Reality

Reader warning: If you're sick of me talking about not having a job by now, no need to commence.  There will be no hard feelings from me because.  I'm feeling rather like the over-exuberant new mom who gushes about every cheerio that her firstborn feeds him/herself.  Get over myself already! and all that.  Ah well.  I'm going to write it anyway.

Fiction: Not working and having the luxury to be a stay-at-home for however long you do it is blissful.  There are good naps.  You get stuff done.  You wake up leisurely in the morning and sit at the table sipping one or more cups of hot stuff of your choice.  You wear whatever you want and don't care.  You take the kids on a trip to the mall or out to eat for a treat or what-have-you whenever you get bored at home.  You hang with friends who are also stay-at-homes.  You read a lot. 

My reality:  Some of this is true, actually. 

I do wake up fairly leisurely and just early enough to get a shower in before the spouse leaves for work.  Sometimes Abby is the one who sneaks in as my gentle alarm clock.  ("Mooommmmyyyyy....it's time to get uuuu-uuupppp....")  Caveat:  I've already been up at least once, usually between 4:30-5:30 to feed and diaper Audrey, my soft little snuggle bug who makes raspberries to herself until she goes back to sleep for a couple more hours.

I do get some stuff done.  I rock the laundry train.  We're up to 7 solid loads of laundry a week, usually on 2 days.  I can multi-task kitchen stuff like an Iron Chef, at least in comparison to the hubs who ... doesn't.  I'm pretty decent at planning ahead.  Caveat: I have to.

I do wear whatever I want.  Caveat: I do care what I look like, even when I'm wearing the comfy clothes.  Probably no one else but me noticed that I wore grey every day last week.  Every day.  Caveat: No one else but me ever notices what I wear.  I'm pretty inconspicuous.

But here's the nuts & bolts reality, the part that I'm having trouble adjusting to.  I'm pretty isolated now, coming from a place where I was surrounded by people.  I'm much more happy being in the company of  myself or a small couple of people rather than a crowd, but at some point, you just need to be around adults.  And the real issue, the one that is the purpose here: I don't have an end in sight, and that's just scary; it changes everything.  With my first maternity leave, I was on leave from the very end of May until March 1st of the next year, but there was always an end in sight through the winter blahs.  I'm a 3-steps ahead planning kind of person, and I'm left with nothing but the unknown right now.  It's working and there are no regrets in our decisions, but I'm the first to admit that it's still just scary.  Caveat:  I have so many ideas, and it's liberating to be able to think what if??? for once.

For my fan club president, Crystal, here is a picture that I took this morning as I was trying to dress Audrey and she was trying to hang out with her good buddy, who was coloring her own hand like anyone would do.

Melancholy demise

If you have been a faithful follower for a couple of years on this blog (and really, there might be one of you out there...?), then you might remember a post that I wrote WAY back in the day that I wrote about Abby's various loveys.  This is one of the few posts that I've written that I still remember, for one very important reason.  This is where I first documented Abby's adoration of her pants. 

This little pair of aqua leggings (size 3-6 months) was part of a "Hey! Congratulations on having a baby...here's a sweet little outfit!" present when we had Abby from a good college friend.  They came with a couple of cute onesies and an adorable pink skirt.  They were later part of a pile of clothes that were outgrown and in need of being boxed up and stored should there ever be a time when we would need little girl clothes again of exactly that size for exactly that season.  (Hey, what do you know...wishes do come true.)  Suffice it to say that Audrey never got to wear these pants.  Audrey was able to rock the onesies and the skirt (which, by the way, little diaper tushies clad in skirts are drool worthy...I do love me some cloth diapered baby bums), but she never so much as slipped a wee little piggy in either leg of THE PANTS.

These pants became something of a legend with my oldest.  All of her other loveys fell into and out of her affection, but she unwaveringly remained faithful to the end (foreshadowing!) of the life of these pants.  By the time this pair of pants died as a torn, knotted, discolored, disgusting little scrap of cloth, Abby still thought of them as #1 in her world, trumping anything and anyone. 

This is something of a requiem to Abby's pants, a eulogy a few months late.  They've been back in my mind as I accidentally discovered one of the cuffs of these pants stashed, for safekeeping perhaps, in part of Abby's carseat a few days ago.  A suspicious blue thread was sticking out and I quickly pocketed the scrap before Abby's eyes should find it and set her mind to longing for that which she can no longer have.  And for a proper sendoff, here are a couple of pants stories that would wrench any toddler's loving heart.  And as my final memory, a secret, which may or may not be revealed at the proper moment in approximately 20 years.

Memory #1: Abby took her pants with her EVERYWHERE.  This, I assure you, is no exaggeration.  Abby also enjoys going to cross country meets with Daddy.  One lovely fall day when Abby was 2, she set out on one such adventure, pants in tow, and returned home sans pants.  There was no napping that afternoon.  There was much longing.  There was a frantic call to the groundskeeper of the park where the meet was held and a return trip by the errant papa to retrieve the pants.  And that kindly groundskeeper, bless his soul, must have been a grandfather, for who else would go out on a golf cart in search of a pair of blue infant leggings for one sad little 2-year old, wandering around acres and acres of empty grass?  (Cross country meets are usually held on extensive acreage, mind you.)  The pants were shockingly found and returned. 

Memory #2:  Abby stashed these pants in a good amount of "safe" places around our house, and we got pretty good at finding these on the quick when we needed to be out the door and the pants were nowhere to be found.  She preferred such hiding places as in between couch cushions/chair cushions, in her bed, on the floor beside daddy's side of the bed, and inside her monkey backpack.  Yet the crafty little toddler sometimes utilized the washing machine...safe place indeed.  And speaking of the washing machine...

Memory #3:  Have you ever tried to wrestle a lovey away from a toddler who is sick after the lovey has been puked upon and is in immediate need of a washing?  It takes some tactical maneuvering, a word play two-step, if you will.

Memory #4: Abby has had a lot of ear infections and subsequently, has been to the doctor's office and the walk-in clinic a lot.  The same doctor remembered Abby over the course of a couple of months because of her pants, her safety blanket that were not to be relinquished while being poked and prodded. The nurse at her regular doctor remembered her for the same reason. 

Memory #5:  Her pants were accidentally left at church once.  The organist found them, knew they were Abby's, and kept them safe at church for her until Daddy could return and get them.  Friends looking out for friends.

Memory #6:  The final demise: Shortly after Thanksgiving last November, we couldn't find Abby's pants anywhere.  We looked in all of the usual places, including the hampers and trashcans.  And Abby still took a nap that day despite occasionally asking about/talking about her lost pants.  Daddy was informed of the problem when he returned home from work, but nothing was found.  By this point, the pants really were nothing more than the seams knotted together with a couple of frayed scraps of the legs yet intact.  Both cuffs were missing, and the elastic of the waistband had long been showing through.  The pants gods were with us again as they provided us the perfect, couldn't-have-scripted-this-any-better ending to the saga of the pants.  I found the "pants" shortly after Abby was in bed and asleep for the night.  I found them...and I DIDN'T GIVE THEM BACK.  And Abby has never asked for them again.  She lost them at just the right time when she didn't need them anymore, I guess.  Her affections continue to stray from stuffed animal to stuffed animal, mostly settling on "kitty," but not always by any means.  She's a cuddler and looks naked without having a lovey in her hands, vulnerable and also rather grown up.  And despite the burden of the pants (and the grossness), always having to be aware of where she may have dropped them in a store or storing them in your pocket for her, they were indelibly part of her personality for almost 3 years.  She still just doesn't look right without them.  And here's my secret, which you can probably guess: I still have the pants, hidden in one of my dresser drawers.  I fully intend to keep them and give them back to her someday, if only to give them to her to throw away.  In fact, I have the last skeleton of the pants as well as the cuff that I just found and a couple of other large chunks that were ripped off of them at various points.  I have them all, and I want to present them to her if for no other reason than to give her ONE tangible memory of "Abby's pants," for which she was so well known for such a major portion of her life so far. 

Recognizing wealth

Within the last month, I read something in a newspaper about education/schools, and the article mentioned the amount of household income for a family of four that qualifies the children to receive free/reduced meals at their school.  Given my lack of a paycheck at this point, our family income is right around that amount.  That made me think.

Today, I was half watching an episode of a favorite TV show that was addressing equal rights between men & women (the Equal Rights Act) while Audrey was climbing around and over me on the floor.  I looked at her sweet baby head and chubby limbs going non-stop and thought about the privileged life that she was born into by grace.  That made me think again.

In various ways, I've been wrestling this past month or so with contradictory illustrations of what constitutes wealth and poverty.  I find that context dictates the definition, of course, but degrees of wealth can co-exist with degrees of poverty.  I use these terms for lack of any other that signify what I mean while also knowing that neither of my examples truly illustrate how society defines "wealth" and "poverty," especially the latter. 

The importance of the issue for me lies completely within the unknown of my career and future.  It's a completely different issue to take some time away from your job and forsaking a paycheck for a finite amount of time, knowing that you will have a paycheck again beginning on X day rather than taking some time away from your job indefinitely.  And once my situation became no paycheck indefinitely, I freaked out a little.  I'm still a little on the freaking side of it all, I think.  Thank heavens for the boy who tempers my anxiety. 

I intrinsically know that "wealth" is evidenced in a variety of ways and is not something that can be pinpointed on a tangible wealth-poverty continuum.  But I am both learning and remembering how we enjoy wealth and what we believe it is.  In January, Abby and I put together a meal for a family that has become very important to ours.  They bought a new house and are feverishly working on it from the proverbial top to bottom.  This was our service project last month, to serve our friends and allow them to take a moment to enjoy their family amidst all of the chaos of the move.  The thank-you note we received from them was honest and sweet, and I love that feeling of how I had an abundance that I was able to share.  I know that I would like some more of that wealth. 

Can't wait to get to Heaven

Abby and I have some good chatting time in the morning after Ben takes off for work and before Audrey wakes up for the day.  We usually have an hour, sometimes longer.  Inevitably, that means a long, leisurely breakfast, maybe a game or two of Memory, perhaps a book or Highlights magazine perusal, and hurriedly getting teeth brushed and clothes put on before my hands get more tied up with a smaller bundle.  Abby gets us for about 2 solid hours to herself before Audrey wakes up in the morning, and that's pretty vital for her happiness.  She must have good one-on-one time everyday.  (She's also like a frisky puppy and must have good running playtime everyday.)

Every once in a while, Abby brings up some God talk.  My favorite is when she is trying to be tricky.

Abby: Hey Mommy, who made the bathtub?
Me: I don't know.  Someone in a factory, I guess.
Abby: Nooo....God did.

I know that lots of these random little snippets come from Sunday School and pre-school alike.  But since I'm never part of those discussions, they come out of the blue.  Toddlers are fantastic at transparency.  There's no filter, so you get to hear about everything they're thinking.  In that respect, talking with Abby is a lot of fun, and I take that for granted. 

A couple of days ago at breakfast, Abby started in on--Heaven.  She even pulled out references to angels in robes (that didn't come from us!).  She matter of factly stated that "I can't wait to go to Heaven and see God."  And it made me think a little...why not?  Adults are probably likely to swoop in and think about how this poor young child has her whole life ahead of her and what a tragedy it would be, but why not?  What an interesting perspective for a kid to have, I think.  As a parent, I don't think that it's my job to stifle the curiosity of my kid by imposing my own sheer horror at the thought of Abby going to Heaven before me.  Heaven is interesting, different, and new for her.  It's something to be interested in and explore.  Not only did she say that she can't wait to meet God, but she can't wait to see Audrey & Daddy & Mommy in Heaven, too. 

Death hasn't been an issue that we have had to overtly face with Abby yet.  It's a sweet gift to explore the topic with her before pain and sorrow are introduced.  And I, for one, am glad that she wants all of us to come along to her Heaven-playground to join in the fun, someday.

Here's what I answer when someone asks me why

I've been a part of several conversations where the question "Yeah, but is organic food really worth it?" has inevitably popped up.  I've heard people respond negatively--"It doesn't; it just makes people feel better."  To some extent, yeah, I think I agree with that mentality.  But here's some organic food for thought, free of pesticides, growth hormones, and GMOs (genetically modified organisms). 

I fully agree with this article, which reiterates my point that I've made before on here that it's not as much about me as it is about my girls.  Right now, Audrey is crawling up a little chubby-legged storm, and crayons that are scattered throughout the house are a favorite target.  To me, allowing or even encouraging her to eat crayons, which admittedly aren't toxic and won't make her sick in small quantities is the same thing as purposefully giving her potatoes that are like sponges and soak up all of the pesticides that proliferate the soil in which they are grown.  (And for what it's worth, organic potatoes are one of those that I feel more than justifies the cost.  I bought a 5-pound bag of potatoes the last time I went to the store for $2.50.  Check the price of "regular" potatoes.  Similar?  Yep.)  And there is a lot of inconclusive, but increasingly convincing, information circulating about the probably link between artificial growth hormones and increasingly early puberty, especially among girls.  This stuff doesn't just start when kids are 10 or 11 years old, I'm convinced. 

Organic food doesn't have to be more nutritionally dense for it to be noticeably impactful in a person's well-being.  And if nothing else, purchasing organic foods also supports Earth-healthy growing practices.  That also seems like a pretty big plus for me cause while I love girls to the ubiquitous moon and back, I also love my Earth.  I think it's a pretty good place for my girls to live, matter of fact.

Decisions, decisions...

I find myself with a do-over at my adult life.  I have a blank canvas of opportunities to create something new for myself and my family.  I'm faced with a specific task, though.  I have to find the right job this time.  I have to figure out where I'm supposed to be and what my career is supposed to be.  It feels daunting, to say the least. 

I had an interesting chat with Ben tonight.  It boiled down to... 
1.  Ben thinks (and I believe he really does think this) that "you're not happy unless you have something to worry about."
2.  I'm too qualified for many jobs and not qualified for the rest of them. 

I feel like the green college first-year student (that's the terminology we roll with at Manchester--"freshman" is sexist and unnecessarily so) who wants to do everything and can't decide what to really do.  I feel like I'm signed up for a general studies program that doesn't lead anywhere concrete.  I want to do everything and dabble in everything.  But that, surprise surprise, costs money.  For example, to complete a masters degree (which, what do you know...I already have one of those) in school counseling, which I almost pursued 5 years ago, at a university within 1 hour of me (my range), it would cost $22,000 and change just for tuition.  That's a serious commitment.  Argh.

I guess I'll just have to chill out and relax a little, which has never been especially high on my list of attributes.  That's the part of job interviews I hate the worst: "Tell me why you're awesome..."  Blah.

My faith is being tested in a time when I have little support that I am readily in contact with.  Audrey is still a good listener, but Abby sometimes changes the topic.  Simply put, I'm geographically misplaced, and that makes me anxious.  I don't know how to interact with the changing professional landscape.  Ben's right, though: I am a professional worrier sometimes.  Bleck.

With this in mind, I leave you with 2 things.  First, if you read my previous post, bless you.  It stunk.  And it also took me something like an hour and a half to write it because I was watching The West Wing (which I recently discovered is streaming on Netflix now and is even more readily accessible than popping my DVD in ye olde DVD player) and lost my mojo relatively early in the post but was bound and determined to write something about it.  So I did.  Second, the Bard is going to put this post to bed with a quote from Othello. 

"How poor are they that have not patience! / What wound did ever heal but by degrees?" 

Who Knew?

Anyone who follows the news in even the slightest capacity undoubtedly heard about this story last year.  It generated a new round of debates about attachment parenting and breastfeeding.  For a general topic that is pretty much innocuous insofar as it doesn't physically hurt anyone (indeed, those who truly practice Dr. Sears' guidelines would undoubtedly argue that it strengthens or even heals people rather than hurts anyone), there is a whole lot of emotionally laden commentary hanging around about it.  Forgive me if I meander far into the emotional realm; I'm going to try not to do so.  Indeed, my purpose here is to stick more or less to the straight and narrow because what is going to come out is something of a shocker to me.  And I've been thinking about it of late, so I'll throw my thoughts down here for few to read.

Forgive me for resorting to a definition here, but just in case, let's be clear (quoted from Attachment Parenting International's official website):

"The long-range vision of Attachment Parenting is to raise children who will become adults with a highly developed capacity for empathy and connection. It eliminates violence as a means for raising children, and ultimately helps to prevent violence in society as a whole.

The essence of Attachment Parenting is about forming and nurturing strong connections between parents and their children. Attachment Parenting challenges us as parents to treat our children with kindness, respect and dignity, and to model in our interactions with them the way we'd like them to interact with others."


My perceptions are two-fold.
1.  The term "attachment parenting" is generally associated with negative qualities such as being "weird," "unnatural," or "wrong."
2.  I/we practice attachment parenting more than I/we realized prior to becoming familiar with the term.  WHO KNEW?

Per the API website, there are 8 "principles of parenting" that attachment parenting promotes.
1. Prepare for pregnancy, birth & parenting: Really...this just about covers everyone.  C'mon.  Unfortunately, it doesn't cover everyone.  Emotional meandering, I know, but this has to improve to everyone if many, many (MANY) societal issues have any hope of improvement.  EDUCATION in particular (an issue that most of the media & many politicians beat to death with little if any ability to truly understand how to "fix" because of utter lack of training or experience...I digress) must have this "principle" improve to 100%. 
2. Feed with love & respect:  The API doesn't really acknowledge anything other than breastfeeding.  While I'm a pretty huge fan of breastfeeding, I'm also pretty thankful for the good of many children worldwide who do not have access to breastfeeding.  Either way, each brand of baby juice can be given to an infant with love and respect. 
3. Respond with sensitivity:  This one is a toughie.  I think that we all realize that this is true, that children cannot inherently self-soothe, but the degree to which we can put the child's needs above our own frustrations is a whole 'nother issue.  I like this one in theory.  I strive to be better at this one everyday.  I fail in some way...everyday.
4. Use nurturing touch: This is the one that clued me in that I might be, dare I say, practicing attachment parenting.  I sure love my Moby wrap.  I wish that I had purchased one when Abby was born.  I'm ever so glad that I went ahead and splurged on this prior to Audrey's birth!  We have sported the wrap at the zoo...on a 2-mile walk at the park...at my Bible study...at our story time group at the library...at Meijer...at my parents' house and my in-laws' house.  And inevitably, I get a smile and/or an approving comment.  Why oh why do more mothers and dare I say fathers?!? not sport these more often in public?  My husband wears it without shame or question.  It always soothes her.  It always puts her in a zen state of being.  It epitomizes calm, and I find that to be nurturing. 

5. Ensure safe sleep, physically & emotionally:  I differ here with API.  We're not co-sleepers.  We never will co-sleep.  Just within the past month or so has Abby begun climbing into bed with us for a few minutes when she inevitably gets up because "I waited until there's a 6 on the left."  I also want to find fault with the API believing that "Sleep training techniques can have detrimental physiological and psychological effects."  But I can't because they use the word can.  I do believe that.  But I firmly believe that sleep training is inevitable and healthy sleep training is possible.  Isn't co-sleeping another form of sleep training?  Isn't "sleep training" simply teaching your child what is or is not acceptable as far as sleep habits?  The practice of co-sleeping is also training a child to sleep a certain way just as the "cry it out" method does (or any other method for that matter). 
6. Provide consistent & loving care:  This one also seems like a no-brainer to me, one that I firmly believe should be so for every parent.  But the wording here is tricky again.  API states that babies need the love and intense care of a "responsive caregiver: ideally a parent" and that "If it becomes necessary, choose an alternative caregiver who..." as if one or both parents should always be with the child.  Should it become necessary is a pretty guilt-loaded thought there.  The implication seems to be that a child being without the care of a parent for any reason is a pretty serious deal.  We like going on dates once in a great while.  I don't feel all that guilty for leaving our children in the care of a grandparent to do so.  This wording rather implies to me that I should.  But other than that, yeah, I'm pretty much in agreement.  Loving, responsive parents are inevitably going to be better caregivers for their own children than an alternative caregiver, right?  It seems to me like this is so.
7. Practice positive discipline:  Another hard one!  API is all about the respect for child and parents alike, emphasizing dignity here as well.  I readily admit to my many failings in this department, and I challenge any parent to say that they don't.  Yet the ideology of this principle are what we strive to follow and attempt to practice.
8. Strive for balance in personal & family life: (Can we refer back to #6 and feeling guilty about going on a date with your spouse?)  Following this principle fosters healthy relationships with all members of the family.  It's a given. 

I haven't ended a post with a quote for quite a while.  Today, I'll use some words by Mark Twain to sum up this mash of thoughts for me: "My mother had a great deal of trouble with me, but I think she enjoyed it."  Indeed.