We've spent the last few weeks researching organizations to donate money before the tax year ends. As the children grow older, I want to volunteer on projects as a family. But now they're too young, and our hectic life with a toddler and a newborn means that we don't have spare time or energy to donate either. So our contributions are mainly financial this year.
First of all, we designated the issues that seemed most important to us. They included:
- world health
- alzheimer's research/care
- doing something about the genocide in Darfur
- environment
- education
- local arts
Once we determined those categories, the real work set in. Researching the organizations. I started with general google searches to create lists of organizations in the various fields. After looking at the various groups and their specific approaches, I then checked them out on third party charity rating websites.
For example, www.charitywatch.org gives charities a general rating. Charities that get high ratings have to spend more than 75% of their income directly towards programs, and spend $25 or less to raise $100. It's a good site if you want to do the minimal amount of work in checking out a charity. But it wasn't necessarily good enough for me. I wanted more detail - like how much money does go directly to programs, and what does the president get paid. I hate to think that my charity is making one guy wealthy, increasing the gap between classes. I dug deeper.
So I turned to www.charitynavigator.org, a website that not only rates the charities with a star system, but also breaks down the information specifically, including pie charts that show where the money goes and breakdowns of executive pay. This was super helpful, but not all the charities I was interested in were here, so I kept looking.
Then I came across the Better Business Bureau charity guide: give.org. It has information comparable to Charity Navigator, but it also lists the organizations that refuse to share their financial information. This is a red flag that immediately crosses an organization off my list. What charity refuses to share their info with the BBB? One with something to hide is all I can surmise.
Of course, the financial information isn't the sole factor is picking a charity. The most important thing is finding a charity that does something that we believe makes the world a better place. This means having both a strong objective and an approach that will work. This is the subjective part of the research. In the case of organizations working to help the people in Darfur, none of them were rated by any of the agencies I consulted. But this was a very important issue to us, so we made a leap of faith and donated to the Save Darfur Coalition.
But here I am on NYE, still deciding on the last of the charities (we still haven't found an Alzheimer's organization that is a clear leader of the pack).
When am I going to have time to work on New Year's resolutions? I guess it's all about priorities. Maybe the kids aren't aware of our choices now, but there will come a year that they notice what we are doing and it becomes a model for them, and eventually when they have their own families they will sit down and make their own choices.
Sunday, December 31, 2006
Wednesday, December 27, 2006
Good Parent, Bad Parent?
Every once in a while, I come across someone with a pessimistic view of parenthood. There are people out there who seem to think that everyone has a screwed up childhood, and those few who do have caring, involved parents turn out to be screwed anyway because they are too coddled.
As a parent, I have to ponder this and wonder how much truth there is to it. Eager to keep my children from making too many mistakes in life, I'm going to teach them as well as I can how to do things for themselves and make good decisions. But if I am too successful in keeping them from making mistakes, then are they missing out in a crucial part of life and learning?
Today, as I sat with Esme and worked on her preschool workbook, I wondered whether I was becoming the example of a too-good parent. We work on 2-3 pages at a time so that she can maintain her focus, and I help her by showing her what to do and in some cases (like connecting the dots) using my hand to guide her hand in the drawing. Should I let her do everything for herself, even when it's clear that she is not getting the concept (like color in the squares, not color in every shape)? I think my guidance is helping her learn. She eventually started coloring in just the shapes that she was supposed to with less and less guidance from me. But will she grow up always looking for someone like Mommy to show her what to do?
It's a fine line to walk, figuring out how involved to be and how much to just let a child explore on their own. Esme has lots of free time to play where I am not involved at all, but I think the time we spend working on things together is important, too. And she enjoys both her free time and her structured time with Mommy. So for now I will banish that pessimistic voice echoing in my head saying it's impossible to be the perfect parent and continue trying to do the best I can.
As a parent, I have to ponder this and wonder how much truth there is to it. Eager to keep my children from making too many mistakes in life, I'm going to teach them as well as I can how to do things for themselves and make good decisions. But if I am too successful in keeping them from making mistakes, then are they missing out in a crucial part of life and learning?
Today, as I sat with Esme and worked on her preschool workbook, I wondered whether I was becoming the example of a too-good parent. We work on 2-3 pages at a time so that she can maintain her focus, and I help her by showing her what to do and in some cases (like connecting the dots) using my hand to guide her hand in the drawing. Should I let her do everything for herself, even when it's clear that she is not getting the concept (like color in the squares, not color in every shape)? I think my guidance is helping her learn. She eventually started coloring in just the shapes that she was supposed to with less and less guidance from me. But will she grow up always looking for someone like Mommy to show her what to do?
It's a fine line to walk, figuring out how involved to be and how much to just let a child explore on their own. Esme has lots of free time to play where I am not involved at all, but I think the time we spend working on things together is important, too. And she enjoys both her free time and her structured time with Mommy. So for now I will banish that pessimistic voice echoing in my head saying it's impossible to be the perfect parent and continue trying to do the best I can.
Wednesday, December 20, 2006
The Pitfalls of Online Shopping
A big box full of toys arrived today. The problem was that these toys were meant to go to my sister's house in Franklin, TN.
She had sent my children presents from the same online company, Oompa.com, and somehow they got confused and sent both orders to my house. My order had arrived yesterday, so I was surprised to see another box today.
Now my sister is frantically running around so that Santa doesn't fail her little tykes. I offered to overnight her the box, but she was so angry dealing with the folks at Oompa that she declared she just wanted me to return everything. The first guy she talked to was rude to her. She called me in tears, so I called up the company myself and talked to the same guy, who was as cold and unhelpful as possible. It was obvious he didn't have kids and couldn't empathize with the pressure a mom feels around Christmas time.
From my sister's perspective, the company was at fault. She was certain that she put in her address, and that her initial order showed that she wasn't paying taxes since she lives in TN and the company is in CA. But the company did charge her taxes and sent the items to me in CA. Regardless of who was at fault, they certainly could have been nicer about it. And now, it's up to me to send this damn box back to Oompa, which means a trip to the post office around holiday time. And I feel a little bad because I recommended Oompa to my sister in the first place. I guess I won't do that anymore.
I used to love online shopping, but lately I'm not so sure. For example, the last minute gifts I purchased yesterday were wrapped in the store for me, beautifully I might add, and for free. Oompa charges a "wrapping fee" of $4.99 which they don't tell you about until the final stages of check out (and they say "we really do enjoy wrapping presents" on their website!!!!). If they presumably have lower overhead being an online retailer, then why can't they splurge for wrapping paper? They are upmarket, too, and online retailers should realize that people buying expensive, foreign toys expect decent service.
The return process is not as good, either. I would rather go into a store to return a gift than make a trip to the post office. Come to think of it, I would rather do almost anything than go to the post office. And then there's the factor of having to pay to return gifts. That just seems wrong.
And perhaps the most important factor is the unreliability. A few years ago, I purchased all the gifts for my family from Amazon and had them shipped to my parents' house in Kentucky. They didn't ship them because they were waiting for a book that wasn't going to be available until January (even though when I first made the purchase, they said the book was available to ship then). I had to change the shipping order and pay extra just to get the gifts there on time, even though I had placed the original order way before the holidays.
That's it. It's back to bricks and mortar for me.
She had sent my children presents from the same online company, Oompa.com, and somehow they got confused and sent both orders to my house. My order had arrived yesterday, so I was surprised to see another box today.
Now my sister is frantically running around so that Santa doesn't fail her little tykes. I offered to overnight her the box, but she was so angry dealing with the folks at Oompa that she declared she just wanted me to return everything. The first guy she talked to was rude to her. She called me in tears, so I called up the company myself and talked to the same guy, who was as cold and unhelpful as possible. It was obvious he didn't have kids and couldn't empathize with the pressure a mom feels around Christmas time.
From my sister's perspective, the company was at fault. She was certain that she put in her address, and that her initial order showed that she wasn't paying taxes since she lives in TN and the company is in CA. But the company did charge her taxes and sent the items to me in CA. Regardless of who was at fault, they certainly could have been nicer about it. And now, it's up to me to send this damn box back to Oompa, which means a trip to the post office around holiday time. And I feel a little bad because I recommended Oompa to my sister in the first place. I guess I won't do that anymore.
I used to love online shopping, but lately I'm not so sure. For example, the last minute gifts I purchased yesterday were wrapped in the store for me, beautifully I might add, and for free. Oompa charges a "wrapping fee" of $4.99 which they don't tell you about until the final stages of check out (and they say "we really do enjoy wrapping presents" on their website!!!!). If they presumably have lower overhead being an online retailer, then why can't they splurge for wrapping paper? They are upmarket, too, and online retailers should realize that people buying expensive, foreign toys expect decent service.
The return process is not as good, either. I would rather go into a store to return a gift than make a trip to the post office. Come to think of it, I would rather do almost anything than go to the post office. And then there's the factor of having to pay to return gifts. That just seems wrong.
And perhaps the most important factor is the unreliability. A few years ago, I purchased all the gifts for my family from Amazon and had them shipped to my parents' house in Kentucky. They didn't ship them because they were waiting for a book that wasn't going to be available until January (even though when I first made the purchase, they said the book was available to ship then). I had to change the shipping order and pay extra just to get the gifts there on time, even though I had placed the original order way before the holidays.
That's it. It's back to bricks and mortar for me.
Tuesday, December 19, 2006
Shopping with Two Kids
I thought I had planned it so well. I had taken care of almost all the gifts, but then realized there were a few more on my list. So I packed both kids in the car this morning and headed over to Burlingame Avenue.
The challenge began with parking. I had no coins in my purse and the only parking there is metered. I sat for a minute and wondered where I could run in (with both kids in my arms), get change, and run back out to the car as quickly as possible. I could see the meter maid making her rounds up and down the street.
I looked in my purse and realized I had no cash, either. So first we went to the BofA, which fortunately had a drive through ATM. Then I parked in a metered spot, changed Emil's diaper in the car, loaded him in his pouch (crying), picked up Esme (also crying), dragging them to Pete's Coffee and begging them to stop crying. They stopped just before we entered the store. Score! Not a long line, a quick cup of coffee and two dollars worth of change later we were back out to the car, fed the meter, and then began our shopping.
I had forgotten the attachments for the stroller, so Esme walked and Emil stayed in the pouch. After our initial difficulties, the shopping went pretty well. I managed to get almost all the gifts I needed in three stores because I decided going to more in search of the "perfect" gifts just wasn't going to happen. But we managed to survive getting everything on our list, including lunch, and we did it without a major meltdown!
Yes, I am super mom.
The challenge began with parking. I had no coins in my purse and the only parking there is metered. I sat for a minute and wondered where I could run in (with both kids in my arms), get change, and run back out to the car as quickly as possible. I could see the meter maid making her rounds up and down the street.
I looked in my purse and realized I had no cash, either. So first we went to the BofA, which fortunately had a drive through ATM. Then I parked in a metered spot, changed Emil's diaper in the car, loaded him in his pouch (crying), picked up Esme (also crying), dragging them to Pete's Coffee and begging them to stop crying. They stopped just before we entered the store. Score! Not a long line, a quick cup of coffee and two dollars worth of change later we were back out to the car, fed the meter, and then began our shopping.
I had forgotten the attachments for the stroller, so Esme walked and Emil stayed in the pouch. After our initial difficulties, the shopping went pretty well. I managed to get almost all the gifts I needed in three stores because I decided going to more in search of the "perfect" gifts just wasn't going to happen. But we managed to survive getting everything on our list, including lunch, and we did it without a major meltdown!
Yes, I am super mom.
Thursday, December 14, 2006
The Third Tier in the Parenting Club
"You have a long way to go." This is what a man who appeared to be in his 70's said to me in Target as he admired Emil sleeping comfortably in his fleece pouch.
Now this is code talk in the private club of parents. Having been a member of this club for over two years now, I was able to decipher it. But it was the first time I realized there was a third tier in this secret club. I have long been aware of the first and second tiers of membership, but could there be a third tier? Apparently so.
Let me explain.
When Esme was first born, I noticed that being a parent is like belonging to a club. As I carried her around Brooklyn in her pouch, other parents, normally taciturn Brooklynites artfully trained in the avoidance of eye contact, would look me straight in the eye and do the unheard of: start a conversation. They would tell me about their children, and talk about the joys of parenthood. This happened on stoops of redbrick townhouses, in the subway, in line at the bagel shop, just about everywhere.
Eventually, I found myself talking to other new parents, striking up the conversation without thinking twice, acknowledging our mutual membership in this majestic club of parenthood. At some point, as I commented to a parent with a new baby, "Isn't it wonderful?" She looked at me, and explained, "Oh, this isn't my first baby." Her tone was somewhat offended. This same conversation happened several times before I fully understood that there are tiers to the parenthood club. The experienced parents and the new parents don't fall into the same category. You start different conversations with the different groups.
Now when I just have Emil with me and someone talks to me as if I were a brand new parent, I work hard not to say, "Oh, this isn't my first child." I just smile and say, "Yes, he's so much fun" when they go through the requisite lines, "Isn't parenthood wonderful?" and "Are you getting any sleep yet?" But when I have both children, parents in the second tier start laughing and talking about all the mistakes they made with newborns, sharing these stories with me because I am obviously a veteran.
Now, this older man who said "you have a long way to go" was speaking from a different perspective. He was speaking from the alumni group. And even though he spoke to me like I was a brand new parent, he might have said the same thing if I had had both children with me. Because the truth is, I do have a long way to go.
Now this is code talk in the private club of parents. Having been a member of this club for over two years now, I was able to decipher it. But it was the first time I realized there was a third tier in this secret club. I have long been aware of the first and second tiers of membership, but could there be a third tier? Apparently so.
Let me explain.
When Esme was first born, I noticed that being a parent is like belonging to a club. As I carried her around Brooklyn in her pouch, other parents, normally taciturn Brooklynites artfully trained in the avoidance of eye contact, would look me straight in the eye and do the unheard of: start a conversation. They would tell me about their children, and talk about the joys of parenthood. This happened on stoops of redbrick townhouses, in the subway, in line at the bagel shop, just about everywhere.
Eventually, I found myself talking to other new parents, striking up the conversation without thinking twice, acknowledging our mutual membership in this majestic club of parenthood. At some point, as I commented to a parent with a new baby, "Isn't it wonderful?" She looked at me, and explained, "Oh, this isn't my first baby." Her tone was somewhat offended. This same conversation happened several times before I fully understood that there are tiers to the parenthood club. The experienced parents and the new parents don't fall into the same category. You start different conversations with the different groups.
Now when I just have Emil with me and someone talks to me as if I were a brand new parent, I work hard not to say, "Oh, this isn't my first child." I just smile and say, "Yes, he's so much fun" when they go through the requisite lines, "Isn't parenthood wonderful?" and "Are you getting any sleep yet?" But when I have both children, parents in the second tier start laughing and talking about all the mistakes they made with newborns, sharing these stories with me because I am obviously a veteran.
Now, this older man who said "you have a long way to go" was speaking from a different perspective. He was speaking from the alumni group. And even though he spoke to me like I was a brand new parent, he might have said the same thing if I had had both children with me. Because the truth is, I do have a long way to go.
Wednesday, December 13, 2006
Private Parts
I have a confession to make. I usually feel like I'm on top of things when it comes to the philosophy of parenting. But there is one parenting issue that I haven't quite figured out yet. What is the appropriate name for a child's private parts? I disdain euphemisms. When Esme farts, we call it a fart (although she strangely enough has renamed it "burping from your bottom" as opposed to "burping from your mouth", expressions that are always accompanied by gestures pointing to the various body parts).
But when I change Esme's diaper, I can't bring myself to say vagina. It seems like such a big word for such a little girl. Or maybe it's just that I don't like the word. I don't know. I read somewhere that women have a hard time using the word vagina, even if they are in conversation with their gynecologist. The word vulva doesn't sound much better, to me. So what's the right word to use? Without really planning it, I started saying "wee-wee". And somehow it has stuck. I change Esme's diaper, and she points down there and says in her two-year-old questioning voice, "Dat my wee-wee?"
"Yes, Esme, that's your wee-wee," I say, unsure even as I say it how I picked that word. For some reason, in my mind wee-wee has always been the euphemism for a boy's parts (yes, I have just as hard a time with the word penis as I do with vagina). So I started specifying, "You have a girl's wee-wee, and Emil has a boy's wee-wee." Curious as to what a wee-wee really is, I looked it up on dictionary.com. Apparently it's the pee itself, not the private parts. Who needs a euphemism for pee-pee, I wonder?
But when I change Esme's diaper, I can't bring myself to say vagina. It seems like such a big word for such a little girl. Or maybe it's just that I don't like the word. I don't know. I read somewhere that women have a hard time using the word vagina, even if they are in conversation with their gynecologist. The word vulva doesn't sound much better, to me. So what's the right word to use? Without really planning it, I started saying "wee-wee". And somehow it has stuck. I change Esme's diaper, and she points down there and says in her two-year-old questioning voice, "Dat my wee-wee?"
"Yes, Esme, that's your wee-wee," I say, unsure even as I say it how I picked that word. For some reason, in my mind wee-wee has always been the euphemism for a boy's parts (yes, I have just as hard a time with the word penis as I do with vagina). So I started specifying, "You have a girl's wee-wee, and Emil has a boy's wee-wee." Curious as to what a wee-wee really is, I looked it up on dictionary.com. Apparently it's the pee itself, not the private parts. Who needs a euphemism for pee-pee, I wonder?
Tuesday, December 12, 2006
Baby Time
Mornings are supposed to be my productive time at home. Esme goes to daycare and Emil just hangs out. I should be working on stories and pitches and doing household chores, but instead, I find myself hanging out with Emil. He doesn't need to cry to get my attention. When he's awake and alert, I want to be there with him. It's fun to watch him swing his arms and kick his legs, wide-eyed at the world around him.
But it's a different pace, hanging out with a baby. I just sit there, and enjoy changing facial expressions, the way he moves his head at the sound of my voice. It's like slowing down, reminiscent of my childhood, hot summer days in Kentucky, where you don't want to do anything but sit on the porch and drink iced tea, rocking back and forth. Emil smiles at me and sometimes manages a coo, those first explorations of voice. I like this slow time. Baby time.
But it's a different pace, hanging out with a baby. I just sit there, and enjoy changing facial expressions, the way he moves his head at the sound of my voice. It's like slowing down, reminiscent of my childhood, hot summer days in Kentucky, where you don't want to do anything but sit on the porch and drink iced tea, rocking back and forth. Emil smiles at me and sometimes manages a coo, those first explorations of voice. I like this slow time. Baby time.
Friday, December 8, 2006
The Goldfish Blues
It's a sad day. Dorothy the goldfish has kicked the bowl. I changed her water today, and when Jacob came home, he noticed that Dorothy was swimming upside down. Within an hour or two, she wasn't moving anymore. I know she's just a goldfish, but I can't help feeling sad and guilty that I let this poor creature down.
We bought Dorothy for Esme when she started sleeping in her big girl bed, as a way to celebrate her graduation to this next stage. Esme named Dorothy (after Elmo's fish, of course - there must be hundreds of thousands of Dorothy fishes around the world thanks to Sesame Street) and helped feed her everyday. The day we bought her, I asked the store clerk whether the fish would be happy alone in a bowl. She said that the fish would probably be happier with the extra space than with a pal.
But I noticed everyday as I went to the changing table where Dorothy's bowl was that Dorothy swam towards me with a look that seemed like a cry for help. Okay, so maybe she was just conditioned to me because the sight of me often meant food. But I couldn't help but wonder if she could possibly be happy in that little bowl. Then one day, I was reading about goldfish online for tips on changing her water. This website says that you shouldn't keep a goldfish in a little bowl. But I wasn't ready to invest in a larger fish tank because we have no room for it.
Now I feel just horrible. Pets (even goldfish) become part of the family and it is sad to say goodbye.
How do you explain death to a two year old? Jacob is talking about a "long vacation." I'm not sure what I'm going to say.
______________
Post Script:
When Esme finally asked me instead of Jacob where Dorothy was, I tried to explain, "Dorothy had to go bye bye. We all have lives, and our lives don't last forever. It was time for Dorothy to end this life and go on to the next stage."
Esme started to cry. I held her and said, "It's okay to cry. I cried, too. We're going to miss Dorothy, aren't we." She only cried for about five seconds, and then she was off playing again.
We bought Dorothy for Esme when she started sleeping in her big girl bed, as a way to celebrate her graduation to this next stage. Esme named Dorothy (after Elmo's fish, of course - there must be hundreds of thousands of Dorothy fishes around the world thanks to Sesame Street) and helped feed her everyday. The day we bought her, I asked the store clerk whether the fish would be happy alone in a bowl. She said that the fish would probably be happier with the extra space than with a pal.
But I noticed everyday as I went to the changing table where Dorothy's bowl was that Dorothy swam towards me with a look that seemed like a cry for help. Okay, so maybe she was just conditioned to me because the sight of me often meant food. But I couldn't help but wonder if she could possibly be happy in that little bowl. Then one day, I was reading about goldfish online for tips on changing her water. This website says that you shouldn't keep a goldfish in a little bowl. But I wasn't ready to invest in a larger fish tank because we have no room for it.
Now I feel just horrible. Pets (even goldfish) become part of the family and it is sad to say goodbye.
How do you explain death to a two year old? Jacob is talking about a "long vacation." I'm not sure what I'm going to say.
______________
Post Script:
When Esme finally asked me instead of Jacob where Dorothy was, I tried to explain, "Dorothy had to go bye bye. We all have lives, and our lives don't last forever. It was time for Dorothy to end this life and go on to the next stage."
Esme started to cry. I held her and said, "It's okay to cry. I cried, too. We're going to miss Dorothy, aren't we." She only cried for about five seconds, and then she was off playing again.
Thursday, December 7, 2006
The Mixed Blessing of Extended Family
We just said farewell to the last batch of family in the parade of Emil's well-wishers. It's been non-stop since he was born, and with today's divorced and remarried set of parents, it just extends the family further and further. Where there used to be two sets of grandparents, now there are often four. We have three sets of grandparents, and I am thankful for all of them.
But I'm glad they're gone for now. The problem with living so far from all the grandparents is that getting time with them becomes a big ordeal. You have to interrupt your daily routine to spend time with them. If we lived close by, we could have more casual, spread out visits. A dinner here, a lunch there. But as it is, it's morning, noon and night with ne'er a break between.
They come with the claim that they are here to help. And they are. It's been wonderful having someone help cook and clean. But our house is small, and with four adults and two children, the chaos quickly gets out of control. So their additional cleaning doesn't always outweigh the additional mess.
My office is my living room, and frankly, I haven't gotten much work done. My house is now returned to me, and this morning in the space of three hours, I have managed to research an article I'm working on, communicate with two of my editors via email, meet with a house painter, do two loads of laundry, and clean out the fridge. Somehow, doing any of those things with people sitting around hanging out seemed very difficult.
Emil is sleeping peacefully in his swing, and Esme is at daycare. There is not a sound but the hum of the fridge, and that is beautiful. There are days that I think I will never be able to balance this parenting life with my own career, but then there are days like this that are smooth sailing.
I wish that we lived closer to our extended family. Then maybe I could see less of them. ;-)
But I'm glad they're gone for now. The problem with living so far from all the grandparents is that getting time with them becomes a big ordeal. You have to interrupt your daily routine to spend time with them. If we lived close by, we could have more casual, spread out visits. A dinner here, a lunch there. But as it is, it's morning, noon and night with ne'er a break between.
They come with the claim that they are here to help. And they are. It's been wonderful having someone help cook and clean. But our house is small, and with four adults and two children, the chaos quickly gets out of control. So their additional cleaning doesn't always outweigh the additional mess.
My office is my living room, and frankly, I haven't gotten much work done. My house is now returned to me, and this morning in the space of three hours, I have managed to research an article I'm working on, communicate with two of my editors via email, meet with a house painter, do two loads of laundry, and clean out the fridge. Somehow, doing any of those things with people sitting around hanging out seemed very difficult.
Emil is sleeping peacefully in his swing, and Esme is at daycare. There is not a sound but the hum of the fridge, and that is beautiful. There are days that I think I will never be able to balance this parenting life with my own career, but then there are days like this that are smooth sailing.
I wish that we lived closer to our extended family. Then maybe I could see less of them. ;-)
Wednesday, December 6, 2006
People in Progress
I was holding Emil today, and he was fully smiling and cooing at me. He has filled in (I should say "rounded out"), changing from the emaciated newborn look to the chubby baby look. But he is also focusing more on objects and studying the world around him. He was fascinated by my shadow art on the wall above his changing table.
Then I looked at Esme. It's almost impossible to believe that she was his size just two years ago. Today, she got ahold of my purse, pulled out the keys, put my sunglasses on, threw the purse over her shoulder, and said to me, "Where's the car?" Yikes! And I thought that wouldn't happen until she was 16.
Yeah, we're all changing everyday, even as adults. But we are not changing anywhere as rapidly as these little people. I have to admit, it's pretty cool to watch. They're little people in progress.
Then I looked at Esme. It's almost impossible to believe that she was his size just two years ago. Today, she got ahold of my purse, pulled out the keys, put my sunglasses on, threw the purse over her shoulder, and said to me, "Where's the car?" Yikes! And I thought that wouldn't happen until she was 16.
Yeah, we're all changing everyday, even as adults. But we are not changing anywhere as rapidly as these little people. I have to admit, it's pretty cool to watch. They're little people in progress.
Monday, December 4, 2006
Groundhog Day
Ever since my son Emil was born, I have been living a sort of Groundhog Day experience. It happened again this weekend, first at a birthday party, and then later, at home talking to my husband’s father and stepmother who are in town visiting the new baby. I have the same conversation repeatedly, sometimes with the same people.
But let me back up, and start with the birth, so that you will know where I’m coming from.
We had planned a homebirth from the start, because we live in the woods, at least half an hour from the nearest hospital, and I knew that this baby was going to come quickly. As it turned out, Emil was born before the midwife had time to arrive, after just two hours of labor and a few minutes of pushing.
It was a wonderful experience. I was in the bathtub, my favorite place to be, and my husband caught the baby while our two-year-old daughter Esme slept peacefully in her room. The midwife arrived soon after the birth, and checked to make sure that the baby and I were both doing well. Esme woke up in the morning and came into our room to exclaim, “Baby brother’s out!” It was like Christmas morning.
When I tell this story to people, I expect them to pick up on the fact that from my perspective, this was a wonderful experience. Much better than being at a hospital, where I had my first child. I felt like I was constantly fighting for my rights, forcing them to tell me what they were doing to me, having my doctor tell me to push when it wasn’t necessarily when my body was wanting to push. And then afterwards, having nurses wake me up what seemed like every 15 minutes to check my vitals when all I wanted to do was sleep.
But what people inevitably say when they hear Emil’s birth story is something along the lines of, “Oh my God! Weren’t you terrified?” When I convince them that, no, I didn’t have time to be terrified, they interject with, “Well, wasn’t Jacob (my husband) frightened?” And he answers that he didn’t have time to be scared either. We were both elated to be holding what was obviously a healthy baby boy.
I know, I know, I can put an end to this Groundhog Day by shutting up about the birth story and just smiling blandly when people ask how the birth was. But in a society where people view birth as a medical problem, it seems important to share anecdotes about positive birth experiences. It seems like women in our society are raised to think that they can’t go through this without major help in the form of painkillers and medical interventions and so forth. And yes, there are definitely times that those things are helpful and even necessary. But for a low-risk birth, a woman should have her confidence built on rather than have society feed her fear of a natural process.
So I will go on living my Groundhog Day and sharing my story, stressing yet again that No, we were not afraid. Yes, it hurt, but it was also a wonderful experience. Maybe someone will hear and get the message that birth doesn’t have to be viewed as a medical emergency but that our bodies were meant to do this.
But let me back up, and start with the birth, so that you will know where I’m coming from.
We had planned a homebirth from the start, because we live in the woods, at least half an hour from the nearest hospital, and I knew that this baby was going to come quickly. As it turned out, Emil was born before the midwife had time to arrive, after just two hours of labor and a few minutes of pushing.
It was a wonderful experience. I was in the bathtub, my favorite place to be, and my husband caught the baby while our two-year-old daughter Esme slept peacefully in her room. The midwife arrived soon after the birth, and checked to make sure that the baby and I were both doing well. Esme woke up in the morning and came into our room to exclaim, “Baby brother’s out!” It was like Christmas morning.
When I tell this story to people, I expect them to pick up on the fact that from my perspective, this was a wonderful experience. Much better than being at a hospital, where I had my first child. I felt like I was constantly fighting for my rights, forcing them to tell me what they were doing to me, having my doctor tell me to push when it wasn’t necessarily when my body was wanting to push. And then afterwards, having nurses wake me up what seemed like every 15 minutes to check my vitals when all I wanted to do was sleep.
But what people inevitably say when they hear Emil’s birth story is something along the lines of, “Oh my God! Weren’t you terrified?” When I convince them that, no, I didn’t have time to be terrified, they interject with, “Well, wasn’t Jacob (my husband) frightened?” And he answers that he didn’t have time to be scared either. We were both elated to be holding what was obviously a healthy baby boy.
I know, I know, I can put an end to this Groundhog Day by shutting up about the birth story and just smiling blandly when people ask how the birth was. But in a society where people view birth as a medical problem, it seems important to share anecdotes about positive birth experiences. It seems like women in our society are raised to think that they can’t go through this without major help in the form of painkillers and medical interventions and so forth. And yes, there are definitely times that those things are helpful and even necessary. But for a low-risk birth, a woman should have her confidence built on rather than have society feed her fear of a natural process.
So I will go on living my Groundhog Day and sharing my story, stressing yet again that No, we were not afraid. Yes, it hurt, but it was also a wonderful experience. Maybe someone will hear and get the message that birth doesn’t have to be viewed as a medical emergency but that our bodies were meant to do this.
Friday, December 1, 2006
Store-bought Patience
Ah, both children (and even the dog!) are napping, leaving me a moment to myself. It's been one of those days that no matter how hard I try to be the model parent, I feel like I'm drowning. After thoroughly cleaning the house yesterday, it looks like a hurricane went through it today. That would be Hurricane Esme.
In trying to get things done while entertaining Esme, we did lots of projects together today. She helped me wrap presents, and for the most part I was very patient. But there were a few times that I just snapped and found myself raising my voice in frustration (like when she practically climbed up onto the dining room table and ripped the wrapping paper trying to grab it and the present I was wrapping). It's impossible to be a perfect parent, and while I got control of myself quickly, I was mad at myself for letting my temper flare. Then the thought crossed my mind that if I can't even keep my cool with my own children, how will I ever find a child care provider who can? Yes, I've been thinking about childcare lately as I face the fact that my writing career will stall completely unless I have more time to write.
In the meantime, is it possible to buy an extra store of patience for those times that I run out?
In trying to get things done while entertaining Esme, we did lots of projects together today. She helped me wrap presents, and for the most part I was very patient. But there were a few times that I just snapped and found myself raising my voice in frustration (like when she practically climbed up onto the dining room table and ripped the wrapping paper trying to grab it and the present I was wrapping). It's impossible to be a perfect parent, and while I got control of myself quickly, I was mad at myself for letting my temper flare. Then the thought crossed my mind that if I can't even keep my cool with my own children, how will I ever find a child care provider who can? Yes, I've been thinking about childcare lately as I face the fact that my writing career will stall completely unless I have more time to write.
In the meantime, is it possible to buy an extra store of patience for those times that I run out?
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