The Grateful Mama

The NEW and IMPROVED Grateful Mama Site!!!

2009-07-24T07:00:00.000-07:00

"It is not the strongest of the species that survives, nor the most intelligent, but the one most responsive to change."

Charles Darwin

I'm SO excited to announce my new website @ www.thegratefulmama.com !!! (You can just click on the link at the top right of the green sidebar.) I was going to wait until I had all of the kinks worked out before launching the site, but I might be waiting a long time for that day to come! (A technological whiz I am NOT.) And most importantly, I'm eager for you to see it.

Over the next few weeks you'll probably notice little changes to the site every day, (it might be kind of fun,) and I hope to have all of the old posts archived as soon as possible.

I know that change is sometimes tough, so give it a few days before you tell me that you miss the old site. (Besides, it'll always be here...it just won't be current!)

So please check out the new site: there's a new post for you today, I've written new content on all of the pages you'll find in the top menu bar and you'll also find a few photos! I HOPE YOU LIKE IT!!!

Language

2009-07-23T07:00:00.000-07:00

“*Change your language and you change your thoughts.*”
*Karl Albrecht*

The other day I was reading a board book with Crazybaby, and on one page there were about ten different items illustrated. Just for fun, I started questioning her about the items, "Can you point to the Tiger? Can you point to the shovel? Where is the bucket?" And she got every single one! I was shocked. I hadn't talked to her about tigers, had I? When had I shown her a tractor? And these were kind of artsy illustrations; not very realistic renderings at all. I asked my husband if he'd read the book with Crazy before and he had, but not many times. Impressive.

At sixteen months of age, Crazybaby is really excited about language. She's been blathering on in her own little language for months, but now some of her words are clearly recognizable to us, and I'd say that over a dozen of her words could be understood by anyone.

Maybe you're at this stage with your toddler, or perhaps you're going to go through it soon, but I find it fascinating. The rate at which children acquire language is astonishing, and the amount they actually understand is even more impressive.

I remember my sister saying that when my niece started talking, she often spoke about experiences she had before she was able to talk. (Did I explain that well?) What a concept! I imagine Crazybaby's tales:

"I remember cutting that first tooth; man, my gums were on fire!"

"Being burped was humiliating."

"I used to get so frustrated when your breasts were engorged and I couldn't latch on properly."

or my favourite, "I liked living inside your belly."

My New Book!!!

2009-07-22T07:00:00.001-07:00

Okay, I'm going to indulge in a bit of shameless self-promotion here...I've written a book called, (you guessed it,) The Grateful Mama, and, if you're a fan of this blog then I think you might like it. I held the published copy in my hands today for the first time and I was really pleased.

It's a great little book for mamas; I edited some of my favourite blogs, along with inspiring quotations and put them together with photos I've taken of my girls. (If you've been wondering what my little family looks like...the wait is over!)

Anyway, I wanted to invite you to check it out and let me know what you think. There is quite a good preview option that allows you to see about fifteen pages or so. You can also order it directly if you feel so inclined.

Just click on the badge in the right sidebar.

I hope you like it!

Play

2009-07-21T07:00:00.000-07:00

“*You can discover more about a person in an hour of play than in a year of conversation.*”
Plato

It's happening. Pip and Crazybaby are starting to play their own little games together and it's an astonishingly exciting development.

Before we had Crazybaby, I sort of took for granted the fact that my daughters would be playmates, but there have been times during the past year when I had my doubts. Pip's feelings toward Crazybaby have ranged from mild interest, to tolerance, to blatant resentment. She has uttered the words, "I don't love her," and more recently, "We should sold that Crazybaby."

Today, however, genuine enjoyment shone on the face of our eldest daughter as she played some form of chasing game with her toddling sister. When Pip yelled, "WE'RE JUST PLAYING A GAME, MAMA!!!" from the living room when I called the family to dinner, I nearly jumped for joy. I'm not sure excactly what the game entailed, but it was all their own. Crazybaby would walk Frankenstyle past the kitchen, then I'd hear two voices scream excitedly before erupting in fits of giggles.

My husband was the 'parent-in-charge' of the girls while I was making dinner, and at one point I heard him try to discipline them with a firm, "There'll be no screaming in the house young ladies," but we were both so thrilled at our daughters' mutual delight, that there was no rule enforcement whatsoever.

Later, while eating dinner outside, out of the blue Pip announced, "I'm going to tickle some toes." She got up, walked over to Crazybaby's high-chair, and tickled the naked little piggies that wiggled before her. Crazybaby was over the moon. (And so was her Mama.)

The Chair

2009-07-20T07:00:00.000-07:00

“Arguments with furniture are rarely productive.”
Kehlog Albran

It feels good to sit right down in the middle of Gratitude once in awhile. I was upstairs nursing Crazybaby the other evening when my mind flashed back to a time before babies; just before Pip was born.

I remembered sitting in the same old, comfy, kiwi-green armchair with my hands spread wide upon my pregnant belly. I just sat and rocked and took it all in. I was in love with the nursery: all of the baby-paraphernalia, the crib, the change table with wicker baskets full of all things infant, the precious little clothes, the bookshelf filled with stuffed animals and baby books, the gorgeous knitted sweaters and bonnets and booties that lived in the chest that my dad had made, the cheerful sunflower painting on the wall...I loved it all.

I loved just sitting and imagining the little person who would soon be around to use all of these things; to sleep in the crib and have her diaper changed on the change-table and inhabit the wee clothes. I couldn't wait to meet her. I wondered what she would be like and what I would be like with her. I usually wondered aloud, talking to Pip as she was rolling around in my belly. It was a tender, thrilling time.

Much has happened since that time; I've welcomed two babies into this room; this world. When I first met this old chair, I had no idea that we would become so intimately acquainted. I know where every spit-up stain has altered the texture of the velour-ish upholstery, and I know exactly how to sit to avoid creating rude-sounding squeaks. I can't think of another chair I've spent more time with. We've held precious passengers in our arms, this chair and I. I feel as though we're old friends, but I wish it could talk. I'd like to hear a few tales of the bums who have gone before mine.

Yes!

2009-07-17T07:00:00.000-07:00

Language shapes the way we think, and determines what we can think about.”

Benjamin Lee Whorf

Crazybaby says, "Ya," to every question she is asked. We've been having a lot of fun with it. "Crazybaby, are you hungry?"

"Ya."

"Do you have an appetite for camembert and a nice Pinot Gris?"

"Ya."

"Would you prefer to dine outdoors?"

"Ya."

Yesterday we invited a sweet little girlfriend of Pip's over to play, and I noticed quickly that she used the word, 'Yes,' instead of 'Ya.' It sounded lovely, and a little foreign. With some degree of disappointment I realized that Pip used 'Ya,' instead of 'Yes,' except when she said, "Yes please." In fact, when I listened to myself and my husband throughout the afternoon, I found we rarely used the word 'Yes.' Bummer.

We sometimes forget the power of modeling. Our kids pick up on everything we say, and copy it. Crazybaby and Pip are little mimics at the moment, so we should be more conscious of the language we're using.

When our little guest's mother came to pick her up I complimented her daughter's lovely manners and also the way she uses the word, "Yes," so nicely. The mother laughed and shook her head, "I know...we don't use it! I'm not sure where she gets it."

That made me feel a bit better, but I'm still inspired to use 'Yes' more often. As of today, I'm on a YES-MISSION. Watch out family.

Wild Animals

2009-07-16T07:00:00.000-07:00

"Logic is the beginning of wisdom, not the end."

Leonard Nimoy as 'Spock'

Pip and Crazybaby have a small collection of plastic animals that they play with, and the other day a few creatures made it into the tub for bath time. Pip was playing with a seal. "Dad," Pip asked, "is a seal a wild animal?"

"Well, we've seen seals swimming in the ocean haven't we?" Daddy-O asked.

"Yes," said Pip.

"And animals that live in the ocean are wild animals."

Pip looked down at the seal in her hand. "But what if they live in the tub?"

Weaning

2009-07-15T07:00:00.000-07:00

Murphy Brown, attempting to nurse her son for the first time:

"I have breasts for the first time and the only man in my life doesn't know what to do with them."

I have to wean Crazybaby. I know that the official recommendation for breast-feeding is now two years, but if I have to work part-time in September, I'd like to end my career as a milk-machine before then. Fifteen months is pretty good, isn't it?

I've made a few half-hearted attempts to cut out the mid-day feeding, with no success. Thus far, Crazybaby has been very reluctant to take a bottle; translation: she screams and knocks it out of my hand. On the other hand, she likes her water bottle and sippy cups, so I'm thinking that we'll skip the bottle altogether and transition straight from the breast to the sippy cup. Any advice? I need a plan.

It's new territory for me to wean a baby who has no interest in giving up nursing, because Pip was just so darn cooperative. I cut out one feeding a week, and after a month we were done! No problemo. Aside from requiring a few cabbages to soothe my engorged breasts, it was a piece of cake. Crazybaby is a different story. She has a mind of her own and her mind really likes nursing.

To be honest, I like it too. I usually nurse Crazybaby upstairs in her cosy, golden bedroom. I have a comfy old green rocking chair up there and the two of us snuggle into it beautifully. She usually gives a little giggle of anticipation as I lift up my shirt, then she dives onto my breast. Her hand usually reaches up to touch me on the face or play with my necklace. Sometimes she brings my hand up to her chin to give her a little tickle and her eyes smile up at me. When my milk comes in her eyelids grow heavy, and by the time I put her on the second breast she is nearly asleep.

There is nothing like looking down into the face of your child as you are nursing. It is one of the most intimate, tender experiences I have ever had. I had my share of soreness at the beginning; clogged ducts and mastitis a few times, but that is all forgotten now that I'm nearing the end of my breast-feeding days.

Enough sentimentality. I've got to look on the bright side, right? No more breast pads, no more nursing bras, no more boobs.

Pip, Fairy of the Ferry

2009-07-14T07:00:00.001-07:00

“That's the thing with magic. You've got to know it's still here, all around us, or it just stays invisible for you.”

Charles de Lint

I just have to say, it was pretty darn cute to see Pip all dressed up in her Fairy outfit, walking around the deck of the ferry to Saltspring Island. A B.C. Ferries employee stopped to meet Pip as soon as she got out of the car.

"What a lovely princess," he said.

"I'm a fairy," responded Pip, waving her wand as if to remind the gentleman that only fairies possess magic wands.

Just then, the vessel pulled out of the dock. Pip looked at her wand incredulously. "Hey Mama!!! She yelled, "I waved my magic wand and THE FERRY STARTED MOVING!!!"

Ah, the newfound power of the Ferry-Fairy.

Travel bugs

2009-07-13T07:00:00.001-07:00

"The world is a book, and those who do not travel read only one page."

St. Augustine

My husband and I both love traveling. We have high hopes of seeing the world with our daughters one day. But at the moment, our kids aren't necessarily the greatest travelers, so does that mean that we should travel more or less? Our week-long holiday to Saltspring Island was glorious, but exhausting.

Our days were spent swimming in lakes, beachcombing, playing bocci on the lawn, wandering around the fabulous Saturday market in Ganges; wonderful activities all. The weather cooperated and our beach-front accommodation was second to none. The problems arose at bedtime. We decided not to put the two girls in a room together so that they wouldn't wake each other up, so Pip was in one bedroom room with Big Daddy-O and I was in the other bedroom with Crazybaby. This arrangement turned out to be WAY too exciting for our daughters, and not very exciting for my husband and I.

Pip napped during the drive down Island, so she was still bright-eyed at 9pm on the evening of our arrival. Perhaps it was our beautiful surroundings that clouded our judgement, but we made a critical decision that night that impacted the rest of our holiday: Big Daddy-O took Pip out for a sunset paddle in the kayak. It was beautiful to witness: Pip's eager little grin as her dad got her geared up for the voyage, my husband looking equally thrilled at the prospect of introducing his firstborn to one of his favourite past-times, the two of them on the water, silhouetted against the raspberry sunset; unforgettable! And of course Pip wanted to replicate the experience every evening. Who could blame her? What normal three-year old would choose bed over ocean-kayak-adventure? Certainly not Pip.

There was one night, however, that Pip was so exhausted from the day of swimming that she fell asleep by 8pm. That was the evening, as luck would have it, that Crazybaby wasn't the least bit interested in sleeping. At 10pm I finally ended up nursing her to sleep in my bed. HUGE MISTAKE. Crazybaby found it incredibly tempting to have her milk machine lying right next to her, so she latched on to me four times that night!!! Ouch. Every time I tried to put her back into her cot, she screamed so loud that I feared she'd wake up the neighbours.

By the fifth night, my husband and I grew to expect that we'd have at least one child stay up with us in the evenings. In fact, we would have been shocked to have any time alone together whatsoever. Is this our new reality when we travel? I think back to a trip to Victoria & spending hours upstairs in a dark room trying to get Pip to sleep while listening to our friends party downstairs. Then there was an abysmal holiday in a Vancouver B&B when Pip got the flu and vomited on every bed in the place.

Yesterday my husband suggested that we add a trip to Whistler to our summer plans. (I can feel the dark circles forming under my eyes just thinking about it.) Part of me supports the idea because I'm hopeful that our girls will become more adaptable the more they travel, but there's another part of me that wants to lower our travel-expectations at this stage of the game. To be honest, quadruple-latch nights don't really spell 'holiday' to me.

Run, baby, run

2009-07-10T07:00:00.000-07:00

“*My feeling is that any day I am too busy to run is a day that I am too busy.*” John Bryant

I had left my water-bottle in the stroller and we were almost inside the house. "Pip, I'm just going to go back and get my water bottle. I'll be right back." I started walking back toward the stroller and Pip yelled,

"Run, Mama, run!"

That's when it occurred to me that Pip runs everywhere. Most three-year-olds do. Why on earth would you want to walk, when you could experience the sheer joy of running? Wouldn't it be fun if adults ran everywhere too? I mean literally. The clothes dryer announces that your laundry is finished so you run into the laundry-room. You don't walk to the car, you sprint. You jog from aisle to aisle in the grocery store. You have to use the bathroom, you dash to the toilet. (Frankly, I've dashed on occasion.) Your husband arrives home, you run into his arms. (I'll have to try that last one.)

Time

2009-07-09T07:00:00.000-07:00

“*The only reason for time is so that everything doesn't happen at once.*” Albert Einstein

When two people decide to have children, time becomes an issue. Time together as a couple, time with the kids, and individual time. It seems an even bigger struggle for couples who are older and have had many years of time on their own.

I'm not sure if other couples find it difficult to manage their 'free time,' but my husband and I came up with a system that really works for us. We were finding that we'd get into the cliche, "Whose needs are more important?" conversations that are extremely unproductive. My husband would want to spend Saturday morning getting the boat-trailer road-worthy, and I would want to work on my new website. Which was more important? It's an impossible question; the point is, we both deserve individual time.

We came up with a schedule. We divide 'free days' into family time, Daddy-O time, and Mama time. (Time together as a couple usually comes when the girls are in bed!) We don't schedule all of our free time in this way, but if we both have things that we want to do, then we divide the day as follows:

From 9am to noon is the first shift.

We all eat lunch together, and the "Primary Caregiver" torch is passed on at 1:00.

From 1:00 to 4:00 pm is the second shift. After 4 is family time once again, and we make it a priority to eat together.

The ground rules are simple: what you do on your free-time is completely up to you! If my husband is busy mowing the lawn during his shift, and I decide to have lunch with a girlfriend when my free-time arrives, THERE IS NO JUDGEMENT!

Initially, I thought my husband would hate the schedule because it would mean that he would have less time to himself. It turns out that he loves it!!! Why? Because it's completely guilt-free time! He doesn't feel as though he should rush around so that he can get back home to help out. He knows exactly how much time he has and can plan projects accordingly.

It makes the less-desirable shifts with the kids much more tolerable as well. You don't resent the fact that your husband is out on a three-hour bike ride while you're trapped in the house because your baby is napping; you know that your turn will come.

We all love our kids. We love spending time with them, but it is an undeniable fact that we also need adult-time, and for my husband and I, we need solo-time as well.

Thank you for the comments!

2009-07-08T11:21:00.000-07:00

I just returned from a week-long computer-less holiday on Saltspring Island & found a few comments left in response to 'Miss Manners' and 'Spaceship Landing' ...I enjoyed responding to them so please feel free to check them out!

Bathroom banter

2009-07-08T07:00:00.000-07:00

"A child can go only so far in life without potty training. It is not mere coincidence that six of the last seven presidents were potty trained, not to mention nearly half of the nation's state legislators.” Dave Barry

Pip has done relatively well with toilet-training, but she often waits until the last possible moment before she acknowledges that she has to use the washroom. She's usually so involved in her activities that she doesn't want to waste the time on eliminating waste! We've tried to make the whole experience more fun for her, but she sometimes leaves it until it's too late.

Yesterday I heard a cry from Pip's bedroom, "Maaaammmmmaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa!!!" I could tell it was the pee-cry. I ran into her bedroom to find her doubled over with her legs twisted tightly together and her hands at her crotch. "I can't walk Maaammmmmaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa!!!" Oh, so dramatic.

I picked Pip up, took her into the bathroom and sat her on the toilet. There was a spot of urine the size of a tooney on her underpants, so it wasn't a complete catastrophe.

"Pip, when you have to go to the bathroom, you don't just sit in your bedroom and cry..."

"But I wasn't sitting in my bedroom and crying."

"What were you doing?"

"I was standing."

"Oh. Well honey, you're just leaving it too late. You've got to listen to your body."

"Mama, I was listening to my body."

"Sweetie, if you were listening to your body, you would have come to the toilet earlier."

"But Mama I was listening to my body."

"And what was your body saying?"

"My body was saying it wanted to pee in my underpants."

Hard to argue with that.

Fairy dust

2009-07-07T07:00:00.000-07:00

“Magic is believing in yourself, if you can do that, you can make anything happen.”

Johann Wolfgang von Goethe

Pip has been enjoying her fairy costume lately, and so have we. She puts on the fairy tiara, the white mesh fairy skirt, and of course the magic fairy wand. A look comes over her face when she initially dons this magical costume; it's as though she can't really believe how wonderful she feels.

"What's your name today fairy?"

"I'm Fairygold!" Pip says with a twirl.

"And what is this little fairy's name?" I ask her, gesturing to Crazybaby.

Pip glances at her water-bottle sitting on her bed-side table.

"That's Princess Klean-Kanteen."

Aha. Lucky little sister.

Pip prances into the kitchen where Big Daddy-O is cleaning up after breakfast. "Daddy, I'm going to wave my magic wand and turn you into a Wedding Dancer!!!"

(F.Y.I.: It's a running joke that during our wedding night, I had only one dance with my husband before he disappeared. I danced under the stars with friends and family late into the night, and Big Daddy-O was in his comfort zone, chatting with the guests who weren't dancing!)

"Where were you on our wedding night Fairygold??? I really could have used your magic then!!!" I hollered from the bedroom. My husband laughed.

Pip fairy-danced her way back into the bedroom to announce excitedly,

"Mama, I'm going to wear my fairy costume when we go to Saltspring Island!"

"Oh, what a good idea."

"Then I'll be the only FAIRY on the FERRY!!!" Pip exclaimed delightedly.

"We can't guarantee that!" I said, and heard more laughter from the kitchen.

As I said, we're all enjoying the fairy costume. Even Princess Klean-Kanteen.

Beautiful rain

2009-07-06T07:00:00.000-07:00

“*I'm singing in the* *rain, just singing in the* rain**; What a wonderful feeling, I'm happy again.” Arthur Freed

I've never been a big fan of the rain. When I was in kindergarten my mom would have to keep the blinds down if it was a rainy day; otherwise I wouldn't get out of bed. And I loved school.

Pip, on the other hand, sees every day as a beautiful day, regardless of the weather. A couple of weeks ago, in the midst of a glorious spell of hot summer days, we had a couple of earth-drenching downpours. I was happy for the earth, happy for the plants, but my thoughts were more along the lines of, "Ugh. An indoor day."

That's when Pip stood on the couch, looked out the window and said, "Mama, what a lovely day for a walk to the park!"

She's so good for me. We geared up and were out of the house, listening to the rain droplets on our hats in about twenty minutes flat. It was a lovely day indeed.

Spaceship Landing

2009-07-03T07:00:00.000-07:00

"Feel the dignity of a child. Do not feel superior to him, for you are not."

Robert Henri

We have a 'time-out' mat that we keep in the broom closet. We also call it the 'uncooperative mat,' and, thankfully, it rarely sees the light of day. We consistently give Pip one warning before the mat comes out, and she always decides to cooperate in order to avoid sitting on the mat for a minute.

When Crazybaby catches Pip off-guard and grabs a toy that she's holding, Pip's instinct is to swat her. To be honest, she usually doesn't even make contact with Crazybaby, but my husband and I decided that we would not tolerate hitting. We caught Pip 'air-swatting' a couple of times so we told her that if she ever actually hit Crazybaby, there would be no warning and she'd go straight to the time-out mat.

Several uneventful days went by after the no-tolerance rule was established, until one night when we were all in the kitchen. Pip was pretending that my metal steamer was a spaceship and, out of the corner of my eye, I saw Pip bring the steamer down on Crazybaby's head! Crazybaby didn't even cry, but my 'Mama Bear' switch went on and I grabbed Pip by the arm and led her over to the broom closet.

"Pip, you do NOT hit Crazybaby on the head," I was saying in my quiet, but very stern voice. Pip was already crying, and she really turned it up when she saw the mat emerge from the closet.

"No Mama, nooooooo!!!" she started screaming. (You would've thought she was being taken to the gallows.) What followed was a comedy of sorts. Pip worked herself into hysterics and wouldn't stay on the mat, so I kept picking her up and putting her back. As I looked into my daughter's beet-red, tear-stained face, I doubted myself. Had she intended to hit her sister or was the spaceship just landing? Should I have given her a warning? Was our rule too harsh? Pip seemed so humiliated by the whole mat routine, it didn't seem like she was learning a thing about not hitting her sister.

I knew that once I had committed to the consequence, I had to follow through. I persisted, looking for the first opportunity to call an end to the time-out. Once Pip had successfully stayed on the mat by herself, and I had pretended to count down a minute on my watch, (it was more like ten seconds,) I told her the time-out was over and she flew into my arms. She stopped crying immediately and clung to me like a limpet. We went through the whole, "Do you know why you got a time-out?" routine, and she apologized to Crazybaby for hitting her.

When I was a teacher, my colleagues and I would de-brief about students all the time. We'd come up with behavioural strategies as a team and often meet to share ideas about the progress of specific students. As a parent, you're flying solo the majority of the time, and it's hard to make the time to reflect. That's one of the reasons I find blogging so rewarding, because I'm forced to review the moments of my days and learn something from them. So what did I learn about the spaceship landing?

Well, I still think the 'no tolerance' rule is a good one and the consequence is necessary, but I need to take a deep breath when the Mama Bear switch goes on, and calmly talk to Pip before dragging her off to the broom closet. She deserved an opportunity to explain herself before being disciplined. I want to be respectful of my kids at all times; especially when they misbehave.

Miss Manners

2009-07-02T07:00:00.000-07:00

“*Manners are a sensitive awareness of the feelings of others. If you have that awareness, you have* *good manners, no matter what fork you use.***” Emily Post

Does anyone else find that teaching your children about manners is actually a great way to gently remind your spouse as well? (Sorry Big-Daddy-O.)

We were all sitting down to dinner and Pip was really enjoying the breaded-sole I had prepared.

"Mama, you sure are good at making fish."

"Thank you Sweetie."

"Thank-you, Mama, for making this really good fish-fry."

"You're very welcome Pip, it makes me really happy to know that you're enjoying it." (Sure, I went a bit over-the-top, but I wanted to reinforce how much I appreciated her lovely manners.)

"Daddy," began Pip, "when someone makes you a really good fish-fry, it's a good idea to thank them." (Yes, this is my three-year-old daughter talking. Verbatim.)

"You're right, Pip, that was really nice of you to thank Mama," said Big Daddy-O.

Silence. Obviously Big-Daddy-O was going to need some prompting.

"Daddy," Pip didn't seem to know how to proceed, so I interjected,

"Honey, I think your daughter was suggesting that you thank me for dinner."

"Oh, right, right...thanks for dinner Mama, this fish-fry is really, really good."

Bingo. You're brilliant Pip!

Happy Birthday Canada!

2009-07-01T07:00:00.000-07:00

*"The cool thing about being famous is traveling. I have always wanted to travel across seas, like to* *Canada* *and stuff.*”
*Britney Spears*

I couldn't resist this quotation...Happy Canada Day Everyone!!!

Tea for two

2009-06-30T07:00:00.000-07:00

"And we should consider every day lost on which we have not danced at least once.

And we should call every truth false

which was not accompanied by at least one laugh."

Nietzsche

Pip requests tea-parties on a daily basis. It has become a lovely ritual. Crazybaby goes down for her nap after lunch, and Pip and I prepare tea together as Mrs. Teafinger and Mrs. Hefflefinger. Pip was quite tired the other day when we sat down to tea. She poured the milk in our tea-cups but her elbow knocked her cup over as she reached for the sugar. Milk spilled all over the table and instantly, Pip's head fell into my lap and she began to whimper.

"Mrs. Teafinger," I heard myself say, "we don't cry over spilt milk." I started to laugh. I realized that I'd never before had an occasion to use the idiom so literally. Before I had recovered from my own private joke, I said to Pip, "Let me go get a TEA-towel to wipe the milk." How perfect is that??? A tea-towel!!!

Firsts

2009-06-29T07:00:00.000-07:00

"If there is a measure of good parenthood, it could be when your children exceed your own achievements."

Tom Haggai

While I was out of the house for a brief two hours yesterday, my daughter walked for the very first time. Where is the justice in that? I'm with Crazybaby 24/7, but it was Big Daddy-O she rewarded with her first steps.

It was kind of fitting that I was out watching my girlfriend's daughter perform at a local club called 'Joe's Garage.' Fifteen-year-old Kate, (who looks like a nineteen-year old fashion model,) was singing and strumming for a packed crowd of family, friends and industry people, while fifteen-month-old Crazybaby was at home performing for an audience of two: her dad and her sister. Tears flowed in both settings; Kate's family had a lot to be proud of, and I admit that I got a bit misty-eyed when I saw her embrace her Grandpa after her set. She's so young and talented, fearless and ambitious. It was inspiring to see her do her thing.

As I drove home I thought about my girls and wondered what surprises they had in store for us. Would one of them become a musician? What will they do that fills my husband and I with pride?

I arrived at home and witnessed Crazybaby's newest feat. Her face was one huge grin as she wobbled unsteadily toward me. I was bursting with pride just as my girlfriend had been with her daughter an hour earlier. This is how it all starts. Small. There will be so many of these moments between now and fifteen, and we'll be proud of every one of our daughters' achievements. And from what people tell me, it'll be over in the blink of an eye.

Grateful Women

2009-06-26T07:00:00.000-07:00

"Separateness is sweet but connection with someone outside yourself is surely sweeter."

Judith Viorst

I had a conversation the other day with a lovely young mother who's struggling with the idea of going back to work in the fall after having been at home with her daughter for two years. I can relate. I'll be working part-time in the fall as well, but it's not my preference. If we could manage it financially, I'd continue to be with Pip and Crazybaby full-time.

The transition from being full-time caregiver to part or full-time career woman can't be easy; no matter when it happens. We're all different. We're all ready to go back to work at different times, and there is no 'right' time to return to the workplace, but I'm sure that we all agree that it's unfortunate when it happens before you're emotionally ready.

I didn't have a lot of advice for this woman. I have many of the same fears myself, so I just listened. I was honored that she felt comfortable enough to share with me, to express her emotions and be vulnerable. I'm not very close to this woman, but in that moment we were close. We work so hard to keep everything together all the time, and once in awhile we need a release. Sometimes it's safer to let go with someone who isn't a main character in your story.

In retrospect, it was a lovely moment. Not the pain, nor the fears, but that 'sisterhood' feeling that exists among women. Not only am I a grateful mama, but a grateful woman as well.

Ouch.

2009-06-25T07:00:00.000-07:00

"Smooth seas do not make skillful sailors."

African Proverb

Crazybaby had her 12 month immunizations yesterday. (She's actually 15 months old, but we're a bit behind schedule.) Her appointment was at 3:00 p.m., which should have worked perfectly with her nap schedule. Typically, she naps from lunchtime to 2:30. A solid two hours in the middle of the day. You can bet on Crazybaby's naps. You can set your watch to them. She's incredibly consistent. An excellent napper; Queen of the Kip. Until yesterday. Yesterday she fell asleep at 2:00 p.m. and had to be awoken at 2:35 p.m.. She was not a happy camper.

Crazybaby was crying before we even left the house. And she can cry. My baby definitely has some lung power. She calmed down a bit for the ten minute drive to our local Rec. Centre where the nurses were holding the immunization clinic. Usually we got to the Rec. Centre for 'Teeter-Tots,' or to play on the playground equipment, so Crazybaby's eyes sparkled when we initially got out of the car. She was anticipating some fun on the trampoline, crawling on the mats, perhaps a slide or two; definitely not four needles being jabbed into her arms.

When we entered the waiting room, Crazybaby took one look at the volunteer and launched into an impressive wail. (The 'wail' I'm referring to is more impressive than a cry, but less than a scream in its intensity.) I immediately dove into the diaper bag for her favourite books, her pacifier, her water-bottle, and finally her little 'Bob-the-Builder' toy, but she would have nothing to do with any of my sure-fire soothers. She continued to wail. And arch. And kick. The serious-looking volunteer pushed a box of tissues and a clipboard in my direction. There was a checklist of 12 month old descriptors that I was supposed to check before we could proceed with the shots. Not helpful. With my raging, squirming baby in my left arm & a pencil and clipboard in the right, I hastily checked all the boxes.

At this point I was almost ready to throw in the towel. I mean, how many babies are red-faced and tear-stained before they're even in the same room as the needles? I wondered if I should postpone the shots and wait for a day when Crazybaby was well-rested. As I was pondering this, the nurse arrived and ushered us into another office where the four needles were awaiting Crazybaby's pudgy little arms.

I'm not going to break down the next ten minutes for you. If you have kids and you believe in immunizing them, you know what it's like. Of note is the fact that Crazybaby screamed so loud, one Rec. Centre employee had to leave her office. She couldn't stand to hear her scream.

Fifteen minutes after the injections, we were on our way home and Crazybaby was still breathing in the way that kids breathe after they've had a monumental cry. It's actually kind of a tender little sound because you know that the worst is over. When we got home all I wanted to do was snuggle with her and soothe her and kiss her puffy little eyelids. Crazybaby babbled to her sister and Grandma about the experience she'd had, and she broke into a pitiful little sob when my mom gave her an empathetic look. She was exhausted.

I should have guessed that on the one day it was important for Crazybaby to have a solid nap, she wouldn't. It's Murphy's Law. Or is it? Does it instead have something to do with the energy I put out when I have an agenda? Did I have some anxiety about the afternoon appointment? It's entirely possible. Whatever the case, I'm going to try to be more aware of my 'state' next time. I'm already not looking forward to next time.

Sonny

2009-06-24T07:00:00.000-07:00

"Desire nothing for yourself, which you do not desire for others."

Spinoza

When I traveled to India to volunteer in a little village school, I took as many school supplies as my back-pack could hold, and I made sure that I could carry seventeen packages of felt pens; one package for each student. When I first got to the home of my host Patrick, I met his two children, Sonny and Baby. Sonny was an eight-year-old boy and Baby, a three-year-old girl. I pulled out a package of felt pens for Sonny. He smiled, thanked me, and set them aside.

"Sonny," his father said, "don't you want to try out your new pens?" Sonny shook his head.

"Why not?" Patrick asked.

Sonny was silent. He seemed reluctant to say anything in front of me, so I turned my attention to Baby for a moment. He whispered something in his father's ear.

Patrick then told me that Sonny wanted to wait and share the pens with the rest of his classmates.

"Oh, Sonny, I brought a package for every student. Every one of your classmates will get their own package, so you can open yours now and use them!" I said.

Sonny shyly shook his head again and whispered something else in his father's ear. Apparently, Sonny wasn't convinced. He wouldn't open his felt pens until he had seen the alleged packages for his classmates.

I led Sonny over to my purple backpack and counted out sixteen packages of felt pens, all as colourful and new as the gift I had given him. His eyes lit up, he ran over to where he had placed his felt pens, and he proceeded to spend the next three hours playing with them. He drew with them, used them to make a magic 'trail' for me to follow, he made patterns with them on the floor, he used them as cars to drive around the house; I can't even remember all of the ways he used those precious pens, but it was obvious that he enjoyed them.

I had never encountered such a boy as Sonny. In all my years of teaching, I had never witnessed someone of his age care enough about his friends to delay the gratification of playing with a new gift. Even when we prompted him to dive in, he wanted proof that his classmates would be taken care of.

I would love to be able to instill that quality of selflessness in my girls. I wonder if it only exists in the hearts of those children who have very little. Perhaps my girls already have too much. Pip is quite happy to rip open birthday presents and Christmas presents, and she seems oblivious to every other child in the room at those times. She thanks people without prompting now, but it took a lot of, "What do you say to Grandma?"'s for that to happen, whereas it seemed like such an innate quality of Sonny's.

Thinking about Sonny, (who must be about twenty-two years old now,) has inspired me; perhaps we should adopt a household mantra, 'think of others before ourselves.' I like it. I like the idea of family-mantras too. Thanks, Sonny, wherever you are. I wish I could meet you as a young man and tell you what an impact you had on me. I wish my girls could meet you too. Who knows...maybe they will someday.

Stuff

2009-06-23T07:00:00.000-07:00

"Possessions are usually diminished by possession."

Nietzsche

The weather has been beautiful lately and the girls have been spending a lot of time outdoors. We've visited the homes of friends and relatives who have a host of exciting outdoor playthings: tunnels and slides and rocking horses and a even a full-blown playground.

I was sitting in our back yard the other day with Pip and Crazybaby and I caught myself thinking, "We should have more 'stuff' for the kids to play with." I couldn't believe the thought actually crossed my mind! I'm not a materialistic person and I certainly don't want my daughters thinking that they need the latest, greatest toys in order to have fun. I want them to be able to use their imaginations to enjoy themselves regardless of where they are or what they have. My fondest memories playing as a kid were on the beach, building forts out of driftwood and shells and moss! More stuff? What was I thinking?

I was thinking what a lot of parents think; we want to give our kids everything. Forgive me for stating the obvious, but the best things we can give our kids are not made in China, they're absolutely free. Time, attention, love, respect; we can all afford to give these gifts to our kids.

I watched Pip take her little watering can over to our rain-barrel and fill it up. She walked around the yard and watered some dandelions, roses and buttercups. Who needs stuff, when you've got dandelions?

Commiseration

2009-06-22T07:00:00.000-07:00

"Misery loves company."

John Ray

When Pip was a newborn she consistently had an incredibly fussy period at around 5:00 pm. All I had to compare our daughter with was my niece, who was an angel-baby, and friends of ours who also had an angel-baby a few months older than Pip. They all looked on in horror whenever Pip started wailing for no apparent reason. Their babies didn't wail. They squeaked when hungry. My sister actually used to clap with excitement when she heard her daughter wake-up from a nap! (Like I told you, angel-baby.) You can imagine my delight when I read in one of my books that it was quite common for babies to fuss in the early evening and that parents all over the world went through the same exasperating nightly routine. My husband and I felt so comforted!!!

So the phrase, 'Misery loves company,' holds some truth. When you've hit a rough patch, it does feel good to know that you're not alone, but you don't want to marinate in commiseration. Why dwell on the negative? I remember my cousin telling me that it only takes 17 seconds to change your frequency, and I for one would rather be sending out positive energy than negative.

My blog posts reflect this philosophy, and I hope I don't alienate readers by focusing on the positive aspects of motherhood. A friend of mine recently said that when she's having a bad day, it makes her feel even worse to read about someone who is loving motherhood. It certainly isn't my intent to make women feel crummy. My intent is to make you smile, to make you think, and to remind you that there are other mothers out here experiencing the same mothering moments that you are. Some moments are blissful and some are challenging. We can't change the moment, but we can change how we perceive the moment, and perception is everything.

Changing numbers

2009-06-19T07:00:00.000-07:00

"Wrinkles should merely indicate where smiles have been."

Mark Twain

Instead of asking me how old I was on my birthday, Pip asked,"What's your number, Mama?"

"I'm a 4 and another 4, Pip, I'm fourty-four." As I held up my hands to show Pip four fingers on each hand I took note of the wrinkly, crepe-like skin around my knuckles.

"We're all changing numbers, Mama."

"Yes we are, Sweetie."

It's interesting being an older mother. Most of the women I see regularly, who have children the same age as mine, are at least five years my junior. My niece is just a teenager and she recently gave birth to a beautiful baby boy. I've always viewed my 'advanced-maternal-age,' (yes-those words were actually written on the top of one of my medical files,) very positively. I lived such a full life before having children; I traveled extensively, enjoyed a successful career, pursued many interests, and got to know myself pretty well. I feel much better equipped to be a mother now than I did when I was nineteen.

This birthday, however, there was a moment when I found myself envying my youthful niece. Not because she will have more energy as a young mom, nor because she might weather the sleepless nights better than I did. It's the simple fact that, if we're all fortunate enough to expire due to old age, my niece stands to witness twenty more years of her son's life than I can hope to see of my daughters' lives. Twenty years! Imagine all the living that Pip and Crazybaby will do in twenty years!

I didn't allow my mind to linger upon that thought, and neither did my dear friend Valda. She is in her eighties and she calls me every year on my birthday. It's the same date as her wedding anniversary. "How old are you now, Karen?" Valda asked.

"I'm fourty-four." I didn't hold my fingers up this time.

"Oh my goodness!"

"I know, Valda," I sighed, "I'm starting to get up there."

"Oh no Karen, not at all! You're so young! Gosh, at fourty-four, I was just getting my second wind!"

Bless you, Valda.

My Birthday Morning

2009-06-18T07:00:00.001-07:00

"Let us celebrate the occasion with wine and sweet words."

- Plautus

It was my birthday on Tuesday, and Pip was the first person to wish me a 'Happy Birthday.' She climbed into bed with me and said, "Mama, you're a very big girl now and I'm going to give you a special book for your birthday." She then handed me the library book that was on my bedside table. "Here you go, Big Girl," she said.

Pip is very gentle. Ever since she learned the word, "caress," she's been giving us lovely little face caresses; I melt every time she takes my face in her wee little hands and gently runs her fingers from my temples to my chin. It's so terribly tender. She gave me one of her signature caresses before we got out of bed, and she once again whispered, "Happy Birthday, Mama," with an old-soul smile.

I remember much about birthdays past; fun parties, great friends, family gatherings, intimate dinners...but I don't recall a finer birthday-morning-greeting. Thank you, Pip.

Privacy

2009-06-17T07:00:00.000-07:00

“If there is one place on the face of earth where all the dreams of living men have found a home from the very earliest days when man began the dream of existence, it is India.”
Romain Rolland

In 1994 I met a man whose brother, Patrick, lived in India and ran a small English school. I started corresponding with Patrick with the hope that I could volunteer in his little school. His first letter was discouraging; he said that Westerners found his way of life very challenging, particularly the lack of privacy. I wasn't sure exactly what he meant, but it didn't sound too bad! Teaching in a small village in India was the opportunity of a lifetime, so I kept writing to Patrick until he finally invited me to stay with him and his family in Jejuri.

I remember waking up my first morning in Patrick's home in India. Eight of us had slept in one room and I had been given the only bed. I woke up in the centre of the room, with the family bustling around me, involved in their morning routines. The doorway to the street was on my left and as I rolled over I saw the faces of eight or nine village kids staring at me. They had been waiting anxiously to see their first Caucasian woman. I rolled out of bed and began to unzip my backpack, which prompted Patrick's two kids, Sonny and Baby, to come and see what mysteries the great purple bag held. The little entourage of street kids grew brave, and as I searched around for my toiletry kit, I had an audience of a dozen children.

This is what Patrick had meant by lack of privacy. I was never alone. My every move was of such interest to people, that I was always being studied very closely. Even when I used the bathroom, Patrick's 'maid' Anundi would often be washing the laundry in the same room. Once, as I was squatting, Anundi started saying something in Mahrati, then she came over to me and lifted up the back of my skirt so that it wouldn't get soiled!!! I couldn't even go for a walk by myself, so I escaped by plugging into my Walkman for a few songs a day, just to preserve my sanity.

I realize now that my India experience foreshadowed my life as a mother. My daughters are always intensely interested in what I'm doing, and their favourite place is to be right by my side. They're not yet content to just 'play' on their own. I try to sneak away to the bathroom for a little privacy, but Pip or Crazybaby always find me and "keep me company." Because Pip likes companionship when she uses the bathroom, she thinks everyone must feel the same way. Once, when Crazybaby was napping, I said to Pip, "Mama needs a little privacy, honey, could you please close the bathroom door?"

"Sure, Mama," Pip said. She stood just outside the door and proceeded to open it every thirty seconds to ask, "Are you done yet, Mama?"

It's fortunate that this lack-of-privacy phenomenon has happened gradually. It seems like a normal part of my life now. Surprisingly enough, I don't seem to mind it at all.

When I Have Fears

2009-06-16T07:00:00.000-07:00

"You gain strength, courage, and confidence by every experience in which you really stop to look fear in the face."

Eleanor Roosevelt.

I underestimated the power of a single bee-sting. Pip will never be the same. Once upon a time she scampered happily along forest trails, ran barefoot on the grass, calmly observed busy bees collecting nectar, and she slept without a night-light. Now she screams when she even hears a bee, she finds forest walks terrifying, and she want the door to her bedroom left wide open at night to let in as much light as possible. That one little bee has changed her life.

I understand why her world has been turned upside-down. Up until the bee-sting, pretty much everything in her world was well-ordered. She had experienced physical pain before, but it was always logical, and often predictable: she tripped and fell on the cement, so her knee got scraped. It was time for her vaccination, and her arm stung from the needle. She had a bad cold, and her throat was sore. Pip could make sense of her pain.

The bee-sting, however, made no sense whatsoever. There she was, merrily frolicking on a lovely forest trail, completely minding her own business when a strange insect injected himself into her forehead to produce the most intense sting of Pip's young life! It was a completely unanticipated, random event. So now, Pip doesn't know what to expect next! She's a nervous wreck!

Well, maybe I'm exaggerating a little. She's still enjoying life, but now she has moments of extreme anxiety, whereas her 'pre-sting' world was a much safer place. Last night she woke up saying that beetles were crawling on her arms. We had to change her bed-sheet because it was patterned with leaves and vines and she thought there were bugs crawling on them. When we go for walks now, I have to make a public announcement to all of the bees: "Attention all Bees, please leave Pip alone today. If you're in the mood for stinging, please come and sting me, I can take it. And while you're listening, please leave Crazybaby alone too. Thank you, Bees and have a nice day," and Pip repeats,

"Thank you Bees."

If I'm tempted to trivialize this experience of Pip's, this shift in the way her world works, I need only look at my own life. When have I questioned the way the Universe was unfolding? When have I felt that life wasn't fair? I have no shortage of examples. I suspect none of us do.

So I'll treat Pip's fears with the respect they deserve, and I'll do whatever I can to help her face them. I have to admit, though, that when we head out for our walk and I find myself saying, 'Thank you, Bees,' what I'm really thinking is, 'Damn you Bees!'

The Family Bed

2009-06-15T07:00:00.000-07:00

"Oh sleep! it is a gentle thing,

Beloved from pole to pole,"

Samuel Taylor Colerige

Pip had her first nightmare last night. It was shocking. I had no idea she could scream that loud. My husband reached her first and she was looking, in horror, at the decorative butterflies on her wall. He picked her up and tried to comfort her, "They're not real honey, they won't hurt you. You've just had a bad dream. Mama and I are right here."

Pip eventually calmed down and my husband passed her over to me. After a cuddle, I tried to put her down on her bed and she started to panic: crying, legs kicking, arms locked around my neck, that sort of thing. I climbed into her bed, with her lying on top of me, and tried to convince her that there was nothing to be afraid of. She was holding on to me for dear life, and I could feel her heart pounding against my chest.

After a few minutes I tried to shift my body out from under her in an attempt to leave her bed, but she wouldn't let me go. "Mama, I don't want to stay in this bed." Pip's eyes were wide open and she was absolutely terrified. I had never seen her in this state, and I couldn't leave her side. I snuggled in for the long haul.

"I won't leave you, Pip."

As soon as she realized that I wasn't going anywhere she relaxed. Within minutes her eyes were closed and her breathing grew heavy. It was quite lovely. Pip slept with my right arm around her and my left arm clasped between her two hands.

I have strong opinions about kids and sleep. I don't believe in 'the family bed.' I think that we do kids a disservice if we don't encourage them to fall asleep on their own, in their own beds (or cribs.) It's an incredibly important skill to learn, and if they don't learn it as babies, when are they going to start sleeping independently? The Baby Whisperer wisely says, "Start as you mean to go on," and for the most part, that's what we've tried to do.

I'm the first to admit that there is nothing as precious as feeling your baby asleep on your chest. It's absolutely divine! I slept with my babies in the hospital, I napped with Pip for many months, and I do love sleeping with my girls, I just don't think it's the healthiest choice for children in the long-run.

Still, I cherished last night. My philosophy hasn't changed; I will continue to encourage Pip to sleep on her own, but sleeping in each other's arms last night was a little piece of heaven.

The most important relationship

2009-06-12T07:00:00.000-07:00

"The most important thing a father can do for his children

is to love their mother."

Rev. Theodore Hesburgh.

In one of the books I read when I was pregnant with Pip, there was an entire chapter about the most important relationship in the family being the relationship between husband and wife. It's vital for children to see their parents being affectionate toward each other because it creates stability. It makes children feel safe to know that their parents have a strong, loving bond. The book suggested that parents should not wait for kids to be in bed to spend 'adult time' together, because kids need to witness the importance parents place on their partnership. The relationship you have with your spouse provides a model for all future relationships your children will form; romantic and otherwise. (No pressure there.)

I remember reading the chapter aloud to my husband before Pip was born, and we talked about making time for each other. Our goal was that, when he came home from work, we would spend the first half-hour just sitting on the couch talking to each other. We imagined that our child (or children) would still be near us, but we'd sit side-by-side and make a conscious effort to really check-in with each other, perhaps even hold hands and have adult conversation.

It was a lofty goal. Actually, we were doing pretty well for the first three weeks of Pip's life when she did nothing but sleep, but since then our blissful 'together-time' has occurred mostly when the girls are in bed.

Recently Crazybaby has become extremely attached to her father. When he walks in the door after work she cries, "Daaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa!" and the only thing on her mind is climbing into her father's arms. He has a hard time even washing his hands before she starts crying because she can't bear to be apart from him for another minute.

Pip yells, "Daddy, Daddy" and runs over to Big Daddy-O as well, so my husband is bombarded with his little fan club the moment he walks in the door. How can I possibly play first-fiddle in this scenario? My husband and I religiously greet each other with a meaningful hug and a peck-of-a kiss, but we certainly don't enjoy thirty minutes of adult conversation while holding hands on the couch! It's family time; the couch is host to a wrestling match of sorts with Pip and Crazybaby crawling all over Big Daddy-O as we attempt to de-brief about our days.

It's a beautiful time. I'm not going to try to change it. As long as my husband and I are aware of the importance of our relationship, as long as we're generous with our love and affection toward each other, we'll all be just fine. (Happy Birthday Big Daddy-O!)

Hear this!

2009-06-11T07:00:00.000-07:00

"Most of the successful people I've known

are the ones who do more listening than talking."

Bernard M. Baruch

Pip has started saying, "Hear this," before she says something of import. I love it. It's a perfect companion phrase to, "Watch this," which is an extremely common request these days, and it's less cumbersome than, "Listen to this." Whenever she says it, I picture some old English gentleman preparing to read a proclamation to the township. It promises such importance. I may start using it myself.

Name that Goose

2009-06-10T13:58:00.000-07:00

"The purpose of learning is growth, and our minds, unlike our bodies, can continue growing as we continue to live."

Mortimer Adler

I'm amazed at Pip's mind. Not just how quickly her vocabulary is expanding or how marvelously she picks up new concepts, but also her memory. More specifically, her memory compared to my memory.

Case in point: Mother Goose songs. Every week when we attend our Mother Goose session, we learn a few new songs. The facilitators are very wise in their instruction because they break the song down line by line, then they repeat the whole song several times 'for the children.'

Now, I consider myself to be quite musical. I've taken oodles of formal music lessons, played instruments since I was ten, written my own songs, performed in loads of musicals, yet thirty minutes after learning the new Goose songs, they have vacated my brain. Pip, on the other hand, remembers both the lyrics and melodies! "What was the one about the mouse?" I'll ask, and Pip will launch into the song without hesitation, complete with hand gestures.

It's astonishing to me! Was my mind ever that good? Is my advanced-maternal-age to blame? How many brain cells did I actually lose during my pregnancies? Pip is a bit of a studier, and I have noticed that she'll often just watch and listen to the new songs being performed instead of actually joining in. Perhaps I should try that next time. All I know is that I am humbled by my three-year-old's brain, and I sincerely hope that her mind outperforms mine at every turn.

It hurts

2009-06-09T07:00:00.000-07:00

"Making the decision to have a child is momentous. It is to decide forever to have your heart go walking around outside your body."

Elizabeth Stone

Pip and I were walking together in the forest when I noticed that her hand was covering her forehead. "Are you hot Sweetie?"

"No, Mama. I'm okay."

"Why do you have your hand on your forehead?"

"It's so that I won't get another bee-sting."

We were walking in the same area Pip had been stung last week. Apparently, she thought that her forehead was the only sting-worthy site on her body. I didn't want to alarm her, but I also didn't want her to have to cover her forehead every time she walked outside. "Sweetie, bees can actually sting any part of your body." Pip was silent for a moment. The hand remained on her forehead.

"Mama, if you hold my hand, you can protect me from the bees."

I took her hand in mine. I didn't have the heart to tell her that I couldn't protect her from future bee-stings. Perhaps it was because I just wanted her to enjoy the walk, or perhaps it was because I truly do want to protect her. From everything. I know it's irrational, but I don't want her to hurt. I don't want her to worry. I want her little world to be beautiful. And it is.

It's a strange new feeling though, this profound love mixed with helplessness. I brought my babies into the world because I believe in it; I believe the world is a beautiful place and that the human experience is worth having. At the same time, all of the evils of humankind seem to be highlighted to me now that I have children. I imagine future talks about 'stranger-danger,' and 'appropriate and inappropriate touching.' I imagine my girls learning of all of the inhumanity in the world and it saddens me.

So this is one of my many personal challenges: to focus on the beauty, focus on the love, focus on the here and now. All we have for sure is this moment, and right now, in this moment I'll gladly be the fearless bee-protector.

I'll have what she's having

2009-06-08T07:00:00.000-07:00

"Loving a sister is an unconditional narcissistic and complicated devotion

that approximates a Mother's love. Sisters are inescapably connected, shaped by the same two parents,

the same trove of memory and experience."

~Roxanne Brown~

For many months, Pip was only mildly interested in Crazybaby. That has started to change and she is often entertained by her sister these days, but if there's someone else around to play with, Pip gravitates toward other kids; she doesn't pay much attention to Crazybaby.

Recently, our friend Ella, who is just five months older than Pip, and her baby brother came over for a visit. I assumed that the two 'big girls' would play together and the babies would crawl around and babble at each other, but Ella wanted to play with Crazybaby! She touched her hands, kissed her face, rubbed her fuzzy head and tried to make her laugh.

Pip examined the situation with great interest. She seemed astonished that Ella was finding Crazybaby so enjoyable. What did Pip do? She started to play with her little sister too! With Ella on one side of her and Pip on the other, Crazybaby was elated! She basked in the attention, and the three-year-olds had a lovely time as well.

I suppose it's human nature to want what others want, but isn't it intriguing when you want something that you didn't have the slightest bit of interest in initially, but it becomes appealing just because someone else wants it? It'll be interesting when the objects of Pip's desire become mobile phones and too-short skirts, but for now, I'll simply enjoy the fact that Pip witnessed a friend of hers take pleasure in being with Crazybaby.

My sister did it

2009-06-05T07:00:00.000-07:00

"Pretty much all the honest truthtelling in the world is done by children."

Oliver Wendell Holmes

I thought that Pip was incapable of lying until a few days ago. First came the baby-gate incident. We're using the gate as a barrier to the stairway here at the beach-house, but it isn't attached to the wall. My husband saw Pip shake the gate when Crazybaby was holding on to it, which made Crazybaby fall backward and bump her head. Crazybaby started screaming, (I think she was more surprised than hurt,) and while Big Daddy-O comforted her, I held Pip, who was quietly sobbing. "I think she feels badly," said my husband.

"What happened, Pip?" I asked.

"The gate shook," she cried.

"Did you shake it to get Crazybaby off?"

"No, the gate shook by it's own self."

"Pip, you must always tell Mama and Daddy the truth, no matter what happens. Did you push the gate?"

"No mama."

Hmmm. What was our policy about lying? Did Pip even know what lying was? Had we ever discussed the concept of truth? Later that day we had a talk. "Pip, do you know what it means to tell the truth?"

"What, Mama?"

"It means that you tell us exactly how something happens. You don't make up a story about it, you tell us what really happened. It's called the truth. When you make up a story that didn't really happen, then it's not true. You can always tell us the truth about anything."

"Mama, I don't want to have these words anymore," my husband feels the same way when I launch into one of my, 'serious talks.'

I wasn't sure if she understood the concept of honesty, but the next day she provided me with yet another example of lying. "Pip, did you move my book onto the floor?" I wasn't at all angry, so she completely surprised me when she said,

"Crazybaby did it."

Crazybaby could not have gotten upstairs on her own, nor could she have retrieved my book from the middle of the king-sized bed. I knew that Pip had been playing with it. (Which begs the question, why did I even ask if she had done it? But that's another blog post.)

"Pip, I just wanted to tell you that I'm borrowing the book from a friend and I have to take very good care of it, so I don't want you to play with it. Now, please tell me the true story, did you move the book?"

"Yes, Mama, it was me. I'm sorry Mama."

"You don't have to be sorry, Pip. You didn't know that you weren't supposed to touch the book. Thank you for telling me the truth though, Pip. You made a very good choice," we fell into an easy hug.

Okay. It was a positive outcome, but why was she so quick to blame her sister for something she did? What was she trying to avoid? Was she fearful of my response? I try to be fair, not frightening. I know that some kids are just more honest than others from my teaching days, and I want to raise a couple of honest ones!!!

We give Pip a message every time she has a time-out, but she hasn't needed one in a long time, so I thought this was a good opportunity reinforce the same message. "Pip, you know that Mommy and Daddy will always love you. No matter what you do we will always love you. We may not like the choices you make sometimes, but we always love YOU."

"I love you too, Mama." I think she heard me, but I won't be surprised if she experiments with the lying thing again. I suppose all we can do is give her over-the-top, positive reinforcement when she tells the truth about things. With any luck, this'll just be an experimental phase instead of a character trait.

Wide arms

2009-06-04T07:00:00.000-07:00

"A parent's love is whole no matter how many times divided."

Robert Brault

I'm getting better at remaining calm when both of my girls are crying at the same time, but it's still frustrating. When I was pregnant with Crazybaby I wondered how I was going to split my attention between two children, and a wise woman said to me, "You'll just have to open your arms a little wider." I remembered her words the first time both Pip and Crazybaby wanted to be comforted at the same time. I just said to Pip,

"Isn't it lucky that Mama has two arms to hold my two girls." It worked; that time.

Yesterday I needed four arms. We were walking back through the woods to the beach house after having a lovely time playing in a waterfront meadow, when Pip screamed. She was frantically clutching her forehead and I immediately understood that she'd been stung by a wasp. My first thought was that I hoped that she wasn't allergic. It was her first bee-sting so I asked her if her throat was feeling funny. She just kept crying, "Mama," and buried her head in my neck. She didn't seem to be puffing-up anywhere, so with Crazybaby still in the backpack, I lifted Pip in my arms and started walking. I was still about a ten minute walk from the beach house. I tried to soothe Pip by telling her stories on the journey home, but she was inconsolable. Crazybaby was so frightened from Pip's outburst that she had started crying too.

We made it out of the woods and back onto the beach where I negotiated logs and rocks with my wailing, fifty-three pound cargo. The beach house was in sight, but the fun had just begun. Once on the front lawn, I twisted my ankle and fell down on one knee. Both girls fell silent. I said, "Pip, I twisted my ankle and I'm going to try to stand up now, but I need to put you down. You're going to be a brave girl for me." And she was. Gingerly, I put weight on my right foot and was relieved to discover that I could walk.

Once we were all in the house I put Crazybaby down and her crying resumed. It was past her nap time. I had no baking soda in the house to try to relieve Pip's sting, so I got a cold cloth and put it on her forehead. (Rule of thumb: when you have no idea what to do, apply a cold cloth.) A new wave of tears poured out of Pip as I said that I was going to put Crazybaby down for her nap. "No Mama!!!" she cried, clinging to my neck. I glanced over at Crazybaby, sitting on the floor screaming. What to do? I turned on the television.

"Pip, you'll just be on your own for a few minutes, and once Crazybaby is in her crib I will come down here to cuddle with you."

"Mama, don't go!!!" Pip's face was beet red, except for the glowing white sting-site, tears were streaming down her face, her nose was running and her hands were clasped firmly around my neck. I would have to forcefully pry her off of me if I was to go anywhere. I couldn't do it.

I hauled Pip over to where Crazybaby baby was sitting, lifted her up with my other arm, and made it back to the couch with both girls crying full throttle.

I have to say, this is the part of being a mother-of-two that I find agonizing! Thank goodness it doesn't happen every day. It's not just the stress of both girls being terrifically upset, it's the frustration of knowing exactly what each child needs but not being able to give it to them.

I tried once again to reason with Pip, "You have a choice, Honey: I have to go upstairs and put your sister down for her nap-"(keep in mind that Pip is repeatedly crying, 'Mama,' and Crazybaby is still sobbing with fatigue,) "you can either stay downstairs and watch a show for a few minutes, or you can come upstairs with us." Tearfully, she chose to accompany us. Once I had changed Crazybaby's diaper and started nursing her, Pip surprised me with,

"Mama, I need a nap." Here we go. I walked, with Crazybaby still on my breast, down the hall to Pip's room, and squatted while I single-handedly helped her take off her clothes and put on a pull-up. She snuggled into her bed. Back in Crazybaby's room, (truthfully, it's a walk-in closet,) I finished nursing her and she quickly fell asleep.

It was suddenly very quiet in the house. All I could hear was the sound of wavelets lapping against the shore. What a difference ten minutes makes.

I examined my throbbing ankle. It didn't look swollen or bruised. It was just sore. I was exhausted. The entire episode probably only lasted twenty minutes or so, but I felt soul-drained. The tandem nap is a rarity these days, so I seized the opportunity, lay down on the king-sized bed and let the waves lull me into a soothing mid-day slumber.

Help

2009-06-03T07:00:00.001-07:00

"I get by with a little help from my friends."

John Lennon and Paul McCartney

I need your advice. I'm entering my blog in a 'Parents Canada' magazine contest, and I can only submit one post. Do you have a favourite 'Grateful Mama' post? I feel too close to the content to choose objectively, so I'd really appreciate your feedback. Don't put too much thought into it, just let me know if there's a post that stands out in your mind.

If you haven't figured out how to leave a comment on my blog, (or you don't wish to share your thoughts with everyone,) feel free to email me at thegratefulmama@gmail.com.

Now, I should apologize if you're disappointed with this post; I realize that it's all business and no pleasure. For your enjoyment, I'll leave you with a couple of words that Pip has recently added to her vocabulary: 'nexterday' and 'lasterday.' Apparently 'yesterday' and 'tomorrow' weren't cutting it for her. Makes sense to me.

Thank you for continuing to read my blog. I'm soooooooooooo grateful that you're out there!

I hope you enjoy nexterday's post.

Comparisons

2009-06-02T07:00:00.000-07:00

"Comparisons are odious."

Robert Burton

One of Pip's girlfriends came over to visit last week and I was impressed with how independent this little girl was in the washroom. Her mom had gone upstairs to change her baby sister when 2 1/2 year-old Mary said, "Karen, I have to pee." I was expecting to have to help her get settled on the toilet, wipe her bottom, and help her to wash and dry her hands, but my services were not required! I simply showed her to the bathroom and said,

"Mary, I'll give you some privacy and you call me when you're done." The next thing I knew, she was back in the kitchen ready to resume eating her lunch!

I asked her mom about it when she came downstairs, "Oh yhea, she's been doing that forever." Her daughter is a few months younger than Pip, who still likes company in the bathroom and needs help wiping her bottom and washing her hands. I decided it was time for Pip to follow Mary's example. We were going to begin Phase II of Pip's toilet training: Washroom Independence.

Pip resisted. She didn't want to wipe herself, so I did it. What really got me is when she thanked me afterward. "Mama, thank you for helping me."

"You're welcome, Sweetie."

Way back when we started toilet-training Pip, she seemed inspired when we'd mention that some of her friends weren't wearing diapers anymore. "Really?" she'd say, "Bella doesn't wear diapers? Well, I'm a big girl too."

I'm not a fan of comparisons, I'm the girl who had the Desiderata poster on my dorm wall at University with Max Erhmann's wise words,

"If you compare yourself with others,

you may become vain or bitter,

for always there will be greater and lesser persons than yourself."

Nevertheless, I decided to use the comparison tactic at the sink: "But Mama, I like it when you wash my hands."

"I know Sweetie, but if you go to pre-school in September you'll have to be able to wash your hands by yourself like all of the other kids. Mary washes her hands by herself." I didn't even like the way it sounded once it was out of my mouth. Still, I continued, "Try drying your hands by yourself, Pip."

"Mama, I can't."

"Please try." She took the towel, wiggled her hands around a bit and dropped it on the floor.

"Mama, they're still wet."

"Well, they'll have to air-dry then." Ouch.

"Mama!" she tearfully called. I wasn't about to dry her hands now that she had started crying, so I walked away, but it wasn't easy.

I broached the subject later during the drive to our weekly Mother Goose session. "Pip, you're going to have to start doing more jobs on your own like Mary does. Do you think you'd like another chart with stickers?"

"No thanks Mama," she was not the least bit interested in Phase II. Frankly, I was starting to question my motivation. Was it really important for Pip to take on these responsibilities right now, or was I just reacting to Mary's progress?

I stopped Goldie, (our car,) in front of the school where Mother Goose was held, and walked around to Pip's door, "I can get out myself, Mama," she said.

"Okay Sweetie." I went around to the other door to get Crazybaby. Pip proceeded to unbuckle herself, climb down from the car-seat, hop out of the car, close the door, and walk carefully over to where I was standing with Crazybaby.

"Wow!" I said, "Pip, did you just get out of your seat and close that big door all by yourself?"

"I sure did Mama."

"Good for you Pip!"

"You see Mama, there are some big girl things that Mary does by herself, and there are some big girl things that I can do by myself. Mary dries her hands, but I can get down out of my car-seat and close the big door. Just like that."

"You're absolutely right Pip."

It was yet another, 'Who's parenting whom?' moment. Pip was right, kids develop at their own pace. They each have different strengths and weaknesses. I'm a teacher for goodness sakes!!! I've told the very same thing to a hundred worried parents over the years!!!

There's no mad rush for Pip to tackle Washroom Independence right now, so I'll re-visit Phase II at a later date and I'll change the language I use. No more comparisons. In the meantime, I'm quite happy to stand over my daughter at the bathroom-sink with her soapy little hands in mine.

Little Star

2009-06-01T07:00:00.000-07:00

“Neither a lofty degree of intelligence nor imagination nor both together go to the making of genius. Love, love, love, that is the soul of genius.”

Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart

Did you know that Mozart wrote the music to, 'Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star,' at the age of five? Last night I witnessed the most beautiful rendition of 'Twinkle,' that I could've ever imagined.

We're back at the beach house. I know, we were only away from it for a week, but it's not being rented at the moment and neither of my siblings could make use of it this weekend, so we've returned to this little piece of paradise.

Last night, my husband and I had just put the girls to bed and we decided to take a glass of wine out to the deck. It was an unusually balmy night, but the wind had really picked up so we took a blanket out to throw over our legs. We'd been chatting for about ten minutes when I heard a faint noise. I looked back at the house and saw Pip standing at the window, knocking. (Unfortunately she'd had a little nap in the car during the afternoon drive to the beach house, and was once again having trouble getting to sleep.)

Big Daddy-O got up, went inside and put Pip back to bed. Not three minutes had passed before we heard another rap at the window. There was Pip, bright-eyed, wearing nothing but her pull-up. (She's never been big on pajamas.) It was obvious that she was nowhere near sleep, so I motioned for her to come outside and join us. She happily scurried over to my chaise-lounge and jumped onto my lap. I cuddled her up in the blanket and breathed her in; her hair smelled like baby-shampoo. Pip was excited. I'm sure she couldn't believe her good fortune. I looked at my husband's face and he was grinning from ear to ear; one of those gorgeous, "Isn't our daughter lovely?" kind of smiles.

"Mama, when I saw you and Daddy out here, I just wanted to come be with you and see the wind," she said.

"I understand Sweetie, and I think you're having trouble getting to sleep because you had a nap today, but this is a very special night. This isn't going to happen every night. This is usually the time when Daddy and I visit with each other."

"I know Mama, this isn't going to happen every night, look at that cute little branch, Mama!" Pip felt heavenly. She was so warm and snuggly under the blanket with me, with the wind passionately swirling around us. My husband's chair was right beside us, but I felt sorry that he wasn't experiencing the closeness of Pip. He wasn't feeling her heart beat under the blanket, or her little toes kissing my legs. I felt sorry, but I wasn't willing to give her up!

Big Daddy-O and I tried to resume our previous conversation, but Pip kept interjecting with, "Look at that sunset over there, let's go see it!" and, "Look at how bright the moon is!" Watching day turn to night through our daughter's eyes was magical.

We spoke of stars and clouds and sailing ships, "I'm going to get a sailing ship and go on lots of adventures at the beach house," Pip said. We were having a grand time, but it was getting late, so I came up with a plan,

"Pip, when we see the first star appear, we'll all go inside and go to bed." The three of us searched the sky for a twinkle. "I see one!" I said, but it was too faint for Pip to see.

"There it is," said my husband smoothly. He directed our eyes to a the night sky behind us, where we saw a proudly shining star.

"Let's sing to it, Mama," Pip suggested. With her head against mine and the blanket forming a cocoon around us, Pip, Big Daddy-O and I sang 'Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star.' It was one of those once-in-a-lifetime moments that you want to slow right down; the crashing waves, the ocean-air, the glorious little star, and my daughter's sweet voice joining my husband's and mine.

Thank you, little five-year-old Mozart for writing that lovely melody. I wonder if you heard it last night.

Sleepless

2009-05-29T07:00:00.000-07:00

"People who say they sleep like a baby

usually don't have one. "

Leo J. Burke

Pip had trouble getting to sleep last night. She came out of her bedroom three times. First it was,"Mama, I don't have the right blanket." She loves her ladybug blanket.

"What do you mean by that?"

"That means you have to help me get my blanket set up."

"Do you think you're having trouble sleeping because you had a nap today?"

"Yhea. Daddy woke me up."

Pip formally phased-out her afternoon nap about six months ago, but occasionally she still needs a little kip if she's overtired. At about 3:30 pm yesterday, Pip was an emotional wreck. She was bursting into tears at the slightest provocation, so I said, "Pip, you're really tired," and that's all it took. With tears streaming down her face she said,

"Mama, I need a nap." How could I deny her? I let her have a late-afternoon nap even though I knew that bedtime might be difficult.

Indeed, bedtime was proving to be difficult. Pip came out of her room a second time because her pull-up was wet. Fair enough. Who can fall asleep with three pounds of wet diaper between their legs? She shed a few tears when I left her bedroom after the pull-up change.

The third time Pip made an appearance she was rubbing her belly-button, her form of self-soothing. "I still can't sleep Mama."

"Hmmm. What should we do, honey?"

No response. More button-rubbing.

"What would help you get to sleep?"

"Um. Mama, one more book would help me sleep. Just one more book."

I felt for her. I've suffered from insomnia before and it's dreadful. The more you try to fall asleep, the more aware you become of not being able to sleep. I caved. The pink zebra-lamp went on and we snuggled in for one more book.

Naturally, she didn't want me to leave after one more book, and tears filled her heavy eyes. I told her that I used to have trouble getting to sleep sometimes when I was her age, but I stopped before I spilled the beans about 'Suzie the hairdresser.'

You see, I had an active imagination as a child, and when I couldn't find sleep and my parents said, "Karen, you have to go back to bed, " I would say,

"Oh, I'm not Karen, I'm Suzie the hairdresser. Can I do your hair?" My parents would let me comb their hair and peek over their shoulders at the Carol Burnett show. You can see why I thought it best not to give Pip any ideas. I'm sure she would've loved the idea of coming into the living-room with a comb and brush to style Big Daddy-O's and my hair. I have a feeling I would've loved it too.

Little Drummer Girl

2009-05-28T07:00:00.000-07:00

"If it's not fun, you're not doing it right."

Bob Basso

A few years ago I was a member of a professional drumming group out of Vancouver called, SWARM. The director, Bill Wallace, is an artistic genius and he creates all of the instruments out of recycled materials. The SWARM show is exciting; drums spin and move, band members jump and dance in intricate patterns around the drums; it's very athletic, musical and unique.

I miss playing with SWARM. I miss drumming, rehearsing in Bill's funky studio, creating music with other talented artists, but mostly I just miss 'playing.' I was thinking about SWARM while I was hanging out with Crazybaby in the backyard the other day. She was happily crawling around on the lawn and I was following behind her. I had some music playing and I just started drumming to it. I used my hands to drum on my thighs, my hips, my stomach and my chest. It felt good. I was aware of Crazybaby's location on the ground, but I must admit that I was sort of zoned out. I let myself get lost in the rhythm.

So there I was, drumming and day-dreaming in the sunshine, when I realized that Crazybaby had stopped crawling. She was sitting up, smiling, looking straight at me and drumming! She was drumming on her legs and her belly, then she mixed it up and started clapping for awhile. At one point she even started hitting her squeaky shoes on the grass to make squeaking sounds. It was so cool! My baby and I were having a jam session! She stayed connected with me like that for an entire song before she lost interest. I was flabbergasted! It was as though she was saying to me, "You do your thing Mama, and I'll just play along."

Was it as fulfilling as playing with SWARM? Not even close, but it did inspire me to find new ways to enjoy drumming instead of focusing on the past. Who knows, perhaps I'll start a Grateful Mama drum circle...

Skinned knees

2009-05-27T07:00:00.000-07:00

"I have found the paradox, that if you love until it hurts, there can be no more hurt, only more love.”
Mother Teresa

Our summer clothes came out of hiding this past weekend. Shorts, t-shirts and sandals all made an appearance, as did a little floral 'skort' that was handed-down to Pip from her cousin. We were heading to the beach, so I was carrying an armload of bags, water-bottles, hats and keys as I descended the back stairs. I saw Pip run across the grass toward me, trip on her new slightly-too-large sandals and fall face-first on the concrete sidewalk.

Now, I admire those moms who casually say, "Brush it off Buddy, you're okay," when their children get hurt, but in this instance, I was not one of those moms. I dropped everything in my arms and galloped down the remaining stairs toward Pip. I think I even said something incredibly unhelpful like, "Oooooooooooooo that was a bad one!!!"

As a mother, I try to appear calm on the outside, but inside it's a different story. My heart was racing when I peeled Pip off of the pavement and tried to get a look at her face. "Where does it hurt, honey?" She lifted her knee. It was skinned. That was all. No lost teeth, no broken bones, just a little scrape on the knee.

I was much calmer in a crisis when I was a teacher; when it was other people's children getting hurt. One snowy winter day I was supervising the primary playground when a young lad named Parmvir hit his chin on the monkey bars and his two adult front teeth flew out of his mouth, into the snow. White teeth; white snow. After I had ascertained that Parmvir was alright, I calmly organized the children into tooth-hunting teams: "Follow the little trails of blood," I suggested.

The teeth were found in short order, and Parmvir went to the hospital with his pearly whites in a Ziploc baggie. The E.R. doctor actually asked why I hadn't replaced the teeth myself! "Better chance of the roots taking," he said.Hmmmm. Not sure if I would've been up for that.

This morning Pip's scrape has turned into a neat row of scabs. I asked her how her knee was and she said, "Mama, my dad told me a story about when he fell of a horse and his braving has made me brave. I'm a brave girl now, Mama."

Yes you are little Pip. Now if only I could get a dose of that braving.

Emotions

2009-05-26T07:00:00.000-07:00

"One's suffering disappears when one lets oneself go,

when one yields - even to sadness."

~Antoine de Saint-Exupéry

After a wonderful week at the beach-house it was time to pack our bags and head home. Big Daddy-O took the girls for a walk while I went from room to room stripping beds, gathering towels, packing, and opening windows to let the fresh sea-air circulate. It was a gorgeous day; one of those windy, sparkly days when the waves pound the shore and everything seems to come alive as it gets kissed by the sun.

I felt sad. The beach-house was put up for sale earlier this year, and every time I leave it, I can't help but imagine leaving it for good. I look out at that view and I remember building forts with my brother and sister, playing guitar with my friends, kissing my first love, staring up at the stars the night before my grandfather died, taking our new puppy for her first walk, watching my sister get married, dancing under the stars at my own wedding, floating in the ocean one lazy afternoon when a pod of orcas swam by, taking Pip for her first dip in the Pacific...so many rites of passage. That beach feels like me.

As I made my way around the house I felt a lump in my throat, but I swallowed it. Then Pip walked in. She was on the verge of tears and she said, "Mama, I just can't say good-bye to this room, I just can't do it," and the dam broke. It was like she was releasing all of the emotions that I had been feeling. I gave her a cuddle and explained that we'd be back soon. I told her that her Grandpa was having some guests stay at the house and it was their turn to enjoy the beach. I wiped her tears. Comforting her comforted me.

Thirty minutes later the car was all packed-up and I was making a final sweep of the house. Pip was still feeling sad, but she'd had enough already. "Mama, I just want to go now. I want to have the 'guestez' come and I want to be back in our sweet-home-home." She climbed into her car-seat and I buckled her in. She had a quiet cry as we drove away from the house.

Again, I felt that my little three-year-old was giving a voice to my emotions. Instead of stifling what she was feeling, she let her emotions rise up, she released them, she dealt with them, and she moved on.

I remember reading about cancer patients in a book called, When the Body Says No, by Gabor Mate. He found that patients who tried to suppress their emotions didn't do as well as those who let their feelings out; the anger, the fear, the frustration, everything. My understanding of Mate's theory is that if you don't deal with your emotions, then your body ends up taking them on in some form of 'dis-ease.'

So it's healthy for our little ones to let their emotions out as they feel them, and it's healthy for us too. If I had let myself shed a few tears that morning at the beach house, I could have easily explained to Pip why I was feeling a bit sad. She would have understood.

Poof

2009-05-25T07:00:00.000-07:00

"You can't deny laughter; when it comes, it plops down in your favorite chair and stays as long as it wants."

Stephen King, Hearts in Atlantis

I’m wondering why we didn’t teach Pip a cute name for 'flatulence.' My parents taught us that we were 'poofing,' (rather onomatopoetic,) and I’ve heard of 'tooting' which seems appropriate in a steam-engine sort of way. I don’t actually recall teaching Pip the word ‘fart,’ so we must’ve been caught off guard. My husband and I had no preliminary discussions about naming Pip’s flatulence, we were more concerned with gas etiquette.

So here we are with a very polite three-year-old who says, "Excuse me, I farted." Worse yet, she thinks it's funny. Case in point: Pip often takes books onto the couch and ‘reads’ them aloud, her stories being a combination of memorized and invented text. I was taken aback when she picked up her book about frogs and said to me, “Now this is a story about the Wiggles farting.”

“Oh honey, farts are not funny,” I said with some difficulty.

“Yes they are, Mama.”

“Who taught you that farts are funny?”

“My dad taught me that farts are funny.” (Figures.)

“What did he say?”

“He said, Ah, ha ha ha ha ha ha!!!!" Pip did a rather boisterous impression of her father’s jolly laugh.

I tried to keep a straight face, “Well, I like to think of the Wiggles dancing and singing. Not farting.”

Pip continued, “The Wiggles heard some rumbling and it was a big FART!” she said with tremendous glee.

I pictured her telling this story to her cousins or some kids on the playground. Not good. I couldn't simply forbid the use of the term 'fart' because that would make it all the more exciting. I appealed to her common sense, “Honey, farts are just natural gas.” Pip quickly adapted her tale,

“The Wiggles had some natural gas. And it started to rumble and all the Wiggles had to fart. Then, a big raccoon took away all the farting. The Wiggles were very happy after all of the farting was gone. They plonked away to home and said, “Murray, Jeff, Anthony, we stopped farting!!!”

The Wiggles had stopped farting, but I couldn't stop laughing. It turns out, farts are funny, but if I had it to do over again, I think I'd call them toots.

A stick by any other name

2009-05-22T07:00:00.000-07:00

"Honesty is the first chapter in the book of wisdom."

Thomas Jefferson

We went to visit friends the other day and Pip wanted to take a gift to the four-year-old boy we'd be seeing. She found a little stick on the beach and decided it would make the perfect present. When she offered the stick to the little boy, his grandmother was squatting beside him: "Oh, my," she began, "what a wonderful gift! What do you think this could be?" she asked her grandson.

"It could be a flute," he said. His grandma responded with the appropriate nods and affirmative sounds. "It looks like a dog," the little boy continued, "or maybe a shark!" He was good at this game.

The grandmother said something like, "All great ideas!" then she turned to Pip. "And what do you think it is, Pip?"

"Well," Pip began earnestly, "it's a stick."

Full Circle

2009-05-21T07:00:00.000-07:00

"In every conceivable manner, the family is link to our past, bridge to our future."

Alex Haley

We’re staying at my parents’ beach-house this week, and I’m experiencing many, “full-circle,” moments. The first occurred when Big Daddy-O, Pip, Crazybaby & I went for a morning walk on the beach. Crazybaby was riding in the backpack on Big Daddy-O and I was helping Pip walk on logs. I told her that, as kids, her aunt and uncle and I used to try to get all the way to Kitty Coleman Park only by walking on logs. At that point I actually thought, “Whoa, when I was a skinny twelve-year-old leaping from log to precarious log, I had no idea that I’d be helping my wee daughter log-leap thirty years later on the very same stretch of beach.” Glorious.

Another full-circle moment arrived during a tea-party with Pip. My friend Wendy wrote a lovely piece about having tea with her grandmother, and it reminded me of the tea-parties my grandfather and I used to enjoy. He would call me Mrs. Hefflefinger, speak with a British accent, and we’d have wonderful conversations, but we would only pretend to drink tea. Wendy’s story inspired me to serve Pip real tea. (Heavy on the milk and sugar.)

Pip was beside herself with excitement. We invited her two stuffed frogs to join us at the table, but we didn’t set tea-cups for them because Pip insisted that they were, “too young to drink real tea.”

I treated every part of the tea-making as a sacred ceremony: filling the kettle with water, pouring it into the tea pot over the two bags of tea, pinching the delicate little papers at the end of the tea-bag strings to perform a few critical dunks, and finally pouring the tea into our eager cups. Pip chose a flowery cup with red tulips and I went with a short round mug that felt best when held with two hands.

The sound of tea being poured into a cup has to be one of the most soothing sounds in the world. Wavelets on a beach, my daughters’ breathing when they’re asleep and the tea-pour; those might be my top-three soothing sounds right there. Pip smiled when she tasted her warm beige drink. “I like it Mama.” I asked her if I could call her Mrs. Hefflefinger, but she said, “I’m Murray Mama,” so I called her Murray. I did, however, launch into my best British accent with:

“I can safely say that this is the most delightful cup of tea that I have ever enjoyed, Murray.”

And it was.

Ducklings

2009-05-20T07:00:00.001-07:00

"Leadership involves finding a parade and getting in front of it."
John Naisbitt

I saw something crossing the highway this morning. At first I thought it was a peacock with it's long tail flat on the ground, then I realized it was a mother duck with eight or nine ducklings following closely behind her in a perfectly straight line. Many cars stopped to let the feathered family walk safely across the highway; we were all united in spirit, sitting there in our vehicles hoping that the ducks would survive the crossing.

As I watched the busy little webbed feet following in their mother's footsteps I admired how perfectly behaved the ducklings were. They moved as one. I wondered if the mother duck had to have a chat with her babies before attempting the treacherous crossing, "Now dears, we're about to waddle across a very busy highway and you must stay close together in line behind me." Did she use positive reinforcement? Were the ducklings going to be treated to a snack once they reached the other side? Perhaps she had to threaten them with a time-out. Whatever she did, it obviously worked. Good little ducks.

Imagination

2009-05-19T07:00:00.000-07:00

"Imagination is more important than knowledge."

Albert Einstein

I've been Anthony Wiggle for over a week now. Pip has chosen to be Murray Wiggle and she won't wear anything that isn't red. We're both still females and I'm still 'Mama,' but she calls me Anthony and I have to call her Murray. In case you're not familiar with The Wiggles, they are a collection of peppy Australian men who sing and dance on their own Kid's Show.

Having only been acquainted with the Wiggles for a couple of weeks, I think Pip is playing the role of Murray exceptionally well. She's more of a method actor, like De Niro. "Anthony, look, it's your favourite colour, blue!" she'll say to me. And any time I call her by her real name instead of Murray, she corrects me, "Silly Anthony, you know my name is Murray." She also speaks about herself in the third person, "Murray doesn't like beans Mama," and "Murray has to pee."

Just when I was growing weary of the Wiggles role-play, I was reminded of Albert Einstein's quotation. Where would our society be without the great imaginers of our time? In a technological age where knowledge is so readily accessible, imagination becomes even more of a commodity. So, I'll continue to be Anthony as long as Pip wants me to be. (The frightening thing is, I'm getting used to calling her Murray.)

Labels

2009-05-18T07:00:00.000-07:00

"We are each so much more than what some reduce to measuring."

Karen Kaiser Clark

Marlo Morgan wrote a fascinating book called, "Mutant Message Downunder." It's about a walkabout that she went on with a group of Australian Aboriginees. After the book was published, some controversy arose regarding the book's authenticity, but I met Marlo in my girlfriend's apartment in Vancouver long before she was published, and I believed her story.

There were many beautiful things that she learned from the Aboriginal people, one of which had to do with labels. Instead of calling someone in their tribe a doctor or painter or dancer, they held the title, 'interested in medicine' or 'interested in art.' And they could change their title at any time! Someone could be 'interested in medicine,' for years, then decide to become 'interested in dance.' Doesn't that seem liberating?

This concept really resonates with me now that I hold the title of, "Stay-at-home-Mom." I dislike this label. It implies that all I do is stay at home mothering. It doesn't define me. I find, at parties, it's a bit of a conversation-stopper. People don't know where to go with it.

Instead of asking the mundane question, "So what do you do?" I've started asking people what they're passionate about, or what they're interested in. So far, people have rolled with it and I've enjoyed some great conversation.

Don't get me wrong, I am very proud to be raising my two daughters full-time, but today I think I'll be 'interested-in-writing.'

Bittersweet

2009-05-15T07:00:00.001-07:00

"The little things? The little moments? They aren't little."

Jon Kabat Zinn

I like the word 'bittersweet.' It's strange that there aren't more words like it in the English language, because we often feel two opposing emotions simultaneously. It happened to me last week.

It was a warm, spring afternoon and the girls and I were heading to the beach for a picnic. The car was quite toasty when we first got in, so I buckled the girls into their seats and unrolled all of the windows before starting 'Goldie's' engine. (Incidentally, Pip named my husband's macho red jeep, 'Creampup!') Pip requested "Black Horse and the Cherry Tree," because she likes to look for black horses and cherry trees on our road trips, so I turned on the music.

I heard giggles coming from the back seat so I snuck a peek in the rear-view mirror. Crazybaby had a look of happy astonishment on her face as she enjoyed the new sensation of wind in her face. And there was Pip; the wind was blowing her hair all over the place, her face was speckled with moving beams of sunlight, and she was singing through a glorious smile. "Is it too windy for you Pip?"

"No Mama, I love it!" Pip yelled back.

I suddenly thought about all of the, "summer-wind-blowing-your-hair-with-car-tunes-blaring," times that lay ahead of Pip. I hoped that she would enjoy many such experiences in her lifetime, but the excitement I felt for her was accompanied with a little sadness at the thought that I probably wouldn't witness most of those moments. Bittersweet.

A few months ago I had a conversation with my dad about how difficult it must have been for him when we left home as teenagers. Imagine one day just watching your child leave for University in another province, when you've known exactly where they were every minute of the day for sixteen years! Dad just smiled and said, "When it happens, you're ready for it." I trust his words, but I'm glad that I've got at least another thirteen years to get ready for it.

To Dance

2009-05-14T07:00:00.000-07:00

"Kids: they dance before they know

there is anything that isn't music."

William Stafford

We have a little evening ritual that has somehow come to be known as, "Nudie-Lie-Down." It happens during the time after dinner and before the girls' bath. While one parent clears away the dinner dishes, the other parent takes the girls into the living room, strips them down to their respective underpants & diaper, and plays. (Just to clarify, both parents remain fully clothed. Not that I have anything against naked dishwashers.) Usually Nudie-Lie-Down involves a bit of wrestling, the playing of various musical instruments, and of course, dancing.

Our favourite song to dance to at the moment is called, "Hot N' Cold," and it's a real crowd pleaser. Even Crazybaby does a form of "seat-dancing," because she's not standing on her own just yet. Last night Pip decided that it would be appropriate to lose the underpants and don a pair of fluorescent green goggles for the dancing portion of our nudie-lie-down. There she was, buck naked except for the green goggles, dancing her little heart out while Big Daddy-O and I tried to contain our laughter.

It made me wish that I was as unselfconscious as Pip. I do recall Irish Jigging in someone's kitchen at a party once, but that was after a few ale. It seems that we start off as kids being completely uninhibited, then something changes and we spend the rest of our lives trying to regain the confidence to express ourselves freely. What is it that changes? Is it simply the awareness that we are separate from others? Is it the perception of peer-judgement? A disapproving glance? I think I'm becoming more uninhibited in my old age as I care less about what others think. It's not an easy one for me, but I'm learning...from a be-goggled little nudist.

Being Present

2009-05-13T07:00:00.000-07:00

"Do not dwell in the past, do not dream of the future,

concentrate the mind on the present moment."

Buddha

I recently met a lovely man and talented artist named Andreas Kunert. He is a stone muralist, and I was fortunate enough to visit his masterpiece in the Nanaimo Convention Centre. The piece is awe-inspiring, and I felt honored to be witnessing it in the presence of Andreas. I asked him what he thought about when he was creating his art. "I'm thinking about the next stone," he said. His answer reminded me of a video I saw about a quilter. The interviewer asked her the same question I had asked Andreas and she said, "When I quilt, I quilt." It's so simple! I suspect that all successful artists are very present when they're creating beauty.

It's a good reminder for me as I multi-task my way through the day: preparing meals, doing laundry, scheduling appointments, tidying the house...and basically doing everything it takes to run a household and take care of two kids, two cats and a dog! Am I 'present' when I'm performing all of these tasks? Absolutely not. When I'm slicing grapes, I'm not just slicing grapes, I'm chatting with Pip, I'm watching Crazybaby crawl around the kitchen, I'm pausing to scramble the eggs or butter the toast or pour the water, and I'm thinking about what else needs to be done to get us out the door in the next hour.

Multi-tasking seems like a necessity at this time in my life, but I could be wrong. Is multi-tasking overrated? Maybe the times that I forget to check the jeans' pockets for Kleenex before throwing them in the laundry are the times that I'm trying to do too much at once. Multi-tasking allows you to do more in less time, but at what cost? It's food for thought.

Ekhart Tolle writes about "awakened doing," in A New Earth. He says there are three modalities of awakened doing: acceptance, enjoyment and enthusiasm. He writes, "you need to be vigilant to make sure that one of them operates whenever you are engaged in doing anything at all-from the most simple task to the most complex." He goes on to say that if you're not in one of these three states, "look closely and you'll find that you're creating suffering for yourself or others."

With that in mind, I accept that all of these chores need to be done, but I'm not enthusiastic about them and I don't enjoy them. I'm happiest when everyone is fed and clothed and the house is relatively tidy, (notice I didn't use the word 'clean,') and I can just BE with my kids. Yes it's important for them to see that we all have jobs to do, (and I often enlist Pip's help), but we are all a lot happier when I'm able to be fully present with the girls. And they are such wonderful little teachers because they are always so present themselves.

Mister Rogers on a box of tea

2009-05-12T07:00:00.000-07:00

"When we love a person, we accept him or her exactly as is: the lovely with the unlovely, the strong with the fearful, the true mixed in with the facade, and of course, the only way we can do it is by accepting ourselves that way."

Fred Rogers

"Are you sure you won't come with us?" The sun was shining on Saturday and it was a glorious morning to take in our local outdoor Farmers' Market. My husband usually takes the girls on his own so that I can enjoy a couple of hours of much needed solitude, but this day was so lovely that he asked me to go along. I thought about it for a few seconds and said,

"No thanks honey, you go ahead." He looked disappointed so I tried to explain, "I really need this time; I haven't been on my own at all this week." His expression didn't change.

I knew what he was thinking. It was a beautiful day to be out together as a family and the market was a place where many of our friends went to socialize, buy great food and listen to music, as a family. Family-time was important. I started feeling the tiniest bit guilty, so I kept talking, more to convince myself than my husband. "It's the beginning of the weekend and if I have a little time to myself now, then we can do something all together later."

Big Daddy-O and I dressed the girls and before long I was delivering smooches and watching them walk to the car. I closed the door and heard my girlfriend's voice in my head saying, "Good for you for recognizing what you need." It was just what I needed to hear. I know myself well. My batteries get re-charged by spending time on my own, not by walking among crowds of people, and during this particular week I hadn't made time for myself.

So, what did I do with my two hours of solitude? I turned on some music, stripped all of the beds, (don't worry, it gets better,) threw the sheets in the laundry, then gave myself a little home-spa treatment. A leisurely lavender bubble-bath with a little exfoliating scrub, followed by a hot shower and some yummy, grapefruit moisturizing lotion. I felt like a new woman.

My little family arrived back at home and informed me of their adventures. My daughter told me I smelled good. My husband told me I looked good, then he listed all of the friends he had seen at the market. I don't think he was trying to make me feel badly for staying at home, but he wasn't exactly saying, "Good for you for recognizing what you need," either, which is why I had to say it to myself. I have a very strong network of family and friends and a wonderful husband, but I also have to be my own advocate. I need to treat myself as I would a treasured friend. By the way, treasured friends, I highly recommend a little home-spa from time to time!

Extreme Sport

2009-05-11T07:00:00.000-07:00

"If everything seems under control,

you're just not going fast enough."

Mario Andretti.

Motherhood is an extreme sport. As a mother, you feel all emotions to the extreme; love, fear, tenderness, frustration, worry, joy, happiness...you name it. And quite often you swing from one intense emotion to its' polar opposite in a matter of minutes!

Last Wednesday, for example, I ricocheted from joy to frustration to love to laughter and back to joy again in one afternoon. It all began with joy. Although it was a gloomy, wet day, I got out the rain gear and nestled the girls into the double-stroller for an afternoon walk. If you're a resident of the Comox Valley, you know how beautiful Filberg Park is, and we're lucky enough to be able to walk there in minutes. As we entered the park I saw a dozen deer sleeping in the field. A little fawn stood up to investigate us and I looked in the stroller to see Pip's reaction. She was sound asleep. There's something terribly moving about watching your child sleep. It's a profoundly beautiful thing.

I pushed the stroller through the park, down to the beach-side promenade, and I felt as though I was truly seeing every beautiful flower, every precious plant. There were no other human visitors to the park that day, but I saw deer at every turn. Crazybaby was happily absorbing the beautiful scenery while her sister slept, and I felt an intense wave of gratitude. Strolling with my two beautiful, healthy girls in such a gorgeous part of the world, I was filled with joy. Pure joy.

Little did I know that an hour later I would be standing in the kitchen with two girls crying and clinging onto my legs. My husband was at a function for dinner that night, so I was flying solo. (I have such respect for single parents.) I had awoken Pip when we got home from our walk, otherwise she would've been up until midnight. She has never had an easy time waking up from naps, and this afternoon was no exception. She was upset that she missed the park and she wanted to go back. Then she was upset that I couldn't carry her into the house. Pip reverts back to infancy when she's grumpy, so she started crying and repeating the plea, "Mama." Naturally, her behaviour prompted Crazybaby to start wailing. By the time I got us all into the house and out of our jackets, both girls had tears streaming down their hot little red cheeks. I wiped their noses and tears, then I foolishly tried to make my way into the kitchen to start cooking dinner. My daughters followed me and each little body latched onto a leg.

At this point, I took a deep breath, turned the stove off and just sat down on the kitchen floor with a daughter on each knee. Screw the steamed vegetables. My babies needed some love, so I abandoned my dinner plan and tried to soothe them. It didn't work. Pip had worked herself into such a state that she was inconsolable. I needed a distraction. I decided to resort to the thirty-nine-inch babysitter. I hoisted both girls up and into the living room to watch The Wiggles. After several minutes of cuddling and Wiggle-watching on the couch, Pip had calmed down. "I'm happy now, Mama," she finally reported, and I was released back into the kitchen.

Minutes later, the girls and I sat down to dinner: grilled cheese sandwiches with grapes on the side. (You do what you have to do.) Oh yes, I had a glass of Merlot as well. I had earned it, and the meal required it. I was not prepared for what came next. Little Pip, sitting next to me in her booster seat, put her hand on my arm and said, "You're filled with love, Mama. And soon, it'll go out to daddy and out to me, and then back; back into your heart." I swear those were her very words. I had my notebook on the counter behind me and I wrote everything down, word for word. I certainly was filled with love. Pip got that right.

Because our nutritious dinner was late, we went straight from the table to our bath-time routine. Pip hopped up on the toilet before entering the tub. She decided not to use the little toddler seat, so she was using all of the strength in her arms to keep herself from falling into the toilet bowl. "Mama," she began, "your bum is soooooooooo big that you can't fall into the toilet." Perhaps it was sheer exhaustion from my day of extreme sport, but I honestly could not stop laughing.

My emotions came full circle while watching the girls in the tub together. Crazybaby played peek-a-boo with Pip and used the shower curtain to cover her face. They were simply making each other laugh, but seeing my daughters erupt in fits of giggles filled me with joy once again.

It's no wonder that I sometimes feel out-of-control; my emotions are bungee-jumping all over the place. I'm more of an artistic soul than an athletic one, and have never been interested in extreme sports. It's a new feeling for me. I prefer calmer, more predictable sports like hiking, beach-combing and floating in warm, salty bodies of water. I'm adapting though. I'm learning to go with the flow, to drop my own agenda sometimes so that I can really be in the moment. I accept that some moments are going to be like cliff-diving, but others will be as sweet as floating in a warm, salty sea.

Frances

2009-05-08T07:00:00.000-07:00

"We can only be said to be alive in those moments

when our hearts are conscious of our treasures."

Thornton Wilder

Her name was Frances. I knew from my girlfriend Susan, who had taught Frances in the first grade, that she was a special girl. I was teaching Grade Three when Frances was in my class.

I was passionate about getting the kids to write, so I had them each keep a 'writer's notebook.' It wasn't meant to be a journal, it was intended to be a very special book where my young authors could collect ideas for future writings. They could record little snippets of conversation, notes, quotations, thoughts, absolutely anything they were inspired to jot down. The writers' notebooks would never be graded, but I did collect them from time to time to provide the kids with feedback. I loved reading through these books. They came in all shapes and sizes, and were as unique as the writers who owned them.

I wish I could remember more of what Frances wrote, (and said for that matter,) but one little sentence of hers has stuck with me over time. She wrote, "I'm really enjoying my life." She was eight years old.

Now that I have children of my own I wonder, how does one encourage that level of self-reflection and appreciation at such a tender age? Perhaps it's through modeling. I trust that if we're grateful mamas, we're going to raise grateful kids.

Have a happy Mothers' Day you beautiful mamas!

Maya

2009-05-07T07:00:00.000-07:00

"The soul would have no rainbow if the eyes had no tears."

Hopi Indian

I think it was the great Maya Angelou who first introduced me to the idea of giving thanks when you least feel like giving thanks. She was telling Oprah that when you're in a difficult situation, (I'm paraphrasing here,) you should thank the universe for providing you with the experience, because it is an opportunity for growth. You may not be able to see it in the moment, but after some time passes you might recognize a lesson or gift that has come from your experience.

This is a tricky one. When you're dealing with tragedy, loss or illness, it takes a highly evolved individual to look Pain in the face and say, "thank you." I've met such a person, though. I was volunteering at The Vancouver Children's Hospital to provide support for parents with sick children. I'd take coffee, tea and baked goods to a little room where parents could meet and chat. I was there to serve them and to visit with them if they felt like talking. If parents didn't want to leave their child's bedside I would take food and drinks to their rooms. Most of the time parents just wanted to make small-talk. I once chatted with a man about the Canucks for an hour before learning that he was leaving Vancouver the next day because his son had died.

There was one young mom I will not soon forget. She had brightly colored hair, a few piercings, and punk clothes. Her daughter was terminally ill and the doctors didn't expect her to ever leave the hospital. Mother and daughter were far away from home, friends and family. This mom had every reason to be sad, withdrawn, depressed, furious; yet she would come into the coffee room and support other parents. She had a natural ability to boost people's spirits. I was in awe of her. I joked with her at one point about how she was taking over my job and she smiled. I asked her how she did it; how she was able to stay positive and spread hope to others in the midst of such pain. She told me that her daughter had taught her something wonderful: that she was a good mom. No matter what her baby girl was going through, no matter how bad things got, she had found the strength to be right there beside her every step of the way. She said it was a gift.

Imagine that. I think Maya would have been inspired by this woman. I certainly was.

Mother Goose

2009-05-06T07:00:00.000-07:00

"I am thankful for laughter,

except when milk comes out of my nose."

Woody Allen

My husband and I decided that we would teach Pip the scientifically correct terminology for her private parts. There would be no 'wee-wees' or 'pee-pees' in our household; we were going to call a spade a spade right from the get-go. For the purpose of this story, though, I'll adopt a Grey's Anatomy term and call it a 'Vajayjay'. (Forgive me.)

One Thursday morning this past winter, the girls and I made our way to 'Mother Goose,' a wonderful local programme where pre-schoolers sing songs, hear stories and eat snacks. It's toddler-heaven, really. On this particular Thursday, Pip seemed unusually enthusiastic about the introduction song in which each child chooses an item of their clothing and we all sing about it: "Pip wore her grey shirt, grey shirt, grey shirt, Pip wore her grey shirt all day long." You get the idea.

We sang about shoes, sweaters, socks and pants, then Mother Goose led us through a host of other happy little songs and, before we knew it, the class was over. As we started to gather our coats, Pip marched up to the instructor and announced, "We forgot to sing about my black pants!" Heaven forbid. The ever-accommodating Mother Goose decided to indulge Pip, so we sang a rousing verse of, "Pip wore her black pants, black pants, black pants," before heading out the door.

During the short ride home we reminisced about the class, and as we walked in the front door of our house Pip shrieked, "Mama, do you know what we forgot? We forgot to sing about my Vajayjay!!!" Talk about gratitude. I was so thankful that Mother Goose and the other goslings hadn't heard this particular song request. Naturally, I had to tell Pip that we don't normally sing about our Vajayjays because they're private, but later I caught myself thinking that perhaps we'd all be a little bit better off if we did!

Giving thanks

2009-05-05T07:00:00.000-07:00

"The daily practice of gratitude is one of the conduits by which

your wealth will come to you."

Wallace Wattles

When Pip started to talk, we began a daily prayer at dinnertime. My husband and I don't subscribe to any organized religion, so we just made up our own little gratitude prayer and Pip repeated it after us. "O Great Spirit, thank you for this beautiful day and thank you for this lovely food. Peace and Love." Short and sweet. Big Daddy-O and I were big fans of our little prayer, but Pip quickly tired of saying the same thing every day.

We decided to adopt a lovely ritual that friends of ours introduced to us: they simply call it, "thankful." Now we just go around the table and talk about what we are thankful for. I LOVE IT! We usually start with Pip so that she isn't influenced by the things that Big Daddy-O and I say. She is often thankful for us, or her frog, or the nice time she had playing at the park. When my husband and I take our turns, I feel really connected to him. The hour before dinner is often hectic, but when we give thanks we're sitting at the table, looking into each other's eyes, acknowledging how blessed we truly are.

Morning Ritual

2009-05-04T07:00:00.000-07:00

"Whatever we think about and thank about we bring about."

Dr. John Demartini

I read The Secret by Rhonda Byrne in August of 2007. If you haven't read it, or watched the DVD, I highly recommend it. One section of the book discusses the power of gratitude, and I remember being impacted by a very simple suggestion given by James Ray. He writes, "Every morning I get up and say 'Thank you.' Every morning, when my feet hit the floor, 'Thank you.' And then I start running through what I'm grateful for, as I'm brushing my teeth and doing the things I do in the morning. And I'm not just...doing some rote routine. I'm putting it out there and I'm feeling the feelings of gratitude."

Thus far, I haven't been successful at making Ray's process a daily ritual, but I recall doing it intermittently throughout the early morning nursing sessions with my daughters. I must admit that I have found the sleep deprivation aspect of motherhood to be the toughest adjustment of all. I'm a woman who needs her sleep. When my daughter's cries would wake me up and I'd look at the clock to see some ungodly hour glowing back at me with sinister, red numbers, my first instinct was to curse, but when I remembered to say, "Thank you," instead, it made the whole experience much more tolerable. (Yes, even at 3:12 am.) Then, while I was nursing my baby, it was easy to feel grateful as I looked down at the precious little face at my breast. (Provided my eyes were still open.)

I want to integrate James Ray's morning ritual into my life, so I'm really going to hit myself over the head with it! This week's blogs will all have something to do with gratitude, and the Mama Mantra is simply, 'Thank you." Every morning this week I vow to say, "Thank you," when my feet hit the floor. What do you think? Is anybody with me?

Eight Kids?

2009-05-01T07:00:00.000-07:00

"Find what you love."

Dr. Wayne W. Dyer

We brought a cool children's book home from the library this week: Incredible You! 10 ways to let your GREATNESS shine through, by Dr. Wayne W. Dyer. In the introduction Dr. Dyer writes, "It is my desire to have these tiny, precious souls...close this book and feel so good about themselves that they feel in their hearts that nothing is impossible for them."

Big Daddy-O read, Incredible You! to Pip the other night. When I walked into the bedroom for my reading shift, they were just finishing the book. "What did you think?" I asked my husband as I crawled onto Pip's bed.

"I liked it. It's really good. Did you know this guy has eight kids?"

"No, really?"

"Check out the back cover," instructed Big Daddy-O. Pip was lying motionless between us as I read the back jacket aloud. Indeed Dr. Dyer has eight children.

"Can you imagine having eight kids?" I asked. At this point, Pip finally piped up. She had a look of concern on her face. In a very timid voice she asked,

"He ate his kids?" She was absolutely mortified. Not quite the feeling that Dr. Dyer intended, but great entertainment value for us.

Sisterhood

2009-04-30T07:00:00.000-07:00

"Unlike grown-ups, children have little need

to deceive themselves."

J.W. Goethe

Pip is a little lovebug. She tells us that she loves us all the time, and not just in response to my husband or me telling her that we love her. Pip's, "I love yous," are often completely random and unsolicited. She has also been known to say, "I'm falling in love with you, Mama," and, "Mama, I love you and all of your parts."

Perhaps it was Pip's sweet nature that made it all the more disturbing when she looked at her sister one day and announced, "I don't love her."

"Who is it that you don't love?" I asked, hoping that Pip was referring to Taylor Angelique, the doll that Crazybaby was currently eating.

"Crazybaby. I don't love her."

Now, I realize that this is a perfectly normal sentiment for a three-year-old to have about her very assertive and newly-mobile one-year-old sister, but it's still just a wee bit heartbreaking. I mean, what mother really wants to hear those words uttered? Not this one.

Nevertheless, I kept my cool. I gave my husband a little, "this is interesting," wink across the table and took Pip onto my lap. I told her that we could understand why she might feel the way she did. I came up with a couple of, "It must be frustrating when..." scenarios, and I let her know that we thought she was doing a really good job of being a big sister. Then I told her that I thought she would grow to love Crazybaby someday.

"I won't Mama." Pip insisted. So I left it alone.

I have such high hopes for my daughters' relationship, but I can't impose my expectations on them. It is their relationship. It will be what it will be. My husband and I will guide them and love them and make them each feel special, but in the end it's up to them to create their sisterhood.

I'm glad that Pip was honest about her feelings. I'm also glad that Crazybaby didn't understand a word she said! (At least I don't think she understood.)

Feedback

2009-04-29T07:00:00.000-07:00

"I observe myself and so i come to know others."

Lao Tse

I launched "The Grateful Mama" last Thursday and was terribly interested in hearing what people thought about it. My family members told me it was good, but they love me so their feedback doesn't really count. I was most interested in the opinions of readers who weren't related to me. So I checked for comments on Friday: nothing. Saturday: nada. Sunday: not a word. When I went to bed Sunday night I felt a bit discouraged. I was still going to continue with the blog, but my enthusiasm for the project had definitely diminished.

Then Monday morning arrived. Beautiful Monday morning. I received three glorious emails: one from a friend and two from women I have never met, but who heard about my blog through a friend. Their comments were so encouraging and affirming that I actually giggled aloud as I read them. Thank you, ladies. You know who you are, but you have no idea how much those notes meant to me. I apologize, by the way, for the difficulty you experienced in posting comments and subscribing to my blog. The comments should be easy to post now, but I'm still baffled by the subscription problem. I'll keep you posted. (No pun intended.)

Feedback is important, yet it is often absent in our role as mothers. We don't have a boss or supervisor to provide us with feedback. There is no annual performance evaluation or sales report to review. You might look to your children to see if you're doing a good job, but their behaviour can be misleading. A happy, smiling child does not necessarily represent fabulous parenting. Oftentimes a crying, angry toddler is indicative of a strong, thoughtful parent who has clear boundaries and follows through with consequences for bad behaviour. So we can't really count on our kids to provide us with feedback.

Who can we turn to when we need a little encouragement from time to time? Why not each other? Why not compliment other mothers for a job well done? Maybe a little, "Way to go Mama!" when your girlfriend is sticking to her guns and carrying out a difficult consequence with her child. Or, "Wow, what nice manners!" to a mom at your local play group when her child says "thank you." Let's build each other up, because we're really all on the same team. We're all trying to raise respectful, kind, responsible future members of this global community. It's hard work, and sometimes we need a little pat on the back.

Parting

2009-04-28T07:00:00.000-07:00

"Parting is such sweet sorrow,"

William Shakespeare

I've traveled to India by myself, backpacked through Europe on my own and enjoyed a solo vacation in Thailand, but today I found it challenging to be only 100 km.'s away from home. Why? My three-year-old daughter is sick. She's not terribly sick. Her fever broke a couple of days ago and she's sleeping and eating well, but she needs her nose wiped every three seconds, her throat feels "yucky," and her big, blue watery eyes are constantly saying, "make it better Mama."

My fabulous cousin had invited me to spend the afternoon with her, and my mom offered to watch the girls. I was only going to be away from about noon to 6pm, but I started to feel a bit uneasy as I got ready to go. Was I worried that Pip's health would worsen? No. Did I think the girls were in good hands? The best. Did I deserve to go off and have an afternoon to myself? Of course I did. Then why was I feeling so emotional about leaving? I'm a mom; that's why. And when you're a mom, parting is sometimes difficult.

I teared up a bit when my mom arrived to babysit. Pip was clinging to me saying, "Mama, mama." She wasn't about to make my departure easy for me. Both my mom and I knew that it would be healthy for me to go; that I would be fine and the girls would be fine and indeed that's what happened. (In fact, I went on to have a wonderful visit with my cousin, and I got to meet her lovely new man as well!)

Shakespeare got it right, though, when he called parting, "sweet sorrow." I'm going to think about his words the next time I have trouble leaving my kids; how sweet it is that I love these two little beings so much.

Happily-ever-after

2009-04-27T07:50:00.000-07:00

"The illusions of childhood are necessary experiences: a child should not be denied a balloon because an adult knows that sooner or later it will burst."

Marcelene Cox

My mom gave me a box of our old Disney books a few months ago and Pip was instantly drawn to Cinderella. I was reluctant to read it to her. I mean, isn't there an official 'complex' named after Cinderella? I wasn't about to plant the 'handsome prince equals happily-ever-after' seed in my daughter's head. Pip was persistent though. Despite my efforts to hide the book at the bottom of the box, Cinderella kept making her way back into Pip's little hands. (And let's face it, Pip certainly wasn't ready to discover the fate of poor Bambi's mother!)

I watched Pip carefully throughout the reading of the book. Did she admire the prince? Was she afraid of the stepsisters? Did she notice the flawed logic in the post-midnight existence of the glass slippers??? Hard to tell. It was snack time.

Pip, Crazybaby & I sat down at the girls' little wooden table to enjoy a feast of sliced apple with cheddar cheese. After several delightful fruit and dairy combinations, Pip stopped chewing long enough to announce, "Mama, we're living happily-ever-after." There was no gown, no prince, no fairy-godmother; just the three of us with our apple and cheese. Hooray for Pip!!!

"Yes we are," said I, and suddenly the whole happily-ever-after concept seemed just fine.

The Right Track

2009-04-24T20:26:00.000-07:00

"Even if you're on the right track,

you'll get run over if you just sit there."

Will Rogers

I read Ekhart Tolle's book, A New Earth, a couple of months ago with my book club. I got really fired up about it and even put some of Tolle's ideas into practice as I was reading. It felt fantastic, and it made me realize that I hadn't read a book about spirituality in ages. Not surprising, considering my daughters are one and three years old.

I found myself thinking back to my "pre-children" days when I had the free time to roam about bookstores with a coffee, engage in thought-provoking discussions with friends, take meditation classes, write in my journal and pursue other soul-fulfilling activities. "Free time is such a luxury now," I thought to myself, "that it's harder to focus on my spiritual growth."

RUBBISH! I say. (Even though I'm not British.) Spirituality isn't just a hobby, it's a way of life! Instead of seeing my sweet little family as an obstacle, I have to start viewing them as a vehicle. My girls can be my greatest teachers. I just need to stay on the right track, and that's what this blog is all about. I want to remind myself to be a wisdom-seeker; a beauty-hunter. If I can somehow manage to inspire other mamas along the way, well that would be a beautiful thing!

So Mamas, I'd like to officially welcome you to my blog, and I invite you to check in with me whenever you wish.

Breathtaking Moments

2009-04-23T11:45:00.000-07:00

"Life is measured not by the number of breaths you take, but by the number of breathtaking moments."

Author Unknown

Having young children automatically entitles you to an endless supply of breathtaking moments. There are the universal "first" moments; holding your baby for the first time, witnessing that first gassy-smile, hearing them laugh for the first time, watching them take their first steps. And then there are the breathtaking moments that are unique to you and your child.

My daughter Pip, (her 'in utero' name,) turned three at the beginning of this month. When it came time to plan her big day, I explained that she would be having a party with our extended family a few days after her birthday, but that we could also do something special on her actual "birth-day." I imagined Pip frolicking in the backyard with her little girlfriends, playing games, eating cake and dancing around with her spring frock blowing in the wind.

"No, mama," Pip said, "I just want the whole day with you and Daddy and me and Crazybaby." ('Crazybaby' is Pip's name for her one-year-old sister.)

"Hmm", my ego thought to itself, (thank you Ekhart Tolle,) "I wonder if that will be special enough." Nevertheless, we honoured Pip's wishes.

Because Pip's birthday arrived on Good Friday this year, her dad was home from work. 'Big Daddy-O' and I had agreed that the day would be all about Pip, and we'd let her call the shots. We began the morning with a few gifts, a syrupy breakfast of blueberry pancakes, and a stroll to her favourite park. Pip surprised us by riding her little two-wheeler bike all the way to park for the first time ever! She was terribly proud of herself. Of course the trip took us thirty minutes longer than usual, but Pip had to stop and smell every variety of flower along the way.

Lunch consisted of bunny macaroni with peas, followed by Easter Egg decorating with Mama while Crazybaby napped. I had bought some colored tablets to dye the eggs, but it was difficult to distinguish the colours. They all looked terribly dark. I invited Pip to choose two colours.

"Where's green?" she asked.

"I don't think there is a green, honey."

"But green is my favourite colour."

"I know it is sweetie, but I don't see a green tablet. This orange one looks nice." Pip reluctantly plopped the orange tablet into the container of water and vinegar.

While we 'oohed' and 'aaaahed' at the way the orange tablet coloured the water in cotton-candy clouds, Pip spontaneously threw in another tablet. I think I started to say something like, "Oh, not in the same container, " but then I noticed that the water was turning green! The most glorious emerald green that a hard-boiled egg could ever dream of becoming. Pip looked at me with her eyes full of excitement and wonder, her mouth dropped open and she threw her arms around my neck. Breathtaking moment number one.

Once Crazybaby woke up we headed off to Pip's favourite sandy beach for a walk in the sun. We met a host of slick black sand-dollars enjoying a little tidal pool, and I picked one up for Pip so that she could see the tentacles on the underbelly and the flower pattern on the top. As we stood up from looking at our treasures, I spotted two horses (with riders) galloping toward us. Now, this was the first time Pip had ever seen real horses in action and these were truly magnificent animals. The sun was shining, the waves were breaking, the horses hooves were kicking up sand, and our little Birthday Girl was just taking it all in. Moment number two.

On our way home from the beach we picked up dinner: pizza and a little carrot-cake. (As promised, Pip called the shots!) After dinner I put three little green frog-candles in the cake and told Pip about the whole 'birthday wish' concept. "I think I'll wish for a green birthday cake," she said. Fair enough. I lit the candles and took the cake over to Pip while Big Daddy-O and I sang 'Happy Birthday.' When we finished singing, Pip closed her eyes tight and whispered to herself, "I wish my ponies would come alive." There it was. The mother of all breath-taking moments that day.

How cool to be three years old and believe in the magic of wishes. How wise of our little Pip to just let her day "be." And how lucky we are to be along for the ride.