Last year, Maggie got, in her Easter basket, chocolate and Matchbox cars.
This year? Chocolate, a little purse with yellow flowers on it that matches her Easter dress, and a some piece of plastic collectible crap.
The four year old gender identification thing has begun, and it's really funny. The girl is a tomboy and has been since day one -- she loves to be on the move, run, tussle, and generally be active. Sitting still is not her thing, to say the least. But suddenly the pink, the sparkly, the flowery and the girly have become irresistible. She wants to grow out her chin-length hair and loves "jewels" aka anything applied to any other thing.
This also comes with a bit of a bonus for me. She loovvvveesss me right now. As she tells her daddy at night "Only persons with long brown hair can lay down next to me." My hair's not that long (nor is it all that brown any more, which is a sob-choked subject for another post). Frequently she talks about how we are on the Girl Team and Will and Daddy are on the Boy Team.
And I admit, I eat this shit up. She's been a bit of a daddy's girl for a long time, and now having my delightful little daughter decide I am her best friend ever makes me really happy. Plus, well, if the preschool years are previews of the teens, things are going to be jusssttt a bit stormy around here. My own teenage relationship with my mother is the stuff of family legend -- slammed doors, screaming matches and general fury marked the years. Maggie makes me look chill, temper-wise, and is about the most stubborn and rebellious little person already. So I am trying to enjoy this closeness while I can.
I like to think, and hope, I am a better mother than my own. I've spent a lot more time acknowledging my own weaknesses and working on them. Reading "Raising Your Spirited Child" was so soothing to me, more because of my own childhood than Maggie's. I realized that I wasn't some sort of horrible bad out of step child, I was just me, made this way. I understand that a little better with Maggie than was understood with me, and so I have a slightly better ability to give her what she needs because I understand it. Do I always do it perfectly? No, nowehere near it (witness the pitched battle today over getting her to put her shoes on and help me go get Paul from work, featuring screaming (her), swearing (me), and in a truly superior Parenting Moment, threats to return the Easter presents I got her. Please send my mother of the year award c/o Blogger).
But mostly? It's awesom being on the Girl Team around here. And I hope, even through hormonal upheavals and adolescent turmoil, on some level we always will be Girl Team.
Thursday, April 09, 2009
Friday, March 27, 2009
A Parenting Moment
Parenthood is about the only type of relationship I can imagine where you not only wipe someone else's nose, but think "Oh boy. I do not like the look of that mucus."
(I think Will's gearing up for his seventh or eighth ear infection in his short life. And Paul will be gone tonight. Send prayers and Shiraz, please).
(I think Will's gearing up for his seventh or eighth ear infection in his short life. And Paul will be gone tonight. Send prayers and Shiraz, please).
Thursday, March 05, 2009
Boys Vs. Girls
I've never really dealt that much in gender stereotypes, especially when it comes to my kids. I want Maggie to be Maggie and Will to be Will, and am trying really hard to not make my kids relieve or fix my own childhood (and I'll let you know as soon as I figure that out to my satisfaction).
But it's funny to see the kind of things I hoped to avoid play themselves out right in front of my eyes.
for example, Maggie was always been more of a tomboy and less of a girlie girl, which I am actually very proud of. When I pick her up from school, most of the time she's barrelling around the playground with the boys or scaling one of the climbers while all the other little girls are clustered in one corner, playing some cooperative, imaginative, well-regulated game.
But. As she's gotten older, the influence of the older girls is starting to meld with the normal gender-identification stuff they start doing at this age, and suddenly there is LOTS of pink in my house. Maggie insists that her favorite colors are pink and purple, she is super attached to me because we are both on the "girl team," and yes, those evil princesses have made their debut in my house.
I hold the line on that one -- no clothing with their images on it, and very little of the avalanche of plastic crap that lines Target. However, one cannot attend a birthday party without the goody bag being filled with princessy trinkets, and I have caved on things like a book at a mom-to-mom sale for 25 cents.
Of course, she also has dinosaur PJs clearly meant for boys (why aren't dinosaurs gender-neutral? Annoying), loves her baseball mitt, and has, um, hitting issues at school.
Will, however, is such a boy. And I hate saying that, because why wouldn't girls like to bang every single toy they touch on the floor, or play with cars, or climb like little monkeys? And as a matter of fact Maggie did some of that -- her Easter basket had Matchbox cars in it last year, for example. But she hasn't done any of those things with the single minded determination with which Will does it.
Of course, he's also obsessed with her light-up wand she plays with in the tub, loves anything sparkly and likes her My Little Pony.
I know their personalities will grow and change as they do, and that their likes and dislikes will be informed by a million things in addition to gender. But it's funny to see these very gendered behaviors from both of them right now, and equally funny to see the ways in which they deviate.
But it's funny to see the kind of things I hoped to avoid play themselves out right in front of my eyes.
for example, Maggie was always been more of a tomboy and less of a girlie girl, which I am actually very proud of. When I pick her up from school, most of the time she's barrelling around the playground with the boys or scaling one of the climbers while all the other little girls are clustered in one corner, playing some cooperative, imaginative, well-regulated game.
But. As she's gotten older, the influence of the older girls is starting to meld with the normal gender-identification stuff they start doing at this age, and suddenly there is LOTS of pink in my house. Maggie insists that her favorite colors are pink and purple, she is super attached to me because we are both on the "girl team," and yes, those evil princesses have made their debut in my house.
I hold the line on that one -- no clothing with their images on it, and very little of the avalanche of plastic crap that lines Target. However, one cannot attend a birthday party without the goody bag being filled with princessy trinkets, and I have caved on things like a book at a mom-to-mom sale for 25 cents.
Of course, she also has dinosaur PJs clearly meant for boys (why aren't dinosaurs gender-neutral? Annoying), loves her baseball mitt, and has, um, hitting issues at school.
Will, however, is such a boy. And I hate saying that, because why wouldn't girls like to bang every single toy they touch on the floor, or play with cars, or climb like little monkeys? And as a matter of fact Maggie did some of that -- her Easter basket had Matchbox cars in it last year, for example. But she hasn't done any of those things with the single minded determination with which Will does it.
Of course, he's also obsessed with her light-up wand she plays with in the tub, loves anything sparkly and likes her My Little Pony.
I know their personalities will grow and change as they do, and that their likes and dislikes will be informed by a million things in addition to gender. But it's funny to see these very gendered behaviors from both of them right now, and equally funny to see the ways in which they deviate.
Tuesday, February 17, 2009
Morning After President's Day
2008:
I wake up, shift in bed, trying to get a little more rest before what will be a momentous day. The baby starts to move and kick and squirm. I try to burn this feeling into my brain, knowing this will be one of my last pregnant monents probably ever, and whisper, "Will, today we're going to get to see each other for the first time. I finally get to see your face, and you get to see the person whose voice you've been hearing all these months."
2009:
I am awake, but wish I wasn't, and shift in bed, trying to get a little more rest. The baby starts to move and kick and squirm. I open my eyes, look at the bed next to me, and see this:
I wake up, shift in bed, trying to get a little more rest before what will be a momentous day. The baby starts to move and kick and squirm. I try to burn this feeling into my brain, knowing this will be one of my last pregnant monents probably ever, and whisper, "Will, today we're going to get to see each other for the first time. I finally get to see your face, and you get to see the person whose voice you've been hearing all these months."
2009:
I am awake, but wish I wasn't, and shift in bed, trying to get a little more rest. The baby starts to move and kick and squirm. I open my eyes, look at the bed next to me, and see this:
You're almost one, little man, and I can't believe there was a time you weren't here.
Wednesday, February 04, 2009
Weaning.
Damn it.
I was really, really hoping I'd make it to a full year. I even entertained the idea of nursing a little beyond that, if Will wanted. We had a rough start -- he wouldn't latch, and when he did it HURT. But we got that ironed out, and so I have been spending quite a bit of time over the last year with my baby snuggled up against me, pulling at my breast and reaching his hand up to brush at my hair.
But sometime in the last few weeks he started fussing when I'd feed him, often taking only a few pulls and arching away angrily. His crumpled, angry face would break my heart, especially once he started to let loose these furious yells.
It's partially my fault, and probably part nature's too. Paul and I had a night without the kids a few weeks ago, and I didn't pump while he was gone. I'd nursed the evening before, when we dropped the kids off at my parents' house, and then for whatever reason didn't pump the next day until I saw him sometime after noon. The problems with supply started then, but they'd seemed to resolve themselves -- now, though, it's clear the girls are no longer up to the job.
What I'd really wanted this time, though, is to know, and mark, the last time I nursed him, nursed my last baby for the last time. I had to wean Maggie very abruptly, and I wanted to be able to say goodbye to it a little more consciously this time.
I had started to attempt to focus on the experience a little more in the last month, knowing that sooner rather than later, our nursing time would end. But it cropped up suddenly -- some days he'd nurse, some days he wouldn't, until finally this week it's been none. Yesterday was the first time the only breastmilk I dispensed was expressed into a pump, not an eager little pink mouth.
I should be pumping now. I probably won't, will let nature take its course and end things only a few weeks earlier than I had planned. Like last time, I know my supply has been dropping because it doesn't hurt to have not nursed, and yesterday, when I pumped, I got a measly little three ounces.
I hate that this part of motherhood is over, which is odd because I am really not a fan of nursing, but both times stopping it has made me really sad and this time moreso, since there's not even the thought of another little baby coming down the pike. I feel like it was so key to my relationship with Will. Anybody else could love him, play with him and cuddle him like I do, but nobody else could nurse him.
And damn, did that baby love to nurse. When he was a newborn, he'd make this funny little "unnnhh unnhhh unnnhhh" sound when I nursed him, like this was just the happiest he could ever be. More recently, he'd wrap up a feeding, pop off, and lean back, grinning at me. He's always been a quick nurser, so much so I was afraid he wasn't getting enough. But his fat little thighs and chubby cheeks and cankles and wrist rolls quickly put that to rest, and filled me with pride that I'd grown this chubby little guy. He picked up the drill quickly, too -- when he was a newborn he'd do the "pecking" thing where he'd start to sort of headbutt my shoulder. Maggie did the same thing, but Will added the twist of flinging himself bodily sideways and attempting to latch on to whatever was available.
When he was a little older, he'd get excited when he'd see we were headed for the den, where I usually nursed him. And he would just stare at my boobs and drool, an unattractively frat boy habit in an older male but awfully funny in a baby. I would tell him, "Will, if your mother teaches you nothing else: EYES UP HERE."
As a second kid, he's gotten very little one on one time, so it's been so nice for both of us to have that break in the day. I feel like our relationship is changing now, growing a little more distant, as it must. It goes from him beiung snuggled inside my body to being outside but nourished by it to trying his own nourishment to his own life, slowly of course, but all too fast.
I'm planning a spicy-Indian-food and martini fest for this weekend to celebrate the end of nursing, but I am still sad. As many firsts as there will be for Will, because I am not planning another baby, there will also be lots of lasts. My last birth, my last newborn, my last bleary eyed new mother haze. And sometime in the early morning hours of Sunday, my last nursing session.
I was really, really hoping I'd make it to a full year. I even entertained the idea of nursing a little beyond that, if Will wanted. We had a rough start -- he wouldn't latch, and when he did it HURT. But we got that ironed out, and so I have been spending quite a bit of time over the last year with my baby snuggled up against me, pulling at my breast and reaching his hand up to brush at my hair.
But sometime in the last few weeks he started fussing when I'd feed him, often taking only a few pulls and arching away angrily. His crumpled, angry face would break my heart, especially once he started to let loose these furious yells.
It's partially my fault, and probably part nature's too. Paul and I had a night without the kids a few weeks ago, and I didn't pump while he was gone. I'd nursed the evening before, when we dropped the kids off at my parents' house, and then for whatever reason didn't pump the next day until I saw him sometime after noon. The problems with supply started then, but they'd seemed to resolve themselves -- now, though, it's clear the girls are no longer up to the job.
What I'd really wanted this time, though, is to know, and mark, the last time I nursed him, nursed my last baby for the last time. I had to wean Maggie very abruptly, and I wanted to be able to say goodbye to it a little more consciously this time.
I had started to attempt to focus on the experience a little more in the last month, knowing that sooner rather than later, our nursing time would end. But it cropped up suddenly -- some days he'd nurse, some days he wouldn't, until finally this week it's been none. Yesterday was the first time the only breastmilk I dispensed was expressed into a pump, not an eager little pink mouth.
I should be pumping now. I probably won't, will let nature take its course and end things only a few weeks earlier than I had planned. Like last time, I know my supply has been dropping because it doesn't hurt to have not nursed, and yesterday, when I pumped, I got a measly little three ounces.
I hate that this part of motherhood is over, which is odd because I am really not a fan of nursing, but both times stopping it has made me really sad and this time moreso, since there's not even the thought of another little baby coming down the pike. I feel like it was so key to my relationship with Will. Anybody else could love him, play with him and cuddle him like I do, but nobody else could nurse him.
And damn, did that baby love to nurse. When he was a newborn, he'd make this funny little "unnnhh unnhhh unnnhhh" sound when I nursed him, like this was just the happiest he could ever be. More recently, he'd wrap up a feeding, pop off, and lean back, grinning at me. He's always been a quick nurser, so much so I was afraid he wasn't getting enough. But his fat little thighs and chubby cheeks and cankles and wrist rolls quickly put that to rest, and filled me with pride that I'd grown this chubby little guy. He picked up the drill quickly, too -- when he was a newborn he'd do the "pecking" thing where he'd start to sort of headbutt my shoulder. Maggie did the same thing, but Will added the twist of flinging himself bodily sideways and attempting to latch on to whatever was available.
When he was a little older, he'd get excited when he'd see we were headed for the den, where I usually nursed him. And he would just stare at my boobs and drool, an unattractively frat boy habit in an older male but awfully funny in a baby. I would tell him, "Will, if your mother teaches you nothing else: EYES UP HERE."
As a second kid, he's gotten very little one on one time, so it's been so nice for both of us to have that break in the day. I feel like our relationship is changing now, growing a little more distant, as it must. It goes from him beiung snuggled inside my body to being outside but nourished by it to trying his own nourishment to his own life, slowly of course, but all too fast.
I'm planning a spicy-Indian-food and martini fest for this weekend to celebrate the end of nursing, but I am still sad. As many firsts as there will be for Will, because I am not planning another baby, there will also be lots of lasts. My last birth, my last newborn, my last bleary eyed new mother haze. And sometime in the early morning hours of Sunday, my last nursing session.
Wednesday, January 28, 2009
Oh, Detroit....
MORE corruption investigations.
I read this today and was just holding my head and saying "This is UNBELIEVABLE." But it is, of course, all too believable.
I always knew John Conyers was out of it, but you've got seriously question his judgement when he is married to that crazy ghetto screecher. Not to mention that he and Carolyn Cheeks Kwame-Mommy Kilaptrick are our representaion in Washington. For years, the lone Republican vote I cast is whoever is running against Conyers, just to make a point, but the power of incumbency is real.
I just feel so beaten down. People (OK, mostly suburbanites) talk about the city not wanting good leadership, but what about the majority of us that do, but find ourselves powerless against the entrenched political culture here? Let me tell you, the current city council are hardly the best nine people for the job, nor were they the nine best candidates. What they are is politically connnected and/or related to the people who are. I know tons of people who might even consider a run for city council but when you know, unequivocally, it's goign to be a huge waste of time and money and that Council seems to be an employment program for those otherwise totally unemployable, what are you going to do?
That said, the Cockrels have impressed me, as has, so far, Kwame Kenyatta of all people. But I am hoping aginst hope AND experience that somewhere in the mess of people who will be running this fall, there's a good, smart, professional core of people who are fed up with what's wrong with this crazy city and are ready to bring real leadership back. Anyone have any suggestions? Because I am ready to bring it for someone who simply doesn't make me embarassed to live here anymore.
It's not a high bar, folks.
Anybody out there got some good candiates for me to get behind?
I read this today and was just holding my head and saying "This is UNBELIEVABLE." But it is, of course, all too believable.
I always knew John Conyers was out of it, but you've got seriously question his judgement when he is married to that crazy ghetto screecher. Not to mention that he and Carolyn Cheeks Kwame-Mommy Kilaptrick are our representaion in Washington. For years, the lone Republican vote I cast is whoever is running against Conyers, just to make a point, but the power of incumbency is real.
I just feel so beaten down. People (OK, mostly suburbanites) talk about the city not wanting good leadership, but what about the majority of us that do, but find ourselves powerless against the entrenched political culture here? Let me tell you, the current city council are hardly the best nine people for the job, nor were they the nine best candidates. What they are is politically connnected and/or related to the people who are. I know tons of people who might even consider a run for city council but when you know, unequivocally, it's goign to be a huge waste of time and money and that Council seems to be an employment program for those otherwise totally unemployable, what are you going to do?
That said, the Cockrels have impressed me, as has, so far, Kwame Kenyatta of all people. But I am hoping aginst hope AND experience that somewhere in the mess of people who will be running this fall, there's a good, smart, professional core of people who are fed up with what's wrong with this crazy city and are ready to bring real leadership back. Anyone have any suggestions? Because I am ready to bring it for someone who simply doesn't make me embarassed to live here anymore.
It's not a high bar, folks.
Anybody out there got some good candiates for me to get behind?
Friday, January 23, 2009
Courtesy of Poison Control
An interesting fact: when your baby somehow gets ahold of one of the watercolor disks from his sister's paint set, and chews it, sending rivulets of purple drool all over his face, clothing, and hands, it is not toxic.
It will, however, cause purple poop.
It will, however, cause purple poop.
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