It hurts

"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

"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

"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

"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

"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.