Good Mama Mojo

What I Am...

2012-01-05T20:36:00.003-05:00

I play with dolls all day. I also play with large-piece puzzles, coloring books, I run a mean game of chase, and I can throw together an impressive meal from a pink plastic shopping cart filled with wooden food. This is, mostly, my work.

Of course you know. Of course you understand. I expect many of you live here too. But do you respect this? Do you see this as real work? Is this a job that deserves credence, credibility, and admiration?

I ask 'you' but really I mean ME. Today, playing actively with my daughter in front of a woman about to head to her academic job, I felt- embarrassed. I thought, what is she thinking of me right now? No, that's not true. I assumed what she might be thinking. I assumed there was amusement, a little sympathy, pity, perhaps a touch of contempt. This is how she spends her day? This fulfills her?

Gulp.

Well, yes. Of course. This is my child. Spending my time with her is fulfilling, enriching. Mostly.

Of course I have other passions. Doing this- one word after the other, watching a page fill up- in a flow, it thrills me. I love it. I stopped caring if anyone reads it. Currently, I'm not even concerned with content or rhythm, simply the exercise of putting one word after the other, flexing these muscles again after a season of dormancy. This is a passion for me.

I have always said, I could read forever. I could read away most of everyday, probably everyday, and never mind the scenery around me never changing. Look at this book! Look at these words! Look at these thoughts, these ideas. Breathe them in.

What might, in olden days be called domestic work interests me. Not cleaning so much. Ask anyone who's been to my house. Ask my parents. But cooking, knitting, learning about a garden, there are little delights here.

And most of my day is motherhood. And most of my devotion given is playing. Most of my day is on the floor, shifting around, holding some small inanimate object- a doll, a stuffed animal or maybe the flat one-dimensional puzzle piece Dory's given life and personality and breath to by bringing it into her game- and speaking in funny voices. I play 'baby', I play 'mommy,' I play 'Dory,' I play her best friend 'Lily,' I play 'daddy.' She wants them all in there and I mostly oblige.

For reasons I will not go into now, it is important to me that Dory be home, that she's been home with me these last few years. We have worked- oh we have worked- to make that a possibility. I do, actually, work even now, a nanny-for-hire, you might say, taking her with me, as watching another person's child affords me the luxury to spend time with my own.

Yet even as I feel inspired to this, I work to value it. I learn to see this time as worthwhile. I learn to regard our interactions, her play, as important. I write these words as no lecture, no higher ground attained, simply a message of what I hope to one day know. Here is the divine understanding I hope to reach: being with my child is important. Playing with my child is important. So much happens right now, on this subterranean level, bits and pieces of a soul and character and spirit taking shape. I will only know the fruits of this labor, and even then only a fraction of them, after she is grown and gone.

Louise Hay's affirmation today feels fitting: My life is a mirror. The woman, academician from earlier, the one trying to convince herself to head to work, the one openly dreading getting into her office, she is nothing more than a mirror. Her thoughts? Her assumptions? All mine.

I am only reaching, working, trying to remember: my child is important.

Resolute!

2012-01-01T17:02:00.003-05:00

Writing some thoughts about the New Year tonight, I realized, unintentionally, I made a Mother's New Year's Resolution list. Without going into details, in my mind I held a conversation about my parenting style with another mother. In fact, I asked her (again entirely in my mind but in preparation for a conversation where we might be working together and would need to be clear and open about how we mother) about her parenting. Reading through a few questions, I turned the spotlight on myself. How do I handle these things? Sharing, hitting, saying 'please' and 'thank you,' ideas like 'time-out.'

Lately, I haven't considered these ideas so much. Do you know what happened? Dory turned three. Almost six months ago, she turned three, and a shift occurred. A maturity blossomed that once was not there (or I had not seen). Interacting, play, coming and going, it all got easier. Her verbal skills soared. Her understanding (to my mind) expanded. Her interest in cooperation, with me, her dad, her friends, exploded. Everything got so much easier, pretty quickly.

Suddenly, I could whisk this girl, who once balked passionately at her car seat, into the car, go see a friend, then back in the car, off to the market, then back in the car and home again with little or no trouble. In, out, in, and out. You know, the way we're supposed to breathe. Easily.

Parenting a three-year-old started to feel more like what I expected all along. In only a few years, I whipped between loving parenting to rueing the day I decided it would be 'fun' to have a baby. I loved babyhood. I loved long nursing sessions, lots of eye contact, using slings and backpacks, cloth diapers. It felt right, I felt right, it felt good.

Then, somewhere around fifteen or sixteen months, this little person became to emerge from the round, sleepy baby I knew. This person with clear feelings, strong confidence and precious few communication skills. The tantrums! The refusal to cooperate or work together. Who was this kid, a protestor from the 60's reincarnated? How did she know to go limp in just that way, that dragging an unmoving toddler was nearly impossible, incredibly tiring, and mostly infuriating? I felt a lot of battle happening between us, I held a great deal of fear about responding poorly. Parenting materials became my only occupation. I read, listened to and watched anything I could get my hands on, anything a friend recommended, a litany of material that I rarely retained the details of but well recalled the feeling and intention to. And to respond to a willful, determined, confident (all characteristics I wanted to see her maintain) baby-toddler, I strove to be more patient, thoughtful, and compassionate.

Continue for about one and a half years. And then three. Three came and It. Got. Easier.

And perhaps, at least a little, I took that for granted. Looking over this random list I jotted down, I realized, I might pick up the ball, get back in the game with a little more gusto.

It's a long and rambling list, but I thought I would share a few ideas here.

1. I want to remember to listen to her. To hear and consider her request. To take her opinions seriously and to remember she is a part of her growing-up too.

2. I want to say 'no' less. When I say 'no', I want to remember, and to say to her, "I am saying 'no' to this request, not to you. I always feel 'yes!' to you.'

4. I would like to be, more often, the mother I want her to remember. The mother who took time to listen to her stories, the mother who did one thing at a time well, the mother who took care of herself, the mother who had time for others and interest in what happened to those around her. I want her to remember a mother who was untidy, had too much clutter and too many un-done 'to-dos' but was present with the people in her life. I want her to remember a mother who made missteps (many, many missteps) but did her best to do better. I want her to remember a mother who laughed far more often than she worried, who found humor more than often stress.

A light list, huh? Should be able to check it off in about a week or maybe a lifetime...

Still, nothing like a list to retrain my focus and remind me of what I have. And it surprised me to realize, even as I wrote this, how appreciative I am of what being a parent means to me. Yes, motherhood can incite the worst in me, the short-temper, impatience, anger, frustration. Yet so often, Dory's very presence seems to pull or to summon, or to demand the best I have to give.

They're Growing Right Up

2011-04-18T09:18:00.000-04:00

This is a shot of our collards earlier this week (with our thriving Rocky Top lettuce mix in the background). Perhaps I was the feeling the rush of accomplishment or perhaps it was sheer inexperience that lead me to announce "we'll be eating collards this weekend!"

They are an inch or so taller now. We are not eating collards this weekend.

Yet. We are closer everyday. Our tomato plants chug away in our windows. I had a eureka! moment the other morning, on noticing they were all starting to bend towards the window. So strange, so strange... they couldn't be... are they... is that reaching for the sun?

I turned the trays around and- voilà!- they righted themselves by the end of the day. Now I remember to turn them each day so our stems are fairly even and straight.

With this kind of expertise and natural ability, I feel a show on HGTV or some gardening-minded network is right around the corner...

Ahhhhhh

2011-04-17T08:53:00.003-04:00

Yesterday Matthew (essentially) finished his semester. There is one class left, a review class, but tests, papers, and presentations are done for the summer. He will have nearly three full glorious months to work and be with us before he starts his student-teaching in the fall.

AHHHHHHH...

Apparently I've been, unconsciously, looking forward to this for some time. Because the feeling in our house last night was one of mild and quiet jubilation. Here's what a celebration looks like in our house these days:

chatting in the kitchen, while cooking dinner, Dory running around us
one of us leaving to do something with Dory
Dory nursing for a bit from all the excitement
eating said dinner
spending most of dinner trying to explain to Dory she may sit on the table, during said meal, but may not stand, jump, walk around, or squat on table
cleaning up dishes
not so subtle attempt to coax Dory to bed
Matthew getting in bed, in said attempt
Matthew falling asleep at 8pm
Dory and I playing quietly in living room, with Thistle and Shamrock radio show playing in background
Dory and I in bed, her falling asleep while we read, as she says, The Yor-yax
Dory asleep, Matthew rolls over, around 9:30, says "so tired..." commence more soft snoring
I close out the night by taking Georgie out to use the bathroom, turning out the lights, and reading a bit of Chickens magazine

We are wild and crazy guys.

And speaking of wild and crazy, here's our adventurous girl, doing a little tree-climbing at Baby M's house (where I nanny) this past Friday. She very much likes climbing trees. I imagine being one to two feet off the ground must be invigorating to the three feet and shorter crowd...

Is she beautiful or is she beautiful?

Oh, Mr. Sun

2011-03-26T09:24:00.003-04:00

A few quiet minutes here to post and so I thought I would mention this interesting bit of sun and sunscreen information I came across during my perusing of some favorite blogs.

Ashley, over at Small Measure, posted this EPA research on sunscreen. She also provided this link, from the EPA, detailing their best and worst choices for sunscreen. Really helpful information, especially as we're all gearing up for lots of sunshine in the coming days!

And then I'll say here- it always makes me sigh when I see a new list like this one. I pick Burt's Bees sunscreen- it's mostly natural, it's easy to find, and, for our budget (keeping in mind our budget goes to very few things these days), fairly affordable. So it is disappointing to see it fall in the "caution" category of their list, right next to Banana Boat. I've used both, of course, my point is its disappointing to spend more money and time on a particular brand only to discover, eh, its about the same as several others (though, conversely, if you've been a Banana Boat buyer, might as well pump your fist over the couple of bucks you've saved each time you've picked that particular brand.) So I read this and I want to shake my fist and demand of the sky, "what else can we do?!"

Except I know the answer, for me at least. Read! Do your homework. I seem to have been born with a gene that says, if you've thought it, someone else has written about it. Extensively. So I read. A lot.

I'm always so glad to come across information like this, put together succinctly and with sources. I've gone to the EPA site, made notes of their recommendations and now I'll know how to shop differently in the next few weeks. I'm glad to see natural instincts, like "The best sunscreen is a hat and a shirt" at the top of the EPA's advice- at least something is simple!

My active imagination determines I could easily scare myself silly if I read too much. So I stop once I have an idea of the material and think, now on to that new Elizabeth Peters mystery I scored at the library! Or those toe-up socks I've frogged and am ready to cast-on again. Still, a little research goes a looong way. I'm still amazed at how picking up the Sears' The Baby Book completely altered our journey to parenting.

I'm going to stop now, because Dory burst into the room, saying "Peek a boo!"and then our conversation went a little something like this.
Me: Hey little sweetie!
(pause)
Me: What's that on your mouth?
Dory: Its choc'ate chips!
Me: Are you and daddy making cookies?
Dory: No! We just eatin' choc'ate chips!
(pause)
Dory: We need YOU to make cookies! We just eatin' choc'ate chips and watchin' Toy Story! C'mon, mommy!

Who here thinks if Daddy was our stay-at-home parent life would pretty much be a carnival all the time?

Always Looking Up

2011-03-19T06:58:00.004-04:00

We have sprouts. Or sprouting. I'm not entirely certain what to call them. Seedlings? Whatever these little shoots and small green leaves are, we have 'em.

The tomatoes took off first and the fastest. Originally the Brandywine and the Goldman's Italian-American were going gangbusters, while the Principe Borghese and Riesentraube lagged behind. They have since caught up and I can safely say, of the dozen each planted, we have at least eight little tiny plants per kind, as many as a full dozen for one. The good news came two mornings ago, however, when Matthew sent me a picture of the newly sprouted broccoli. This was our first sprout beyond tomatoes. Since then two of the peppers are showing life, the wild strawberries container is dotted with green and the thyme from Dory's little garden has several shoots. There is growth!

As a first time gardener, I don't yet know what I can't do. While I did read a book and look around for good seeds and I did have a general idea of what was needed (dirt, water, sunshine, right?), I confess to not studying this seed starting business too closely. Now, reading back through old articles on Mother Earth News, I'm realizing all the ways we weren't quite prepared for this. Like starting all your plants in 3 inches or deeper containers. Hmm, pretty sure our sagging and soggy little egg cartons don't quite reach that height requirement. Or the great benefit to having a growing lamp. Our plants look more like dirt on the run, constantly moved around the house to catch the best sunlight and heat throughout the day. I started a faint panic one night, thinking, we're doing it all wrong! We're not prepared! How will we survive the summer?!

I dialed that back pretty quickly and now we have more sprouts. Maybe not all hope is lost, even without fancy growing lights or the common sense to start with real potting plants.

Still, I'm glad of our ignorance at the moment. We're trying veggies we might not have if we had 'known better.' Even if the broccoli goes straight to flower, I'm proud it got going. And I do think we're going to have some winners from these plants. They're just trying so darned hard. They make you want to believe in them.

Dream

2011-03-18T08:08:00.001-04:00

Woke up on time, awake and ready to go yesterday morning. But somehow couldn’t bring myself to slip out of bed, to leave the warmth of Dory’s little body, not so little now, her slim, long body curled up against mine, her head tucked so perfectly under my chin. Instead, stayed in bed, arms wrapped around her, and for two hours lost myself in family and farm fantasies, imagining a farm, some land and a house for us, imagining our chickens, imagining our dairy cow and our beef cow, imagining our garden, tilled right into the soil, imagining all kinds of things, giving classes in our home on cheesemaking, canning, Dory, a little older, whirling into the kitchen, with Matthew on her heels, the feeling of us being together as a family throughout the day.

We all want this. She loves Matthew as she loves me, she thrives best when we stay together as a family unit. For so long now, forever, Matthew has said, when we three are together,' this is what matters, this is all I want.' And for some time I’ve rolled my eyes and basically thought, enjoy it until real life sets back in.

I have a new idea of what I want real life to look like. Maybe real life isn’t work, cars, bills, with snippets of family love and magic fit in around it. Maybe life could BE family, could be togetherness, could be relationship, with work, cars, and bills fit in around THAT.

There’s no point agonizing over time lost or not knowing these things before. But now that this realization begins to dawn, I wonder what other possibilities are out there? What would it be like to have that, that bit of land, our chickens, our cows, to leave your place only once a week, to find your food there, where you grow it, to find our joy there, being together...

I think, more than ever, the path opens up in front of me... read this book, find this suggestion, get out in the ground, and do this work. Last night, we came together after being gone all day at work and we stayed outside, watering our garden, playing in the grass, sipping cool beverages, feeling the first suggestion of heat and summer on our arms and faces. Matthew said, even as the clock said 6:30, ‘let’s stay outside all day!’ almost giddy with the joy of being with his daughter and wife again. Maybe these times aren’t meant to be fitted in around ‘everything else.’ Maybe THIS is meant to be the time.

I don’t want to rush this or try to make it happen now. I’m a good one for either forcing something to work that isn’t ready yet and so often breaking it, or for staying sick with longing and desire, letting it eat at me until the dream is simply twisted into something that hurts instead of inspires.

I’m not going to do this here. Right now, this is our life. I work as a nanny, I am so fortunate to provide an income to my family, while being with my daughter all day, while taking care of her mostly as I always intended to. Matthew follows this teaching dream, in school on weekends, and working around that. We live in a house we love, in a great neighborhood, we are close to family, we have many dear friends. There is a smoothing to life’s rough edges these days and Matthew and I often marvel that, on a third of the money that he used to make on his own, we live far better now than before. We better understand living within our means, quality over quantity and what, to us, now truly matters, these ties that don’t bind but envelope and hold us together.

We carve out that other life, that life of possibility, in small ways right now. There are three vegetable beds in our backyard, there are little damp seed trays in our windows, there are pots on the front porch that will hopefully become basil, cilantro, dill, and other herbs. Books are scattered through the house with titles like “Radical Homemakers” and “Storey’s Guide to Raising Chickens.” There are bonds we make and strengthen, finding a way to eat locally, to buy quality, humanely tended meat, thoughtfully produced produce, shopping at our local co-op for the needs in between. We drive less and less, the miles on the car Dory and I share racking up maybe a dozen a week. We receive from our family, who offer us a car so we don’t overextend, who slip us $30 here or a pair of shoes for Dory there and we appreciate the generosity, try to return the gift by excepting graciously and with good humor.

All these little steps and yet steps go by fast, they take you where you want to go, so often, more quickly than you expect. That’s what I think. And sometimes its worth giving up all the little to-do’s of the morning, to lay next to a sleeping child, that little body that grows so quickly and seems to stay warm with love, hope, and optimism, just to be close to her and dream for a few minutes of what might someday, a few months or maybe a few short years, come to be. What if...?

Seed Fever

2011-03-09T22:34:00.007-05:00

This morning, Dory, her arms wrapped around my neck, whispered in my ear, "Let's go see my seeds growing."

One of Matthew's dear, thoughtful co-workers picked up a set of these herb plants for her son and a set for Dory too. This is one of the sweetest gifts I think Dory's ever received. She even labeled each little plant and the garden itself.

Dory and Matthew planted them last night. We checked their progress this morning and, well, not much yet. She was not discouraged. And standing in our kitchen, on a rainy Tuesday morning, with her little monkey arms and legs around me, I wasn't either.

After that, we had tea. Dory served.

If a day can start off this well with no visible seed growth, what will a day with a little visible green be like? I cannot wait to find out.

Seed Starting

2011-03-03T06:59:00.005-05:00

(Dory on her John Deere)

Is it March that comes in like a lion? February left like one and March still growls a little. Yet new growth, life and adventure is on the horizon. We started seeds two Sundays ago.

Taking what feels like a lifelong collection of cardboard egg cartons, we got out our seed starter dirt and got going on the dining room table. For anyone who doubts these are the actions of novices, we laid down no towels or newspapers and Dory's first action was to take out a scoopful of dirt, with her little Garfield spade, and pour it all over herself. She announced, this was her shower. I wanted to lecture, on 'where dirt belongs,' I wanted to start sweeping and cleaning up around her. I would have done, too, had not some little instinct, some little voice, called out to me, reminded me of something I already almost forgot- this is supposed to be fun! Dirt is not meant to be tidy, clean, and I expect keeping it to 'where it belongs' is almost impossible. Shower on, little one, shower on.

This was a two step process, playing with dirt with Dory and then actually starting the seeds on the floor of our living room, on a picnic blanket, long after she had fallen asleep, while (talk about getting back to the land!) the Oscars played in the background. We are your modern, homesteading family. In progress.

For the first days my confidence was high, but lately its flagged a little as we see no evidence of growth. Surely its coming. They're in the windows, they're working, surely its coming.

Do we need one of those heat lamps, people? This is my concern.

Sunday Morning

2011-02-27T08:18:00.004-05:00

Ahhhhh.

Would the deliciousness of Sunday morning be lost if all mornings were Sunday morning? Of course it would, at least a little. So I tell myself Monday morning. Today, though, nice to dream, what if this was everyday?

Right now, my Sunday morning looks and sounds a little like... dog sleeping at the bottom of the bed. Husband and daughter thumping through the house, accompanied by sweet, high pitched child's voice bossing daddy about. Birds chirping outside. Some knitting in front of me, Cascade Superwash on the needles, slowly becoming Child's Placket Neck Sweater. Just finished listening to Keeping Chickens on Mother Earth News radio. Rumbling tummy requests hot tea, with some yogurt and granola. Granola was a treat from our local Co-op this week; Dory carried the bag through the store with gritty, three-foot tall determination, and finally I gave in, because, honestly, it looked delicious. Turns out it is. Too pricey for an every week buy. (Add to to-do list: find good granola recipe.)

A little later today, Husband and I have plans for a rare and exciting trip to the movies, maybe even getting lunch beforehand, while Grandpa and Grante (pronounced Gran-T) Mojo look after our little girl. Movies were once an every weekend excursion for us and now I average perhaps three or four a year. Something I thoroughly enjoy regardless of film; the experience is a thrill simply for its uncommon occurence. My Sunday morning lesson; the rarity makes it more precious.

Happy Sunday to you all!

(No worries, Dory is not suddenly regressing, suffering from some kind of Merlin backwards-aging. No new pictures to show, so found one from this time last year. Can you believe the change?)

It's Started...

2011-02-22T22:04:00.005-05:00

We ordered seeds Tuesday night. In Friday's mail we found...

Included was a free seed packet for wildflowers and also a note apologizing for any delays as they were swamped with orders. Tuesday night order, Friday morning delivery. Concern about delay in delivery? That is good service.

On Saturday, we went to our local nursery and what an experience. Being afflicted with Budgetus tightus and so shopping very little, I've discovered walking into a store can be sensory overload. This is true especially for little ones. Dory has been to Target a handful of times in her life and the last two times, she looked around in wide-eyes wonder, and said, "Mommy, yook at all dis stuff!" I either want to flee, overwhelmed, or I want to start buying everything (its so cheap!) and so must flee, to protect our hard-earned and carefully rationed budget.

Walking into Stanley's however, was, well, lovely. It was well lit (naturally, from a durable glass ceiling), the air felt clean and clear (from the tables and tables and tables of plants), the sounds were soothing (from the many outdoor fountains, yes something ornamental, to buy, I realize). And their employees weren't just helpful, they were eager. Passionate. Excited to help.

And for someone, such as myself, who knows nothing on this matter of gardening, except what I've recently read or gleaned from conversation, this was of tremendous value. For instance, when you're filling your own beds with dirt, you need lots of dirt. LOTS. My expectation of four or five bags- I was a little off. A cheerful, knowledgeable employee, a woman, in fact, I'd seen at our downtown library's storytime with her two boys, informed me, we need a 'scoop'. She directed us away from purchasing at their store and pointed us towards two different mulch companies where we might get our scoop. The Wow-factor is high with Stanley's folks. We bought a few bags of organic compost, to complement the scoop, a bag of seed starter dirt and (here was my impulse buy) a small impatiens to tend in our window until its warm enough to transplant. That is one draw back to starting with seeds; there's no immediate green something in the house.

Grandpa Mojo kindly and generously donated time and energy into preparing wood for the boxes during the week. He came over Sunday and he and Matthew set to work. Magic happened. Our vegetable beds started to take shape.

The building of the boxes...

Just a few steps closer to our first, real garden, and my dream of a self-sufficient life.

(Somehow I failed to get a picture of the other two finished beds, in daylight, so this will suffice for now.)

There you go. Start some seeds this week indoors (luckily we are an egg eating family, so we'll get some mileage out of all these cardboard egg cartons I've saved). Get our scoop this weekend, mix dirt and let's see what happens.

I must stop here to marvel- this is, I hope, much of our vegetable and fruit consumption for the year. And it fits in a yellow manila envelope and costs less than $3 to ship. Even if half of our garden was a major flop, the money saved (not to mention other factors, fuel, cost to the environment, etc) is immense. We will come out so far ahead. This does not include the great amount of family time, sunshine and enjoyment I expect us to reap as we work this garden together. My only question: why haven't we done this sooner?

Actually, why isn't everyone doing this?

What Will They Say About Us?

2011-02-16T07:42:00.008-05:00

Since Dory started enjoying books (really enjoying them, not just wanting to mouth them or rip the pages) we've been reading stories at bedtime. This has been months now, maybe even a year? Hard to recall in fuzzy mama memory.

Occasionally its a quick night; on nights where she's exhausted, she's out in the middle of the first book. Most nights, its anywhere from three to eight stories and lately I've felt impatient. Impatient to finish, for her to fall asleep.

(Dory at eighteen months)

Last night, on the sofa, I performed my typical feats of nursing and reading simultaneously. Just as thoughts, that mental chatter, started to pop up ("surely it will be soon; she must be tired") and words to follow ("one last story, OK, sweetie? Last one."), an entirely new image popped into my brain. I imagined her, as an adult, relating to me how our ritual of reading at bedtime was a cherished childhood memory. I heard her, really, almost heard the words, saying she treasured that time, she felt special, loved, safe and valued. That she, as an adult, appreciated that we would read "one more story" and then "one more story" after that, that we read them gladly and with pleasure.

(Dory at two and a half)

And the words "last one, last time" disappeared. We read until she fell asleep, somewhere near the end of "The Sword and the Stone" from Walt Disney's Classic Storybook, a book she loves though I don't think she's actually seen one movie from the entire collection. And then for another half hour after that, we stayed cuddled there on the sofa, she, this long, slender toddler, sprawled across my arms and I imagined myself, saying back to her, in those later years, "Dory, our bedtime stories are some of my best memories too. Some of my very best."

(Last week, napping the day after I declared 'She's all done with naps, I think!' Ah, we wise and all-knowing parents...)

Off the Grid-iness

2011-02-13T08:15:00.005-05:00

What's going on around here? Something is different..

This morning, one of our first to-do's was to take our homemade chicken stock, simmering through the night, off the stove and drain it. We left a a stewing hen's carcass, carrots, onions, celery and a bunch of parsley behind as we poured out a silky, golden stock, smelling, though I say it myself, heavenly. Bone broth, as I learned from Nourishing Traditions, a cookbook I find myself pouring over the way spiritual scholars seek out the great religious texts of the world, is "extremely nutritious, containing the minerals of bone, cartilage, marrow and vegetables as electrolytes, a form that is easy to assimilate." Mary Fallon, co-author of NT, attributes "the decline in the use of meat, chicken, and fish stocks" as a "lamentable outcome of our hurry-up, throwaway lifestyle." Few of us buy meat still in tact, "on the bone" as Fallon calls it, unlike our "thrifty ancestors [who] made use of every part of the animal." Homemade chicken stock...

At the library yesterday, after making a large selection from the children's side, we stopped off in the gardening section, only to meander a few rows over, past animal care (where Dory selected a book on hamsters), before cookbooks, there! that book! Made from Scratch: The pleasures of discovering a homemade life. An unexpected find that went straight into the bag, with great delight.

A slew of books, actually, littered around the house (Handmade Home and Coop); on hold at the library (Radical Homemakers); online magazines checked on a daily basis (Mother Earth News and Mary Jane's Farm)...

Yesterday morning, awake before the rest of the family, I sat in our living room, pouring through our seed catalogue, checking and double-checking that we had all we wanted and no more. We picked Baker Creek Heirloom Seeds for delving into the world of growing our own food. Our virtual shopping cart is now full to the point of tipping over and yet I thought, I bet this is a drop in the bucket to real homesteaders...

Homesteading? Is that what we're moving towards?

Surely not. Off to a farm forty miles from anything? Hmm... I love where we live, to me centrally located to what's most important (parents within a fifteen minutes drive, our local park and library a quarter mile walk, many friends anywhere from three to fifteen minutes away, a farmer's market a three mile drive on three different days, Matthew's work and mine easily accessible). Creating our own energy... Matthew's first question: is wind-powered satellite-television possible?

Yet books about keeping a family cow and how to raise your own chickens appeal to me.

Maybe this isn't a surprise. Moving out of the mainstream appeals to me lately, not different for different's sake, but a genuine questioning of what I value and what I hope to model to our next generation. We're already parenting in mostly unheard of way (still trying to follow Dory's lead, in co-sleeping, breastfeeding, cloth diapering until potty trained, the list goes on), so its not surprising these other worlds would start to pull me in.

I would have thought this a tiny community, difficult to find and impossible to incorporate into an everyday lifestyle, available mostly through beautiful blogs and websites. Not so. In fact if I start to look around, I can see where it's been happening around me this entire time. Mental flashbacks to my parent's garden when I was three and four and my dad's stories about me picking tiny green tomatoes far too soon. Some of our first friends when we moved home, who live on a tiny farm, with goats and sheep, she spinning her own wool, both of them commuting half an hour into work everyday. Another friend who makes her own yogurt, juice, broth, dried fruit, the list goes one, while, during winter, a supermarket and interstate sit in view behind the woods and creek at the back of her house. A neighbor one street away who used to keep chickens...

I'm curious how many of us have these longings as of late? Perhaps disillusionment with work, the government, the media, stemming from a realization the promise given won't be fulfilled by that particular establishment, that their brand of happiness just doesn't do for me. Maybe a sudden longing, as generations before us pass on, a call from the past, tugging at the fingers and heart to find the same dirt that slipped through our great-grandparents hands. Or a modern concern, an understanding we don't want to be labeled the "throwaway" society, this isn't the legacy we want to leave behind...

Check "all of the above" for me.

So something is afoot, something definitely moves through the house. I have no idea what I'm doing and, because I came of age during the dot.com boom, I mostly look to books and websites for understanding. Another something on the list, sandwiched between "find raw milk source" and "learn to sew"- talk to people. Find people! Other living, breathing humans, preferably in the same room people from who to learn.

And if any of this sounds like I am disparaging technology or haranguing how life has fallen apart since the development of the internet, let me relate this snippet from moments ago. Dory, at two and a half, just plopped up on my lap to nurse, and with the laptop open in front of her announced: "Mommy, yook! I'm having bobos and pushing buttons on da internet!"

My Tribes

2011-02-09T08:10:00.000-05:00

There are two groups, since I became a mama, that I joined, two groups that I now can't imagine 'mothering' without their support: the first, Attachment Parenting Int., the second, Holistic Moms Network.

I found one through the other, stumbling onto HMN after finding API. They have both been amazing lifelines to other mothers, family choices, and support.

At the start of last year, Dory turned eighteen months old and I suddenly felt a little lighter, a little freer... like someone who had some extra time. I decided I wanted to lend a hand to these groups that introduced me to women I now consider dear friends, helped sustain and uplift me during difficult times, brought me information and knowledge and empowered me in the, often unusual choices, I made as a mother and we made as a family. Turns out, what our local Holistic Moms group needed was a new chapter leader.

Tah-dah!

So after an OK year last year, I finally feel like I have started to hit my stride, organizing and coordinating this great group of women and mothers. Then February came and I realized knowing my topic for the month was not the same thing as scheduling a speaker for the month... oops.

All of this to say, we had a lovely, quiet, meet-and-greet meeting this last Tuesday, with about eight of us, four regulars and four new mamas and most of our children (a few are now in school) coming up with ideas for our group, getting to know each other, offering suggestions about local pediatricians, diaper rash, eating habits and basically bonding in that hit-the-ground running we mothers seem to do.

I like that about us mamas. I like that so many of us have lost our pretenses and come to the discussion simply, honestly, wanting to help, wanting to learn. I feel so fortunate to know so many lovely, amazing women and their bright and beautiful children.

If you're in the area and would like to catch the next meeting, mark Tuesday, March 8th on your calendar. We'll have a leader from our local Weston A. Price chapter speak about this traditional, thoughtful, healing nutrition. I will post more soon. In the mean time, be well and a lovely Wednesday to you!

A Surprisingly Ordinary Story

2011-02-02T21:10:00.000-05:00

As I mentioned in a recent post, Dory and I bring home stacks of books from the library. These books go many places. Different rooms in our house, our car, to my job, Matthew's car- these are books on the move. And we haven't, yet, lost a single book. Imagine that.

Until last week, when Dory picked a book to bring with her (a book we never actually read) on a trip to the park. I, theory would have it, being better prepared to look after a book than she, took the book from her before I helped her down from her car seat. I then forgot the book in the place where many of us forget things when exiting a car: on top of said vehicle.

I remembered that book about two hours after we came home from the park. I remembered it balanced precariously on the edge of the roof of the car. I remembered, if such a thing is possible, not remembering it when we left. I resigned myself to "buying" our first library book.

During my recent solo trip, the librarian and I went through the list of books and could not find this title anywhere. Not anywhere! And I realized what had happened. Allow me to enlighten you, with this quick preface: I believe (most days, I believe) we live in a kind, benevolent Universe under the influence of an unconditional, loving Spirit (I would say God, but welcome and appreciate any word of awe and magnitude that fills that space for you). I realized, somehow, this magical, almighty Power manufactured a scenario wherein this particular book missed the check-out process, that somehow we walked out of the library with a book never borrowed and it was this very book we subsequently lost. Amazing.

I told Matthew the story and began to explain what must have happened when he interrupted to say, "Someone found it and returned it to the library? That was nice."

Um, yes. Yes. Yes, it was, wasn't it? Some person at the park found our book, identified it as a library book and then took the time to return it to the library.

I like his explanation better. And I can't help but think it still works in harmony, though on a less extraordinary scale, with my story. I think, actually, its the very ordinary niceness of it that makes his story better.

Thank you, to whoever-you-are out there, with your respect for books and libraries and mostly for your simple, kind gesture.

Homeschooling

2011-02-01T15:54:00.003-05:00

Today through SouleMama I stumbled across another lovely blog, MommyCoddle. Roaming around her site I came across this thoughtful, gentle explanation as to her family's choice to homeschool. And, if for no other reason than so I might remember it for later years when we are hopefully following the same path, I wanted to link it here. What a soft, tender, and heartfelt discussion for this, I'm realizing, controversial choice. Definitely worth a read and consideration for any other mamas curious on this subject.

New Bedtime Ramblings

2011-01-31T20:18:00.003-05:00

While naps are not entirely gone, they are mainly phased out. At two and a half, Dory can handle a good solid ten to eleven hours straight waking-time before nerves start to fray. An hour after that she goes to bed. So suddenly I have free evenings! Already I have started some laundry, emailed a few friends about getting together for lunch, eaten a quiet dinner, and found two different Meryl Streep films to alternate watching. (Julie & Julia and Defending Your Life). I don't watch nearly as much television as I once did (any guess as to why?) and it feels positively glutinous that, with the press of a "Back" button I get double Meryl. Her laugh, in both films, is infectious.

Other happenings.

I want to learn to sew. I have many friends who are accomplished sewers but only one in town. She has recently moved. I am now faced with finding time for class (difficult) or finding a book, getting out the machine my Grante Suzanney so kindly loaned me and just figuring it out. I want to be brave and bold and just do it. So tonight at the library I checked out Socks from the Toe Up. Exactly. A knitting book. I'm not ready for brave and bold sewing but I am ready, after four and a years of knitting, to learn a new cast-on. I will stay posted on progress.

The library trip merits a mention. Tonight, Matthew surprised Dory and I by arriving at work (where I nanny) and picking Dory up. They came home to play and, when I left work twenty minutes later, I stopped at our neighborhood library and... wandered. Now, Dory and I visit the library weekly. I consider her an avid reader by the number of books she enjoys having read to her. We come away with a stack for her every time we come home. Because of Dory (well, mostly- I might have had a few) I have officially hit my book loan limit and had to put books back. (How many does Knox County consider too many? Anything over 35.) I mean only to make the point, I get my library fill.

I had one book on hold to pick up. Yet to wander the shelves, even for ten minutes, on my own... temptation was too strong to dash in and out again. Just like, I imagine, anything in life, it can be nice to do it unaccompanied. I gave myself a few extra minutes and just wandered. Because of this I discovered the socks book and a new Amelia Peabody mystery that I would not have known was available had I not chosen to meander. I might also have come home with Barbara Kingsolver's , a book I've read a couple of time nows, but which I always find inspirational, especially as my fingers start to dog-ear pages of these new seed catalogs.

What a good, happy ending to a strange, bumpy month. Welcome, February!

Sing! Sing a Song!

2011-01-08T10:05:00.004-05:00

Its Saturday morning, Matthew and Dory are playing in the living room and I am tucked up in bed, with this laptop, a stack of books, a candle burning and I can see about two inches of Knoxville snow* out of my window, an occasional flurry sweeping in another handful of snowflakes. And for some reason, I have the song from Sesame Street ("sessy street" as Dory calls it) in my head. This version particularly. We are thoughtful and limiting on what Dory watches, but Sesame Street is still a classic to me. Especially scenes like this one.

I have no special blog to write today, except for working to build a habit. So I'll mention the books by my bed right now.

Simple Abundance: A Daybook of Comfort and Joy by Sarah Ban Breathnach
Coop: A Year of Poultry, Pigs, and Parenting by Michael Perry
All New Square Foot Gardening by Mel Batholomew
You Are Your Child's First Teacher by Rahima Baldwin Dancy

I also have the Winter 2010 of Interweave Knits

Also
Angelina on Stage and
Llama, Llama Red Pajama

And I've just been invaded- time to read those last two books! Will write more about my reads later. Definitely a theme developing though... What books are you starting this new year?

And I'll mention, just now Dory thrust a crayon and piece of paper at me to make our grocery list. She said we need; Bread, Eggs, Cheese, Blankets, Sofa, Pillows, and Curtains. Sounds like an ideal list for a wintry Saturday to me.

Happy snowy Saturday to you!

*Knoxville snow: an inch to three, melts fast, rarely stops up traffic or sticks on roads, but sends our whole town (myself included) into a frenzy for bread and milk. Everyone goes to get bread and milk. Gluten-free, dairy-intolerant people race to the supermarkets for bread and milk. Causes me to wonder, is this some strange plot by our local grocery stores to sell more bread and milk in these crazy diet days? Just a thought...

What's Your Word?

2011-01-01T09:43:00.006-05:00

Join the caravan of those who have turned their faces to the sun.~ Rumi

What a beautiful quote. Perfect intention for the New Year. I fell asleep last night- drifted, finally, after hours of being awake, buzzing with the understanding we just entered a new phase, a new time, a new what-if, what-could-be, what-will-be- and I thought, "Wife, Mother, Writer, Nanny, Gardener, Homemaker, Leader..." In front of each title, I placed this word: passionate.

That's my word. This is my year of passion, to act from this place. I want to make choices fueled by passion. No perfection needed. Rediscover enthusiasm, burn my energy brightly, let go. Just passion!

I've got a slew of books to read and re-read. I'm firing the blog back up. I've got a set of gardening gloves just waiting to be broken in, a stack of beautifully framed photos to hang around the house and remind me of all that I have, a new stock pot already broken in with the last batch of homemade chicken stock for 2010 (a revelation in and of itself)- that list alone shows what a lucky, lucky lady I am.

I ask you- what's your word, your adjective of the year?

Wishing you a happiest of New Years.

Perhaps, a second intention- to find my own "bangerina" skirt...?

2010-06-03T14:00:00.004-04:00

We watched a friend's little girl today. In an effort that all we mothers constantly strive to achieve, my friend wanted some balance and so planned to take a yoga class, a little patch of time to herself. As her daughter is beautifully attached at her age, we both knew this might prove tricky for said little one. They came over early, to settle little daughter in, and after a bit, my friend left and her daughter (a lovely, lovely girl who is only a few weeks younger than Dory, is even slighter than our girl with that blow-away-in-the-wind delicacy and has the soulful brown eyes of a poet) did exactly what you might expect and dissolved into tears.

For a while she was inconsolable, sitting on my lap and crying, and saying "mama, home, mama home," in that way that could actually break your heart in half if I didn't know what's she's starting to learn which is that mama will come home again. Mama will come home, hurrying, rushing, speeding, so glad to be home and so incredibly refreshed from her two and a half hours of time on her own. Mama will come home, there is little in the world as certain as that. In about two hours. Two hours is a hard thing to explain to a person who has no concept of anytime except Right Now.

Off and on this little girl cried and I would hold her while she did (I actually held her nearly all the time- she recognized, I'm quiet sure that, my possession of breasts meant sitting in my lap put her in much closer proximity to the good stuff than, say, sitting at Dory's baby piano. Sure it wasn't her good stuff, but- it's still nice to be close.) Dory played around her, sometimes engaging me or both of us and other times just playing and occasionally shoving her friend enough to the side of my lap to get her own good stuff ("the bobos" as they're known around here). And sometimes this little girl would watch, would look up, interact, and seem to have a very good time. And then something would remind her of mama and she would dissolve into tears again.

And it reminded me of anytime I've ever seen any friend with a broken-heart. The way you sort of limp along, and then slowly start to get your step back and then- bam!- you drive past the diner you always ate at or hear that song you both used to laugh at, but secretly loved and suddenly you're weeping on the kitchen floor. We were on a little walk in front of the house, Dory in diaper and shoes, marching along with purpose (remember, she knew exactly where her bobos were) and me holding our little friend on my hip, following, talking about leaves and sticks. And this girl suddenly said "stick!" with such enthusiasm I picked one up and held it out to her. At which point she melted in my arms, sobbing, "stick, mama, stick," in a way that said clearly, "this is just like the stick mama and I once picked up." And I did what I think most good friends do- I validated her feelings. "Yes, I know you miss mama. And maybe that stick makes you think of her. It can be tough when mama's not here. Even hearing she'll come back doesn't always help. Yes, I know. I hear you."

Off and on all morning, this was the experience. And then mama came home and it was exactly what you expected- daughter lights up, beams, than cries a little more and then it's done. The emotions are out, expressed, mama's home, she survived, and everything is right with the world again.

Mostly it made me realize/remember/get hit with that bolt of lightening- what's so bad about treating our children the way we treat our friends? If you go to a friend and say, "I've experienced this loss that I'm not sure I'll pull through or even how to start..." would your friend reply "oh, it's fine, get over it"? Or "stop crying! he'll be right back!" The emotion is the same for them as it is for one of us when we've been romantically wounded, only, I expect it's much worse. They don't yet understand permanence, impermanence, a run to the store, time to one's self. Yet how often do we dismiss their hurt because we (big, wise, moon-faced grown-ups that we are) can logically see the other end? Maybe its not treating our children as our friends (though that doesn't seem so bad either) but treating them like our friends that might make these relationships run a little smoother. And letting them know, they're worth the same respect as someone more than three feet tall seems like a good place to start.

Knees

2010-05-10T17:45:00.001-04:00

Here is Dory the morning of the 'incident':

And here are her knees after:

Those are scratched, bloodied knees if I've ever seen them. At the duck pond, in total joy, Dory dashed around the perimeter of the pond, across the uneven pavement, took one misstep and... sprawled out on her knees and hands. A full-out whack! to the pavement.

She cried openly. I cried internally. She's had any number of bumps and bruises since she started walking, but this was easily the worst. There was no catching herself before she fell. There was real blood. There was even the icky sound of a schmack! when she hit the pavement. This was her first in earnest childhood injury.

I held her and she cried and I tried not to. My mother was at hand and she was calming for the both of us, commenting we could take Dory home, give her a bath, those scratches would be gone in a week, tops. After a few minutes, Dory seemed calmed down. We didn't rush back to the car, but lingered a little longer, looked at the ducks in the creek next to the pond, even spotted a mama and her baby ducklings.

It's tricky to see here, but that Mama Duck is in a protective posture. Next to us, on the bank of the creek, a woman had a dog and, seeing the ducks, he hit the end of his leash, barking madly. At first, she and the ducklings took off at full waddle through the shallow water. Unfortunately this took her right past the dog and on recognizing his nearness, she stopped, posed and four baby ducklings hid behind her. I don't know if Mama Duck had a plan, but her feathery body language communicates one clear statement: do not mess with me and my babies. After a little more "ooing" of the ducklings, the dog's owner moved on and Mama Duck and ducklings proceeded down the creek, ruffed only in spirit.

My duckling came to harm, through her own activities, and there was no one to blame. Rocky pavement? Sun in her eyes? Trippy kids' shoes? Maybe, who knows, and that seems a stretch. I still wanted to puff up, make my stance and just dare anyone to mess with my child. And like the dog leaving and the ducks waddling away, the moment passed. Yet just that quick flush of protective instinct reminded me how far more linked we are to our animal nature than we might normally realize. And that whatever enemy, be it leashed dog or old, cracked concrete can bring out the mama bear in all of us.

Or in this case, the mama duck.

And I'm glad to say, more than a week later, Dory has only the faintest signs of knees scrapes.

A Post in Pictures

2010-05-08T22:32:00.005-04:00

In the words of Paolo Nutini, "I put some new shoes on/And suddenly everything's right..."

Story hour

What is 'Things You Find in Your Refridgerator When You Have a Toddler'

Baby Napoleon

The latest art house film: "Diapered Dollies, Pantsless Baby"

The latest hit song from the '30s: Walkin' My Monkey Back Home

Silly face kind of day

POV

2010-04-26T15:47:00.004-04:00

Dory is asleep and this is our living room right now:

And instead of doing anything about that, I'm going to direct you over here to check out two new Dory videos- one of her and her dad, the other (and pretty darn interesting, I think, though you might attribute that to me being her mother) is a little video she took when I (please don't tell my husband) let her carry around our Flash recorder yesterday morning.

I can't remember if this is the one or not, but if I'm singing in the background, forgive me. And if Matthew asks, she overpowered me, stole the camera, figured out how to work it by herself and that is definitely, 100% not me singing in the background.

Open Doors

2010-04-25T09:15:00.005-04:00

This morning, while using the bathroom, I heard Dory bust into a wail and a chorus of "mommy-mommy-MA-AHmee!" I, many parents with toddlers understand, had the bathroom door open (oh, yes, not-yet-parents, there will be a time, no matter what you might say now, when you poo with the door open- just wait) and could hear her clearly. So I called to her, coaxingly, "Mommy's in the bathroom! Can you come in here with me?"

There was a brief pause in the cry, and then a moment later it was taken up again, with even greater gusto. This wasn't the all-out, full-lungs, lusty yodel of a newborn baby, but more along the I'm-exasperated-with-you cry, or I-really-expect-better-service-than-this cry. So while I sensed the need wasn't urgent, (this wasn't an "a piano just fell on me!" yell or, more likely, "I've shut one hand in a book and with my other hand am squeezing it closed because I don't yet understand the physics of the situation!" yell) I found myself hustling to get to her.

I found a very sad-faced baby standing in front of the other bathroom, the half bath we almost never use, where the door was, in fact, closed. And, even after she saw me, and I picked her up, she insisted we open the door to make sure, I assume, I wasn't somehow in there still...

I wish a good Sunday to you all! And here are some Easter pictures from, oh, only a month ago, where I can't help but think she looks like she wandered off the set of The Sound of Music...

Sunny Days

2010-03-27T21:36:00.006-04:00

I thought I would share some pictures from last Saturday... Dory, in the words of Sheryl Crow, wanted to soak up the sun.

Before we left the house that morning, for our first walk of the day, decked out in her new pink spring jacket (thank you Grandma Cindy!)...

Dory, by her own choice, carries the poop bag, for cleaning up after our doggie. Of course, the bag was empty at this point...

Me: Are you ready to go home?
Dory (points the other way): Nope.
(I like the fact you can see my shadow and, if you look closely, note I'm clutching a mug in my hand, as I'd brewed some really strong hot Irish tea. This gives me about a quarter of the get-up-and-go Dory rolls out of bed with every morning.)

Dory sits on a rock, at the park, on our second walk of the day. We saw another mother, with her toddler poised on a nearby rock, taking lots of pictures and trying to cajole her six year old son into posing too. I got Dory to do the same, in that she sat still for about two minutes, watching the other family. Then she was done and ready to get rambling again.

Dory, no jacket now, as this is our third walk of the day and its gone from forty something to sixty plus degrees outside. To me, her expression says: "Can we please GO? We've been inside ALL DAY."

We spotted this guy, hiding in the flowers. Dory surprised me with her stillness. I expected "CAT! Meow!" followed by subsequent kitty terrorizing. But she looked, announced, "Cat. Meow." and then on we went.

And, as all walks end, the ceremonial setting down of the walking stick... You, Child of Nature. Me, Mama who Need Sun Hat and Good Sneakers.

All the Words...

2010-03-26T23:15:00.005-04:00

A list of all Dory's vocabulary as of late:

Dokey-dokey: Okey dokey

Noise

Youd: Loud

Yights: Lights

Nap

'Ice: Rice

Beez: Beans

Cahz: Cars

Guys

Boys

Toys! (always said with an exclamation point at the end; you can just tell)

'Kay: Okay

Sas: Salt

Sasa: Sausage

Books

Wead: Read

Horse

Doggie (also Puppy)

All done

Bye-bye

Hewoah: Hello

Monter: Monitor

Mommy/Mama

Daddy

Sit

Walk

Wok: Rock (this one you sometimes have to hear in a sentence- or at least a gesture)

Holt: Hold

Dow: Down (and usually said "dow-dow-dow!")

Bookssss

Tabee: Table

Shing: Sing (usually song, usually Elmo's song)

Elmo

Doors

Dory! (again always said with an exclamation point)

Me (can mean her, but can mean "you"; another example of "could you use it in a sentence...?")

Houssh: House

Cow

Duck

Cat

Peggy: Penguin

Gam: her Gram (my mom; only said a couple times, but it was distinct!)

Bas: Bath

Watey: Water

Shoes

Shocks: Socks

Panss: Pants

Shirt

Head

Sholers: Shoulders

Knees

Toes

Paws (I might have made a mistake in referring to her hands as paws, as in "put that little paw in mine"...)

Eahs: Ears

Yes

And, of course, No, NOOOOO, No-No, and, just recently, Nope.

And that's all I can think of for now, at 11:30 at night. Her language expands so rapidly (daily) I realized if I didn't record it somewhere, we wouldn't have a way to remember her first real words, when she said them and the way she said them. And I expect there are a few long-distance friends and grandparents (and great-grand!) who might like a little list too...

And a cute story. We had a really busy day yesterday, playgroup in the morning, and then a visit to my parents after that. We played there for a couple of hours and suddenly Dory looked up, shook her hands (her sign for "all done"), and said "all done, bye-bye." And waved. Her grandparents (being easygoing people) were delighted and they burst out laughing. I packed us up, we got in the car, and within three minutes she was asleep. Isn't that amazing? Did she know she was ready for a nap? Could she tell she needed a break? Or was she just tired of her grandparents (just kidding Grandpa and Granny!). My instinct says, she was ready for a rest and she took good care of herself by letting us know. Just amazing.

More Nursing Support

2010-02-13T11:28:00.001-05:00

Back with more breastfeeding support! Holistic Moms, a national organization devoted to creating a healthier, more natural, and more sustainable way to parent, responded to a recent article in the Herald Sun (Australia) which reported "that young women are reluctant to breastfeed their babies due to fear of public embarrassment." HMN appealed to all members to send in photos of themselves nursing their children in public. Of course we sent a picture.

This beautiful video is the result. To watch click here. (Dory and I are around the three and a half minute mark!)

To read more about the inspiration behind the project click here.

I'm so glad to be a member of the national and local branches of this fantastic group!

Playful Parenting

2010-02-12T15:48:00.003-05:00

I have another excellent book to add to my list of parenting reads: Lawrence Cohen's Playful Parenting. (Linked it in the sidebar, for more information.) I stumbled across this one at my library and thought it might have some useful suggestions for more imaginative play with Dory. And it does. But, oh baby, it is so much more than that.

Dr. Cohen digs into the emotional, mental, and psychological importance of play in a child's life. Play can open a child's self-expression, can help heal an emotional hurt, can strengthen or even create a bond between child and parent and is always needed- from birth to the teenage years (and adult years too, though Cohen points out, most adults idea of play is relaxing and being stationary, which can make it difficult for adults to engage in child's play!). Children find their power through play, they find their voice through play, they work out confusions and fears. One of my favorite examples describes a three year old girl, who's gotten a shot, comes home and now wants to play doctor. She wants to administer the "shot" and she needs an adult, preferably a parent, to administer to. Through this game, she is now in control, she now has her power back, and the one who took the power away (i.e. hello mom! hello dad!) is now looking to her. Give her her power back, Dr. Cohen says. Play with her. Be the patient! Shriek, cry, let her know it's painful! Allow her to work out what happened, what it means, and to feel her autonomy in her world again.

I've read this time so many times, but it always bears repeating: children have so many decisions made for them everyday. Most of us parents, no matter how lightly we hope to tread, still make lots of choices for our child (this shirt, this food, this time to leave, this stop to make) and that can leave a little one feeling frustrated, disempowered and marginalized, at best. Dr. Cohen explains, you can help your child regain his sense of himself through play. Let him lead. Let him guide. You follow. Get on his level and give him the reigns.

Of the many, many useful suggestions of this book (read all of it- it's worth it), this stood out with me the most. Be your child's advocate for maintaing his sense of worth, his sense of importance, his sense of relation to this world by helping him maintain his power.

Other points that stood out to me:
Girls need physical play! Boys need more cuddles! In our attempts to give our children "roots and wings," our overly stereotyped idea of the sexes leaves girls feeling rooted, but timid and fearful and boys feeling adventurous and often reckless and with no grounding. Play can build and strengthen these underdeveloped areas.

Be flexible. Your child may want to play the same game a very different way- for instance, yesterday, she wanted you to give in and let her win. Today, she wants a challenge. Follow your child's lead. Sometimes she wants to build her confidence, other days she wants to see herself tested. Let her decide.

Participate consciously. Even if you're exhausted, even if you're sore, even if you've worked all day, even if you've already spent the entire day together- be present when you play. Conscious playing fills a child's need for your attention and fills his feelings of worthiness and importance in the world. Often, once he's full, he can play on his own for even longer periods of time, especially as he gets older. And if you aren't able to do this for extended periods, set time aside everyday (even if its only ten minutes!) and play fully and actively with your child.

This is a child's world. Play is her world. This is how she learns, how she processes and understands, how she participates. Respect that. This is her way of relating. Respect that. Even if you are not in a mood to play too, respect that this is her work in the world right now.

For me, the best part of Playful Parenting is how little I really knew beforehand. The more I know, the more I thrive and enjoy parenting. Before reading this, I had some basic concepts- play is important, interaction in play is really important, find toys that allow for imagination (which typically means avoiding anything with the phrase "requires AA batteries"). I'm home with Dory everyday, we play for seventy percent of it (at least), and I hoped this book might give me some ideas on how to shake our play up. I revel in having my expectations blown away.

Playful Parenting is rich with insights into our children, how their minds work, how they communicate and what they need from us to thrive and grow. Just an exceptional read. And for the little bit of information I've posted here, I've barely brushed the surface.

It's definitely a Good Mama read.

And, there are so many more good books to go. Currently, I'm reading Naomi Aldort's Raising Our Children, Raising Ourselves and I can't wait to write more about it. Another amazing, amazing book. Also on the list: The Hurried Child, which was first popular when I was a wee one and is still much talked about today (that's promising), Free Range Kids and Hold Onto Your Kids. There are so many exceptional, thinking people writing about children and yet so few naptimes and late nights in which to read. I would have started years ago if I had any idea how interesting and amazing this parenting-thing would be...

Not the Only One

2010-02-09T15:22:00.004-05:00

At an AP playgroup last week, another mother surprised me with her question to the group. She wanted to know if any of us ever had "those flashes" when you see something bad happening, some absurd yet horrifying accident involving your child. The flash (a perfect description, I think) does not actually happen, but catches you off guard and leaves you working to breathe, and let it go.

Who knew I wasn't the only one?

I thought these flashes must be a consequence of my environment, my own upbringing, the way my mind works... Who knew this happens to, maybe not all, but so many mothers?

Sitting together at the bottom of the stairs, I see her toppling, head first into the hard floor below. Buckling her into her car seat, I'm seized by an image of a car slamming into the passenger door and can feel the scream in my throat. Holding her on my hip, while I scramble eggs on the stove, a scene plays through my mind where she reaches down and grabs hold of the hot pan in her small, tender fist.

All these weird, startling, heart-stopping images- they're rare but powerful. They happen in seconds, bursting through my brain like a train through a house, racing through as speedily and leaving just as much damage to my mental interior, and wrecking my heart entirely. Even writing about them, my chest tightens and I realize I'm holding my breath. I'm left with the question: do these thoughts serve me?

I watch Dory and see a natural confidence, an enthusiasm for exploration and adventure radiating from her. She's bold and brave. She loves to stand in the rocking chair, lean forward, look over the edge and then pull back, while I watch from the floor. She loves to walk down the stairs, holding an adult's hands. She loves to stroll the aisles of the grocery store, and run around the park, always glancing back to check Matt or I are there. I've realized, she's adventurous, not stupid. She doesn't want to fall out of the chair, she doesn't want to get lost at the park, she is as aware of us as we are of her, most of the time.

So I am trying to keep my mouth shut. This is not easy. I could, if I put even a little effort into it, see terrors at every corner. I could be frightened and worried constantly. I could voice my concern all the time, turning my worry into the soundtrack of our lives and making both of us tense and anxious. But watching her, I know, that isn't the path I want to guide her down. I admire her outgoing and brave soul. Bumps happen. Bruises, hurts, tears. They all happen. But "bones heal faster than timidity and fearfulness" Dr. Cohen points out in Playful Parenting and that's the mindset I want to develop.

Back to these flashes. I don't think they're here to drive me crazy. I don't think their purpose is to send me rushing to the nearest padded room with Dory tossed, fireman-style, over my shoulder, where we can wait out all the dangers. I'm choosing to see them as the question my mind poses: where are you right now? Are you present? Are you HERE?

Often yes, sometimes no. But maybe those flashes, maybe they're built into the DNA, and maybe their very existence is Nature's way of keeping us mothers aware. We are not all-knowing. We cannot be all places at once. We cannot stop every little danger. But can I be totally available, physically and mentally, when she and I are together? Can I, with effort (such effort for a million-thoughts-a-moment person like myself), be just here, just now, with her, watching, enjoying and, yes, keeping an eye out, supporting her exploration of this big, bright world around her?

Maybe I'm reaching. Maybe it's a stretch. But so far, everything I've read about Mother Nature, from wanting to breastfeed my child to her sleeping cuddled up next to me, has been true. We're made with these instincts. They might be trained or cajoled or bullied out of us over time, but I believe we are born with knowledge of how to care for our children.

And I've decided to think these flashes are part of it. I've decided to make friends with them, to remember to breathe when they happen, and to let them pass. And to ask myself, when one has seized hold of me and then bolted just as abruptly as it came- Where am I right now?

Whatever the reason, its always so reassuring to know I'm not the only one.

The Littlest Reader

2010-01-31T23:21:00.001-05:00

The napping schedule around here is fairly loose. Typically I nurse her down in bed anywhere between one and three and she'll sleep for one to two hours. Dory brings books to naptime, carrying a stack in her short, sturdy arms and saying "booksss, booksss, booksss." We'll read a few different ones, several times over (can you call yourself well read when you read "The Very Hungry Catepillar" and "Night-Night Little Pookie" several dozen times a week?) before she's good and dozy. When she wakes up she gives one short, loud cry that lets us know to come get her. I think she's so accustomed to us responding quickly to her, it doesn't take more than that.

This is the the foundation to what happened yesterday.

Dory and I read a stack of books and she fell asleep. Fast forward to an hour and a half later. Matt and I were in the playroom and heard some noises from the monitor. Dory stirring. Then... quiet. A few minutes later... rustling. Then... quiet. This went on for nearly fifteen minutes before I had to know what was going on. Walked into the bedroom and saw this...

Beautiful.

Help Haiti and Books and Back Packs!

2010-01-26T14:04:00.007-05:00

First- over here at This Mama Rocks, she's running a great silent auction. All proceeds go straight to the Red Cross to help Haiti. She has lots of creative and cool family-friendly products up for auction. I'm bidding on the Mama Rocks Nursing Necklace and a Head Organics bath set. The auction ends this Saturday, Jan 30, so get over there quick!

Now on to- babywearing back in action! We've used our Beco Backpack off and on in the last few weeks (Dory sees it and announces "ba-pa"), but I thought I'd pull out our wrap and give it a try. This one is a Hopp (long) and quite comfy, though I'm still fiddling to get it just right.

She fell asleep there while I did the dishes. Hooray for babywearing!

And now- I thought I would mention some of the amazing parenting books I've come across lately. That topic sounds limited, but, oh no, my friend, oh no. My experience thus far- I'm learning about everything through these books. What inspires and motivates children, how adults treat them (or us, if you consider from the point of view of your own childhood), what these interactions show, how we can be better and more, not just to our little ones, but to ourselves, our families, our friends, our world. Sounds heavy only because it is. But they've all been such great reads, insightful, illuminating and so helpful. Or to put it this way, if you were ever a child, I expect any one of these books would catch your attention and make you think. Two of my favorites...

Lu Hanessian's "Let the Baby Drive." (All of these books are in my sidebar and you can follow the links to Amazon to "peek inside" most of them.) I think any parent would enjoy this book, but especially those of the five-and-under crowd. What a rich and insightful read about her experience as a first (and then second) time mother and her attached, intuitive approach to parenting. Learning to trust her baby, learning to trust herself, the changes to her relationships with her husband, her mother, her friends, interacting with other mothers- Ms. Hanessian hits all these subjects with a tender and genuine honesty that moved me. Add to the mix, she's a gifted writer and this goes straight to the top of my must-read list.

Barbara Nicholson and Lysa Parker's "Attached at the Heart." These adventurous, exceptional women founded Attachment Parenting International more than fifteen years ago and here is the book that expounds on the meaning and intentions of our amazing group. I had the great fortune to meet them both at the API Celebration in Nasvhille last year (read about that here) and they were warm, friendly, and kind. Exactly like their book. Read it! And come over to the AP side...

And that's where we are today. Help! Wear Your Baby! And Read!

Not Yo Ordinary Breastfeeding...

2010-01-20T23:06:00.003-05:00

Before I started this post, I went to kellymom.com, a great and well-regarded site on breastfeeding, looking for statistics on the number of babies in America who breastfeed past the age of one. Than I remembered, I don't really care. My guess? Not many. Under 10% I'd bet (again, in America) and that's probably shooting high. While I've done my reading on the benefits of extended breastfeeding (of course it has a name- doesn't everything these days?), I'm not going to report that here. This is more of a what-works-for-us approach. And as a nursing mother of a bright, bounding, brilliant toddler, I thought I'd share some experiences here.

Thoughts on nursing a toddler... this is not your infant nursing. Those first six or so months, breastfeeding was a quiet time, a peaceful time, Dory still fit neatly in my arms, we gazed at one another or slept together while she nursed. This was a rich experience for the two of us and for Matthew as he often sat next to us, watching Dory's face as her expression relaxed, her eyes closed, she became dreamy, and eventually slept. We were serene, filled with love and tenderness. Those are the words I would use.

At the time, I might have also called it: intense. Constant. Demanding. No one else could provide what I had (especially as Dory wanted nothing to do with a bottle). She nursed on demand and her demands could be high. That is the other side. But, now, in that dreamy way we all have when we move farther away from a certain period in life, I mainly remember how calm and loving our nursing time was. And stationary. Very stationary.

No longer. My nursing toddler is a child on the GO. When she was smaller and I would settle down to feed her, I tried to remember, bring a glass of water, a good book, a snack, wear something comfortable- you're going to be here for a while New Mama. Now my main thought? Lady, hold onto those boobs.

Dory still breastfeeds on demand, but it can be anywhere from a half-hour nurse to bed to a thirty second drive-by.

She can nurse: sitting, laying down, kneeling, standing, bending over, kicking one leg to the back (then switching sides), draped across my belly, performing baby yoga, and sometimes even dashing across the room.

There is no understanding of modesty. For her, that is. Regarding my modesty. She happily yanks up my shirt or thrusts her arm down it, tugs at my bra straps, unzips my coat. She'll find a pillow, settle on the floor, and pat the space next to her, seeming to say, c'mon Mama, let's get this dinner going. Too bad we're in her grandparents' living room. If given her druthers, she likes the whole chest-area available, (buffet-style, you might say), but this typically only happens at bedtime, when she and I are cuddled in bed and I'm just glad to be sitting in one place for longer than two minutes.

The cuddle time. That's my favorite, when I hold her in my arms, she taking up all of my lap, nursing happily, and gazing up at me with such total trust in her eyes. Sometimes I'll make silly faces and she'll smile. The tenderness in that moment is inexpressible.

For us, there is so much value in this relationship, this extended breastfeeding. There is an immediate comfort for her- this is something she knows. In this world where she has- how many new experiences a day? Dozens? Hundreds? Thousands? Who could say for sure? This is something dependable, faithful. Even our relationship, maybe especially our relationship, shifts and changes all the time. She tests boundaries, limits, possibilities, her own power. As she gets bigger, more mobile, more independent, more adventurous, this- the safety of her mother's breasts- is still a constant. The power of a comfort zone is a rich and heady thing when your world grows exponentially every single day.

A friend of mine, when I asked her about nursing her eighteen month old, expressed it this way: "She has an emotional connection to breastfeeding. As she gets older, she won't need this anymore, but right now this is still a need. I wouldn't feel right taking that away from her." That sums it up for me.

But for anyone who would like more reasons for prolonged nursing (scientific ones, not my woo-woo, namby-pamby, follow-your-gut stuff) you can read up on benefits here. Excellent info. For more on this method termed "child-led weaning" API gives a good, brief description here. And for La Leche League's thoughts(THE authority in breastfeeding) on the subject bop over here.

And for any mamas out there, thinking, "just us?" you're not alone! We have surrounded ourselves with like-minded mamas, most following along on this "extended" schedule, past six months, nine months, a year, and beyond. I think I speak for Dory and I both when I say: Power to the nummies!

This Post Brought to You by the Letter 'P'

2010-01-18T16:08:00.005-05:00

Dory's vocabulary grows in the most interesting ways. I expected it to run along the lines: daddy, mommy (OK, maybe I hoped it would by mommy, daddy, but either way...), doggie, bath, I want to go to the park, I'm going to a movie with my friends where are the car keys...

Turns out, learning how to speak a first language is a bit slower, more erratic, and far more entertaining than I imagined. I've seen friends with their children, translating, with a parent's expert ear, conversation that is totally alien to me. Dory has been no different. What I consider perfectly formed words might still be incomprehensible to your man on the street. To my mind, she has a list of words that she's more than mastered now. Some are traditional: daddy, dat (that), doggie, bat (bath), ucks (yucky) and, most recently, mommy. Some I did not expect that she just loves to say are: duck and sock. All day long, socks come off and on from the joy of announcing "shhhock" as she tugs them off her plump little feet. And she absolutely thrills anytime she can point out a "duc-K, duc-K, duc-K." She knows a few of her friends' names: Ike (Isaac), Emme (Ember), and Lana (Alana, and, technically, the name of her friend's mother, but still). Favorite problem word? Uh-oh.

By far, though, what sends her quick, bright mind into frenzied delight: the letter 'P.' Anything with the letter 'P.' Appa (apple). Hipa (hippo). Pwoops (oops). Pot (Spot, based on her favorite literary character). Pata (pasta). Pei-pei (pee-pee). Po-hee (potty). Pway (play). She's even tried piwhoa (pillow).

I did not foersee how important language would be right about now. She's almost eighteen months and Matthew and I are realizing, she understands a lot. I mean, A LOT. We-have-stop-saying-that-word a lot. We started to notice it around fourteen months. She seemed to understand us beautifully. Her brilliant parents? Not so much. This was the trouble. We couldn't understand her and this was incredibly frustrating for all parties, as she would speak traditional toddler "eh-eh-eh" (sometimes accompanied by pointing) and Matt and I took turns trying to figure it out holding out random items and saying "this? you want this?" I noticed, we were treating her the way a lot of Americans in foreign countries behave: speaking LOUDLY and slooooowly. It wasn't pretty and not, probably, our best moments as parents, though we were trying.

Then- dum-dum-dum-DUM!- inspiration struck. Sign language! Our friend, the aforementioned Alana, started teaching her daughter sign language when she was about four months old. By one year, her child could sign almost one hundred different signs and understood almost twice as many. Yep. World domination is next on her baby's list. I marveled at watching her sign different animals, wanting to go up or down, play on the swings or the slide eat crackers or cheese. It was amazing.

We started on a much, much smaller scale with a few signs for Dory, the ones we could remember and that seemed to be important for her to communicate. Eat (as in "do you want some food?"). Milk ("or would you prefer some milk?"). More. Thank you. Oh, and bear (that was all Matthew, big Chicago fan that he is- and let me tell you, Dory cannot see a bear without enthusiastically signing it, probably her favorite sign to date).

Now we're to the point where she shows us when she's hungry, wants to play, wants to sleep, wants Mama (by signing milk), and she's even made up her own sign for color which is to wave her hand through the air like she's writing (right now, Granny Suzanney is murmuring, "Baby Genius, like I told you...")

My thoughts on signing? Absolutely worth it. If there's a Baby Two, we'll start much earlier. What a relief and pleasure to communicate with her without it dissolving into tears (on her part) or behaving like monkeys at the zoo (that would be Matthew and I). We picked up a book from the library on Baby Signs and took off. I've even wondered if the signs have helped with her language because we waste less time trying to figure out what she wants and spend more time talking to her like the interested and brilliant little person she is.

And for any of you wondering, yes, Dory has said her first curse word. The one that rhymes with "sit." And, yes, she has on several occasions pulled it out and said it a few times, just to practice, I guess.

And yes, it was Mommy who slipped and said it. Thank you very much.

I Get By With a Little Help...

2010-01-13T23:02:00.004-05:00

Well, you know the song.

Tonight was our second monthly Mom's Night Out and an even bigger success than the first. A group of us mothers, about six to eight of us, from our local Attachment Parenting Group formed a weekly playgroup a few months ago, to give our little ones more time together and ourselves a chance to visit. That idea took off and it didn't take long (only two months or so- we're a bright group) to decide another off-shoot might be a mother's night out. Our first dinner came together hastily and with great enthusiasm shortly before the holidays and here we are, not even halfway through January, with a second one behind us.

And it is such a good time. We meet at a casual restaurant (they must serve adult beverages- this is a MUST- even if those of us partaking are limited to one or two glasses) and chat, catch up, and talk about everything but our children.

Wait- no- that's some other group. We talk almost exclusively about our children. Our husbands. Our families. And the childcare books we're reading, teachers we're listening to, parenting questions we field, criticisms we handle- we run the gamut of everything child-related and I absolutely love it.

There is, I've discovered, a surprising depth to the relationships I have with these women. I didn't know a one of them before Dory. I couldn't tell you where most of them were born, how they grew up, favorite color or even their ages. Yet our children threw us into this ocean of mothering together and we have gravitated to one another. When we do get together, like tonight, the immediate familiarity is surprising and very, very comforting. We're beyond the early stages, beyond the "how does she sleep?" "when did he start solids?" type of questions. The fast intimacy of motherhood leads us to meaningful and genuine conversation that energizes and strengthens me. We are, I feel so strongly, in this together.

I have had the good fortunate of really good friendships in my life, with Matthew, my parents, people I grew up with, people I've met in other places, people with similar passions and interests. And I'm just so glad parenthood proved no different; I'm so glad I know these other women all with children born within a few months of Dory (a cosmic coincidence? I think not) who are genuine and open and relatable. I feel grounded after a playgroup or a dinner. Of any of these women, I might never learn a favorite movie, first job, or political party, but, in our own way, there are few people I will ever be closer to than this group, this tribe of amazing mothers and women I'm so glad to call friends.

Play? Play? Play?

2010-01-10T09:59:00.005-05:00

If you happened to wander through our house yesterday, here's what you would have noticed... Upstairs, at the top of the landing, two Christmas cookie trays, with orange peels scattered on and around them... Downstairs, on the living room floor, all the library books for the week in two piles and a bag with legos... On the dining room table, a fat Sesame Street coloring book (with the cover torn off) and a big plastic baggie filled with crayons... And in the kitchen, dish towels and dishcloths scattered all around the floor.

What did all these mysterious items signify?

Well. The orange peel (from breakfast) was a game she invented, where Dory and I took turns tossing pieces onto the Christmas cookie trays. The books were from a little reading we had done that morning. We built with the blocks, but mainly we experimented with putting all the blocks into the bag then dumping them all over the floor again. For twenty minutes or so she sat in her high chair and I sat on the other side, and we colored. The dishtowels, that was from her mid-morning snack, when I asked her to get a towel out of the cabinet which I spread out on the floor like a small picnic blanket. Dory then pulled five more dish towels and cloth napkins out and spread them all around the floor herself.

That was one morning's worth of play for us. What was neat, I thought, about it, surveying, the tremendous mess we could make in about two and a half hours, was the common denominator: teamwork. Whether we used an item designated, by being large, colorful and costing thirty times what it took to make, a "toy" or a mundane item from around the house that Dory deemed a toy, we had a great time because we were using it together.

Right now feels very intense, in how much she's going, doing and exploring, all while wanting someone (myself, her dad, a grandparent) very involved in the play. In The Discipline Book Dr. Sears explains in "the time between the ages of fourteen and eighteen months... the high energy toddler wants to do everything, but he still needs mother involved 'big time.'" We are definitely at that stage. And I've realized, while I can sneak five minutes here on the laptop or ten minutes at the stove while she plays on the floor next to me, this is another time to just Go With It (words I'm thinking about tattooing across my forehead) and PLAY. There is something incredibly fulfilling about letting go (not minding this blog will take me several hours to post, based on how often I can sneak back for two minutes), getting over it (there is mess wherever we go- there just IS) and giving myself up to this time in her life. In the same way she needed commitment as a newborn to be nursed and held almost constantly, she needs commitment that someone is willing to explore this great, big, wild world with her. And as enter into her seventeenth month, I'm finally getting it- I might be a slow learner, but I do get there. So after one morning's worth of serious play, the house is mildly wrecked, I'm still in my pajamas, and haven't brushed my hair or teeth and Dory is absolutely delighted and looking for another room to trash- I mean explore. And it was a seriously good time.

I take comfort from the Sears when they write: "Hang in there through eighteen months" because your child will start to play and imagine all on his own for longer stretches of time. And when they explain "by the time your child is six... [he} will check in for breakfast, be out the door, check in for lunch, and be gone again" I try not to dissolve into tears. This parenting thing- it's a mess, isn't it?

Presenting... Presents!

2010-01-08T16:39:00.007-05:00

Pictures I know a lot of people have been waiting for... Christmas shots!

These are highly abbreviated. This girl, between Matthew and I, our family here and our family in Texas, had FOUR Christmases. That's not a joke or the latest Vince Vaughn holiday film.

Dory had a grand day. She loved opening her gifts, they never seemed to overwhelm her and she wasn't even bothered by the constant flash of cameras going off.

(a baby grand piano- in pink)

(a rocking horse)

(a piggy bank- a wise thought in these trying economic times)

(monkey hat- fashionable and warm)

(another piggy bank, this one shaped like a Chicago Bears helmet)

(a pic of the abundance of gifts)

(stacking blocks)

(more blocks)

("Good Night Moon"- the glow-in-the-dark puzzle)

(Dory inside the chute off the side of the indoors tent- that's right a TENT- she got)

So Dory, this is your second Christmas- how do you feel about that haul?

That's what I thought.

Merry Christmas, Happy New Year, and, I'd like to personally thank all Dory's grandparents and her great-(and cool!) grandmother for doing their part to bolster the economy. It was good work by you all.

How Much is that Baby in the Window?

2009-12-21T14:48:00.003-05:00

More reasons to stop and think before acting, before speaking, keep rearing their nagging, yet necessary heads. I remember, Before Dory, I did a lot more act and ask questions later, leap then look. Turn ‘em and burn ‘em as people in the restaurant business say. Now, everything merits consideration, everything merits a little thought, a little contemplation.

Money (surprise!) is one of them.

Christmas is almost here- have you heard? I’m thinking about presents, about what to get, wants versus needs, practical or playful, who’s got the sale, one big item or many small? All these questions for a person who will happily play with her shoes for half an hour, if, mister, you'll spare the time to play with her.

That’s the truth of Dory; it’s not about the toys. She is yet to sit with a toy for longer than five minutes and be entirely entertained. She wants interaction. She wants communication. Toys are fun, but if there’s no living, breathing being attached to the other end, there's not much point. Dory enjoys the toys only in as much as they work in the game she and I or she and her dad or she and her grandparents play. Toys are a small part of the experience and toys are certainly not limited to what comes in a brightly colored, shiny cardboard box from Toys ‘R Us. Some of her current favorites are: plastic bowls, a wooden spoon, an empty Christmas tin, and her toothbrush. Christmas could come and go without a single item unwrapped and I suspect she would not miss a thing.

Which, being a great fan of “things," sends me to my thinking chair. How much of the desire for some, for more, for all of it, is the child and how much is what he’s witnessed from older, wiser people? When do things stop being wants and become needs? When do they stop being things and become worth, our own worthiness based on the having or not having? When do they determine who we are and our importance to the world?

There are so many interesting things to get and have. There is joy in picking something out, especially for Dory, and thinking how much fun we could have, the play and imagination this one little item could inspire from each of us. Yet... I see a toy that looks interesting and I say to my daughter: “We need to get you one of those!” But do we? Do we NEED to get her one? Or might it be fun? Would it be interesting? Usually we don’t get the toy I find so fascinating (truthfully I forget it five minutes later), but what kind of seeds have my words sown? My implication she “needs” something, does that tell her she’s not whole in who she is, she's incomplete without that particular item at the sale price of $19.95? Need- such a little word, such big consequences. Just something for me to consider...

I know, I know. I think a little. Maybe a little too much. I do. And if you’re giving your screen a funny look over all these questions, I understand. Yet in these last five years, since having a baby especially, my curiosity knows no bounds. What makes me Me? What makes me better? What makes me who I am? In fact, who am I?

And, as this pertain to the subject of this blog, this person, this whole person, quite small now, but already possessing a great big soul- how do I relate to her on this subject? What do I show her, day-in and day-out? Am I living what I speak? How do I define myself by what I own or don't own, what I have bought, have kept, have thrown away, have left sitting in the store? I have an audience of one and it’s never been more important that I bring my best to the stage. My honest, genuine, real self.

Who, it turns out, has a lot more questions than answers. Son of a gun. But I'm starting to think. And all that thinking leads me to feeling: when in doubt, appreciate. I realize, the more I can appreciate the function and use of money without kneeling at the altar of financial worth and material accumulation, the better service I can be to myself, my daughter, my family, my world. The more I can remember, money comes in and money goes out and we get on with life regardless... the easier my heart, the steadier my hands, the more fun my pocketbook. Money comes in, money goes out, and we go along, mostly merrily, sometimes not, regardless.

And is there benefit for Dory to see these two people, these two parents, who may not always have all the trimmings and yet are happy in the circumstances? To not have access to everything at the moment and yet be peaceful in what-is. To see that money is only as limiting as we choose to make it. Money can be expansive and fun. But it’s not who I am, not who she is. It does not define her self-worth or her well-being. And if I can think a little before I speak, maybe I won't define her either.

Oh- and your daily double answer to the question posed in the title: Absolutely priceless.

Ode to the Library

2009-12-18T13:13:00.005-05:00

I love the public library. I have loved it as long as I can remember. I love the simple idea that one card (once paper, now a thin piece of plastic), freely given, allows me nearly unlimited access to more books than I will ever be able to read in my entire life. I love the way a library feels and the way a library smells and I love the people who work there. I even stepped into the twenty-first century with my library and I am crazy about the fact I can put books on hold, on line, pick them up at the library of my choice and even renew them from the comfort of my living room sofa. It is a brilliant, brilliant design.

I especially love Knoxville's public library. I can safely say, of the five different cities in which I've lived, Knoxville's is my favorite. Since we've been living in Knoxville again, I've made the best use of the library I can, using a borrowed library card (thank you Mom!) and the calendar of events. We've checked out dozens and dozens of different books for Dory already and even a Pecos Bill movie on VHS her Dad insisted she would love. We go, each week, to Baby Bookworms, the two year old and under story time. And this week- this week my library out did itself.

In a matter of incredible timing and divine coordination, we went to the downtown library for Baby Bookworms this past Wednesday. While I love our little group, at our local library, the downtown Bookworms puts on a show. The librarian played songs and did a puppet board story and led dancing and for the children she passed out shakers and musical instruments and even a cut-out paper star that Dory could take home. Matthew and I were both wide-eyed over the display. Afterwards we stepped across the hall into the actual children's library and discovered Santa, that day, was expected.

What a gift to give. Parents and children- under and over two's- piled into the children's library and waited for Santa. The librarians set out juice and cookies on a little table and a chair for him. The woman who led our Bookworms crew passed out special gingerbread men to all her students, and gave Dory special star-stamps on each of her hand. For the rest of the day, Dory would catch sight of these little designs on her skin and marvel over them. She turned her palms up and down, amazed, her expression the same delighted disbelief that her father and I reserve for those dear, tiny hands.

When Santa entered all the children became kind of quiet and breathy, unsure about this tall (and somewhat gangly) gentleman in the red coat, overwhelming the small, child-size chair. The librarian explained we were responsible for taking our own pictures. (Miracle of miracles, we had our digital camera in the diaper bag- don't tell me Someone's not watching over all of us...) She then said something along the lines of (and this sent me over the edge in the love-affair I have for my library): "We just ask everyone to remember: we have all the time in the world. If your child needs to warm up to Santa first, please take your time. We want everyone to have a good time, to ask Santa for what they want and to have good pictures to show for it."

And, as these things tend to go when there's no hurry or pressure, the line went like clock-work, the children were fairly calm and easy (no wild hysterical screaming as I've heard echoing around the mall), we waited hardly any time at all, and suddenly Dory, in this impromptu experience, met real-life Santa Claus. I introduced the two, asked her if she could sit with Santa for a moment, and, when she didn't disagree, set her on Santa's knee and then crouched next to them, just out of the shot. This lasted about five seconds, and, though the librarian waved her puppet above Dory's head and I whispered words of encouragement, and Matt called her name, Dory would have no more of Santa. But, being the adept family photographer he is, Matt, also sitting in a child-size chair, snapped one shot before Dory was back up, in our arms, and ready to go.

And this unexpected, unplanned photo, somehow the more wonderful for her and St. Nick's solemn expressions, is her first Santa picture.

Thank you, from the bottom of my little literary heart, Knox County Library.

Attachment Parenting International- Live!

2009-08-31T23:27:00.009-04:00

Before I launch into how truly amazing last Saturday was, I'd like to give a little background information about our AP beginnings (for those only here for pics of the API pioneers, scroll straight down until you see shots of these gurus with yours truly grinning away next to them- feel free to "ooo" and "ahhh").

When I found out I was pregnant, I did not know how I wanted to parent. I wanted to do it well, that was about as clear as I got. I wanted to be kind. I didn't want to shout too much or need hard drink in the middle of the day to get through it. I wanted, more than anything, to basically still be me, to still be Matthew and I plus one. I followed my typical grand plan these days: a vague query to the Universe. God, could you help me sort this one out? Just some clear, simple, easy to follow guidance that will help me be a parent, while still being me, and, in eighteen years or so, have a child with who I'm still on speaking terms. Something in written form- maybe a pamphlet?- would be great.

Many months went by. We found the birth center. We started our childbirth classes. I decided I wanted to breastfeed and so we took a class on that too. I did prenatal yoga. I kept listening to the thoughts of others.

I found The Baby Book by Dr. Bill and Martha Sears. On the surface, this enormous tome looks like a great book for handling a baby's early years, when to start solids, how to take a temperature, how to baby-proof a house. On the surface. Your basic manual. Being the compulsive Virgo I started on page one. Where Dr. Sears and his wonderful wife, herself an RN, totally rocked my world on the methods and possibilities in parenting. Compassionate, respectful, and sensitive parenting- this was their recommendation. As I read about their ideas on birthing naturally, breastfeeding, co-sleeping, baby-wearing, responding to baby's cries, I thought: We are totally doing this. And we're not telling anybody.

I knew enough about current day parenting to realize, this ain't your mama's or your neighbor's or, unless you're like me and start running with other rebellious mothers, your best friend's form of parenting. And hard as it can be for me to fly right in the face of mainstream society, I realized, that was all right. What better time than now to start trusting my instincts?

I say all of that only to give some scope to the experience of being in a room filled with API families and then watching some of the most prominent and outspoken founders walk out onto a stage together- this was a momentous occasion. As the moderator, Lu Hanessian (a former NBC anchor and current AP-practicing mother) pointed out, this was the first time these eight people had ever been on the same stage.

So without further ado, the day in pictures:

Dory and I wrestling before the program began. Of course, API made an effort to make this event as child-friendly as possible, but in the end it's still a small theater, with people who traveled a great distance to hear what the people on stage had to say, and the under-3 crowd can only sit still for so long. Many, many mothers were in and out, giving little ones a chance to crawl around the lobby. Or, better yet, these moms brought reinforcements and took turns.

My mama agreed to be my tag-team partner and she and I, pretty smoothly I think, took turns taking Dory out to play. You'll notice here, Dory couldn't look anymore peaceful, as her Gram calmly reads her program.

Our eight speakers. Starting with the left side of the picture, the woman in the peachy-colored jacket, you have (drum roll please): Ina May Gaskin, internationally known midwife; Barabara Nicholson, co-founder of API; Mary Cahill, one of the seven women to start La Leche League International 53 years ago; Dr. Bill Sears; Dr. James McKenna; Martha Sears, R.N.; Dr. Isabelle Fox; and Lysa Parker, co-founder of API.

Meeting Dr. Sears at the reception afterwards.

And then meeting Martha Sears.

I thought I had calmed down during the program, but as soon as I was standing two feet away I got excited and nervous, a fantastic cocktail for disaster. Luckily, the place was busy, with enough people waiting to speak to them, that I had just enough time to thank them both, several times, express my gratitude over their books, ask for an autograph and then move on. Quite calmly and normally. I wish I had something wittier, a bit more interesting to say, but, even after the fact, nothing came to me. I am simply supremely appreciative of these people.

On a side note, there was a couple standing in front of us, waiting to see Dr. Sears, holding a book. From what I could tell, as the husband introduced his wife, this was a book she had written of natural something (remedies, recipes, I couldn't say exactly) and they wanted to give Dr. Sears a copy. Which he graciously accepted and then pulled a pen from his pocket and asked her to sign it for him. [Insert a girlish sigh of wonder here.]

They were all so wonderfully accessible. I asked for a picture with Barabara and Lysa and they invited me behind their table (where they were signing their book Attached at the Heart- got my copy- it's wonderful) to chat for a few minutes about our local branch of API.

We got a picture with Dr. Fox who insisted Gram Mojo hop into the shot too.

Dr. McKenna was kind and humble and enamored with Dory and her bright blue eyes.

We were able to speak to Ina May and I thanked her for the influence her book, Ina May's Guide to Childbirth had on my birth experience. Unfortunately the camera had frizzled out at this point, so no photo here.

The day was spectacular. In no way is that an exaggeration. I managed, when I was not chasing a 13 month old, to take some notes and hopefully I'll be able to put them into something cohesive to share here.

I'll be first in line at the next celebration be it in a year or ten. I would say this compares to being at Woodstock and meeting Joan Baez, Janis Joplin, the Grateful Dead and Jimi Hendrix, all at once, except, let's be honest, do any of those people, on a day-to-day basis, influence your parenting skills?

Woodstock doesn't have anything on the API Eight...

And Now for Something Totally Off-Subject

2009-08-29T01:01:00.004-04:00

Oh, I'm such a bad blogger! I can't seem to stick with this on a consistent basis, can I? I have more D.C. pictures to post, and pictures from another zoo trip here in town and just everyday pictures on top of those and so what is this post about? Attachment Parenting's 15th Anniversary! Where does this event happen to be taking place? You can look no further than Nasvhille, TN, our friendly sister-city to the west.

That's right, Matthew and I are Attachment Parents. If that's a new term for you, a quick and clear explanation can be found here at Dr. Sears' website. A more in-depth discussion of it can be found here at the Attachment Parenting International site.

The festival lasts all weekend, but we're going only for the day tomorrow and specifically for the Think Tank at 3pm. Check out the list of panelists here. This thing is going to be brilliant! My greatest excitement, I'll say right now, is the opportunity to see the Sears. They have, in my eyes, reached rock star-like status.

That's it for now. It's way too late and I really should be sleeping as peacefully as Little One if I plan to be a bright and brilliant conversationalist tomorrow when I meet Dr. Bill and Martha.* But I will- so help me- I will report back on this as soon as I get home tomorrow night. Or first thing Sunday morning. Promise.

*What are the odds, if I do come face to face with either of the Sears, I end up shrieking and screaming something like, "I love you! You rock! Sign my baby!"? I'm thinking, pretty good.

On The Road, Part Three

2009-08-12T07:57:00.018-04:00

Hello District of Columbia!

Arrived in D.C. around six Saturday night. Had a second Dave concert to get to, with kick-off at eight. Did a hurried check-in. We were all exhausted (there had been lots of traffic- more about that later) and D.C. is sort of a nuts town when it comes to roads (makes no damned sense, would be the other way to say that) so we were in a rush to get our stuff upstairs and then head out.

But make it to the concert we did, where this child, instead of sleeping, stayed up, playing, the entire time. It was another amazing night. We found another empty patch of grass, sort of roped off from the crowd, with two policeman standing in front of it. Matthew politely requested if we could sit back there. They were sweet, jovial young guys and agreed. Through the evening we were joined by a second family with kids and an older foursome trying to stay out of the crowd. It was a festive little spot to be.

The next day- we saw the city! Or, specifically, the Georgetown Farmer's Market, some of the National Zoo, Museum of American History, and the food court of the Museum of American History.

We stumbled across the Farmer's Market. Looking for the subway, about two blocks from our hotel, we came across it.

It was the most delicious peach I've ever eaten. Dory, I think agreed, but then she's only eaten one or two peaches ever. So take it with a grain of salt.

We took the subway. She was intrigued.

And then to the National Zoo!

We went with a specific purpose, to see him:

Butterstick, the Giant Panda, born in D.C. only a few years ago. From what we heard, he's headed back to China before the end of 2009. Seeing him was wonderful. And as the sign reminded us:

Exactly what we said.

After the zoo, a brief nap on the subway,

a quick stop for a picture in front of the Washington Monument,

and then

where we had

lunch!

Then highlights of the museum! For us, touring with a baby means we did more "oh look, I bet that's cool!" while we zipped by. More drive-by sightseeing then in-depth perusing. Dory did well, in the Beco carrier, but she would hit her limit and this first museum was far less conducive to baby exploration than some of the others. Hence the lack of explanations about the exhibits. Just lots of us standing in front of things, taking pictures. Enjoy.

When Dory hit her limit and needed some Baby Free Play we got her out.

Finally dinner at a little Italian place called Bertucci's down the street from our hotel.

We made it through the salads before Dory was done with high chairs, carriers and basically anything hampering her baby free play, so we had our entrees packed up and carried them back to our hotel. Where we all crashed.

And that was our Day One in D.C.

On the Road, Part Two

2009-08-11T11:21:00.013-04:00

Everyone was in great spirits when we woke up Friday morning....

After leaving the hotel we stopped at the tomb of LeRoi Moore, the saxophonist for Dave Matthews Band. He passed away last August and, while, as a fan, I mourned his death (though I never actually met the man and I do harbor hopeful feelings about the life after this one), I felt so incredibly sad for his parents. There's a line in one of Dave's songs: "You should never have to bury your own baby." I thought about LeRoi's mother and my heart ached for her.

The tomb itself is unmarked, but somehow through DMB's fans, people in the know know this is the spot. Matthew and a buddy came earlier in the year to hear the band play and they came to visit. He said besides flowers, people left sunglasses. LeRoi had terrible stage fright and always played with sunglasses on or his eyes closed.

Today was just a quiet, peaceful day in the cemetery.

We still had plenty of time in the day before we needed to head out for our next destination, so we went to breakfast and then to explore the shops of Charlottesville's Main Street.

Dory at her first ever IHOP:

Random shots of the University of Virginia campus, taken from the car. We didn't stop to look around, as there was a graduation going on and the grounds were thick with people. Matthew and I are both put off by great long lines and huge crowds, which doesn't make us the best tourists in the world (more on that subject later).

Our next destination was Chesapeake, VA, a spot right outside of Virginia Beach. Why Chesapeake, you ask? Because that's where the aforementioned best band in the history of the world happened to be playing.

That's right, Dory has officially been to her first Dave Matthews Band concert.

I was a wee bit unsure about this (in a complete state of panic by the time we got there, might be another way to say it). I wore her in the Beco backpack, so she was high off the ground and snuggled up close to me. That helped. I also like to think I gave off a certain "I will rip off your head if you breathe wrong on my baby. Enjoy the show!" attitude. We planned it out ahead of time, buying tickets for the lawn, taking a blanket and planning to camp out on the back of the lawn, far away from the people. We didn't plan on the show basically being sold out and amok with fans.

We ended up finding a little perch, on the opposite side of the hill that formed the lawn, where the three of us could sit on our own, away from everyone, and listen. We couldn't see the band, but as Matthew pointed out, we've seen them plenty. Once we staked out a spot, away from the crowd, it was incredibly peaceful and we had a ball. Dory, for her part, fell asleep four songs in and slept the entire time. I don't think the band should take that personally.

And that was our night in Virginia Beach.

The next day it was- on to Washington D.C.! And that will leave this blog to be continued...

On the Road, Part One

2009-08-07T08:44:00.010-04:00

We are officially on our family vacation! Matthew finished up his second summer school class yesterday, we three hopped into the Mojo mobile, and headed out to... Charlottesville, VA!

We found a great deal on a hotel (ah, thank you very much Priceline) and we checked in around six last night.

The drive is only about five to five and a half hours and you drive through some truly spectacular scenery. There is, however, a lot of ear poppage from the mountains and Little One had a tough time with that. She needed a little recovery time once we arrived.

And done!

She was back up and cruising around almost immediately.

Before we left, Matthew looked up his grade on line. Check out the face of a man who just found out he made his second 'A' of the summer. In a statistics course, of all things!

Charlottesville is a neat town, reminiscent to me of Asheville, wherein most of it is a normal, average size-city, but there are some truly special sections. Main Street is just such a place. Located only about a mile from the University of Virginia (one of the most beautiful campuses in the country), it's a closed street full of adorable, interesting specialty shops, great restaurants, cool bars and, of all things, an ice rink.

We ate dinner outside.

I ordered the fettucini.

It was possibly the biggest bowl of pasta in the history of noodles; Dory gave me a hand.

We stopped at Miller's, a tiny and fairly inconsequential little bar, known for one major, major event- it was here Dave Matthews Band first got their start. We stepped inside, it was smoky and more than a little dingy, there were a few tattooed fellows and a guy asleep in the corner where the bands normally play. We stepped back out again.

We were all done in by the time we got back to the hotel.

Now, we're up and off! There is a plan and a theme to this trip. We're on a Mojo family adventure, with several more destinations in mind... soon this will all make sense...

Next stop... check back in to find out!

Birthday Bounty

2009-08-05T10:51:00.017-04:00

Something was afoot last Sunday...

Dory's first birthday party!

Somehow she managed to contain her excitement.

I, however, had a harder time. It was her first birthday party- this was a day to be done up in style! I grew up having truly fantastic birthday parties, though, by what I hear about parties these days, with ponies and bounce houses and the entire Disney on Ice crew in attendance, my parties were still fairly casual events. That was our intention for Miss D's big day. Fun, but not overwhelming.

We invited family and a few close friends. Gram Mojo offered up her home as Party Central and Granny S took care of the party decor and together they created the perfect festive atmosphere.

(Granny S, my Step-Mama, in the blue shirt, and Gram, my Mama, in the black-in serious party planning mode. They are, honestly, the two coolest women on the planet.)

Friends and family came

and they brought quite the haul...

I remembered, from the kid's point-of-view, the benefit of being an only child.

While she did spend quite a bit of time on various laps, being cuddled...

she wasn't afraid to get out there and mix it up with guests.

The food was phenomenal. Again, I give credit to The Parents. Gram and Granny S provided an array of side dishes while Grandpa brought about one pig's worth of pulled pork, that he smoked and pulled himself. How we did not get a picture of that, I couldn't say. It was a glorious thing and people who came with no intention of eating could be spotted throwing away plates, a little BBQ sauce around their lips. Here at least is a shot of a prepared sandwich.

If pictures don't lie, I am one focused person when food is (pardon the pun) on the table.

Granny S found the best party hat, a cupcake hat, with a pretend candle on top. And Dory did wear it.

For about two seconds, while crawling, and then she was done. Still a really adorable hat.

Speaking of cupcakes, this was my big contribution (besides, you know, conceiving and birthing the child). Really loved making these treats, but the fact they were homemade (from scratch! no cake mix! my first time ever, from-scratch, home-made cupcakes!) might have gone to my head and I might have ended up mentioning Martha (as in Ms. Stewart) every fifteen point two seconds as in "well Martha says..." or "You should talk to Martha about butter..." followed by a wee bit of a pompous chuckle. My apologies to the party-goers.

But they were some damned-fine, home-made, from-scratch cupcakes.

Matthew ran the opening of presents and he was wonderful. He helped Dory, he did not rush her, he opened every box, he let her investigate all her toys- he was patience and love embodied. I kept track of who sent what for thank-you card purposes. We decided we each had the perfect job, as I might have rushed her through opening gifts and, had he been writing down who-sent-what, our thank-you cards would all say "thanks for the stuff."

Even after the party, while we adults resisted the urge to curl up around Gram's house and take naps, Dory had energy.

I think she enjoyed herself.

And when it was all over and done with and the floor of our family room could not be found through the presents...

Dory's favorite toys (so far) proved to be the cups, plates, napkins, and spoons leftover from the shindig.

To the First of Many...

2009-07-29T22:26:00.007-04:00

Happy Birthday, Dory! Considering what a rich, intense day the 29th was last year, we had a lovely, low-key day today. Traditions were maintained. We cooked spaghetti for lunch, the same thing my mama made for Matthew and I when we all came home from the birth center last year. Matthew brought us both flowers. He gave us each a card. And Dory opened her presents right before bed, a crazy idea on our part, as she revved back up and wasn't ready for bed until almost 10:30 (hence the late post). As was the day, her gifts were simple.

A pop-up style book that makes noises and a small WonderPets stuffed animal from our friends Betsy, Randy and Andrew.

A bag of Mega Blocks, which will hopefully prove entertaining for us, as well as Dory.

And a bag of randomly selected balls from the big ball bin at Toys 'R Us.

The balls were definitely a hit.

We have a party for the family planned for this weekend and that's going to be fantastic. I'm glad today, though, on her very first birthday we had such a sweet, quiet day with the three of us.

I want to write more, but I am exhausted! For now, I'll just leave it at Happy Birthday Dory, our crawling, giggling, babbling, blue-eyed, pasta-eating miracle.

You Never Know...

2009-07-28T21:49:00.007-04:00

This time last year...

Matthew and I were sitting in our den, after a home-cooked Mexican dinner, watching something action-packed on television, and he was giving me a great foot massage. I was pregnant and big as all outdoors. Baby (as we called our Gender Unknown Little One) was due August 2nd and, being the confident, well-informed parents-to-be we were, we were both convinced this kid was not showing up before next week, at the earliest. We planned a natural birth, no medical induction, and by leaving our baby's birthday undecided (some said to chance, we said to God), being overdue was normal. Even expected. And I knew, with my new mama instinct, I was having an August baby...

Just that day, I made an appointment for us to meet our new pediatrician the following Friday. It was the first opportunity the doctor had to sit down with us and, as I pointed out to the receptionist, Baby wasn't due until that Saturday, we should be fine to come in on the first. "If Baby comes early, just bring him with you!" She quipped back and we both had a good chuckle...

All the little things we did, all those funny old wives' tales you hear about how to trigger labor, none of which we considered as we cooked our spicy dinner or Matthew rubbed my feet and ankles...

I didn't think about it on the great long walk I took earlier that day. Nor did I think much about the cleaning frenzy that struck me that afternoon. My good friend Emily stopped by, with her eight-week-old, and suggested all this cleaning of mine might be nesting instincts. "Come over tomorrow to knit," she suggested, "unless you're having a baby!" Oh, how we laughed and laughed over that one...

I think I went to bed around midnight or so, leaving Matthew downstairs working on his first-time parent plan. He wanted to prep for Baby and the Sleepless Nights we were told to expect, so each night he stayed up a little later to prepare himself for functioning with less sleep. Thank goodness he had Playstation 3's NCAA College Football '09 to help him along in this endeavor...

I remember getting in bed, reading a little, writing in my journal and watching a re-run of Sex and the City on TV when I couldn't sleep. Around twelve-thirty or quarter of one, I flipped off the light...

And to use that age-old writer's turn of phrase, little did I know...

Dory and the Bear

2009-07-27T21:29:00.013-04:00

(Hey Fans. This post is a little late in coming, sorry 'bout that. Mama's computer was all crazy and I couldn't get on to blog until tonight. SO here's a post I put together almost two weeks ago.- Baby D)

Hi Y'all! Dory here!

Can you guess where I am...?

The mountains!

Our good friend Candy invited us to come stay. Isn't she nice? It made her so happy I said yes!

There's a lake...

And it's very secluded and quiet...

You can't even hear these guys up at the cabin...

Gram came too...

I have to say, I am a fan of nature. All the fresh air...

Playing outside...

Long walks...

I think I could definitely see myself settling down in a place-

Umm... huh- is that- is that a-

A BEAR?

Wait a second...

Nope, my mistake.

It's a stuffed animal. Phew.

I definitely like the mountains. And the lake. And the woods.

But maybe I don't want to live there...

The Proof Is in the Pasta

2009-07-26T19:13:00.008-04:00

All sorts of good news in our house this week, the first of which is (and this is not to be treated lightly)- this is Miss D's birthday week! Our girl will be one on Wednesday and, I promise, crossed heart and all that, there will be lots of posting about that this week. Once I get my mind around the fact that she's been here for a year...

And the second bit of news- my computer is fixed and updated and working bee-yoo-tifully. Ah, thank you very much Mr. Matthew Mac-Genius.

Which means- pictures!

Tonight's quick updates are about that one perfect food- pasta.

Miss D is quite the noodle fan.

And if you've ever wondered if the rumors about pasta and sleepiness are true...

Going...

Going...

Gone...

Real, Honest-to-Goodness Updates

2009-07-16T21:59:00.006-04:00

I've been walking around with potential posts on my mind for almost two weeks now. A wee bit of technical trouble kept me down, however. First, the batteries in our camera died and for the first time in years (possibly) we had no more AA batteries in the house. This, in itself, is shocking. I have random household items that I buy in excess, as in, while at the store, I see a great deal on batteries, shaving cream, Crisco, any kind of spice or seasoning, and think "this is such a great deal! I must get some so we have extra!" Only to bring said item home and discover we already have three to five extra containers of this same product lurking in the cabinet. For once, though, my planning-sense failed me and no batteries meant no picture uploading.

We bought more batteries, but then the second impediment occurred when Matthew, quite kindly, offered to update my computer software. The good old laptop... ran... very... slowly. This was a great offer and one I jumped all over, especially as I didn't have to do anything except hand over my laptop for a night and wait for it to be returned, faster, better and with the ability to transform into a car and get cast in a summer blockbuster. Except when we did said upgrades, saving all my old data, then taking everything off, and uploading the new we skipped a crucial step it would seem- taking the old software off too. At least, that's what we think happened. My laptop now has twice as much memory in use as before, which means, until we get this little... ahem... situation figured out, downloading pictures is impossible. And frankly, what's a post without pictures?

Well, Grandpa Mojo to the rescue tonight! He and Granny S watched little one yesterday, so Matthew and I and my mama, might go see the new Harry Potter. And while watching he took pictures. So run your eyes over these shots, while I update you on the Divine Miss D's progress...

She's crawling everywhere.

And pulling up on everything. Seriously, everything. You can't stand still too long or you'll feel a pair of small, but determined hands climbing up the side of your pants leg.

There's definite conversation going on, particularly on "dada," a little "dog" (which can be the dogs or squirrels) and "hi." The best thing about her "hi" is it's often accompanied with a little wave. Oh, the wave. It melts me. And pretty much anyone who sees it, including Matthew, all grandparents, our friends and random strangers at the store. We almost caused a pile-up in the baby aisle at the grocery store tonight when she and another adorable little one engaged in a wave-off.

Beyond the waving, there's lot of general chatter, but, as she gets older, the chatter is different. Before she entertained herself by making random sounds to us, the walls, the ceiling, her toys. Now she's intentionally conversing, looking intent and thoughtful, with lots of eye contact and smiles, as she yammers. It is amazing to watch and so exciting. Soon we will have another member of the Mojo house competing for talk-time; always a fine, fine thing.

She's definitely into solid foods. How I miss my recent pictures right now! I'll do another food post soon. Pasta is her new fave and frankly deserves a post of its own.

The fact is, as we speed toward her one year birthday, I'm reminded daily that having a child is far, far, far better than I ever expected. And demanding and busy and sometimes exhausting. But those times are so small and insignificant in the face of a talking, standing, wobbling, smiling little person who even, others tell you, bears a slight resemblance to you and your dear significant other.

As my lovely friend Betsy would say, I am kooky about this child.

These Are a Few of My Favorite Things...

2009-06-22T23:26:00.000-04:00

Around here, eating has become a spectator sport. As Dory ventures into fine cuisine like Cheerios, banana and any fruit or vegetable you can puree (which is pretty much any fruit or vegetable), I'm paying a lot more attention at mealtime.

Let me stop here and say, sharing the table with someone whose communication skills involve the words "dada" and "dog" and dropping things on the ground, sometimes I am not as present as I might be. I am not in the moment. Sometimes, I'm thinking about other things, I'm mentally making lists, sometimes I'm physically making lists, sometimes I even bring a book to the table. I read out loud, sure, but this could be a year ago and I could be eating lunch by myself.

Then sometimes I look up and realize I am missing absolute gems. Diamond and emerald moments and they're flying right over my head. More specifically they're falling around my feet...

This was Dory today, at lunch, over a delicious meal of pureed winter squash, plain pasta, and, of course, Cheerios. You will observe she's wearing a Hippo pocket bib and all of her meal.

After watching her refuse any real food offered on a spoon, for some reason that I could not explain, I gave her the lid from the jar. Voilà! A baby who eats, drips, drops, and wears food! Ms. Independence gobbles it down.

Because I am sometimes occasionally a clever mama, I finally gave her the spoon.

Whatever method she uses, our furry sharks always circle the boat...

Here, in all her glory, is the full picture...

To think I might have ever read through this...

what a silly mama I can be.

Happy Father's Day

2009-06-21T09:19:00.009-04:00

I think it's safe to say, few of us ever know how we'll handle a new situation once it's upon us. I know in my experience, I can have great intentions, but the proof doesn't show up until the actual occasion comes.

Parenthood was very much that way. When I was pregnant I had lots of daydreams about Matthew or myself, playing with a baby, bathing a baby, feeding a baby. Always, in these mental vacations, we were laughing, tender, loving- sometimes there might have been a soundtrack from a Hallmark card commercial playing in the background.

Now the baby is here, the reality has manifested itself, and there isn't a soundtrack playing. Besides that one point, most days are not that different from my mental pictures.

I was reminded of this a few nights ago. After Dory's delicious dinner of pureed squash and Cheerios, while I tended to the aftermath of dinner and dishes, Matthew and she played their newest game. Imagine a five foot ten, thirty-two year old man squatting behind a dining room chair while a Little One bobs back and forth, as he asks...

Is she over here...?

Is she over here...?

There she is!

Now picture it over and over and over...

Dory would play this game all night long, but eventually it was bath time. As Matthew hoisted her up into his arms and carried her down the hall, I heard him making up lyrics to his newest baby tune: "We're gonna give you a baby bath/We're gonna give you a baby bath/ Whyyyyy?/ Because you're covered in slime/ Oh, yeah, you're covered in slime." (I think we should trademark that one...)

What a treat for me, when the kitchen looked a little less like the remains of a cereal bomb and a little more like a kitchen, to hurry down the hallway and catch the end of bath time.

What a treat, what a pleasure, when daydreams turn into reality.

Happy Father's Day to that bearded man o' mine.

And Happy Father's Day to my own wonderful Pops, without who I wouldn't know most of the literature I do, feel the need to sketch out a detailed story when I'm explaining it, sing loudly and badly and proudly, or insist on reading funny stories out loud, only to become so overcome with laughter a few sentences in, I have to stop and let someone else finish.

And Happy Father's Day to Aaron, and Dave H, and Dave S, and Brig, and Randy, and Jacob, and John, and Steve, and Bill, and the many, many, many amazing men in this world for whom the title "dada" rests proudly on their shoulders- and sometimes covers their eyes and pulls their hair and shrieks in their ears. I wish a grand day for all you fellas.

Things that Interest Me...

2009-06-19T22:01:00.003-04:00

If you're a babywearing mama please check out the great blog about babywearing over here at: Nature's Child Blog. It's so true and that sling sounds wonderful!

And maybe I get entered in a contest for mentioning this...

Doesn't make it any less true. I love Sakura Bloom slings- would love to have this one!

So cross your fingers for me!

Baby at the Beach

2009-06-17T21:37:00.006-04:00

Our first trip to the beach took place a few brief weeks ago. Thanks to a very kind friend (Hello Lois!) Gram Mojo, Dory and I managed to slip away for a few days to the grand little island of Hilton Head in the fine state of South Carolina. For the first time Dory saw the ocean, felt the salty breeze in her face, wore sunscreen, played in the water, saw an alligator, swam in an outdoors pool and crawled across real, honest-to-goodness sand.

And somehow, for most of that, we managed to keep a hat on her.

It was a great trip.

Baby Baggage

2009-05-31T09:36:00.005-04:00

This week Dory and I are going to the beach with my mom. This morning I am packing and, as Dory oversees

I would like to make one point: babies have a lot of stuff.

I didn't expect that. Here's this girl, born about as simple and uncomplicated as one human being can be

yet to take her anywhere requires piles of things.

I always knew adults had a lot of stuff. Beyond clothes, shoes, underwear, shampoo and the like, there's laptops, cell phones, books, movies, golf clubs, knitting, whatever your preference of entertainment might be. I never imagined babies could rival adults.

Now, as I pack a diaper bag, a toy bag, baby clothes, baby swimsuits, a second toy bag, baby stroller, another toy bag, I realize, babies might be born without luggage, but it doesn't stay that way for long. Whether they need all this stuff or we, being adults with lots of stuff, simply foist it on them, I can't decide.

But I find the situation very interesting.

Dory, I think, finds it funny.

Memorial Day

2009-05-27T23:16:00.000-04:00

We spent a day at the park with some of our good friends and their Little Fella.

It was a casual get together.

A no pants, no shoes, no problem kind of day.
The Big Guys played your typical Memorial Day sports- disc golf.

While the Moms did the lion's share of the grunt work: Off-Road Strollering. Look for it in the 2012 Olypmics.
And these two did what they're best at...

It was an excellent Memorial Day. Days like these are the cornerstone of a very happy life.

And we sent out heart-felt thanks to all the men and women who have served this country, especially our most special veteran, Grandpa Mojo! God Bless you all!

Bon Appétit

2009-05-17T15:34:00.005-04:00

Hello again! Dory here!

Just wanted to update the ol' blog on what's happening here in my world. Here I am, up in my big girl high chair. Look, it's a chair and there's a tray with those little orange things on it... This is pretty cool right?

Mama! Hey, how are you? What? What's that?

Sweet potato, huh? Well, OK, if you say so...

This is... this is...

You tricked me!

I'll catch you later, blog-land. No way is she catching me with that one again!

Good Eatin'

2009-05-08T08:18:00.007-04:00

In the spirit of adventure, meals around the Mojo household are a little different than usual. Inspired by Simple Abundance and Matthew being home to keep track of Little One, I've been on a new recipes jag.

First we tried Rachael Ray's "Beef Horseradish Strudel," exciting because it dealt with puff pastry, something I've normally considered too fiddly to fool with.

Gorgeous I think, but My God! that's a lot of food. We still have an entire loaf of meat-pie in the fridge. Hungry anyone?

Next on the menu was Peppercorn Pork with Parmesan Smashed Potatoes from Ellie Krieger's The Food You Crave. Yesterday we made Ellie's Pumpkin Muffins for breakfast:

and for dinner last night, Spaghetti with Turkey Meatballs and Spicy Tomato Sauce. Healthy and yummy!

The reviews of all the new cooking have been favorable. Even the turkey meatballs earned high accolades from Matthew, the ultimate carnivore. I humbly took my praise and assured him it had more to do with the team of sous chefs I had helping.

I think all good cooks would agree, you're only as good as the babies chewing on ladles and dogs licking the floor in your kitchen.

Happy (Belated) Earth Day!

2009-04-26T11:15:00.010-04:00

Yesterday, our little community held its Earth Day celebration, a tad belatedly. As Matthew, good man that he is, stayed home to tend to our bit of earth and mow the yard, Dory, Mama P and I went.

Dory started here but after a wee bit of fussing...

...moved to here.

The day was gorgeous, the sun blazing over head and immediately I realized we might have a small issue, i.e. sun + anyone in my gene pool= Trouble. As Dory is not a fan of hats...

... except for waving them around, this can be problematic.

But help was only a few booths away! Supermama Kristy (mother and proprietor of Zoonique Baby, a truly wonderful local cloth diaper store) came to our rescue. Wielding a bottle of baby sunscreen, she let us lather Dory up. Once Little One was safely covered in this natural lotion (and smelling quite lovely) I could turn my attention to the delectable cloth diaper display. (Sidenote: we cloth diaper, Matthew and I are huge fans, and one day I will write more about this and all its fantastic elements. For now, I'll show you that cloth diapering is not only...

... economical and environmentally green, but also incredibly fun, particularly when dealing with a store like Zoonique that has an absolute riot of prints, colors, patterns and styles.)

How beautiful is that display? You can't even take it all in can you? Besides many varities of cloth diapers that she makes herself (and that we love- we're a big fan of her fitteds), she makes bibs, wet bags, burp cloths, shoes... the woman is a zenith in the cloth diaper field. And she's here, in East Tennessee. How cool is that?!

There were many, many groups, many, many vendors and many, many people there, along with some pretty cool bands.

But once Dory started to look like this...

we headed home. She slept on the walk back to the car, slept through the transfer to the car seat, slept the five minute drive home... Wee One was wiped OUT. The adults, admittedly, were looking a bit sluggish too. Everyone was ready for a nap and already I had plans of climbing back into bed, cuddling up with Miss Girl and having a long, leisurely rest...

Except...

...what the...

is she...

wide awake?

I don't know how it happened, but after two hours in all that noisy, interesting chaos and a five minute sleep in the car, she woke up refreshed and ready to get going. There were no naps in Adultland that day.

Even with that said, it was a very good day here in the Mojo household.

Also, it's important to mention, besides taking care of the lawn, Matthew vacuumed the house, did laundry, put away diapers and was still ready to crack open a beer and turn on the NFL draft at four. That, in my opinion, is a Man's Man. Thinking back on that, I would have to upgrade yesterday to a great Mojo day.

A Day at the Park

2009-04-23T09:47:00.007-04:00

I'm sure I was told it, but I really didn't realize how motherhood can prepare you for anything. I knew about the physical preaparation; I'd heard enough friends laugh about "everything but the kitchen sink" when they went out. I fell right in step with that and, if you happen to be out with me during the day, there isn't much you might want that I couldn't provide. Stacks of diapers, toys, change of clothes, more toys, bottles of water for Mom, small diaper bag, more toys, snacks for Mom, big diaper bag as back-up, and on and on- most of the time, I feel about as prepared as one woman can be.

However, I didn't realize how much being a parent would mentally prepare me for anything. One more wonderful revelation since Dory's birth: my priorities are straighter than ever. We have a healthy family, a particularly healthy daughter and everything after that is the proverbial icing on the cake.

When Matthew came home, almost eight weeks ago, and announced his company had closed all their offices in the U.S., I realized I wasn't panicked. A year ago, I would have taken the news much like Dory responded to the baby swing at the park:

But I felt a little more like her when we first got out of the car at the park:

And as Matthew explained about his generous severance package, about our extended health benefits, and even his hope to go back to school and get his teaching degree, I felt exactly like Dory feels pretty much all the time:

I did my quick mental run down: Dory well and happy? Check. Matthew and I well and happy? Check.

It was hard to worry after that. There's uncertainity right now, but I can see change as being something interesting, something welcome. Matthew's job had not been something he enjoyed in a long time, though I believe he brought excellence to the day-to-day difficulty. Still, the loss was not a loss at all and this was not a sad day for us. Change came at the best possible time, in the softest possible way.

In fact, excitement crept into the house, slipping in through the open doors and windows, the feeling of possibility blowing in with the the fresh spring breezes. What an opportunity for us as a family! Matthew's been home to see this time of explosive growth in Dory, as she moved from sitting, to rolling, to cheerful chattering and almost, any day now crawling. We've been on the go ever since, taking advantage of beautiful weather, free time and our enjoyment of each other. Matthew particularly appreciates this time he has with his girl.

He's working out what he wants to do next and we're all getting excited about what the future holds. When Dory was born I felt, so clearly, that anything is possible. Here we are, in the season of her first spring, and I feel even more deliciously hopeful about our future.

Updates Coming!

2009-04-20T10:17:00.002-04:00

That's probably not fair, to make an entire post just to say "I'll be posting again soon." But I've been looking for this one particular camera wire, this one pesky wire that does the small job of taking the pictures off my camera and putting them on my laptop. I've searched for this wire for weeks now. I knew there were probably three places it would be and I looked those three places over and over again without success. Which meant I wasn't surprised when I discovered in a bag of knitting. Tah-dah!

So pictures and updates coming soon!

Adventures in Solids

2009-02-17T22:19:00.004-05:00

We were into mush on Valentine's Day, but ours was of the apple variety. The Friday before V-Day, I put our girl in my fantastic new Kozy carrier (ordered from a great little store McKinley Kidz), got out the instruction manual to our fabulous Beaba baby food maker (thanks to Matthew's grandmother for that little gem!) and after a little reading...

I steamed and pureed an organic Golden Delicious for Dory's first solid food.

The next day we took turns feeding this wholesome and tasty snack to our little one...

She was not a fan...

Neither of us knew what to expect, but I can tell you, neither of us expected that. Little One was a hoot; she actually shuddered at the first spoonful then pulled the most awful face. Organic, steamed and pureed apple to her was clearly grown-up speak for "disgusting muck often found on the bottom of one's tennis shoe."

Back to the baby cook book for mama!

Hello Dory!

2009-01-22T11:51:00.004-05:00

Will there ever be a time I'm not marveling at the change in her? Dory's growth seems to be moving at warp speed these days. I realize I owe the blog (and especially her Grandma Cindy and Granny the Great!) some updates on the girl.

She's ready for kindergarten. Or that's how it feels. The changes in even the last month are astonishing. At the moment, sitting is our big preoccupation. She seems seconds away from sitting up on her own. Not, mind you, lifting herself to a sitting position, though everyday she lifts her head and feet, working those belly muscles and doing one fine Boat Pose, for anyone who speaks Yoga-ease out there. However, if you prop her into a sitting position she can maintain it for several seconds before doing a graceful swan dive forward that causes both parents to lunge torwards with hands outstretched (any day now we're going to knock heads like the most absurd Three Stooges episode). Usually she catches herself with her hands, but we put her in soft places. Just to be cautious.

However cautious we might be, Danger does seem to be her second name. OK, maybe not Danger. How about Curious? Curious Dory. She watches everything. All the time. No more sleeping in the Moby or the baby backpack for this girl (except, at this very moment, when she does have her little head resting against my chest and she's sound asleep- if nothing else, if nothing else, this is payment in full for parenting, moments like these). If we're at a store, around the house, at a grandparent's, she's watching, looking, noticing... Oh, and trying to put it in her mouth.

The mouth. Who knew what an exciting place that was for a baby? Well, every parent who's come before me. And now I've joined that ever-watchful group. Because anything she comes near- toys, teething rings, books, car keys, etc.- her mouth pulls open and her head goes towards it, like there's an invisible force pulling her forward and she cannot not do it. The Force for babies. We ate out last night and the urgency with which she pulled herself to the table suggested if I would just let her at it, she'd have that whole thing between those baby gums.

Speaking of gums, no teeth yet. But we're close. Much like we're so close to her sitting unassisted, I think we're so close (as measured in baby time- could be minutes, could be weeks) from her cutting her first teeth. This is (as you can imagine) not her favorite thing. Some days are chewier than others, but really she copes well. And if I would just give her the remote and my cell phone to chomp, she'd be set.

And, as always, she's a big part of history. Here are a couple shots of her on the day of the Inauguration.

Dory and Daddy that night- check out the beard, Texas family!

Dory and her Obama-Mama, moments before he was sworn in.

Obama says Yes We Can and I believe him. Dory says Yes We Can... Put That in Our Mouths and I believe her too.

Dorothy

2009-01-19T11:15:00.000-05:00

It's taken a little time to get back to post. Dory and I are home from Missouri.

Dorothy, our little Dorothy's great-grandmother, passed away Tuesday, the sixth. I don't know what to say about that. She was eighty-eight when she passed, and, though the last few days were painful, most of that eighty-eight years was of great health, vitality, and spirit. In fact, if there were one word I would use about my grandmother, my Mammar as all us grandchildren called her, it would be spirit. She had a remarkable attitude, lively and kind, generous and loving. All of that is true, but it feels so flat on the page. I don't know how to evoke her spirit here.

I know, we named Dory after a great woman. I know, in the last few weeks, I've never been more pleased that our daughter carries on the name of my strong, bright, passionate grandmother. But it still feels flat. I would like to write about her, to honor her in some way, but at the moment, it still feels too new and too hard.

For now, here is a picture of her namesake, a picture I think Mammar would have loved.

Updates

2009-01-05T16:19:00.005-05:00

Just a quick post to let everyone know, Dory and I might be gone from the blog longer than usual. We're in Missouri, with family. My grandmother, Dorothy the First, is not well. Dorothy the Second, my mother (Mama P) and I are staying with my aunt and uncle to do what we can to take care of her. So there might not be any Dory tidings for a few more days. But she's well and happy and doing remarkably well for a baby who spent eleven hours in the car yesterday. Until we can bring you cheerier tidings, I'll leave you with Dory playing Santa a few days before Christmas. Happy New Year.

Merry Christmas

2008-12-25T07:54:00.005-05:00

I woke up at a ridiculously early hour. Six thirty or thereabouts. This might not have seemed so early, except I couldn't fall asleep last night, not until close to two, maybe even a little later. Matthew was out early, with the start of a cold and a shot of Nyquil. Dory nursed and fell asleep before midnight. But I- I, who thought, at eleven thirty when I had wrapped my last present, had attached my last Santa tag, I'd be asleep before I even made it to the bedroom- I sat in bed and couldn't close my eyes. Instead I knit a Christmas hat for Dory (a sort of hybrid elf's hat/stocking cap) and I watched Friends at midnight and then one of those Lara Croft movies after that and I knit the whole time, waiting for exhaustion to overcome me. The hat won first. I felt no urge to stop, to lie down, to close my eyes. I felt... excited. I felt exactly like I felt when I was eight and still entirely believed in Santa Claus and reindeer and the little story they always played on the news about tracking Santa's course through the world.

I woke up at six thirty this morning and the feeling had not subsided. Just like when I was eight waking up the next morning and feeling that fuzzy anticipation steal over me. I remember I would lie in my bed, this unexplained sensation of enthusiasm moving through me, not sure why, until bam! I remembered. From that point on I was up and going and lemme at that tree and the rush that followed for the next hour or so could have carried me through days of sleeplessness.

My adult mind did not propel me out of bed like my kid heart did. No, it spoke gently of small to-do's still to be done, getting a jump start on the day, the promise of arriving on time. As all my mornings begin0, three dogs of boundless energy hurled themselves around me as I threw on a coat and shuffled outside with them, leaving a sleeping husband and baby inside. By this time it was a little before seven, and standing outside in our front yard, while they did the tangled leash tango, a little voice whispered in my brain "thank you for this baby, thank you for everything, thank you." I understood immediately. Thank you for this baby, thank you for this little one, who doesn't yet understand the day, but who one day will. Thank you for what is to come, letters to write, cookies to leave out, explanations of a baby in a manger, of oil that burned for eight days straight, explanations of the spirit of this month, the feeling of holiness and mystical and magical and Love that permeates this time of year when we're not lost in gift getting, grocery shopping, traffic jams, bad weather, delays, one more damned party...

I imagine, I'm no different than most people. I could look at a lot of what's not going right, fear around jobs and economy and will it get worse and how will we make it... Except I stood outside in my pajamas and coat, watching the fingers of dawn separate first pink then yellow then blue over the mountains that surround this little valley in which we live and I felt absolute joy. All those thoughts of what is to come, they were of a future, my future, a future I know is even brighter than that perfect, foolish moment. I stood still, tears in my eyes, hugging my arms around myself, and whispering thank you, thank you, thank you. It was exactly like a scene from a movie or novel, where a character "gets it" at some crazy moment, feels for one second, "I know what God thinks and it is GOOD" those moments that send goose bumps through the viewer and cause critics to role their eyes.

In the next few days, I'll write about what Christmas brought, the physical manifestation of love and excitement and joy. Already I have stories to tell over how blessed I am, the remarkable people in my life who take such good care of me. I'll post pictures of Dory and report on the spoils of her first Christmas conquest. I'll let you know how Matthew fared, if he beat down the cold or the cold beat down him (right now, hearing the change in his breathing this morning and knowing him, I'm betting on Matthew). But this morning, all I can think to write about is standing outside, for about four minutes, in the early morning chill, sleep still in my eyes, and knowing with absolute certainity that Well Being abounds for all of us. There is a sleeping baby girl in my house and she is a miracle. There is a husband who is kind and generous and thoughtful and he is a miracle. There are parents who are healthy and thriving and love me and they are miracles. There are friends who are warm and funny and they are miracles. There are miracles running through every second of my life, of this I am sure, and as my dictionary says miracles are "considered to be the work of a divine agency," how can I not trust, how can I not KNOW that the future coming will far outshine the past?

I know God is in everything, in us, in the details. I know that. But I can't help but think, He's especially in the sunrise. He's especially in that early morning moment of promise, that thrill of what's to come. That good morning kiss, that person buying coffee for a friend, that sunlight breaking over the trees, that school bus leaving earlier and earlier every year. I think that must be His time to revel, to soak everything in, and if occasionally I'm lucky enough to be up and standing outside in my pajamas, three silly dogs dancing around me and sharing in that moment with Him, how can I not whisper thank you, thank you, thank you?

Some Christmas Spirit

2008-12-16T22:08:00.001-05:00

Hello Internetland!

It's your favorite baby blogger! And I've got a lot to report.

First- thumbs! They are the best.

Why did no one mention them earlier? There should be a sign right when you come out- "Welcome Baby, check out the the short, stubby finger, you're going to like it." I can't get enough of mine!

What else, what else? Well, I've been doing a little of this...

a little of that...

I'm a baby. It's basically my job.

Hey, I'm pushing up! It's not easy, not my favorite pose, but I make the best of it.

Oh! And feet! I found them. They are fantastic.

You can grab 'em, you can wiggle 'em around over your head. And if you're really lucky, you can pull off a sock and chew on it. But that takes practice. Don't you 3 monthers try this at home, OK? You've got plenty of time. But feet are good. I mean, they're no thumbs, but they're good.

Just to go back to the thumb thing. I'd have a second sign. It would say- Guess what? You've got two of them!

That's about it for now. Just hanging out, doing my groovy baby thing. Oh, and here's a funny shot. I might have overindulged on milk, been a little silly...

Christmas! It's just the best, isn't it?

Reunion

2008-12-15T19:31:00.003-05:00

Last Wednesday we went to a reunion of our Bradley Method class and it was fantastic. Bradley Method is a natural approach to childbirth, rooted in the idea of "husband-coached childbirth." Did you know that? Me, I had no idea, until friends (who had recently birthed a child this way) told us about it. The only class on natural birth I knew was Lamaze, with its odd, but effective breathing techniques. But we didn't stay with friends who'd done a Lamaze birth. We went to visit these friends with their Bradley experience and after hearing the birth story of their second son I thought, yep, that's for me. Forget your drugs, forget your doctors, forget your hospital nursery. At that point, nine weeks in, I was ready for it. Bring on the home birth!

Matthew put the kibosh on that idea.

However, he did get on board with the natural childbirth idea. He particularly liked the Husband part and he really, really liked the Coach part. I think it fulfilled all sorts of dreams for him. I imagine visions of a delivery room with a grassy surface, him gigged up in a ball cap with a whistle around his neck and everyone else- doctors, visitors, myself- wearing some kind of Lycra uniform danced in his head.

We found a Bradley Method instructor in Knoxville. The course ran twelve weeks, every Wednesday night from 6:30 to 8:30 and was around the same cost as a plane ticket (much thanks to Dory's Grandpa and Granny Suzanney for assistance with that). The price made sense, I realized later, as we settled ourselves on the floor, shoes off, mildly pregnant women propped up against pillows with flustered, uncertain husbands settling down next to us. We were on a journey not many take.

Not having a baby, of course. Seems like everyone is doing that. But having a baby this way, intending as little medical intervention as possible, relying mostly on the strength of ourselves, individually and as a couple, to carry us through a truly stressful experiences. A wife saying, I'm going to be in the most vulnerable, moving, terrifying, exhilarating, intense experience of my life and you're the one I want in the room holding me up. A husband who answered, I'm your man.

Almost no one understood.

Only a few people I knew (specifically my parents, especially my mama, and some friends) supported us. Pretty much everyone else, when they heard we were going, as they thought of it, the no-drugs route balked. Some went farther than balking. There were lots of opinions about our decision, ranging from, "are you sure?" to "are you *#@$^!& crazy?" I had one family member who, every single time I spoke to her, approached the subject from the angle, "Are you still planning to..." followed up with "Take the drugs! You want the drugs, get the drugs, take them!"

It was trying. *#@$^!& annoying might be the other to say it. But I should be grateful. As with so many responses in life, the more people disagreed with us, the more it shored up our decision and firmed Matthew and I up as a team, the two of us planted strongly on the side of preparation, forethought, and intention and everyone else on the other.

Yet having our Bradley class, every week, for twelve weeks, was a cool, refreshing glass of water in a desert of people with too many opinions they couldn't keep to themselves. We started the class talking about that week's pregnancy changes, who was having what test, how far along, any thoughts, concerns, problems with the medical team? Then our teacher, the funny and fantastic Lisa Paul, guided us through our thick Bradley Method manuals, videos, and books, all generated toward convincing and reassuring women that birth the way God intended was a viable option.

I loved this class and the end of it was difficult for me. First, because I enjoyed the people in there with us and who knew when we would see them again? Second, because the end of the class meant I was almost thirty-seven weeks pregnant and at a to-be-determined, not-so-distant date, I'd have a baby. Odd how we spent so many weeks going towards this goal and I still felt like I'd been snuck up on by Fate and Fortune when the class actually ended.

Well, the second premise happened first. My labor did start, we had it pretty much as we intended, at a birth center, with no medication and the most wonderful midwives. Our baby arrived, we found out she was a girl and Life as we knew it changed irrevocably.

The first came back together about four months after that. One couple hosted, we all RSVPed Yes and we came bearing brand-new babies and potluck Italian dishes. It was a good time.

I wasn't surprised to see the dads (once known as husbands) as involved with their babies as they had been with their wives' pregnancy. You know you have five good men, when each in his turn, says, "You go ahead and eat. I've got Little One." We had great conversations about recovering from the birth, who did you call when you were in labor, who brought you food when they came to visit, was it good food, how completely changed is your life? You know, light chit-chat.

Over the period of the evening everyone relived snippets and pieces of their baby's birth. Of the five couples, two did have Cesarean deliveries due to unexpected medical complications. Regardless, both couple agreed what they learned in class went so far beyond only the birth. Watching each couple, I could see, regardless of Baby's preferred entrance, how much the class strengthened their bonds and belief in each other.

Whatever the intention going into your birth, a baby arrives at the end. And it is, to say simply and yet to understate it, a miracle. But what I found, the unexpected gem, hidden away in the mysterious due date, broken waters, sweat, contractions, deep breathing, blood, various medical strangers, encouragement, potential problems, the great gasp before a baby appears... what I discovered was my husband and I were exactly the right people for the jobs at hand. Maybe an obvious thing to realize, something many, many people could have told us. Yet it was a tremendous, joyful, silly delight to know as they placed our girl on my chest, when Matthew said I'm your man, he was right. And it was a point of pride, a glow in the deepest part of my heart, to realize I was, not just the only, but the best woman for it.

Now, fingers crossed, if we can just come close to being the parents this bright little girl deserves...

Thumbs Up Check-Up

2008-12-08T13:47:00.010-05:00

Dory had a four-month wellness visit last Friday. Let me take a moment to mention two things I am highly grateful for: 1) I really like our pediatrician and 2) we hardly ever need to see her, except for these wellness visits.

A visit to Dory's doctor isn't like any doctor's visit I can remember. First the office is a delightful place to be. The walls and floors are painted to look like bright, colorful environments. There's a jungle room, a wilderness room, a rain forrest room (though I can't tell you the difference between this one and the jungle room), all decorated with appropriate wildlife critters. It's incredibly cheerful and I would think friendly and inviting to a little one. I had a great doctor, but he was my family's GP, which meant a waiting room decorated in that classic color scheme "bluegrayblah" and filled with elderly, sick people, many of whom came with oxygen tanks. God love their hearts, they were neither friendly nor inviting (though this might have been extra incentive to stay healthy).

Second, all her clothes came off, but no cover-up was offered. After watching Dory on the exam table, naked legs pulled up to naked belly, I will never again complain about the "does this go front ways or back ways?" paper gowns to which I am accustomed (sidenote: whichever way it goes, I always do the opposite- I have some backwards sixth sense about this, much like how I can walk into any new room and reach for the light switch on the wrong wall- but I digress). Dory, in her cheery baby way, seemed delighted to wave her bare bum about while we waited.

Once all the clothes were off, which, with the cold weather, took a few minutes, Matthew carried our naked babe out into the hallway with the nurse to be weighed and measured. Dory was remarkably sanguine, considering all her bits and pieces were on full display to the world. Can you imagine? I get grouchy when the nurse weighs me with the woman who takes payments sitting ten feet away.

After her weight, height, and head size were taken, we put her back down on the exam table and then- get this!- all her measurements were put into a computer and her growth chart tabulated and figured into their percentile system. The doctor explained the system shows where she would rank, on average, among ninety-nine other babies. And (here's the wild part) being bigger is fine. Seriously. I ask, again, can you imagine? "Well, you weigh more than seventy percent of the room and the really good news is, your head is in the ninety-eighth percentile!" It's all very cool, this baby world.

At a little more than four months, Dory is twelve and a half pounds and around twenty-five inches long. She's alert and strong (the pediatrician's words) and gorgeous and perfect (mine). And currently she's resting. Sleep helps babies grow and our girl's an expert at growing.

The Face of Victory

2008-12-03T20:57:00.001-05:00

This is just a quick update for anyone needing a hit of Dory magic. Have you read this post? You might want to catch up if you haven't.

Because it will make this all the sweeter.

Take that Mr. Weird-Rabbity-Thing! You dangle above her head no more, hahaha. VICTORY!

Our girl officially has her grabbing skills down. And by "down," I mean every one in five to ten tries she catches whatever she sets her pretty blue eyes on. After taking Mr. Rabbit down from his high horse, Dory was caught paraphrasing a recent SNL skit:

" 'Cause I'm a baby! And I'm bigger than you!"

As far as entertainment value, I hear she's slated to appear during halftime of the Superbowl...

Watch Out! She's a Mama at the Movies

2008-11-24T12:03:00.000-05:00

Before Dory, I laughed (gently, but... still) at stories of moms out on the town, childless. O vey! they made such a big deal of it. Seriously? You call a grandparent or pay a stand-in, put on some clothes and you GO. Easy. What's the hold-up? I even laughed over the wife of a friend who had to be dragged to the door, but then acted like she was on a work-release program from prison. Sure, she was going back, but she was out now.

Yep. Just a few more of my pre-mama words I have officially chopped up, sauteed, put on a plate and eaten.

Matthew and I went out, Friday night, to see a movie with some friends. Can I just say, it is the strangest push-pull experience ever? I wanted SO MUCH to be with her and I wanted SO MUCH to be at this movie without her. Literally like being split in two. For anyone who hasn't had the experience, picture this: you want SO MUCH to vote for John McCain and yet you want SO MUCH to vote for Barack Obama. Can't do it, can you? Better yet, I know exactly how all those superheroes feel with their yeah, I want to save the world, but I'd also like to finish a meal. Hello Motherhood! How can you have such opposing desires simultaneously?

My mom gently insisted. Matthew gently guided me towards the door. The movie tickets in my pocket (to Twilight which I so wanted to see) helped pull me to the car. I went out, for several hours, without my baby.

And realized I had completely forgotten how to be around grown-ups. Anyone who greeted me, anyone who even looked at me funny, got a ninety-miles-an-hour "hello!" that went something like "hi! We-have-a-four-month-old-baby-who's-with-my-mom-and-this-is-my-first-time-away-from-her. Howareyou?"

Everyone heard this story. The guy standing at the soda fountain at Five Guys and A Burger. The guy at the bar at Calhouns who asked if I wanted a seat. The girl behind the bar. The woman in the movie theater bathroom who I almost knocked down coming out of the stall (it helped that I started the conversation by saying, as we both steadied ourselves, "Good thing we weren't driving!" followed by hysterical laughter). The teenager selling candy at the concession stand. No one was safe.

But I went. And I had a great time. It helped the movie was completely enthralling. The whole time I wiggled in my seat like a puppy on Christmas, while I kept my hand over the cell phone in my pocket, poised for flight should Mom call. I was ecstatic to have been out, seen a movie, visited with friends. AND I jumped out of the car and dashed into mom's house before the vehicle even came to a complete stop when we came back. I would have given a schizophrenic a headache.

But when I saw this face...

ah. That face. Worth every second of the push-pull, go-stay, babbling, blundering difficulty. Yes, Before Dory, this question was simple, not even a question. But how worth it. How weird to discover I'd rather be pulled in two, with her here, then one uncomplicated me, without her.

All of this to say, I owe yet another great-big, super-duper apology to all the moms out there who I've ever (gently or not) snickered at when I've heard of their dilemma in leaving their children for the first time. Also to all the moms I've (gently or not) laughed at for their twitchy, compulsive, semi-hysterical behavior. To you all, my deepest and sincerest apologies. The next time we're out together I'm buying the first round.

Though first I'll have to tell you that this-is-my-second-time-leaving-my-baby-with-my-mom-and-I'm-a-little-freaked-out-but howareyou?

Where Did I Put It...?

2008-11-17T21:10:00.000-05:00

What are all these thingies? Elephant? Monkey? Seriously, who do these Big People think they're kidding?

Oh, well. Time to post! Hmm, where did I put my laptop...

Huh. Where did I put it?

Here? No...

I think the Big Ones have hidden it!

Oh, fine. I'll play with this silly thing.

Huh. This is kind of fun actually.

A little bit later...

Lalala. Gosh, this is one good thumb.

Hey, wait a second! There's my laptop! Hahahaha. Time to blog! Right after I finish this thumb...

One at a Time Please

2008-11-08T19:12:00.012-05:00

Tonight I finished a pair of socks for Matthew that I started knitting- oh let's see- two weeks before Dory arrived... so that would be... three and a half months ago. Give or take a few days. The color is "Superbowl Shuffle" in honor of the Chicago Bears and I originally intended to give them to him at the start of the NFL season as a Congratulations Big Daddy! gift.

Tomorrow will be the Bears ninth game of the year. And finally, finally, a pair of hand-knit men's socks are finished.

Of course, being a new mama means a whole new set of priorities. Starting and finishing a meal without an interruption is rare. Finding time to knit might be considered the equivalent of reaching into the refrigerator for a glass of $8.99 Chardonnay only to discover a perfectly chilled bottle of Dom Perignon.

This is not to say there hasn't been time. In fact, there are plenty of times a day I might snatch a few minutes and whip out a few rounds. Except...

There's this going on..
.

And this...

And this...

And instead of picking up my knitting needles or a book or my notebook and pencil, I sit and watch. Somewhere, in the back of my mind, a voice says, "but you could ALSO be..." I understand this voice. This little part of my brain hasn't yet reconciled to the fact something so special is going on, that I can't find a way to do something else too. Of course, when I do find time to write out a post or knit a few rounds, I'm delighted and I think "Ooo, why don't I do this more often? When Matthew has her or she's playing on her playmat, I could..." Except the next time Dory's grinning at her daddy or chatting in that fascinating language that makes me think of E.T. speaking Pig Latin, I just. Can't. Do. It.

This is a great exercise is slowing down, in doing. One. Activity. At a time. So many times a day, I take multi-tasking to the next level. How many of us do? On the phone, while on the internet, while cooking dinner, and writing out a to-do list for tomorrow, Dory along for the ride in the baby back-pack on my chest. And that's when I'm at home, relaxing!

I realize the ability to do two things at one time (or three or four) can be a great help. Chatting while folding laundry. Driving while working out a plan with someone on my cell. Writing out the grocery list, while taking out the dogs (oh, yeah, I've done it). Combining a mundane task with something a little more interesting or simply necessary.

But how often, do I find myself doing this mindlessly? Yes, I'm carrying on a conversation, but I'm searching the internet too because... it's there. Or I'm making that phone call in my car because otherwise the car would be... silent. My mind has become so accustomed to being busy, I don't always remember how to slow down.

So now I'm learning the art of single-tasking. Focusing on one thing, at a time, for a little while. Dory makes it easy. When I let myself pay attention just to her, she's captivating. But I'm hoping to carry this to other parts of my life. Cooking dinner without checking my email. Chatting with my husband without mentally planning what I have to do tomorrow. Just watching and enjoying. From what I hear from other parents, there isn't much longer that I'll be able to entertain her completely by blowing big raspberries on her tummy. And how much would I kick myself later when I realized I let that opportunity go by?

Be Still My Heart

2008-11-03T10:25:00.009-05:00

In our family, we've treated Dory, essentially, as though she's the first baby in the whole entire world. Rightly so, I think. Every baby, be it the first or the tenth in a family, is a miracle. How could you not stop life and fall into worship when a miracle arrives in your arms? However many have come before this is your miracle.

While many, many, many, many babies have come before her, she is her own unique, perfectly individual little person. And she is still a baby, with lots of typical baby behavior. Fussiness that can't be immediately soothed isn't something we've escaped- what Dr. Sears might call "inconsolable crying." While occasionally this will happen in the middle of the day, on days it happens, it usually starts in the late evening. I think she hits some tiny baby wall, done with the day, exhausted beyond exhaustion, hungry to the point of ravenous and it comes out in the form of this red-faced, wide-mouthed, eyes scrunched, doleful, wailing baby.

In Perfect Mommyland, I would gently soothe her back to her typical state of cheerful, sweet-faced, smiling baby. Unfortunately, as soon as they saw how much spit-up I'm comfortable wearing on one or both shoulders, my Perfect Mommyland card got revoked.

Sometimes I get frantic along with her, hitting my own mama-wall of tired and worn out, wanting nothing more than to put my feet up, pour a large glass of wine, and laugh at something totally inane on television. At that point, my face starts to redden, my voice rises a few notches, panic creeping in, as I try to sway, rock, jiggle and shush back to some state of calm, just settled enough for her to nurse and fall asleep. And when this happens, at this point in the evening, a pair of hands appear in front of me, and a deep, kind voice says, "Let me take her."

Burp cloth over his shoulder, baby blanket in hand, Daddy has come to the rescue.

Into his arms she goes, and he begins his own soothing daddy-dance, his own rocking, swaying, jiggling, and shushing. The first few times I watched, still a little desperate, convinced this would fail as magnificently as my own efforts have. Instead, this wailing child settled almost immediately. Her mouth closed, her breath evened, her face returned to its normal, lovely fairness, and her bright little eyes opened and revealed the bright little eyes they are.

How this broke my new mama heart! What was wrong with me? Why couldn't I soothe my own baby girl? A few days into her little life and I'd already failed miserably. Forget Perfect Mommyland; they were going to revoke my whole mama card.

Once, that initial panic passed (I thank my hormones for returning to some level of normalcy) I recognized this time for what it was. This was Matthew and Dory's time to fall in love with each other. Of course they do this all the time, when she's smiling and cheerful, when he's changing her diaper, when he's changing her clothes, when he puts her in the carseat, when she falls asleep on his chest. They have the same experience she and I have, all day long, every day, of becoming even crazier about each other.

Yet I have this experience of feeding her. I cuddle her to my chest, she nuzzles against me, latches to my breast and we are in the most natural, perfect world. She has a deep, innate need and I easily fulfill it for her. This is exactly what Nature intended and, at its most primitive, skin-to-skin contact, is strictly available to Mama and Baby. Nature at its finest. How could I ever doubt, Nature had the same plans for Daddy and Baby?

So Matthew takes her in his arms and, as she cuddles close to him, his touch says, "I am safe, I am strong, I am solid; you can lean on me." And Dory, with the very same instincts that tell her I will feed her whenever she is hungry, knows her father will hold her whenever she is hurting, lonely, frightened, or simply needs to be held.

Dory does not always settle instantly. Sometimes it takes patience on his side, trying new moves, new sounds, new steps in their dance. But every time he stays with her, he keeps rocking, keeps cuddling, keeps talking gently to her, he assures her, no matter how upset, how cranky, how inconsolable, he will never stop holding her. He will never stop comforting her. His love is completely trustworthy. His love is unconditional.

And finally, he returns a calm, peaceful baby to me, who easily nuzzles up to me, nurses, and falls asleep. When I watch them together, I remember, again, Nature created a perfect system. And when we trust it, life flows beautifully and perfectly for us. There are no mistakes. A fussy, unhappy baby is not wrong. She is only one more step in the perfect dance all parents learn the steps to.

I think Matthew is a remarkable dancer.

A Bit of Elbow Grease

2008-10-29T23:57:00.002-04:00

"I had almost forgotten
How lovely it is.
To be tired and leave
Things to themselves."
Lars Gustafson, translated by John Irons

Recently, my mama went to an estate sale and picked up, for me, the most soothing and delicious book, Simple Abundance: A Daybook of Comfort and Joy by Sarah Ban Breathnach. SA is an authentic and soulful work, filled with spiritual and applicable thoughts and advice. I am, when I'm not nervous about it, excited about the paths it takes me down.

This week's topic has been money, and the daily essays are filled with both mentally enriching and practical advice for thinking of, handling and managing money. For the most part, I've absorbed it readily enough. Today however, while trying to sort out bills, I got in a good, heavy funk. Here was a situation with no immediate resolution and I fell into worry, an ineffectual heart-crushing action.

A conversation with my mom helped tremendously, enough to remind me there was a bigger and greater energy in the world than that of bills or the national economy. We hung up, and I felt a little restored, but still unsatisfied. While Dory napped, I rallied enough energy to do two things: scrub my bathtub and talk with God.

These conversations are still so new to me, something I've begun in the last few years. They start abruptly, not kneeling sweetly in front of my bed at night, but in the middle of five o' clock traffic or silently in a chaotic get-together or in a half-sleep in the middle of the night while nursing Dory. They can be anything from "I am so grateful..." to "WHAT is going on..." Today I started with some kind of chemical cleaner with bleach for the tub. In my conversation, I fretted, accused and worried out loud about two weeks from now, two days from now, two hours from now. I didn't get anywhere with either track, so I gave up both of those.

I tried a second, natural cleaner and requests for help. Help in seeing the positive, help in finding the best in the situation, help to not waste anymore of my life in worthless, wasteful worry. Anne Lamott, a particularly brilliant writer on the subject of faith, says her main prayer is "help me, help me, help me, and thank you, thank you, thank you." I stuck with help me.

I gave up on cleaners and moved on to a good solid scrub brush, with a fat handle and thick solid bristles. At some point, in asking for help, I'd grown calm enough and clear enough to ask the question: "What does my life look like, right now, through the eyes of God? What does my Authentic Self, as Breathnach calls it, know about me?" That question, finally, resonated. What does Spirit see? A woman with... great health... a gorgeous, thriving baby... a gorgeous, thriving husband. A woman with loving, thriving parents. A woman with a warm home, running water, electricity. A woman with lovable, though fairly smelly, dogs. A woman with great friends. A woman who loves knitting and fiber. A woman who enjoys walking when she makes the time. A woman with a passion for writing and literature. A woman who likes to laugh and has plenty of reasons to everyday. The grime started to streak and abate; the scuffed white tub underneath began to show through. Both the literal and metaphorical cleaning worked their magic. I threw my back and heart into it, knowing the time before Dory woke up was brief and that, once she was up, I wanted to be present with her.

What did this woman really want? Comfort. I wanted a little comfort, a little serenity and ease in my present moment. I can't know with absolute certainty what will happen in the next few weeks, next week, next day. But this worthless, wasteful worrying- agh! This felt helpless and served no purpose.

Looking at a white bathtub brought me a little comfort. Picking up Dory and cuddling her in my arms brought me more. I decided to seek comforts for the rest of the day. Fresh sheets on the bed. Putting Dory's pumpkin hat on her. Making a good friend's potato soup recipe for dinner. Chatting with Matthew about his day at work. Reading the SA essay for today again. Putting this lovely girl to bed and seeing, as always, how very, very blessed I am.

It wasn't easy and several times, actually many, many, many times I felt that old fear start to creep back up. What about- tomorrow? this person? this event? Each time, I dragged my mind back, back to the present, the here and now. I had everything I needed right now. Today. In this minute. Still my mind wandered, and still I brought it back. I wasn't blissfully, wildly, outrageously happy getting ready for bed. That would have been lovely, but a stretch. I was quiet, thoughtful and grateful.

The most important part of the day? Remembering the second part of the prayer and taking it to bed with me. Thank you, thank you, thank you.

Greetings and Salutations!

2008-10-26T22:10:00.007-04:00

Hello, hello, hello! How are y'all on this fine day? I just wanted to follow up on yesterday's post...

What? What was that?

I haven't posted in a week?

My goodness. How embarrassing.

Well, there's good reason. We've had friends in town. You know what that's like. All go, go, go, busy, busy baby.

But life's settled down again and I'm back at the blog! So check back soon!

Now on to more important matters. Mama's specially knit Pumpkin Hat? Shoot me straight. Is it cute or is it cute?

What's On?

2008-10-20T18:59:00.007-04:00

Maybe this is something I should be embarrassed to admit, but Before Dory, Matthew and I didn't always eat dinner at the table. He tends to work late and some nights we would chat, while I cooked, and then one of us (him, I'm sure) would casually mention, "Hey football/House/The Office is on..." And the other one (him again, no doubt- though that just doesn't make sense, does it?) would perk up and casually agree, that might be nice just to kick back, be on our comfy sofa, have a few laughs...

Not these days. Something's on, but it's not the inane ramblings of Michael Scott or the caustic witticisms of Greg House. Tonight we sat down to our tacos and turned our attention to the most interesting show I've seen lately...

...Dory attempting to grab the stuffed animal hanging from her Baby Papisan.

I couldn't tell you what kind of creature this fella is- some sort of rabbit/bear hybrid. He hangs over her head, not doing much, just staring, staring, staring in that mocking, slightly spooky way all the animals on these children's seats, swings, and chairs seem to have (or maybe that's just my interpretation). Clearly he's trying to drive her crazy with his just-out-of-reach style. But our girl's got her sights set and any day now she's going to catch him and show him who's boss.

Until that day, she swats, with the force of two tiny, but ever-growing baby arms, in an unsynchronized but totally charming rhythm. And Matthew and I watch. Instead of cheering, "Go, go, go- touchdown!" we now shout (quietly), "Ooo, get him, get him, almost- open your hand- oooohhh. So close."

She's not interested in us. Dory, with the sort of fixed attention demonstrated on the face of Michael Phelps before that eighth swim or Shawn Johnson before she tackled the balance beam, raises her arms, swats... swings... and sometimes- once in a mealtime- catches the tag.

So close.

Sweet Dreams

2008-10-16T23:21:00.004-04:00

I understand if sleeping is difficult for some right now. There are so many unfortunate events and unpleasant tidings. It seems a cruel twist of Fate, when you need the comfort of deep oblivion the most, its the farthest from your grasp. You crawl into bed at night, rest your head on your pillow, ready to sink into a deep sleep and yet... nothing.

So if a good night's rest eludes you, I encourage you to follow Dory's example and try different positions. You never know what might just work...

(At 8 days old in Grandpa's arms )

(At 3 weeks old on Daddy's chest)

(Almost two months in her quite plush Baby Papisan)

(At 11 weeks in a Moby wrap against Mama's chest)

There is something to be said for sleeping like a baby. Sweet dreams to you all!