Motherhood

I have just come across the following quote on parenting, mothering to be specific, and had a strange, split personality, somewhat uncharacteristic response to it. I'll let you read it and then try and make some sense of my reactions...

“[Mothers can] put their own lives and interests on hold as a sacrifice to their children. As noble as this seems, [it is] a sort of negligence: withholding who she is - the best part of herself - from our children.” Monte and Karen Swan

Intellectually, the point is well taken and holds some deep wisdom and truth. But here's the bit where intellect and 'gut' response part company.

Does it seem to you others who parent that sometimes there is just no getting it right?? Parenting, for me at least, is pretty full of second guessing and worrying about whether you are getting the part where you lead these tiny people into life even close to right. Its often all I can do to get through the day and keep all of this worry and even guilt from overtaking me. It horrendously immense and frightening and in my darker moments it threatens to consume me completely.

I know this sounds bleak and defeated but in actual fact its not at all.
When I talk to other wonderful mothers I find that below the surface, when we are brave and supported enough to give them voice, these feelings exist in so many of us. These truths of mothering don't stop us from feeling joy, having fun, parenting with depth, wisdom, integrity and calm. But some days not being overwhelmed by the enormity of it all takes all the reserves I have. This is a time that I am moving through. My feelings will shift and change as they have always done. This period of my life that is indeed focused around my children and me in my role as parent, is not putting 'me' on hold, but rather adding a building block, a dimension to my whole self.

And this is my point here. I have not lost my independence, my sense of self, my identity as a woman. It has only been made deeper, more dynamic by this as with every new experience. I am not consumed, I am enriched. I am not 'sacrificed' nor am I 'negligent'.

My intellect chimes in here with the argument that for some women raising children has meant that they stop pursuing goals they hold dear and subjugate themselves to the needs of others. Believe me I am the last person to use my soap box to say that this is the role and calling of motherhood. I would suggest however that its is not about the mothering, but rather about how we integrate children into our society and communities.

So here for me is the bottom line. Is the best counter critique to the problem of potentially loosing ourselves to the worry and strain of raising children to call us 'negligent' for allowing this to happen? I mean, god, what a word to use masquerading as support for mothers! To tell us to let go some of the worry and blame by, well, blaming?

Give us a break. However we do it we are doing our best. Not judgement slipped in under the auspices of tough love, but rather warm tea (or a stiff brandy), a non-judgemental shoulder to cry on and some laughter about this crazy journey that one way or another will make us the women we should be.

Blooming children...

All the hedgerows and woods around here are full of the heady scent of wild garlic, with bluebells, cowparsley, cherry blossom and campions blooming a riot of purples, creams and pinks.

The fields look like someone clicked the 'fill' icon on a computer draw program in the patchwork of deep greens and bright, bright yellow rape seed.

Today was warm, close and muggy, with a rain so light it felt like someone walking in front of you spritzing you with an enormous spray bottle. There are ducklings, lambs, cygnets, babies and bumble bees and I am filled with the sappy, metaphor-abounding , cliche-ridden joys of spring. Breath it in.

Its not just the out doors that is blossoming. Every so often I am completely caught off guard by the boys, and how quickly they are changing.

I'm already feeling the strange grief at the loss of the tiny baby in Noah, who at 8 months is showing his personality. He is affectionate, giggling, squealing, babbling. I am starting to see more and more intentionality and association in his actions. My personal favourite is the way he cuddles up on my shoulder or nuzzles my face while making completely, melting-ly adorable 'ahhhhh' noises in imitation of us. He point blank refuses to crawl or any variation of the above. Did I mention before how I lied to the health visitor about his developmental accomplishments because I'm completely not worried? Well, still not. Frankly would you try and drag your tiny, uncoordinated body and huge head across the room for a wooden block, with plenty of adoring people to just pass it right to you??

Amongst those adoring people in Noah's life is suddenly Jamie. Our no-drama approach to the 'hurting babies' thing seems to have worked, and he has moved through this testing of emotions time into sudden brotherly affection, protection and even camaraderie. The two of the will engage in communal raspberry blowing or squealing given half the chance, delighting the the reaction of the other, egging each other on. I get a brief glimpse into my future here and realise I'm totally out-numbered!!

Jamie is also learning to sign in ASL, initially inspired by a desire to communicate with this uncle Danny. This learning is completely his initiative and has caused one of the moments this week where I have simply had to stop and stare at him, this tall, smart, thoughtful boy. I want to tell the story of this sequence of moments here but its a little drawn out. Skip to the bottom now if you're short of time or inclination :)

We chat about Danny fairly frequently. Not so much what makes him different, but more what makes him 'him'. Dan has severe autism and things are unusual in his relationships to others, including limited speech. This won't come as news to any of you who spend time with children, but they have a remarkable way of taking all things in stride, and from day one nothing about Dan has phased Jamie.

I am keen on 'please' and 'thank you' being said often in our family and this was the stepping stone to the question 'how do you ask for things if you can't talk?' Well, uncle Dan uses some signs, and we playfully showed Jamie 'please', 'thank you' and 'I need to pee' amongst others. Next we chat about how else we talk with our hands (waving goodbye, thumbs up, stop...) and he started inventing his own ('Please may I get down from the table' with lots of wild pointing, waving gestures where he nearly knocks his water tumbling onto the floor, and Marti and I are trying so hard to stifle giggles at this earnest display).

This long story ends like this: tonight, a whole day after the signing conversation, we are eating supper and J asks for a drink. He asks twice, but I won't make a move until he says the obligatory 'please' and he knows it, but alas he has put another fork full of mash and peas into his mouth.

I wait, but the drink situation is obviously urgent and we suddenly realise he is signing 'please' in his uncoordinated, 3 year old, but unmistakable way. I am momentarily stopped in my tracks by the way my first born baby has not only remembered the demonstration with no hint to a prompt, but integrated and transferred it to this situation. And he didn't talk with his mouth full. There is hope yet :)

The universe is blossoming everywhere I look.

All advice welcomed!

So, while Jamie was sick a couple of weekends ago he mentioned the following, out of the blue:

J: I like to hurt babies

K: why?

J: because they are so soft

K: um.. why does that mean you like to hurt them?

J: I like the bumping noise they make (as they fall down and hit the floor)

Yikes.

Obviously the conversation went on with a little chat from me about babies being people, and how they feel hurt, and kindness... you get the idea.

In actual fact he doesn't like to hurt babies. Really he quite likes softly patting the heads of the small offspring of friends and is always gentle in this. He does occasionally seem to have a strange compulsion to push Noah over backwards, when often indeed there is a 'bumping noise'. He always says sorry and seems genuinely to be so, but it does tend to happen again.

See, I detest aggression and worry about it, particularly in boys. I have started to write several posts about it but can never seem to finish, worried that I am portraying Jamie as some psychopathic little bruiser.

I think I know this is just a 3-year-old phase, him testing words, impacts, feelings and boundaries. I also know having Noah has been hard on him, but that things are getting better.

So I'm not worried. Except that I am a little.

I am suffering from the curse of the professional versus personal - I am over read for parenting. Its my job and I am mostly successful in putting all in sensible perspective, but occasionally I make myself crazy. Research shows us that developing empathy is key in personal, emotional and social development, and especially in counteracting bullying and aggression toward others.

So, I'd value your input on this one...what do you think, what do you do?

thanks :)

The Rolling Exhibbition

As I get further into photography I'm more conscious of still 'image' and design - lines, colour and shape everywhere.
Today, I found this. Check it out.

Camping

So I feel a little bit bad for all the whinging in the last few posts and wanted to let everyone know that the sickness is over and we just had a really great weekend.

In a moment of reckless spontaneity we decided to take the van and go camping for a couple of nights. We ventured into the wilds of the Jurassic Coast (read: a mile outside Bridport, a whole 45 minutes from our house) to a little village called Eype.

The site was on the side of a cliff (I exaggerate not) and for some totally nonsensical reason the 3 other visitors were pitched on the side furthest away from the amazing sea views. After manoeuvring the van, pitching our little storage tent, gazing at the view, almost getting blown over by the gale force winds and moving the van to the other side of the site we settle down for some warm supper, hot chocolate and bed.

The big news of this first night is that Jamie is out of sleep diapers and is actually dry all night. Coming in a close second is the tent blowing away across the field and Marti going out at 2 am in a huge storm to get it back and take it down...ahhh camping.

The weather was pretty blustery all weekend, but that meant the scattered showers forecast were just that, and most of the time was sunny. We hung out on the beach, hunted for fossils, explored the village and country side, and did a long cliff walk to the next town over for fish and chips. Jamie walked all the way. I'm super impressed.

The pictures do a better job of the story than me... Enjoy.

First pitch. See? Great Views....

Really Little House

Someone asked me the other day why the blog was called 'Little House', and if it had anything to do with the classic Laura Ingalls Wilder books.
As satisfying as it would be to claim that depth and literary connection its actually not so.

Our house is simply really small. I can here you saying, 'yeah, mine too...' but you underestimate the true meaning of small in terms of English houses. Ours clocks in at about 515 sq feet total, over 6 rooms and 3 floors. It was built sometime in the 1880's as a stable hands house, and probably housed more than one family at that time!

All I can say is that its a good thing that, with 2 young boys, this is a temporary adventure in quaint English cottage!

To give you an idea I've copied a piece below that Marti wrote a while ago...

"I've always found it a challenge getting people to believe me when I say that our house is really small. We really do live in one of the smallest houses in Dorchester...

The other day Kate and I walked in after a quick trip to the grocery. The day was a typical Dorset autumn day -- slightly overcast, with a brisk wind blowing off the channel.
Opening the door and walking in, I sighed "mmmm.... toasty warm".

Our house is a "mid terrace" house, meaning we share walls on either side with our neighbour. While this helps to keep down the heat loss, it doesn't generate much warmth. We don't have central heating, so the fact that the temperature inside was significantly warmer than the outside was a bit surprising.

The mystery resolved itself about five minutes later, when I leaned against the kitchen counter. Apparently, when we had left the house a half hour earlier we had forgotten to unplug our eight inch George Foreman grill, that had then heated the whole house!"

Self indulgent whinging

I am sitting at the computer (read: on the couch with the laptop) on Sunday afternoon. We had planned to visit my cousin and his family today while they are on vacation in a pretty seaside town not far from us.

I was actually really looking forward to it. So you can understand how I spent most of yesterday with phrases like 'well, it was quite a late night on Thursday' and 'he did eat a Marmite sandwich only an hour or so ago' or 'well, this heat is really unusual for this time of year - its just making us all lethargic' spilling forth like so many grains of rice. Trying to maintain the ever obvious illusion that Jamie was in fact quite well, and the loss of appetite and floppy tiredness was not at all due to any type of sickness.

All pretense was shattered at about 6pm with the throwing up, followed by the fever, followed by the sleepless night. sigh. (read: yawn).
So here we all sit, Jamie curled up on the couch next to me, and Noah and Marti in bed. Really, it was a late night......

I have a confession to make. Whilst I am full of loving compassion for my sick son, and will comfort and change and bath and sing-to at any time of day or night I am finding myself just a little (here goes) annoyed by it all.

'You need a drink of water, 4 seconds after I asked you if you did, you saying no, and my coming up stairs and sitting down?'

'You absolutely, desperately need a new Bob the Builder show even though we actually only have the same DVD's we had 10 minutes ago?, and no, I can't somehow magic new ones up right now..'

'You can't possibly sit up on your own, or even stand alone for just one second, even though I am holding the baby and a pile of laundry??'

So there you go. Bad Mummy moment. (although I don't actually believe this makes me a bad mummy..unless you say it does....does it??)

On top of this, wonderful pre-school, that Jamie loves, and I love, and that saves my sanity for 2.5 hours 4 times a week, and that has been closed for 2 weeks of Easter break goes back tomorrow. This has been an event much anticipated by all in our household, and now seemingly one to be missed due to this sickness. J will be so sad when I say he can't go, will want to go anyway and will have a tantrum. And it will only be a sense of thinly held adult self control that will stop me joining him.

Whine, whine, whine. Thanks for the catharsis.

Its Ok sweetheart. Mummy's here.

Kate's Top 13 List ( in no particular order) as of right this second..

1) I'm listening to Bruce Springsteen sing 'Old Dan Tucker' with a huge kitchen gig band backing him. Its totally great!! Who would have guessed it?

2) Came across this site and I'm so caught up in the moment I'm gonna stick some stuff together and call it craft. Creativity is stirring. It must be spring.
If I make it through without A) breaking something (and I don't mean a leg or anything actually on me) B) Getting sidetracked half way through or C) gluing something to the floor I'll post pictures.

If you visit the above check out community and 'Holly B'. She's my neighbour :)

3) The awesome pasta Marti made for supper last night:

Pasta a la Morgan:

Butter (about 3 tablespoons)
Uncooked bacon, cut into small pieces *optional
5 parsnips, cut into thin-ish strips
1 sweet potato, cut as parsnip
2 cloves garlic
2 sprigs of rosemary, chopped
Dried pasta (about 300g, or enough to feed however many are eating!!)
Grated Parmesan

Melt butter in wok / large pan
*Add bacon, cook until crispy
Add all veg
Stir fry until soft (about 10 mins). Add garlic and rosemary part way through this process
Cook pasta in water
Toss veggies / bacon mix and pasta together
Serve with a liberal sprinkle of Parmesan.

4) The line up and ethos for the Tolpuddle Festival 2008. Weird, eclectic, funky, and, well Billy Bragg.

5) Our new, shared 1983 VW T25 camper, Daisy, who will be taking us to the above!

6) Our local dump. Debated putting this as it sounds so skanky but we've just rescued a great old fire place surround, and a chair. Go recycling!

7) The West Wing. I know its over, but still the smartest, sharpest, most interesting thing not on TV


8) The colour Sage Green. I'm addicted. (see the kitchen wall, couch, bedroom curtains, throw.. need I say more??)

9) Warm, sunshiny days. Sounds obvious right? I just can't get enough of finally being outside, and not rushing on because of being completely freezing. We are such beach bums all year, but heat makes it that little bit more relaxed, if less atmospheric.

10) The US race for the Democratic nomination. Totally insane system, and even the most left is too far right for me, but its got my political mind racing. What a good place to be in when 1. there is finally a race on the left worth watching, 2. its between a black man and a woman, and 3. there is passion, idealism, and hope being sent forth from the podium.

11) Clear lip gloss. 'Nuf said.

12) American author Catherine Newman. Her book 'Waiting for Birdy' and Dalai Mama blog in Wondertime magazine. Funny, moving, totally relate -able writing for parent types.

13) The song 'Earl had to die' by the Dixie Chicks. Cut to the chase lyrics, great music for driving. And I'm not a country music fan

Procrastinating and not sleeping

Do you ever get that sinking feeling when you start something with gusto and then, some months and, well, a modicum of horn-tooting later the zeal starts to fade just a little and you realise that you can't quite keep up with the standards you have set yourself?
Its kinda like posting a picture of you on a dating web site (insert message board, year book, staff gallery [mine] here) looking your very, very, shiniest, sexiest, most coiffed self and then, when the time finally comes to meet that 'special someone' you realise that on almost all other days you bear very little resemblance to that fake you in the picture , and are slightly embarrassed and feel bad about the (perceived) inevitable disappointment?
Its kinda like that with this blog. I'm so enjoying the keeping of it, and the intentionality of reflection that it requires, but I feel like a bit of a shiney photo fraud.

I started with one or two posts, contemplative and reflective, on the deeper aspects of the parenting journey, and got such supportive, 'I hear you sister' type comments that it fuelled my habit and I just kept posting.
Now things have settled down a bit (not that I need your comments you understand, cos I'm obviously, total self actualised. ha.) and I just want to post about our flu, the weather, and the state of my cooking. But god, I feel a little like maybe I'm letting someone down.
Its here that the Marti in my head reminds me that for most of you life will in fact go on and you don't actually live or die by this blog. No kidding.
But still. Sorry for the humdrum. I'll try for the other again soon.

I'm up late writing this (very late. In fact, early.) because I've been procrastinating on marking a pile of student papers for oh, about 3 months now. The deadline is now past here and so obviously I'm blogging. Actually I've marked 7 already tonight, added to the 7 last night leaves me only 3 to go and frankly I need a break from incomplete sentences and boring renditions of psychological theory. Its not as if I'm actually getting a whole lot less sleep than I would be if I were in bed. Noah is waking every 3/4 hours on a good night, and Jamie has been up and down with a blocked nose for the last two. In addition to that, and against all sanity and reason I just seem unable to go to bed early. I crave that few hours of space, quiet.

Tiredness takes on a whole new dimension when you're a parent. We are permanently, clinically sleep deprived. There is no possible way I could pull the all nighters (both academic and, well, less so) of my younger years, but I can make a damn good play-doh tractor and fix a broken zipper, whilst spraying the anti damp stuff on the spark plugs of the car to get it started on less than 3 hours sleep.
Parents of older children have told me that even when they do sleep through the night (and often well into the morning) you still stir at every sound, ready to be awake and alert in an instant if they should need you or lie half awake until they too are safe in bed.

So right now I'm beyond tired, but its quiet, and I need to get back to Vygotsky, Piaget, Bronfenbrenner and Bruce.

Good night. Sleep well.

Storm in a teacup

Lots of news this week about the big storm hitting the south coast, en route from Canada. I was going to write a deep, reflective post about how perfect a metaphor this is for our lives with Jamie at the moment, because he has seriously been a 'big storm' with all its raging, wilds and unpredictability and, oh metaphoric perfection, he is even the baby 'from Canada'. But, who would have guessed it, it turns out not to be.

Jamie has been sweet, even tempered (for the most part - see post below re: perfection!) interesting and joyful all week. Even the pre-school teachers commented on it.."he's like a different person" (actually not sure I know how I feel about that one, but I am choosing to let it go into the cosmos, rather than analyse it to death. See? Growth!)

Actually all of us are settling down this week. Noah is finally over the awful cough and barfing, and I am.. well, more chilled and generally joyful. Not that a little more sleep wouldn't be most welcome, but we're getting by, and feel, for the first time really in 6 months mostly like our heads are a little above water.

So, in the absence of good metaphor, some photo's of what actually turned out not to be quite as big a storm as was predicted (ooh look - I knew it was hiding somewhere!!)

Just a quicky...

I've been really delinquent about posting, and to compound matters this is going to be a bit of a nothing post. Sorry. Will do better next time...
The excuse is simply the amount of unwanted bodily fluid that has been flowing in this house over the last week or so. Everyone as had the barfing, snotting, whimpering, never sleeping flu. Its almost gone now. God, even as I typed that I thought 'now I've jinxed it... the kids will wake up tomorrow with raging fevers again..' That's the kind of defeatist, pessimistic mood I'm in after this week. ug.

That said, some highlights...
Scored one for the 48/480 list by going to see a band, the Baghdaddies, last night. Our first night out since Noah was born. Its not like we're totally, depressingly tied to our kids, 24/7, rather just that we don't really mind it. Its just easier being together as a family somehow, that and we're just so bloody tired by 7pm. But my Mum came, we put J to bed and out we went, had fun, talked to each other, ate street food at midnight, and came home to sleeping children. What is it about other people watching your kids, and always seeming to have no problem getting them to sleep, after you've been wining about just how impossible that is...?

The sun has been shining so we're out and about all the time. Lots of flowers and spring lambs to see.

We're in full summer planning mode, looking at trips, visits and festivals, and that always cheers me up. Not that I struggle to live in the moment, you understand ;)

That's it for now....
More later!

My children are perfect. Nah nah nee nah nah.

I overheard an altercation between parents of two separate kids in the park the other week. It’s been grating (the word I want to use is 'niggling' - do North Americans understand that term?) for a while, and I wondered what part was making me revisit it in my mind so often. Was it the fact of parents fighting in public, and worse in front of their kids? Could it be the aggression displayed by the two children toward each other that prompted the argument? Was it the raised voices? (I hate raised voices in public. Just a little piece of personal, irrational peeve. I'm honestly working to me more chilled, and less aggravated by the behavior of others...;)

Actually none of the above. It turns out, when I stopped to really think about it, that it was the final comment, that went like this:

"I'm not saying my kids are perfect, but it was yours who...."

The end of the sentence is unimportant. It was the statement about the imperfections of her child that got me pondering.

So here's my secret confession: My kids actually are perfect. It’s true.

This morning Jamie had a huge meltdown about not being able to buy a crappy plastic car, of which we have, oh, a gazillion, from a garage sale. This is just one example in the daily arsenal of things which can send him into a screaming, crashing, running tantrum at the moment.

He is very funny - dry and witty

On Friday his pre-school teacher pulled me aside to 'chat' (oh god) about how he is having trouble transitioning from outdoor play through 'coats off' and lolling around the floor, being kind of 'passive / aggressive' towards others and generally refusing to cooperate (I actually have to stop my self crying at this. Geez.)

Today he narrated a hugely complex, made-up story about a little boy who traveled to the moon for a full 20 minutes.

Two days ago he hit a sleeping Noah on the head with a ladle.

He crawls into our bed at night just because he needs to be near someone.

He can't stop talking for more than 5 minutes, interrupts incessantly, but always says 'excuse me' when he wants your attention.

His ability in logic and language are way beyond what is expected of a 3 year old. This is both blessing and challenge.

The whining, oh god the whining, and demanding!

He is so sweet, kind and thoughtful. So many times a week I hear 'I think that boy is crying because he hurt / lost / broke something. He could share mine, or I could go and say 'hi' to him?'

His big boy body is just so scrummy I can't stop grabbing him and kissing.

Listening to, and acting on requests is not his forte.

He sings. All the time, often songs of his own composition.

He explores new concepts at a lightening pace. This week its 'dreams'. 'I'm just having a rest so I can get my dream ready..it’s about a boy who has a tractor...wait (closes his eyes), I need to wait for the next picture...

Noah is so round and fat that I need to nuzzle him under his neck or on his belly at least a billion times a day.

At 6 months he hasn't rolled over yet... well, kind of once.

He has the craziest, loudest, giggliest squeal - I imagine just to be heard above Jamie!

Sleep, at least at night, is not his friend, and is often in 30 minute blocks. We are all exhausted.

If sleep is bad, being put down is far, far worse.

He is never still.

He smiles with his whole body.

There is a little mewing sound he makes when he is falling asleep.

So, the point here is this. Of course I am not always happy with their choices or behaviour, and I admonish as much as the next parent, believe me. But they do what children, these children are exactly meant to do. Try things out, react, learn the boundaries. One woman I know by sight often comments when Noah is quiet 'Hasn't he been a good baby!' Well, actually no. Neither good nor bad. He's a baby! He is how he is, because he needs what he needs.

So as I get so tired, tear my hair out, giggle, sigh, and worry over my children it helps to think that, however cheesy it sounds, they - their full selves were meant to be my children and I their parent.

I often fall into that parent trap of conviction that my children are unlike any other kid anywhere; more challenging, more stubborn, often more cantankerous. And maybe I'm the one who is supposed to be able to see through all that and realize it's because they’re smart, intuitive, sensitive. Fully whole, fully children. Themselves.

48 in 480

I am new to the world of blogging, and 'world' is just what it is. I had no idea of the immense number of blogs out there. Literally tens of thousands of people putting their thoughts, ideas and inspirations into print for others to read. On one hand it feels a little voyeuristic, sometimes its almost so huge and diverse its a bit scary, and often times I have to stop myself hopping from blog to blog as I feel little obsessions that eat up otherwise useful time growing, but mostly I am touched and inspired.

This week I have read two blogs that gave me energy. One has inspired this post, and the other will filter through in the weeks to come, no doubt.

As most of you know we have been living in the UK since 2005, and plan to be here until summer 2009. This is the country of my childhood, and I had great plans to show as much of it to Marti and the boys as possible - after all it’s a fairly small island that would fit into Alberta, or so I'm told!

Have you ever noticed that when you live in a place or know it well apathy takes over and you never manage to actually do any of the things that draw others there? This is what is happening to us. We have seen lots of great places, but not enough. Much of the parts of Europe that intrigue me are left un-explored.

So, in true planner, list maker, J-type fashion I have decided to embark on a project inspired by Sarah, who was in turn inspired by the '101 things to do in 1001 days project' Here begins '48 in 480'
Let me explain. 480 is the approximate number of days left for us in the UK. 48 is the number of goals I am going to set for that time. I should add a disclaimer here. I may add more. It’s just that 48 scans well with 480. I'm ever the perfectionist when it comes to neatness of prose.
Also, not just anything will make the list. As Sarah says, its a 'To Live list rather than a To Do list'. To be added to the list an item has to push boundaries, enrich our collective lives, make an impact on the future, or take steps toward a longer term, or long held goal. The things on the list will not only be intentional (by their very nature) by accomplished with intentionality, i.e. thought will go into the journey, not just the end result.
Here comes the teacher in me... My goals will also be SMART - that, for those of you not in my Personal and Educational Development seminar, equates to Specific, Measure, Achievable, Relevant, and Time Bound (hence the 480 days!)

So, wish me luck... Its Day 0. List making starts tomorrow....

A quiet dinner

There is a part of my brain, now that I am a fully fledged adult with two, count em' two real life children, that occasionally simply blocks out the fact of these offspring completely. I seem to still fall occasionally into the 'nothing will change once I have children - they'll just come along with me' fantasy that you hold so confidently before you actually have children. Sadly I usually wake from this stupor when I'm in the very middle of what ever rash action I've taken and it too late to go back.

Let me give you an example. My partner was recently away overseas for a week. We were, of course all very keen for him to return. Now my sensible self knows that for Jamie at 3 yrs old the anticipation of knowing we will be driving to London, to the airport to get Daddy on Sunday evening will be too much to cope with any time before Sunday actually arrives. So of course I tell him on Tuesday. I plan the route, the stops, the timings and just can't seem to stop pulling him into my fervor of excitement as if he is another adult.
It’s that isolation you feel as a lone parent I suppose that makes you forget that your eldest is still only a little person, with a little person’s mind.

And so, predictability by Sunday morning Jamie is drunk and dizzy with pure, manic joy at the prospects for the day. Here, of course comes the inevitable fall. The plane is delayed; Marti misses all his connections and is stuck in Miami for an extra 24 hours. Crap.

I am livid. And, although it manifests as anger at the airline, at fate, and inexplicably him, my frustration is really the crashing realization of the huge fall I've set Jamie up for. I vainly hope he won’t mind too much. But, again thanks to me he is predictably devastated and cries and cries for Daddy, and the promised adventure of the day now lost. And here's a stellar parenting moment for therapy in a few years...Even in this time of Jamie's great child need I find my self getting strangely frustrated that after a few minutes he can't just pull it together and cope. I mean, like, god, I'm disappointed too you know. No kidding.

It is here that my guilt and, I guess disappointment of plans disrupted gets in the way of my better judgment. I decide that we will go to the airport anyway and stay overnight in a hotel, with a pool, a clean comfy bed, and a nice restaurant, and meet Marti from the plane tomorrow morning. Doesn't that sound like a great treat? - It does to me, as I imagine it would to any adult who's spent the week buried in laundry, dishes, cleaning and young children. But wait....I'm pre-kids again and forgetting the children do actually have to come along too.

So there we are, in the swanky hotel I got such a great deal on from the internet, hanging out in the pristine room when I make the second error of the day. There is of course nothing to actually do in the pristine room. I am uncomfortable with lots of the TV that is actually aimed at children, and don't like to randomly channel hop in case Jamie sees something for adults with his keen eyes and sharp brain that is too hard to him to process, so my paranoia makes it impossible for us to relax and watch anything, even though for Jamie that would have been a real treat as we don't have TV at home. So I glibly ask 'do you want to eat in our room, or down in the restaurant?'
Have you ever asked a question of your child, but framed in such a way as to get the answer you really want, but so you can make out it was all their choice and you're actually doing them a favour? No? Ah. Jamie chose restaurant, so off we three go (you're not forgetting the 5 month old Noah just started on solids here are you? I apparently am.)

First the no-name bank machine refuses to recognize my card, so my 'lets splurge on a nice meal' idea hits its first snag. I have £13, and no other options for food, so we plow ahead.
The waitress seats us, and never taking her eyes and tight grimace off the children purposefully moves all the extra glass wear, china and cutlery from our table, leaving only one place setting.
I order the starter size dish for me, a children's hot dog for J and water to drink...'no, just tap water'. Her smile gets tighter, mine wider, as if grinning like a crazy person is going to insure all will go smoothly. We devour the free bread like we haven't eaten in days and await our meal.
Scenes from the dinner are a little hazy still and come back to me sporadically like repressed memories. I am an educated, refined woman who is deranged enough by parenthood to think that we should be able to pull it all off. After all, children can sit quietly, patiently, and make charming conversation with eating their dinners without mess and spillages. Is that really too much to expect?? yeesh.
Of course reality checks in.

At one point Noah has thrown pureed carrot over not only our white table cloth but the one next to us (carrot??? why, why??), the expensive carpet has more hot dog bun on it than the table, Jamie is eating ketchup with his fingers whilst calling across the restaurant to the waitress 'excuse me, but what is that funny smell? a flying baby arm has connected with my rice sending it across the table, the babe is crying, I'm two wrestling wiggling, sliding bodies, one 'out of the high chair, now!' and the other 'bend your legs, no, just sit for one moment, not the soother on the floor again' as I surreptitiously try to cover the pool of spit-up on the floor with my foot.

The two business men ushered to the table next to us quietly ask to be moved and I am defeated. Still grinning like an idiot I ask for the check, count out the exact change, leave no tip, and in a final raised finger to pre-child dignity stuff the two remaining pieces of complimentary bread into my bag for a snack tomorrow.

We stagger toward our room and as we ride up the elevator Jamie says 'that cafe was very quite, and the people all had grumpy, sad faces. Lets go in the big, funny bath tub'. So we do, and we have fun, and we don't sleep so well because we still miss Daddy, and it’s a strange bed, and I think how perfect and smart my children are.

Super Tuesday

The European media keeps reminding us that all the candidates in running for the Democratic nomination are right / centre compared to what we would consider 'left'. It’s true. There are gaping policy flaws in all the platforms, and some of the things I am fundamentally opposed to about the governance of the States are unlikely to change whether a Democrat or Republican is in the White House. However I find my self a little swept up by the idealism, energy, and passion Barack Obama is inspiring among a disillusioned people. It’s a good place to be in when there is finally a race on the 'left', and it’s between a woman and a black man.

So my American friends - go vote this Super Tuesday, and in the series of elections of come. Every one of your votes counts for a hundred people around the world deeply affected by American policy.

Open letter..

Dear Marti

Its almost 10 pm, and I'm writing this waiting for Noah to wake for the inevitable feed. He's been stirring for about 1/2 hour and I keep putting off starting things in case I need to rush up stairs to quell the wailing and try and keep Jamie from waking too. ah the joys of a small house...

I should mention that tonight is the first since you've been away that both children have been asleep for much of the early part of the evening somewhere not on me....no, wait. that's unfair to J, who has risen to the increased sense of responsibility attached to 'helping Mummy' this week with great success and has settled down for each night like a star, tonight saying with a shy grin and a roll of his eyes at his own perceived silliness 'oh, I thought this was a Daddy night, but Daddy's too far to reach my bed!' We miss you.


I also want it noted here that this is the first night that I have been alone in putting the children to bed. I'm quite (read: very) proud really. Tonight my children are both in bed and asleep, and have been since 7.30, tomorrow world peace. yeah. I simply can't imagine how single parents manage to stay sane and raise happy children. Seriously. Its been 3 days for me, and one night without a support posse and I feel like I must be, well, only the best parent ever to have accomplished such a huge feet, but that's quite enough now. You can come home.




Today was bright and crisp, and made me glad to be here so close to the country side, and a little less regretful not to be in Belize or New Zealand. We walked down to the river with Sal and Kacey and fed the ducks again. Jamie is a little baffled as to why Kacey doesn't share his total, all consuming passion for playing in dirt. I hope he can find a friend in a girl some time who does want to dig with him, and doesn't get sucked into the blinkered world of gender stereotyping at 3. I already see it beginning and it makes me sad. Ah well... much time and many new friends as yet un-met.


The weather held until after pre-school, so we wandered to the park, where my adult lack of attention span and cold fingers moved him on much sooner than he would have liked. I wish I could be more in the moment as a parent. I wonder if the need of some parents to keep things moving, be on to the next project at lightening speed to try and stave off their (well, my) own self indulgent boredom or juggle one too many distraction contributes to the growing number of children who have difficulty concentrating or experience high levels of stress..? One for the 'interesting future research topics' bin. All to say I'm trying to be slower and more present...

Still no desperate cries of hunger from Noah. Its funny, in a kinda depressing, neurotic way, how we either switch between desperation for our infant offspring to sleep for more than 10 minutes on their own, and thinly disguised panic that, when they haven't demanded our immediate attention for 11.5 minutes they must be ill, irreversibly maladjusted or dead. Oh. there he goes. phew. Damn.

So I'm off to bed, strangely reluctantly given how tired I am. Its just that I know this is the end of quiet time for another 24 hours, there are bottles to be done before I can go up, Noah will likely be up again in 2 hours and sleep is always a little lighter, more unsettled with you not here.

So, in a nut shell, things I have loved and loathed in our week without you thus far..


No loved so much...

• Adult worries compound themselves with no one else to act as a sounding board and a voice of reason and perspective
• Tired Jamie, tired Noah, tired Mummy, supper still to be made.
• Two nights of every two hour waking
• 6 am mornings
• Always something else to be done
• No warm body in the bed
• Baby missing you, squirmy and restless
• Realising how ill prepared I am if something electrical or technical goes wrong in the house...(see list below)
• Getting totally, embarrassingly lost on the drive back from London
• Feeling a little bit guilty about Bob the Builder this evening (why is it parents aren't allowed a break once in a while from constant stimulating and educating their children without feeling guilty?? - see below again!)
• The lack of just you.
  

Loved:

• Bob the Builder
• Jamie going to the counter in the coffee shop by himself today and asking 'excuse me, can I please have two napkins?'
• The clear, spring-like weather, and the crocuses, birds and buds on the trees
• Seeing that the goldfish in the sluis pond at the river, that someone seems to have released there and that I was sure would have perished by now have in fact multiplied!!
• The gusto with which Noah embraces pureed carrot, and the surprising ease with which it seems to come off the newly painted walls...
• Reading in bed tonight with Jamie after Noah had gone to sleep.
• Carrying Noah around Yeovil in the sling after accidentally forgetting the pushchair
• A small feeling of comfort knowing that everything electrical or technical that could go wrong in the house is probably already not working (see list above)
• Yesterdays squash and today's chickpea curry.
• The big family bath tonight.
• Jamie's walking to pre-school today spotting shapes in the clouds.
  

Come home soon.

Love, Kate

High Waters

I said that this blog would be tales from our travels in the UK, and as noted by some, so far it has leaned a little heavily on more parenting type posts. Sorry :) will try and rectify with this one...

The wind has been blowing strongly from the south for 4 days now, as it often does in this part of the country. It brings with it biblical rain storms and the rivers that border our town are deep, torrential, rushing and overflowing their banks, flooding fields and roads in their haste to just get away to some bigger space.

That's just how I feel about us at the moment. We are bursting out of the little house on all sides, rushing helter skelter to get to a million places, with always more to be done right now, and almost unable to stop, so strong is the current of our hectic lives. Its Jamie that feels, and plays it out the most. This flood bursts out of him in both frantic, wild excitement and almost out of control crazy behavior with shouting, pushing, inability to stop the tide of words and jumping, crashing feet. Even Noah is squirmy and restless.

Parenting little boys is always so physically intense. I don't know if it works this way with girls, but I get accidentally kicked, pushed, hit, and squished so many times in a day I loose count. Where did you get that shiner under your eye?!? Honestly honey I don't know. Some days it a struggle to keep from being washed away by the current of their physical self.

Jamie is so full of energy right now that it literally explodes out of him several times an hour. He doesn't simply move about but throws himself, limbs flying, from place to place. Many times its as if he is simply unaware that his body has got just so long, and I get a stray foot or hand in the face (back, stomach, head, arm....)

So this blowy Saturday afternoon we down renovation tools, don't rush one more time to the hardware store, stop the work phone calls, put away some of the deluge of toys and head out into the country.

Here we have open fields, woods and trails 5 minutes by foot, in 3 directions, from our house. We head to the River Frome, that form the ancient borders to the town, and the aptly, if a little obviously named 'Blue Bridge'.
For the first full 15 minutes of our trek Jamie runs grinning ahead of us down the path. We are of course following the swollen river, and its as if he's racing it. We slow down a little to marvel at gates now under water, huge mud puddles, and wonder where the resident sheep go when their field is waterlogged. And then we stop to feel the ducks.

Maybe there won't be any out today, we warn Jamie. The river is going too fast - they can't keep up. But then we find them. For a few minutes they paddle with the same frantic energy we feel, desperately fighting the current to snap at the bread, but then let themselves wash to the bank, (there is still bread... why aren't they going after the bread?...they might need it sometime... don't the ducks know that they might not be prepared for whatever could maybe, possibly happen some time?? Yeesh. ) joining the other ducks, and tucking their heads under their wings. It is here that they stay not to be enticed out again by anything.

....ah ha.

The big questions

Death and God are on the table. Well, obviously not literally, but definitely, suddenly a topic for our happy family dinner time discussion. I read a suggestion recently that families make a jar with topics ideas written inside to stimulate talk around the table. The suggestion for this evening at our house would read something like 'how do you feel about the existential and theological implications of Bob the Builder?' I should note here, before anyone starts to worry, that no one we know has in fact died.
Young children have brains far more complex that adults very often give then credit for. What may seem like a totally random thought could stem from some 'seed', verbal or visual planted who knows when and stored, mulled and finally aired many weeks, months later. This is, at least, how Jamie's brain seems to work. I am frequently on the edge of my seat as I watch him struggle for the language to articulate to us woolly-minded adults a huge new insight.
This latest exploration started, as far as I can tell, while listening a Canadian singer/songwriter on a tape in the car. 'When we live in Canada' I casually mention 'we'll try and go to see her sing in a concert'. Now here's the jump - hold on to your hats... 'yes, and Jesus will be there too probably ' notes Jamie, equally as casually. hum...
Instead of reacting the way any sane person might, with a smile, an "interesting idea Jame" and a thought of 'let his mind work as it needs to and we'll move on' I feel compelled to be a good parent a grab a teaching moment with both hands. Yes, I know.
It is my ensuing dissertation, with four part harmony and feeling, on how Jesus lived a long time ago (what does that even mean to a 3 year old??) and how he isn't here any more, thus would not be meeting us at any concert, in a church or otherwise but he was very kind and important to people so he is still remembered...you get the idea, that brings us to, of course, death and God. Now somehow I did not see the next question coming. 20/20 hindsight... 'Where has Jesus gone Mummy?'

Jamie has not been exposed to the concept of death before. Thankfully he has never experienced the death of someone he knows, and it hasn't come up in any other contexts. This is not entirely by chance. I, we, believe quite strongly that he's too young to be exposed to the reality that people get ill or hurt and die and we never see them again. We talk about the latest obsession with ships, and in particular the Titanic in terms of the little boats that were used to carry all the people, away from the sinking ship. Its not that we will withhold from him an age appropriate explanation to help him cope when needed, but in the mean time we will shield. Shield. I hear the virtual tsk-tsk-ing of fortified British parents and grandparents in our local park as if to shield your tiny (but oh so big) child is to guarantee a mollycoddled, simpering, fatally naive adult.
I admit easily and often that I know almost nothing about parenting, and generally feel only embarrassment at even a hint of a suggestion that I have any type of expertise to offer on the subject of what's right for children outside of my designated, professional boundaries. Except for now. I am a lecturer in early childhood development and education. I have studied, researched, written and practiced for many years in this field and based on all of that, this is what I believe; young children never benefit from being frightened, 'toughened', being told about the huge sadness and pain of the wider world that they will one day experience, especially through enormous, abstract occurrences like death that they have no hope of being able to grasp, even a little. If it comes up in your lives handle it with great love, basic honesty, care and sensitivity. If not, let it be for now.
It is with this insight in mind that I completely botch an answer. I manage to convey my discomfort with the traditional idea of heaven, a far too complex idea of soul and remembering, and mutterings about not seeing the actual person any more ('I guess he's just popped out to Jasper, Mummy') with "ooh, look. Is that a new fence outside the bike store? Yeesh.
And so on to this evening. The conversation goes something like this:
J: Dylan has Bob the Builder too
K: (distractedly) oh, that's neat.
J: He has God in his, but I don't.
K:..um.. really?
Here I have visions of either a fundamentalist pre-schooler, trying with raised hands and a Billy Graham-like zeal, to convert the other, heathen pre-schoolers, or a deeply serious intellectual discussion on, as I said before, the existential and theological implications of Bob the Builder

J: God lives in a different town. Not in Bobblesburg
M: where does God live?
J: well its by Bobblesburg, in the mountains, like Jasper.
Yikes. I feel another 'expert' explanation coming on..... Oh wait....
K: Jamie, do you mean Gord?
J: Yes Mummy. I said that already. God the forklift truck.

ah ha.

And so the seed continues to germinate quietly until the next time..

The sleep of the damned

Its 8.15 in the evening and both boys are in bed. ..Um..great...I hear you thinking. I should note here that this is almost unheard of in our house at the moment, so it should be cause for celebration, and it is. Mostly. Except that I'm feeling a touch melancholy about the whole thing.


Let me back track a little. The health service in this part of the UK sends mixed messages when it comes to parenting young children. The birth of Jamie in Canada was attended by 2 wonderful midwives, from our home, to the hospital and back again, along with a whole host of others (at one count 9!) all yelling variations on the theme of 'push'. After only 6 more weeks we could have avoided seeing any other trace of humanity if we hadn't been so..well.. totally freaked out by every snuffle!

In contrast, here in the UK, we arrived at the maternity unit, were 'booked in' (taking all of 10 minutes) then made our own way through the very close contractions for about an hour, until Marti went searching for a midwife, who materialised another 40 minutes later. It was her alone, aside from Marti who helped me into the pool, and witnessed the entrance of Noah. Don't get me wrong - its was a wholly positive experience, and I appreciated the hands off approach. I'm just glad it wasn't my first.


All this to say it comes of somewhat of a shock that after the birth you are expectedto see first a midwife every day, and then after day 10 a Health Visitor, toting your baby and their little red development book, twice a week for two weeks, and then at 1, 2, 3.5 and 5 months..and on it goes (obviously at longer intervals) until they are 5! It is in fact a bonefide 'nanny' state!


Our health visitor is fine. Smiling, supportive and generally relaxed. Until the topic turns to sleep. 'Is he sleeping through?' she asks casually..Are you nuts?? I don't say this, but its what I'm thinking. We practice a vaguely attachment parenting approach to sleeping, that is they sleep where they sleep best, often in our bed, but sometimes in several beds throughout the night. For a long time with Jamie it was our guilty little secret, until we discovered how many other parents of great kids secretly (and not so secretly) co-slept.

I feel strongly that you parent the way that feels positive for you. Informed choices should be just that. Choices. I am almost obsessively (can you imagine) well read on co-sleeping and I am really, truly comfortable with that choice. Honestly. I only analyse and question it once or maybe twice a week. But when faced with out health visitor I mumble, apologise, justify, and eventually lie. I'm not proud, but there it is.

She is unbending in her condemnation of the practice and absolute in her insistence that if we don't let Noah 'cry it out' in his own crib he will never develop good sleep habits and will (I edit in) die alone and in extensive therapy.

So I nod, smile and ignore. And quietly resent. The medical establishment in this country is often very inward looking, convinced it knows best, and many older practitioners approaches haven't changes since the 1950's. Lots of people of my generation still would not dream of questioning their health care providers opinion.

New parenting is intimidating enough. You should be able to rely on your health visitor for a full and impartial set of options and support, not leave her office a gibbering wreck of uncertainty. It takes me the full 20 minutes of the walk home to re-establish my confidence in co-sleeping.



So my melancholy comes from this place; my health visitor is cheering - my baby is asleep in his own bed. I simply miss him, his warm little body needing mine for rest and comfort. How can providing that for a 5 month old (or in fact a 5 year old) possibly be bad parenting? Guess what - I'll let you into a little secret - its not.

So tell me... I really want to know...what do y'all do / did with your kids that would make your parents grimace or your old health visitor tut-tut, but that you know in your heart is just good?

Welcome to our first ever blog

This week I have been inspired by two wonderful bloggers - the amazing Catherine Newman, and Marti's colleague Tim's daughter Leah (phew) - to start our own virtual vat to pour stories of our lives into.

It seems like a reasonable way to keep in touch with distant friends of which there are far too many. (re. the distance, not the number of friends). We promise to try and post as regularly as our hectic lives allow, so watch this space....

Kate and Marti

P.S I need to add a disclaimer here... This was almost entirely my idea (Kate) and although Marti is nodding and smiling in all the right places I suspect he is humouring me a little. Thus don't be shocked if the posts seem a little, well, me heavy ;)

Welcome to parenthood my friends

Our dear friends just welcomed a new daughter into the world. I am so thrilled for them, and also strangely proud. That seems a funny emotion - one that should be reserved for your children, or maybe siblings, rather than adult peers, but there it is nonetheless.
Having been through child carrying and birth twice I feel somewhat of an experienced hand, and let me tell you, its no mean feet. Not just the physical aspect, although that's enough, but the emotional and intellectual task of getting another person into the world. Its just so intense, the idea that you are completely responsible for the shaping of this being, right from conception until, well, forever. Yikes. The burden of thinking that everything you eat for nine months, maybe the type of music you listen too (should I be playing Bach through headphones into my belly??!!) your emotional state, if the pre-natal vitamin makes you barf so much is it OK to stop taking it? Then, with no break to regroup, onto 'are they sleeping enough / too much?, am I too strict, or too relaxed? is it warping my child that I don't practice 'controlled crying' like every health visitor says I should?, do they feed enough/too much? .... and the list goes on.
These books on carrying, bearing and raising infants that all set out the rules like they are some kind of unchallengeable manual forget to mention the guilt and the worry. From the first little blue line on the stick.
So its because of this that I am proud, of every man and woman who doesn't run screaming into a padded cell at the first stirring of nausea, the first well meaning comment. ( and of those that do, but come out of it with some glimmer of sanity).
The amazing level of strength, of fortitude that goes into feeling all this emotion, somehow managing to not be a gibbering wreck (all the time), raise happy, health little people, and be mostly happy and healthy yourself is worthy of the most praise, recognition, the biggest salary, and all the pride I can muster.

Welcome Claire.