and the loss of one so loved made the potential life expanding inside me even more precious.

I sit here in the doorway, looking back and looking forward and wondering when I'll get to pass through. I'm used to making plans and decisions, and this inability to say to baby "OK, today is the day you're born and this is how its going to go," is hard to accept. But maybe that's the point and maybe that's the lesson I need to learn before I get to proceed...

Here and Now

The moments flow, one sliding into the next.
Moments of joy.
Moments of tenderness.
Moments of fury so great they take up the whole world.
Reading stories on the couch,
Getting lost in worlds and times far from here.
Walking in the warm afternoon sun,
Going wherever sidewalk leads us.
Following threads of imagination
Into those places children sometimes let us witness.
Watching their little bodies sprawled in sleep,
Hardly able to bear their beauty.
Right here, right now.