Tea for two

"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

"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

"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.

"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

"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

"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

"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.