Wet Feet

Sunny Pictures for a Rainy Friday

 It occurred to me that the last two picture posts I did were of Naomi or were Naomi related. So here are some pictures of Miriam. Fairness and all. I wouldn't want anyone to think I love one more than the other.

Differently, sure. But more or less? How can you quantify love that limitless?

At the same time, it's true that Miriam spends much more than her fair share of my patience. She's 2. She's always had that quality of being an adult in a new body, and at 2 that super-awareness leads to more fits of violent tantrum than the wise gazes that characterized her baby days.

And really, what a ferocious game-face. I'd stay out of her way if I were you.

Recovering

This site has made me feel a little better.

It reminds me of this bulletin board I used to frequent back before I have Naomi. It was the Debate Board at ParentsPlace.com. Usually is was competitive bickering and Mommy Wars stuff.

But once someone got so fed up with the  infighting that she posted a thread called "Mommy Prison Rodeo" where everyone got to post anonymously about their worst moments as a mother.

The thread went on for pages. Even I felt better, and I wasn't even a mommy yet.

Hello, Monday

Have you heard about this? I can't stop thinking about it. Twice the size of Texas! What I don't understand is how something like this could be sitting in the middle of the Pacific and no one knows or cares.

You know what else I don't understand? Why Sunday night is always such a terrible night for sleeping. Good sleep on a Sunday is crucial to getting the week off to a good start. But Sunday is also transition day, so the girls are exhausted and suffering from some kind of Daddy hangover.

They collapse into sleep early but then one wakes in the middle of the night. Usually it's Naomi, because she's always been a terrible sleeper and she'll always be a terrible sleeper. So she woke up around midnight and Miriam followed shorty after.

Because my bed is a bit more crowded some nights I have set up a kind of makeshift trundle bed for when nightmares attack. Usually this is fine, a movie and a glass of water is enough, until they start pushing and fight for bed space and then Miriam comes up and pours  water on my head or screams directly into my eardrum just as I am drifting off to sleep again.

That went on last night until the sky began to lighten. The moment I realized they were both asleep, no one was going to scream or jump on my head or decide my aching back might be a good place for a wild pony ride, I let out a huge sigh and melted blissfully into sleep. I got a whole hour.

So I'm tired, cranky, and my back hurts and I feel terribly, terribly guilty. I'm thinking a little preemptive benadryl on Sunday nights might not be a bad idea, a week off to suck a bad start isn't good for anyone.

I'm also pretty sure than I'm not cut out for the job of being the caretaker of young children. Some of the things I said last night were unforgivable.

fever dreams

yesterday the little bug i thought was nothing blossomed into a night of sweat and fever for the three of us. naomi's headache got so bad she had blurry vision. her imaginary friend, tenna-coles, told her she might need glasses. in my fretting, i googled her symtoms. my first hit was a cdc page about biological warfare and what symtoms to look for in the event of an attack. yikes.

we are all feeling much better now thanks to a fresh dose of advil.

last night i had one of those dreams when i have illuminating, healing conversations with people who are unreachable in real life. this time is was with e's parents.

in the dream, they came over to my house and let their kids play with my kids and didn't treat me like the shit on the bottom of their shoes or the hand grenade that will blow their beautiful life to bits.

they talked to me like they did before i gave them my firstborn. we laughed. we joked. we were friends who could work through anything. i awoke with my guts churning with betrayal.

Too much crunch for me

We've been TV*-free almost all summer.

I wish I could say this was decision made out of concern for my kids' wellbeing; so much passive entertainment is bad for them; so much sitting around is bad for them; they should be more self-directed in their imaginings. Yes, all this is true. Good. In line with how I would be if my life approached perfection.

But the fact is, the TV broke, and I can't afford to replace it.

I wish I could say this has been a positive change for us. I'd like to herald the hidden benefits of the silencing of the monolith. (They don't fight! They are so much more creative! They even look smarter! And now they eat broccoli!!**)

If there are hidden benefits, they are still hiding.

It used to be that I could turn on a movie and they would be quiet and peaceful for awhile. "Awhile" could be an hour, sometimes. I could be in another room, mommy anntenae at 60%, working on something else, enjoying the silence.

The irony is, now that there is no TV, there is no silence.

They can't stay in the playroom for any more than a few minutes. Mommy's not there! They come back down, first Naomi, then her shadow, they fight over toys, they follow me around, Naomi's constant chatter, constant repetition of questions and stories, while very adorable, drives me out of my head.

The only escape is to go out, while I cool my heels and my head with an expensive coffee and they play in the park and Miriam gets to run around and burn off her energy and Naomi gets to point her barrage of chatter at people her own age for awhile, who are suitably awed by the same things she is. Good for them, bad for me and whatever I was trying to do. (It might have been doing the dishes. It might have been reading blogs. Whatever.)

There are days when I'd happily sell their souls to Nickelodeon for a few hours' silence.

*When I say "TV" I am referring specifially to the big black box on which DVDs are seen, not cable. We've been without cable for over a year and that has, indeed, been a positive thing. But if I could get HBO a la carte for myself I would, in a heartbeat.

**they both like broccoli anyway, and they did even when they had full access to the anti-broccoli indoctrination machine that is commercial television for kids. Did you ever notice how often the pitch for some artificial processed pretend healthy crapfood for kids is sold with the pitch "it's not broccoli, so your kids will eat it"? How long do you think before they begin to absorb that they're not supposed to like broccoli? Not long, right?

this is so boring, but I'm posting it anyway, because I'm trying to get back into the habit

Miriam knows what she likes. I'll never forget the first time she saw a frilly pink dress, it was this time last year, she was not even a year old. Only my quick reflexes kept her from wiggling herself right out of the sling as her little hands grabbed at the frothy princess halloween costume.

She'll request three or four wardrobe changes a day. There's some striped pj's that she likes to wear snapped at the neck so it flows down her back like a cape. She's forever swiping Naomi's sparkly pink shoes. And the princess dresses, all I can say is I'm glad we have so many. Because if Naomi so much looks at one, Miriam is right there next to her, wanting to look exactly the same. because Miriam is sitll such a chunky little peanut, I have to knot the dresses at the back so they don't drag on the floor and trip her up.

Naomi wasn't like this (if she was, it was not this extreme). Naomi did not express many preferences about her daily attire until she was nearing four. As long as she was comfortable, she didn't seem to care much what I put on her. Miriam chooses her own clothes every day; there's no other way. She like dresses, she likes pink, she likes brights and bolds. I foresee a long winter of struggling to get her into tights.

Maybe I will knit her a pair of baby legwarmers. Anyone know a good pattern?

10ish

this week, there have been four posts begun, none finished. So, before the whole week goes by with nary a word, some randomness for you.

1.I have no money. I also have no paper towels, or wipes, or swiffer pads. this will be the month that I play "1940's House". this is a whole new side to the cloth vs. sposie debate. Fortunately, I managed to buy detergent before my obligtions to the gas company emptied my bank account.

2.Naomi and Miriam get along so freakin well. I know how lucky I am. I know this isn't because of anything I did (or didn't do), or the magic of spacing (3 years 2 months), it's that their unique temperments happen to mesh really well. Miriam thinks the sun rises and sets with Naomi. Naomi loves to teach Miriam things and take care of her. I used to try to get Naomi to be more gentle with her, especially when she was a little baby, but there is no purer expression of joy than the look on Miriam's face when she's being manhandled by her sister. I know many pairs of siblings who can't be left alone together. Who never play together. I am so lucky.

3. speaking of my girls, I woke up this morning between two mostly naked little warm bodies, and oh my god, mommygasm. little hands, wispy hair, squishy butts, rounded bellies, silken skin. and they hadn't even opened their eyes yet.

4. Naomi's been collecting seeds (from the sidewalk, from the park, from the food she eats) and planting them in any available patch of dirt she can find. She's obsessed with plants. I want to get her a giant pot for outside the front door so she can grow all different things this summer.

5. She's also obsessed with getting a pet. She wants a "mouse", like her cousin had, oh, two years ago. the mouse was actually a little white lab rat. I don't know. I told her she had to be five before she got her own pet, so that buys me a few months figure out what I can deal with. Maybe some fish. Fish don't escape and get lost in the house and get disembowled by the cat.

6. I thought I had another one? I keep getting distracted by Radio Times. I had to switch over from XPN because of the fund drive. Really, folks, you do not have a membership level for every budget. You don't have one for mine. Not even the bargain basement one that doesn't come with any "free gifts". Yes, I love your station. Yes, I care about your budget, and I remember the time the summer storm knocked out your power and it was YOUR MEMBERS that allowed you to get new Special Equiptment which prevents lightning strikes from ever again interrupting the great music that commercial radio doesn't play. GET ON WITH IT. (But, if you have the means, you should absolutely pledge. It really is a great station. I would help if I could. Really. And not just because of the CD of the month club).

7. Three out of six items alludes to Naomi's penchant for nurturing things. She's happiest when she's taking care of something. Sometimes this worries me, like when she told me of her dream where she and all the other children were made out of glass and when the little boys would break it was the little girls who would fix them. I asked her if the little girls ever broke, and she paused, and shook her head. "the little girls have to fix the little boys!" yikes.

8. Do I have another one? I don't know. I want to get a bartending job. Fast cash made during hours my kids are asleep. Sounds good. I could work it.

9. Should we go for ten?

10. Maybe not. have a nice day.

Mother's Day 2007

"...every breath that is in your lungs is a tiny little gift to me"- White Stripes

I love my girls. It is a joy, a privelege, the most humbling honor to call myself their mother.

Baking Soda: A Love Story

I learned of this trick from Jo, who read it on some online bastion of crunchiness to which she is hopelessly addicted. Which one, I can't remember.

Throw a few cups of baking soda into the tub. You could even throw in an entire 12 lb bag and sweep most of it up before turning the water on. Toss the kids in the tub and let them play sandbox while you are in the other room doing something Important That Has To Be Done, like putting laundry away or finishing up those damn gloves or sitting on the bed wearing one sock and a bra and staring into space. They are almost guaranteed not to shit, cry, fight or get hungry for at least 15 minutes.

Proceed with bathtime as normal. For us, that means we all pile into  the water and pretend to wash each others' hair. I try to get some personal grooming done and the girls do their best to negotiate toys. (a future post will include a picture of the bath toys dujour, Ariel and Ariel's [cross-dressing] Daddy, which are actually not bath toys at all, but a barbie and a plush mermaid, which has to be wrung dry in a towel or s/he will take days to dry. I am putting this here mainly to remind myself to do this post soon, because it's been over a year that I've been meaning to tell you about Ariel's Cross-Dressing Daddy, and I don't want to forget).

Enough baking soda will clean the tub and all of us as well. While being immediatly present to attend to drowning disasters, I occupy myself by rubbing baking soda around the edges of the tub, where there is many months accumulation of unscrubbed people-dirt.

Mixed with honey it makes a great all-purpose cleanser for faces and babies and hair* and everything else. The honey is a humectant that attracts and seals in moisture. The baking soda gently exfoliates. It leaves skin clean and fresh but without the dryness necessitating a moisturizer. Great for my sensitively skinned daughters who dry out and redden after one good soaping.

For the love of all things bicarbonated, I'll tell you that I also brush my teeth with it, clean my sink with it, put it in my laundry, rub it on my feet, sprinkle it on my carpet before vaccuuming,  and cover "pet stains" (courtesy of my neurotic cat) with it before drowning the whole area in white vinegar and scrubbing with one of these until the foaming stops (it doesn't quite get rid of the stain, but it sure as hell neutralizes the smell. A little lemon and tea tree essential oils in a diffuser and it's like I don't even have a cat, much less a crazy one who stakes out her territory around the stairs.)

As you can imagine, I buy the biggest bags of baking soda they sell at the giant store which only sells giant things. Considering everything I do with it, the bags last a long time.

*I've heard it strips color from dyed hair. I'm afraid to test it on my artificially ravenned tresses.

Oi, the Differences Abound

I am almost halfway through Miriam's first year. Can you believe it?

I was terrified to leave Naomi when she was this age. Plus I didn't want to. The first time I left her for more than a few hours, or at bedtime, she was 20 months old. When she didn't take a bottle, I patted myself on the back for having such a smart baby who wouldn't compromise on what she needed. I was so conflicted about forcing the issue with the bottle that I stopped trying.

It didn't seem worth it to me to keep offering the bottle even though I didn't want to leave her. I tell moms at LLL who feel pressured to make their babies take bottles, it's perfectly okay not to give your baby a bottle, ever, if you don't want to. Eventually, when you have the desire to be out without the baby, you'll work things out.

When Miriam started to balk at the bottle a few weeks ago during my weekly tennis outing, there was no tender inner conflict. After 3 and a half years of 24 hour on call, I am ready for a break. Miriam is going to be a much more independant baby than Naomi was. I am not going to be tethered to bedtime this time. I might even leave her overnight with someone else on occasion before she turns four. Tonight, the fourth time I've left her in Josh and my dad's care at bedtime, she took the bottle without complaint, and fell asleep in bed.

Experience has taught me that there is room for moderation and experimentation. When Naomi was small I only saw slippery slopes all around me: my choices would lead to other choices which would lead me to compromise my parenting values. I thought if I chose to put her in a (gasp!) crib for the first part of the night, I would have to give up cosleeping. Or if I fed her food before nursing her I would hasten early weaning. Or if I switched to cloth I could never go back to disposables. I'm not sure why I was so rigid, I can only guess that the rules of the game were so murky, and the consequences of being wrong were so disastrous, being rigid in my choices was the only way I could cope.