“Yes, I think there’s a lot to do to make quality education available and relevant to all children. Yes, I’m still trying to figure out what I can do to help. Today I’d like to focus on what’s going right. Have you or one of your children brushed shoulders with an inspiring educator?”
Parenting
Education and You
Laylee has had 2 classroom teachers and several subject specialists since beginning school 2 years ago. We have enjoyed them all. They are energetic, kind, talented educators and I think she’d move in with several of them if given the choice of staying at our house or going home with them. The quality of these teachers however does not keep us from wanting more for her education.
I had breakfast yesterday morning at the Pacific Science Center listening to Jeff Raikes, the CEO of the Bill and Melinda Gates Foundation talking about the importance of quality STEM education (Science Technology Engineering and Math). Wheels are turning. People with passion, knowledge and resources are working to improve things for the kids of the future. But what can we do right now?
How Do I Do It?
I was walking through Pike Place Market with Wanda in the stroller last week when a woman came up and started making a big fuss over her, as she should. Wanda is unstoppably edible and adorable.
“What a cutie!” she gushed and just then Magoo walked around from where he was hiding behind my legs.
“Oh my!” she exclaimed, “You’ve got two of them. How do you do it?”
She was being awfully sweet but I couldn’t help myself.
“It’s easy,” I said, “I just send the third one off to school every morning.”
She startled and we both laughed but honestly things are easier with Laylee by my side. That girl could practically take care of Wanda herself if she had, you know, mammaries, and if Wanda didn’t weigh as much as she does.
(This picture was taken 2 months ago and Wanda’s about doubled in size. I really need to take a new one of the two of them together. It’s quite hilarious. Which girl is older? You can tell by the drool. And yes, I made the sock monkey pants.)
Being Fragile
Something happens to me after a baby is born. If you’re a mother, it’s probably happened to you too. I suddenly feel like the world around me is breakable, myself, my family made of shatter-resistant glass that’s fully capable of shattering if given the right opportunity. Like Corelle on a tile floor, we look sturdy but at any moment, SMASH! We could all fall to pieces.
With Laylee, it was a happy fragility, sort of a dreamy bubble where I smiled, clutched her fiercely and dressed her up like a doll, loving her and yet somewhat unable to believe that I had created something so wonderful. I was having the time of my life playing mommy and wondered if at any minute someone was going to wake me up from my reverie.
As I’ve documented here and elsewhere, the dish hit the tile when Magoo was born and then I spent 2 years seeking out every last shard of broken glass and painstakingly gluing them back together. There are so many happy memories from his babyhood but in between enjoying the kids, I spent much of my time searching for shards, painfully aware of just how breakable I was.
And now I’m on round three. I feel like I’ve got things together… a bit. Most of the time. There are sublime moments like last week when Laylee and Magoo cleaned the entire main floor of our playdate-trashed house as a surprise for me while I was feeding Wanda. Then there are moments like today when I found the big kids sitting with their arms crossed on the trampoline, facing each other and screaming until their brains were gone about who had won whatever game they were playing. In the end, Laylee tried to reconcile by saying, “I’ll teach you a new game then where there are no winners and no losers. It’s called Butt-Punch.” Magoo declined the game. I rolled my eyes and walked back into the house. Dan says that in a game called Butt-Punch, he’s pretty sure everyone is a loser.
Through the highs and the lows, I find myself managing but holding on to that glued-together plate just a little too tightly. Am I depressed? Tired? Afraid of descending into the pit I discovered Postpartum II? I’m kind of afraid to ask myself. It scares me a little that I have to try so hard.
My pendulum swings precariously. One day my house is a mess and I can’t force myself to deal with it. The next I’m cleaning and scrubbing like mad. Many days I feel like a hermit, not wanting to be bothered to answer my door or phone and the next I’m sad because people have stopped calling. I’m not doing the best in my church work or my role in the PTA. I’m letting things slip.
I tell myself that this is to be expected. The baby’s only a month old, two months old, five months old. Why shouldn’t I want to spend all day holding her and squishing her, playing cards with Laylee and Magoo and reading books at home? I should like my home, my little hermitty cave. Why would I want to go anywhere else?
I’m just holding on too tightly. There is a slightly strained sensation to the sweetness of this time. I’m cherishing the time with my kids because realizing that Wanda is our last has also made me realize that Laylee and Magoo are growing up too quickly and I don’t have a freeze ray. Heck, I don’t even have a time machine. I have photos and videos and the ability to make more. Dan just bought about a terabyte of storage space for our computers because I am on a memory-capturing rampage.
How can I make the most of every minute with my kids without squeezing the life out of those moments? How can I allow myself to just be the mother I am without questioning myself into a spiral of self-doubt? If I could just live in the moment, just be here and love it, love myself as much as I love these stinking wonderful Butt-Punch-playing, breast-sucking kids. If I could be as forgiving and gentle to their mother. If. I think I’d find that I could relax my grip and the fear in my throat and there’s a good possibility that nothing would break but my stifling itch for perfection.
What Mom Has
This is just one more reminder that I need to watch myself because although my kids will inevitably grow to have unique talents, personalities, and interests, they’ll have a lot more of Mom in them than any of us really want to admit. [read more at Parenting.com]
Choices Choices
I just don’t want her to grow up feeling like she flipped the wrong page in her Choose-Your-Own-Adventure book when she was six and could never quite get to where she wanted to be. [Keep reading at Parenting.com]
Convos With Magoo
Today at Parenting I share a little of why Magoo has me laughing every single day.
Agreement
I hear a lot of parents talk about how their kids disagree all the time. Little disagreements burst into huge arguments that then become the bane of their parental existence. I have the opposite problem. The rough stuff around our house, the things that send everyone into nuclear explosion mode are the agreements. My problem is that the kids agree too much. My kids’ biggest fights are caused by agreements included in but not limited to the following list: [continue reading at Parenting.com]
Tired, Sore and Hungry… for Babies
I’ve been feelin’ a wee bit tired of late but I really shouldn’t be.
Wanda sleeps beautifully. She eats beautifully. Most nights she sleeps around 14 hours with only one feeding in the middle. The problem is scheduling. She goes to sleep at about seven. I then stay up until around ten…er… eleven… er… twelvish? (If you thought you caught a niner in there as I was trailing off, you were correct) So I go to sleep after she’s been down for about 5 hours. Then she wakes up a couple of hours later to eat and it takes about an hour to feed and change her and put her down. “Put her down” sounds gruesome. Put her to sleep? Also very dire. Put her to bed? So then I get back to sleep at 3 or 4 AM and have to wake up at 7:30 if I’m being a very good mommy to get Laylee and Magoo ready for school while Wanda continues to sleep. I’m just not maximizing her sleeping hours so I end up averaging 5-6 hours of sleep each night with a 1 hour break in the middle. I’m tired.
I find that I am also sore. You may remember Magoo’s hugeness and the number he did on my body. I healed physically within a few months of his birth and expected the same or better this time. Wanda was normal-sized. My body was more fit. The delivery was easy. But here we sit at 4 months postpartum and I’m still in pain. My hips and pelvis aren’t doing so well. I have pain when I lie on my side or lift my leg to put on pants. Stepping over toys on the floor, if anyone ever left toys on the floor of my totally immaculate house which they never would because we are in all ways PERFECT, is a chore that requires careful planning and foot placement. It is uncomfortable to play on the floor with my babies.
The physical therapist says that if I continue doing my exercises twice daily, I’ll likely be feeling good in a year or so. That means 9 months of pretty intense pain during the pregnancy followed by a year of physical recovery. It’s rough but Wanda’s worth it. She’s more than worth it. She’s amazing.
She’s also likely our last.
I hope the physical therapist’s right. I hope my body is able to bounce back. I’m not sure. I’m really not sure if it could do this again. I’m eyeing my box of maternity clothes in the garage with a desire to say farewell and yet a fear of what that symbolizes.
Because tired, sore or broken, I love my babies. Sometimes when I’m feeding Wanda at night I get such a surge of excitement that I choke a little and catch my breath as I hear her little sucking noises and see her tiny fist clinging to my nursing bra like a handle. I always get baby hungry when my kids are around 3 months old and Wanda’s no exception. When she wakes up in the night crying, I go to her and she is overjoyed to see me. Her whole body grins and gasps and she looks up at me with total dependence and adoration. I am her best friend.
She lights up a room. She makes me hungry for more. And then after I catch my breath and squeeze her almost too hard, I realize that I’m a little broken and that I don’t know how much more broken I’ll be if I have another one.
And yet I’m hungry… for babies. I actually started fantasizing the other night about the smell of Tucks Medicated Pads and that sense memory was pleasant to me, making me think about our first several hours together, holding her and exploring her face, counting her fingers and toes. It didn’t make me think of hobbling to the hospital bathroom with the help of a nurse, in pain and bleeding from my body having recently done something that was both ridiculously hard and completely natural.
When I imagine that scent or look at that box of maternity clothes, all I can think about is my three little rays of sunshine, two of whom I sent marching off to bed with much relief tonight due to their foray into complete obnoxiousness, and how I’d like nothing more than to keep manufacturing them forever.
Does it ever stop? The hunger? Even if you know you’re done? Do you ever stop getting tears in your eyes when you pass by the maternity ward in a hospital, see a baby drooling completely vulnerable in his mother’s arms, or smell your older children’s hair right after a bath? Does the ache ever go away? In a way I hope it doesn’t. It tells me I’m alive, that what I’ve done, that what I’m doing, matters. Can I ever do anything better than making these three people? I’m not so sure.
Stealth Strep
“My favorite part of the stinkin’ long appointment in the 3’x4’ holding cell came when the doctor leaned in quietly with his little light to peek at Laylee’s throat. She held still. She stuck out her tongue. She said, “Aaaaahhhhhh.” And just as he was crouching ….” [continue reading at Parenting.com]