Help

"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

"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

“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

"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

"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

"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

"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.