Taking a break from the blog

This is a hard entry to write, but I've got to do it. I'm taking a break from the blog for a while. We're down to almost no childcare now, and being Mommy is such a full time job that I can't seem to squeeze anything else in: no trips to the gym, no writing, no anything but dancing and singing and doing puzzles and artwork and going on hikes and changing diapers and cooking and cleaning. In short, all those domestic, family things that make me feel like I've been shuttled unawares back in time to the 1950s.

It's not bad. Especially the playing part. The cleaning part I could do without, but every job has its dirty work. So until later, I'm signing off. If we manage to find a part-time nanny, then perhaps I'll pick it up again. So wish me luck.

To sleep, perchance to dream . . .

After a brutal first 5 days trying to teach Atticus to settle himself to sleep, I can report a little light at the end of the tunnel. He has a wonderful, long bedtime routine and now usually drops off to sleep without crying. We still have night-feeds to contend with, and I'm trying to work out where I stand on that one, but in general he is sleeping solidly from 7pm-1am. The witching hour comes around 4am when he really wants to get up and at the world. In the early days I would just tuck him in bed next to me and nurse him until I was ready to get up. Now, if I try that, he nurses and then gets up to play- thinking he's just had breakfast. So, we need to find a common ground there but, for now at least, there is a little sleep happening in our house.

Toy recall continues

As I predicted in an earlier post, the toy recalls continue. And you can be sure that they will never discover all the lead-painted toys that have been sold to children. Just another reason to either by from local artisans, or to develop creative toys on your own for your children. My kids can spend weeks playing with a cardboard box.

Imaginary Friends

Yesterday, Esme started looking up to the top of the redwood trees and yelling, "Hey guys, what you doing up there?" I asked her who she was talking to, and she answered, "My friends." Where are they, I wanted to know. "Up there, Mommy," she gestured as if pointing out the most obvious thing in the world. "On top of the trees!"

It wasn't the first time I've encountered her friends. She talks to them all the time, assuming an authoritative voice that she seldom gets to use with Mom or Dad. I've asked her about her friends before, and she tells me that they are adult women. She gives varying answers on how many there are, but she assures me that they are not children and she refuses to tell me whether they have names. That's fine with me, though. It's her world and they are her friends, and when she's talking to them she doesn't like me to pry.

Why do kids have imaginary friends, and is it a healthy phenomena? An old article in Slate says that current thinking has cast a kinder light on pretend friends than Dr. Spock used to. I recall my mom telling me about the day her own mother took her to to the train station so that they could see her imaginary friend off to some other place. Nanny had gotten tired of being told she couldn't sit in that seat b/c the pretend friend was there. Apparently, the train ride worked. The friend was gone for good.

Since Esme's friends don't seem interested in my chairs (they were last seen on top of the guest house roof), I don't mind having them around. I think that they are a good sign of a healthy imagination, and that they help Esme role play to learn about social dynamics. But I can tell you this - I sure am glad that Emil was born. If we had decided to only have one child, I fear I would interpret Esme's imaginary friends as loneliness and longing for a sibling. Now I know it's just Esme, learning about the world around her.

Letter to Southwest

Here's the text of my letter to Southwest Airlines, in case anyone would like to borrow the language:

September 21, 2007

Mr. Gary Kelly
Chief Executive Officer
Southwest Airlines
P.O. Box 36647 - 1CR
Dallas, Texas 75235-1647


Dear Mr. Kelly,

I was disturbed to read that you were discontinuing the policy to allow families with young children to board first. Your comment that it wasn’t fair shows how little you must have traveled with young children. That is similar to saying it’s not fair for someone to have to offer a seat to an elderly person on the subway. Traveling with very young children is simply more difficult than traveling with adults, which is why this policy was instituted in the first place and is respected by almost every major airline.

As flying has become more uncomfortable in almost every way over the past several years, this is a measure that will make it significantly worse for families to travel. I can tell you that this change in policy will affect my choice in airlines.

I urge you to reconsider the proposed change.

Sincerely,


Aeron Noe

Avoid Southwest!!!!

Southwest Airlines is ending its practice of allowing families with young children to board first (a practice that is almost universally observed across airlines). From an article in the SF Chronicle: "Kelly (Southwest's CEO) said Southwest will cease preboarding families with children under 4, effective Oct. 2. He said he did not think it was fair for those passengers to automatically board first."

Not fair? Okay, so let's risk separating a mother from her infant. That sounds fair, doesn't it? What's wrong with people when they fail to recognize that there are simple signs of respect in society. You offer your seat on a crowded subway to an elderly person or someone with a small child. You let people with small children board the plane first. I have a strong feeling that Good Ole Mr. Kelly doesn't hold doors open for people, either. He's certainly no gentleman making this change to their policy.

Unfortunately, I have a flight scheduled on Southwest Airlines in just a few weeks! But after that, I think I will avoid the airline. Traveling with children is more difficult than traveling without children. I don't need to fly airlines that make it even more difficult.

I'm urging everyone to write Southwest to urge them to rethink this change in policy:

Gary Kelly, CEO
Southwest Airlines
P.O. Box 36647 - 1CR
Dallas, Texas 75235-1647

If Southwest gets away with it, what's to stop other airlines from following suit?

Toys toys toys!

There are so many toys out there! And I have to confess that I love toy shopping. We're coming up on both the kids' birthdays, and my brain is starting to sort through all the gift possibilities. Living in a small house means we need to be thoughtful in the toys we keep around. Nothing too big, nothing that can't be easily stored away.

One of the coolest things about having children is getting back some of that childhood excitement. When Esme or Emil get presents, I feel their butterflies. At the same time, there are so many considerations when selecting toys. Emil puts everything in his mouth, so we have to keep all choking-sized toys put away. Then there are the annoying toys that beep and buzz and make electronic noises. Of course, real instruments are fine with me. A kid banging on pots and pans doesn't chip away at my sanity like a bad recording of a bad song on a never-ending 5-second loop does.

But should toys also be educational? And what does educational mean? I think that the best toys for 3 and under offer developmentally appropriate challenges for their fine and gross motor skills, adding other concepts like shapes and colors as they go. A classic wooden shape sorter is a favorite in our house. Puzzles are also extremely popular. But then there are the "pretend" toys, which are great, too. What we try to avoid are toys that come "packaged" with a story already. So characters from TV, for example, have a history that comes with the branded toy. This limits the child's imagination, so I try to avoid Disney-style toys.

Of course, it has come out recently that many of these toys may be health hazards for our children, too. Most of the mass-produced, Chinese-manufactured toys that have been recalled due to lead paint concerns are these big brand, plastic toys. If you have toys like this in your house, you might want to test them yourself for lead, since you can almost guarantee that they won't discover/recall all the toys that have lead. The recall is just the tip of the iceberg - it's more likely that there is systematic use of lead in Chinese-made toys. There is a company called LeadCheck that provides simple swabs for surfaces, costing $18.45 for an 8-swab test kit.

This means that there is more reason than ever to choose more simple, artful toys that are not branded and mass-produced in China, but rather are handcrafted from organic materials. Some of my favorite stores are online, including Hearthsong and Oompa. Emily also keyed me in to Nova.

All this typing about toys has gotten me excited. I'm going to do some surfing now to decide what little gifts Esme and Emil are going to get to mark a new year of life!

Sleep-training Atticus

After over a month of constant night-waking and difficulty settling, we have determined to use a ‘crying-down’ period to help Atticus learn to sleep. It is heart-breaking. He is six and a half months and is a beautiful, happy, energetic baby. He was weaned onto some solids at 5 months and now has three good meals a day, plus milk-feeds on demand. At night I nurse him at my bedtime, then around 3 or 4am, then breakfast. I feel confident that he no longer needs much more than just the middle of the night feed, as he now wakes without being hungry and often waits a good half an hour before nursing, this morning is was closer to an hour. I am utterly exhausted from his most recent bout of sleeplessness- he is currently waking over a dozen times a night, needing to be rocked and sung to sleep. There are nights that I have ended up sleeping in the armchair next to his bed because I know he will be up again in a matter of minutes. I am aware that this is teaching him nothing but the wrong habits, and need to find a way to teach him how to re-settle in the night. All my experience and reading shows that babies who settle themselves to sleep when they go to bed tend to re-settle themselves in the night unless they have a genuine problem. I am also aware that the longer I wait to do this the older he will be and the more entrenched his habits will be.

Night 1
7:10 He is laid in bed: bathed, massaged, nursed, sung to and snuggled. He plays with his friends for a moment before understanding that he is alone and needs to sleep. The cries are distressed and powerful, but not overwhelming. Even through them I can hear how tired he is. My beautiful boy needs to release himself into slumber.
7:20 I go to him, pat, stroke, soothe and try to lull him a little calmer. He cannot understand why I don’t pick him up. I sing to him but he cannot hear. His cries are alternating: full of yawns then anguish.
7:30 I go again. My god this hurts. He is full of incomprehension, as I stroke him and kiss away his tears. I repeat my mantra: ‘Hush, baby, hush. I love you, boy. It’s time to sleep’ and sing him his favourite lullaby. His cries are less desperate and more exhausted.
7:40 Though I am due to go to him; I can hear the gaps in his cries are full of slumber. I’ll give it another couple of minutes because I don’t want my emotions and love to re-awaken him. It hurts not to go when I am sitting here counting the minutes.
7:45 He is asleep.

Day 2
Last night he slept well, waking only a couple of times other than for his feeds and dropping off again without tears. But today he has barely napped- brief sleeps at 9am, noon and 2:30. He was clingy and fussy all day, but did feed well. I anticipate a rough evening. I fear that the bond we have will be damaged by this process- my love for him is so powerful, but when he looks at me so sadly and I don’t give him the tenderness he asks for he cannot understand.

Night 2
7:02 I lay him down really drowsy and kiss him goodnight. When I leave, he immediately starts crying loudly.
7:10 All is quiet- is he asleep? Yes! He is, but do not feel too good because when you do, that is when the shit goes bad! I love ya!- matty

Day 3
He slept well last night, waking for his feeds at around the right time, and resettling quickly. This morning we all woke up around 7:15- unheard of! The nap-routine was going well, he had a 45 minute nap from 9am in the pram after dropping Imogen off, and was ready for his lunchtime nap by 1. After an hour of sleep, though, Imogen woke him up. He wouldn’t resettle, even with another feed, as the edge had been taken off his tiredness. As a result the whole afternoon was a tearful and clingy one. Now it looks like I’ll have real trouble keeping him up until 7.

Night 3
6:00 I lay him down after possibly the largest dinner ever (spinach bake followed by pear puree with yoghurt), and a good long breast feed. He has been so sad this afternoon- really exhausted. I hope that this is not going to result in an over-tired boy who resists sleep for hours.
6:10 I go to him and try to soothe him. I lay my hands on firmly and calmly (!) I kiss him and tell him that I love him, but he needs to go to sleep. His kisses are fierce and he looks at me with such incomprehension it breaks my heart. He never stops crying whilst I am there. When I leave the room I read in Dr Sears’ book about ‘crying up’ versus ‘crying down’. The theory is that one is a move towards more distress and away from sleep, the other a step in the right direction. I listen hopefully for the crying to calm. It seems to be doing so at times, but then picks up again. My visits seem to make him sadder, not calmer. My reading says that at this point I should increase the gaps between my visits by five minutes. Every moment is heart-wrenching, but I will try.
6:25 I go in and kiss him and sing to him. Again I repeat my mantra. He looks devastated and I sit and sob when I leave him as his cries echo on. This goes against all I want to do, all that my heart speaks. But only moments later he is quiet. He is asleep. What has felt like an eternity has been less than half an hour.

I'll let you know how things progress.

I'm back, and looking at preschools!

Sorry for the break. We just had our big community art fair (for which I volunteer) over Labor Day weekend, and things haven't really calmed down since it ended. I've been meeting with architects about working on the house, organizing my high school reunion, and researching preschools for Esme. I'm exhausted. (Do I say that a lot on this blog? Exhaustion seems to be a theme for parenthood.)

But on to the topic of the post: preschools. We have been researching preschools for Esme. She currently goes to daycare that has some preschool elements, but I'm seriously considering moving her to a more official preschool. It's not an easy decision, though. She loves the Secret Garden Daycare, where she goes now. It's run out of a friend's house, and is such a wonderful spot for children. But is she getting what she needs there? What's the function of preschool? Well, there are about as many answers to that question as there are preschools dotting the country. There are so many ways to break it down and analyze the various options. But lately, I've been smitten by the Montessori method.

While many teachers would say the purpose of preschool is to socialize children and get them used to a classroom setting, the Montessori method says that preschool should be about allowing the child to educate him or herself. The Montessori classroom is filled with games and activities all neatly arranged on child-size shelves. While the 3-year-old (or 4 or 5-year-old) is playing with the toys, they are actually doing work on an area of development. Each of the activities is designed to help the child's mastery of some specific skill. Of course, you can read about the Montessori method all day, but to understand it, I think you have to see a classroom in progress.

The first Montessori school we looked at was a small, two-room preschool. As we entered, the children were all quietly and happily working away at little tables, matching up pegs of wood that showed gradations of colors, spelling out words, scooping beads from one dish to another. The children were absolutely focused on their work. Of course, they're not expected to do that all day long. There are snack and meal breaks, outdoor play, etc., but the child is given the freedom to pursue their own activities during set work times, and the children seem to thrive in this atmosphere.

It's not that I'm worried about Esme's academics at this age. There shouldn't be so much pressure around preschool, as each child develops differently. But I think that providing an atmosphere that recognizes different stages of development and fosters a sense of joy in education is the best thing that we can do for our children.

Of course, getting into one of these preschools is another story, and another blog post. Thus far, we're playing the waiting list game. And I thought that would be something I would only hear when Esme was ready to apply for college!

Welcome to my nightmare

Ah, the nights of my baby sleeping sweetly for hours has come to and end. As with his sister, Atticus was an increasingly good sleeper as an infant- notching up a full night (well 8pm-5am) by about 3 months. However, yet again, here I am at 6 months with an otherwise settled and happy baby who wakes literally every hour throughout the night crying sadly. Is it separation anxiety? Teething? Increased mobility flipping him onto his face or back? I don't know and I don't know how to fix it.

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I do know what not to do. I am not nursing him every time he wakes, but do feed him when hungry (usually around 11pm, 4am and 7 am). Right now he is up for the 7th time in the hour since I put him to bed. It goes without saying that we are all shattered beyond reconition and ready to try almost anything.

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He has a beautiful bedtime routine: family dinner, bath, massage, song, breast, more songs and snuggles; and a regular bedtime. He loves his crib, and wakes up in the morning to gurgle and coo at the silk veils and rainbow mobile of paper cranes and his sister's face peeping in.

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He is feeding well during the day- both solids and breast-milk, and is otherwise thriving. I know that this is probably my doing somehow, and have always found sleep to be the hardest aspect of parenting my children, as the best of plans made in the light and logic of day can go out of the window in the somnabulic state of the early hours. I just hope I can find a solution that doesn't require crying it out for hours at a time.

Imitating the creatures in my care

Yoga class was splendid, a solid hour and a half to stretch my muscles and focus on my breathing. At the beginning of the class, the teacher asked us to set an intention for our practice. It's yoga psycho-babble, I know, but somehow I know what she means. By setting an intention, we focus our energy. Lately, my intention always seems to be practice patience with Esme, what with all our potty training trouble. But since I've let her back into diapers, I just relaxed into the yoga session and let it be what it would.

As I moved through the postures, child's pose (Esme sleeping), happy baby (Emil laughing on the floor after being tickled), downward dog (Cleo begging me to play with her), it struck me that I was shedding my caretaker role and trying to get back some of the focus on myself through my yoga practice. The children and the dogs are always my focus these days. This was about me getting the freedom to be like a little kid or a playful puppy dog. It was an interval of freedom from responsibility.

At the end of the yoga session, the teacher said, "Now think of something you're grateful for." My answer to this is almost always the same: I am grateful for my family. But this time, my response was different. I was grateful for the yoga class, for reminding me to take care of myself.

The Power of Uni-tasking

I have trudged through days where I felt like I was busy as could be, but at the end of the day there were no finished tasks to point to and say, "Look what I've accomplished." Flitting around from one thing to another, I couldn't seem to complete anything.

So I had to resort to drastic measures. I've started to turn off my computer during the day. Now I only allow myself to get online a few times a day. So maybe I haven't severed this digital umbilical cord to the world, but I have limited my reliance on it with profound results. Suddenly, I can concentrate and plow through a single task. Even those tasks that are too big to ever seem to complete (like pulling that rampant, weedy periwinkle from the yard) are being tackled in greater blocks.

I suspect that I'm not the only person addicted to email. I have checked it religiously for years now, probably hundreds of times a day. After checking my inbox, I then surf my favorite news sites or browse sites that offer information on something I'm researching. If I added up all the scraps of minutes spent on email and random website surfing, I would have a sizeable chunk of my day returned to me. That's why I've decided to become a uni-tasker, a task that could only be achieved once I shut off my Mac. The interesting side effect of this effort is a change in my mental state as I go to work. I feel more emotionally and mentally present in my tasks when I'm only doing one thing. It's very zen, really. Thich Nhat Hanh would be proud of me. And it's most obvious when I'm doing activities with the children. I spend time with the children and give them my full attention. I'm not trying to cook dinner, answer emails, talk on the phone, clean up, or do anything else. The result is that we have a lot more fun together. That's not to say that the kids are never playing by themselves - because I think it's very important for them to have alone play, and that's when I cook dinner or clean up or do laundry.

By focusing on one thing at a time, I feel a much greater sense of accomplishment when I complete something. I have also found my mind wandering through the language of my actions, playing with words when I'm engaged in more meditative acts, like chopping vegetables or weeding. Phrases that evoke the spirit of my acts, delicious words like the sticky smell of overripe fruit, or the light pink flesh of roots rip from the rocky dirt, just pop into my head, delighting my writer-side. It's almost like I've rediscovered the poetry of the everyday. Who knew that uni-tasking could improve my quality of life so much?

Admitting defeat

I'm too emotionally exhausted to craft a well-thought out entry today. I will simply say this: I give up.

Esme is in diapers again after a little over a week of wearing underwear. We had some great days that she avoided most accidents. Then there are days like today. First thing this morning, she announced that she didn't need to go potty cause she had already peed. Determined not to let it set the tone for the day, I had her sit on the potty every 15-30 minutes, and it was soon after one of these attempts that she pooped on the floor (she was going nakey-butt because - shock! - all her underwear were in the laundry).

I almost hit her. Her "accident" was so deliberate. Patience expired, I was angry. Then I decided maybe she just needed more attention, so we spent the morning on drawing and painting with water colors, taking regular trips to the bathroom (most resulting in nothing). Then we sat down to lunch and when I asked her if she needed to go potty, she looked sheepish. "I already did." Sure enough, there was a nasty, smooshed up, stinky poop that was going to be a bi_*& to clean out of her underwear.

I won't recount my response, because I'm not proud of it. Let's just say that Esme is back in diapers for the time being. I give up. She wins. And maybe this capitulation of mine shows what was wrong with the whole scenario: it was me against her and her against me. Who was going to control her body? The answer is that she is the only one who can control her body. When will we try out her underwear again? I don't know. I'm just trying not to be bitter about the ordeal, and praying that it doesn't cause a backlash, keeping her in diapers even longer.

Child's Play

I'm currently on a committee to build a community playground, and I have to confess it's been fun. I've made it my job to seek out the coolest playground equipment and find out who makes it. We live in a rural redwood forested area, and families regularly drive down the hill to playgrounds in the more populated cities of the Peninsula. What we want is a safe, fun place for our children to play that doesn't require a 20 minute drive.

As I watch my own children growing older and becoming increasingly interested in playgrounds, I wonder at how different child rearing is from the days when I was a kid. My parents just used to open the door and let us go. But you can't really do that anymore. There are more cars on the road, and they drive faster. Predators are out there lurking, waiting for their chance to snatch unsupervised children. But I think it's more than a changing world. I think there's more focus on supervising children because we are obsessed with being the best parents we can, and sometimes, by trying too hard, we actually are becoming worse parents.

I was recently speaking with a woman who complained that when she has family friendly parties, the adults all end up sitting on the floor playing barbies with the kids. What happened to kids who could entertain themselves? What happened with being an adult around children, and letting them see how adults behave, rather than always trying to be on the child's level? These are good questions.

The NY Times wrote an article about a book addressing this very topic. It brushes on a lot of topics without going into depth on any of them: pointing out an empty playground (the children were all presumably in front of their tv's), the seismic shift in toys which occurred with the introduction of television (from open-ended imagination toys to toys that are prepackaged with a fantasy life and characters all made up for the children), and the idea that children should always be monitored and should be prohibited from doing anything too dangerous (like throwing balls or skipping rope, as an example of rules from one school).

As usual, it is easy to over-think playtime for our children, but not thinking about it enough could lead to a world of zombies buying all the latest products that dull rather than inspire creativity in our children and possibly even hasten the destruction of the environment (where does all this plastic end up?).

Day 4 of underwear wearing

Esme has been wearing underwear for about 4 days now! She's been having about 3 accidents a day, but she's been using the potty consistently. We're using cloth diapers at nap time and at night. Fingers crossed that this is the turning point! Stay tuned.

Potty problems and feelings of inadequacy

It is rare that I feel absolutely incompetent as a parent. But I have to admit that this is how I'm feeling right now. This potty training effort has me at my wit's end. How long should it take to potty train a child? One person would say, clearly you're child isn't ready yet, and another would say, why aren't you doing this or that? All I can say is that I'm ready to pull my hair out and give my daughter away to the first person who'll take her.

Perhaps the problem is that she is stubborn, a trait she comes by most honestly given that both her her mother and father are incredibly stubborn. You see, she sits on the potty, then gets her diaper or underwear on and immediately pees or poops. She sometimes successfully in the potty, but there are other times that she just refuses. It has me ready to explode! I know I'm not supposed to get mad at her when she has an accident, but what about when I know it wasn't an accident but a decision she made to pee on the floor rather than on the potty? What do I do then? I can tell you, I lose my temper. I'm not proud of it. But I don't think taking it with equilibrium helps either.

Jacob and I have decided to get her in underwear full time (except for bedtime, when she can wear a cloth diaper) for three days to see if that will do the trick. That is what our good friend and nanny extraordinaire Kelly Anne suggested. So far, it's resulted in a frustrating morning with two pee accidents. The first time she peed, she said she forgot she was wearing underwear instead of a diaper. I told her that was okay and cleaned up after her, giving her loving support. The second time it happened, she was standing right next to the potty and told me that she chose to go in her underwear. What do I say to that? There are times it's hard not to curse in front of, or in this instance AT, my children. I didn't curse, and that was an achievement.

Just now, she finally pooped in the potty after holding it in all morning. Afterwards, I asked her, "Aren't you proud of yourself?" Her answer? "No."

I foresee a long and frustrating three days ahead of me.

Baby Einstein's bogus promise - but is TV the devil?

Sorry I've been MIA lately. Between work, volunteer work, and parenting, I'm not sure which end is up these days. And I confess, there are some days that I turn on the TV so I can get dinner ready without having kids pull at my pants legs. Is that so wrong?

Maybe so according to Time magazine. I have to admit that this isn't news to me. Of course TV isn't great for a developing child's brain. The real question is whether it's actually harmful. Is a lower vocabulary based on a child's TV watching, or based on the fact that parents who let their kids watch a lot of TV also neglect to interact with their kids? I don't know. I don't let the children watch TV everyday, or even every other day. But they do watch a little. When I resort to the TV, I'm probably too stressed out to be interacting with them in a positive way anyway. I'll confess, though, that the "Repeat Play" button on the Baby Einstein videos is a a little evil. I wonder if that button appeared before or after Disney bought them out?

The Children's Room, an anomaly in the age of McMansions

When we got pregnant with Emil, we had a quandary. We live in two bedroom, one bathroom house. Where would we put the new baby? I reasoned that children around the world have shared bedrooms forever. I myself shared a room with my brother until we were about 10. But as we shared the big news with friends, neighbors and family, everyone wanted to know when we were going to move into a bigger house. After all, we live in the age of the McMansion, where every child must have his own bedroom and his own bathroom, in addition to a shared play room/media room.

We decided for the meantime, at least, that the children would be fine sharing a bedroom. We were both nervous about how the kids would sleep, whether they would wake each other up or not. We also worried that Esme might have trouble making the mental transition from "Esme's room" to "the kids' room." We needn't have worried.

I have found that the children don't disturb each others' sleep, even if they're trying to. Yesterday afternoon, when Emil had woken from his nap while his big sister was still off in dreamland, I heard this furtive grunting coming from the bedroom. "Nuh, nuh, nuh." It's hard to translate, but if he were speaking English, he would have been saying, "Hey! Wake up!" I walked into the room to find Emil standing in his crib staring intently at Esme while he was grunting. He smiled when he saw me, and was happy to be scooped up and whisked away. Esme slept for another hour without a problem.

Esme has also managed to fall asleep while Emil cried in his crib, protesting his own bedtime. She doesn't wake up when he cries in the middle of the night either. And perhaps the best sign of successful room-sharing came yesterday, when Esme precociously referred to the room as "the children's room" for the first time (it was still Esme's room in her mind a week ago).

As I flipped through the pages of the latest Parents magazine, I found an article on just this subject. The writer says that despite the trend for children to have their own rooms in America, experts say that it is healthier for siblings to share rooms. Among the benefits listed were learning how to cooperate and building stronger bonds. Whether it is the living situation or their natural personalities, I have to admit that my kids love each other dearly. Of course they have their moments of jealousy and sometimes they fight over toys, but in general, they really enjoy each other's company.

Will they be able to share a room forever? No, probably not. But for now, this is definitely working.

The Art of Blogging

I was just reading Emily's comments on my post about teaching second languages, and the thought bubbled up (as it has before) that these types of conversations we're able to have through The Daily Spitup are invaluable to me.

It's almost like letter-writing, except that we have set the topic of parenting for all of our exchanges. Posting to the blog enables me to take an experience, whether it is a major endeavor like potty training, or a little moment, like watching the children play together, and internalize it. It makes me more thoughtful about my parenting techniques, and gives me the satisfaction of hearing other viewpoints on the issues that I face every day. It's not like email, which is usually typed up and sent without too much thought. It's a different kind of outlet, and one that gives me much satisfaction both as a writer and as an analytic thinker.

I was resistant to blogging for a long time, thinking of it as an online diary. Blogging as an art is much like journaling, in that it allows for unique points of view and it often allows individual styles to shine through where other, more formulaic outlets mute individuality. But in its best form, it is more than a journal. A journal is presumably written for the author. A blog is written for an unlimited audience. The best blogs have distinct styles: witty, irreverent, flirtatious, informative, gossipy, etc. For me, it has been a practice in the art of the essay, adopted for the modern world. What technology has added to this ancient art is the ability to record and constantly add the readers' views, thus making it a conversation rather than a monologue. So thank you, Emily, for all of your comments. And for the others who have posted their own thoughts. Keep them coming.

Teaching Toddlers/Preschoolers a Foreign Language

Jacob and I just got into a heated discussion in the car over whether Esme should learn Spanish or Chinese. Standing back, it seems a little ridiculous that we're debating what language our 2-year-old should be learning (and that I am advocating she should be learning, or at least exposed to, two foreign languages right now). I recognize I have the tendency to be a hyper-intellectual parent. I confess to having labeled things around the house so that Esme might be able to recognize the words.

But being hyper-intellectual, I have done a lot of reading on this subject, and I have applied my own common sense enough to know that there are windows of opportunity for learning. The developing mind and tongue are at their best for language learning at Esme's age. Americans generally don't think they need a second language, but I disagree. We are moving into a more global community, and I feel like my children will benefit tremendously from knowing languages other than English.

Esme already recognizes and understands a decent amount of Spanish. If I ask her, "Tienes hambre, Esme?" she answers, "Yes, I'm hungry." I have achieved this through video tapes that she loves to watch, speaking to her in Spanish regularly, and reading to her in Spanish. She loves the videos and the books, but she looks at me a little funny when I speak in Spanish at home. (In Spain, she was fine with it because everyone was speaking Spanish.)

So what is the best method for teaching a young child a foreign language? Immersion is the only way to get the child speaking that language fluently. Immersion can take place in a foreign country, with a primary caretaker (a nanny or a parent speaking another language), or in regular play groups with children that speak other languages. I make this last comment because I truly believe that children learn so much more from other children than they do from adults.

But immersion isn't the only path to a second (or third) language. My goal with Esme isn't that she be fluent in a second or third language by the time she's three or even four. I simply want to expose her to other languages, using repetition and child-friendly media like videos and books, so that it's not so foreign to her. I know that my own path to speaking Spanish has been a very gradual one. After not having advanced much in years (since we moved away from Spain), on my last trip there, I catapulted to a new level. This is a residual growth process, and it doesn't happen overnight.

Because traveling and thinking globally are so important to me, I expect it to be important to my children, too. I feel like giving them other languages at a young age is one of the best gifts I can offer. No, I don't expect them to be fluent, but by being exposed now, if they choose to pursue languages further when they're older, I believe it will be much easier for them. I'm careful not to make it a high pressure situation for the children. It's all fun learning. Esme begs to watch her Muzzy video in Spanish (from Early Advantage) and her Bonjour Les Amis video in French, and she loves reading her books in Spanish.

A word on Early Advantage, though. If you're thinking about getting videos for your kids, I have to say that the Early Advantage program is expensive and not very compelling. It lacks interactive elements and is basically just a 2-disc cartoon story. There are other DVDs on the market that are much less expensive. You can even check them out from the library.

At the end of the day

I've had one of those long, long days where parenting a young baby and a big toddler has made me frazzled, and of course the more frazzled I get the more difficult they, and everything else, becomes.

Maybe it's because the rainiest July in forever means there are less options outside, but sometimes full-time parenting is unbelievably hard. I felt pretty slick this morning- everyone washed and dressed, breakfast (oatmeal and eggs) cooked, eaten and cleaned up, walk enjoyed (complete with puddle-jumps), poodle skirt made from scratch for carnival, bread baking and laundry washing. All with Aretha Franklin providing the soundtrack. Iit was a happy morning and the children were divine- sort of making up for my sleepless night.

Then it all changed when Imogen boycotted her nap. She's doing this lately and I think is growing out of it. The only problem is that for the afternoon of a no-nap day she becomes a clumsy, tearful, slobbery toddler then needs to go to bed at 6pm.

And that was our afternoon: she woke Atticus up a couple of times, so he was cranky and overtired. I was exhausted and trying to get a dinner ready and house tidied a little with him in sling and her arguing, then tripping over and needing a cuddle. By the time I laid him in his moses basket, all I needed was a glass of red wine in a candle-lit bath. It was not to be, and he woke every 5 minutes for nearly an hour with gas, not his fault. The fact that I needed a little time to myself meant that each time I settled him was less calm than the previous, and so less likely to encourage a deep slumber. Hence he was more likely to reawaken. I used to think taking a class of teenagers camping in Yosemite for a week was tiring until I had young children!

Finally, though, all are asleep and wine is breathing. I can relax. The candlelit bath will have to wait, though, until we've installed the tub in the bathroom!

Mirror, Mirror, in the Child

Jacob was out of town, so it was up to Esme to comfort me as I battled a nasty case of food poisoning (I don't know why I bother to eat meat anymore - my stomach is too sensitive!). Esme patted me on the back as I threw up into the toilet bowl. "It's okay, Momma. You're going to be just fine." And it was genuinely comforting, even though it was odd to experience this little role reversal.

It struck me that she was doing exactly what I have done for her when she was sick, and her sweetness was touching. I'm not sure whether she was actually empathizing with me, or if she was merely mimicking my behavior. But I have noticed that she has a lot of endearing behaviors that are clearly copies of what she sees me and Jacob do, and that makes me feel pretty good. She likes to comfort people and dolls, and often plays pretend at taking care of her little dolls, which tells me that she is growing up in a sufficiently comforting home. She watches us and thinks, "Oh, people take care of each other. I can do that, too!" If only we can sustain that through adolescence and beyond the immediate family, I will feel like an extremely successful parent. Of course, I recognize that it is partly personality, too. There are some little girls that want nothing to do with dolls, and it doesn't mean they don't have loving parents. But I'm sure they find other ways to mimic they're parents' behavior.

Okay, so there are those moments that are frustrating or just plain funny when Esme mimics not-so-pleasant behavior. It took me the longest time to figure out that this weird little sideways glare she gives was actually a copy of my Stern Look, which is quickly administered whenever I don't approve of a certain behavior. And then she has mastered the Command Voice, that is mostly used for the dog, but occasionally gets used with the children, too. But parents aren't perfect. As Esme reminded me the other day when I spilled a drink, "It's okay mommy, I sometimes spill things, too."

Farewell nanny

It all went down in the parking lot of the B of A, where I had withdrawn the nanny's final pay for the two days in the past two weeks that she has actually shown up. I waited and waited, telling myself that I would never have to wait for her again. She finally pulled up, and we had that awkward goodbye that is inevitable when firing someone.

It was a sad moment. I really liked the nanny as a person, and she was wonderful with the kids. She just wasn't at all reliable. She was supposed to be here at 9:30 yesterday morning, and she called at 9:32 to say she was sick. We've had this talk so many times before, because she's done this so many times before. It wasn't a first, second, or third warning. It was the final straw, and I was the camel. It sounds like such a small thing - she didn't call to tell me she was sick at least an hour before she was supposed to be here, per our agreement. But it was on the heels of countless other events, like coming in 3 hours late without a courtesy phone call. There have been days that I have sat here and wondered if she died on her way to work. And having an unreliable nanny kind of defeats the purpose of having a nanny at all. It's made it impossible to schedule interviews or meetings with my editors. I never know when she is going to show up.

Several months ago, a friend looked at me and said, "Which is worse, flaky nanny or no nanny?" I guess I've made my decision. No nanny is better than flaky nanny. At least I know I don't have childcare lined up, rather than wondering if I do. So Emil is going to join Esme at her daycare as there are openings. Meanwhile, I'll continue this incredibly frustrating juggling act of being an active, involved parent while trying to maintain my own career. It almost seems easier to just quit my freelance work and focus solely on parenting, but that would be just as frustrating.

The truth is that parenting involves sacrifices. But I look at my baby boy, who gives me the biggest grin in the world and then crawls toward me at top speed, and I hear Esme say, "I love you, Mommy" as she throws her arms around me, and I know that this is so worth it.

The Discipline Can of Worms

Esme is two and a half years old, and while I keep telling myself it's just the age, I'm not so sure. The only thing I'm sure about is that she is finding all of our buttons and pressing them for all she's worth.

We use time out. She has to sit still for two minutes (minutes = age, per all the experts' advice) and tell us why she's in time out before she can get up. But lately, I swear, it's like she wants to get in trouble. She refuses to answer questions when spoken to, she almost never says "please" without being reminded to, she knocks her baby brother over, and perhaps the worst thing is that she gives us this obnoxious attitude. Today we had a chat about okay behavior versus not-okay behavior, and I asked her if she liked going to time out. She answered yes, she liked it, and that she liked it when Mom and Dad got mad at her. So I gave her time out again, watched her scream and yell, only to tell me afterwards again that she liked it. What's up? Are we raising a masochist? It seems like a stupid way to test boundaries to me, but I have to be honest: I don't understand what she's doing.

Esme has always been an incredibly sweet child. But lately, she has gotten very bossy, using her Command Voice rather than talking politely. It's driving me so crazy that we have started sending her to her room and closing the door. The first time I did this, Jacob was shocked. "You can't lock her in her room," he said. But her behavior quickly improved. Tonight, I heard him warn her, "I'm going to put you in your room and close the door if you continue to behave like this." I guess he's decided it's not such evil punishment after all. There has to be some recourse if time out isn't working.

We don't feel good about doing it. But what do you do when your child refuses to listen to you and acts like a brat? I'm hoping this is a phase, and short one at that. I firmly believe that discipline and boundaries are important for young children. Structure and limits enable a toddler to thrive. But dealing with a preschooler who is testing those limits plum wears me out. I guess it's time to hit the child psychology books again, trying to find that fine line between allowing my child to walk all over me and scarring her permanently with our methods of discipline. My guess is that it's like most things - only found in personal experience rather than in academic texts. Of course, Jacob's dad pointed out once that she's likely to be sitting on a therapists' couch complaining some day regardless of what we do.

Going Green

I was just cleaning up the toys when I noticed that Esme's little shopping cart was full of cardboard boxes of play food, complete with a much-used brown paper shopping bag, and I realized that it's not an accurate mimic of our actual shopping trips. We use reusable bags (which are much nicer to carry than plastic bags and never break like plastic bags), and we hardly ever buy frozen or prepared foods. We even make our pie crust from scratch these days. We are definitely on the road to being a green family, although we have a long, long way to go.

I've been reading increasingly about a trend to attempt eating locally, or in other words, using only foods that are grown close by. There are a number of reasons why this is a good idea: it's a healthier, more sustainable model of farming than big agribusiness. It's also healthier to eat the freshest foods available (i.e. food that hasn't been shipped or flown a great distance).

I have been trying to buy mostly local produce from the grocery store or G. Berta's produce stand (which I haven't been to lately because I haven't been driving to Half Moon Bay much), but I'm not being totally strict about it. When local corn popped up, we were stoked. It was so much tastier than the corn that was being brought in from Southern California just a month ago. Ditto with the green beans. I'm contemplating signing up for a local produce box delivery service. We did it years ago, but I had trouble using all the veggies and fruit before they went bad. But now, with a family of four, we might be able to make it work.

I guess living a healthier, better-for-the-environment lifestyle will always be a journey because no one's perfect and our knowledge is always changing. But it feels good to be making baby steps.

Everyday adventures

There has been a lot of rain in England this week, and now it's over our little village has flooded. Not dangerously, but deep enough to disrupt everything. Walking Imogen to nursery school I realised the bonus of using a 70's baby carriage: I could sit her up on the rim and wade through the water in my psychedelic wellies pushing both children! English community spirit came out, in a vaguely war-time mentality. The Womens Institute put up a tea station in the churchyard for firemen and volunteers and the pubs passed out lunch-time pints over the sandbags. I made cocoa for when I picked up Imogen from her morning session and we sat on the bridge, water nearly up to our bottoms, and dangled our boots in the water as we watched it all.

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When Daddy came home, he assumed we hadn't made it to school. 'Oh yes we did' piped up Imogen 'Mummy was Doctor Foster, and I rode the pram through the flood!' She went on to describe the ducks huddled away from the torrent which replaced the idle mill-stream, she told of firemen pumping out houses and people helping each other. We had stopped to pick up groceries for an elderly neighbour on our way home, and she explained why. 'We were brave and the flood was exciting'. I didn't realise that she'd learn about strength in adversity so young, but I'm proud she has. This was one of those days of parenting that could have gone either way, but it ended up being one I will remember forever.

The Great American All Nighter

Just when we thought our all-night ragers were over, Jacob and I found ourselves at a 24-hour diner in San Mateo at 3am, surrounded by guys who had been out drinking, others who appeared to have been playing poker all night, a couple of underage lovebirds, and a table of cops doing the night shift. Oh, and our two children as well.

It was 1:30 am and we had flown in from London about 10 hours prior. Emil sat up in bed and starting talking and smiling. Esme followed suit, with Jacob and me close behind. All of us felt wide awake and ready to start our days. Our bodies were telling us that it was morning and time for breakfast (and if we had been in London still, our bodies would have been right). It was the beginning of jetlag. Thank god we were back in America, where there was a 24-hour diner and a nearby 24-hour grocery store so that we could feed ourselves.

We've been told by a few friends that it takes about 3 days to get over jetlag, and thus far, we think that's about right. Tonight will be our third night back from London, so hopefully this will be the last night of children waking up confused and ready to start the day while the sun still soundly sleeps. It was about 3 days on our flight out for the children to adjust. This being our first experience with jetlag as parents, I don't have a ton of advice, other than to take it easy and not expect too much of the children during the day, when they're sluggish and confused about why they have to be awake. That, and make sure you have food on hand for middle of the night wakings, when your child's body is insisting that it's breakfast time.

Esme was upset yesterday when she was awakened from her nap by her nanny instead of me. Although, I can't say she would have reacted much differently if I had woken her up. She just didn't want to wake up. It's 6:46 am here now, and she's been awake since 2am. She's starting to get grumpy, but I'm trying to keep her up as long as possible. Emil's napping, but he needs lots of frequent naps. If Esme goes to sleep now, she's going to want to sleep for 8 hours.

With a Rebel Yell

Some babies find their voices with pretty little coos and gurgles. Not Emil. He's found his voice, and it's more like a squealing piglet. It comes suddenly, without warning, and almost always in a public place wear we are hyper conscious of keeping the kids quiet, like a museum or nice restaurant. Seriously, he sounds like a wild animal. It's unnerving.

For the first three months, he was dubbed "my mellow baby boy" because that's what I had been praying for throughout the pregnancy. We have painful memories of Esme's first few months, when she cried endlessly through colicky nights. Emil seemed like an angel in comparison. They've traded the devil horns, though as the months have passed on. Whereas Esme grew more peaceful and easy as the months wore on, Emil gets wilder and more difficult to manage. Traveling with Esme at the 5 to 9 month period, and even beyond that, was incredibly smooth. We took it easy, of course, but she was relatively happy everywhere we went.

Emil, though, is a wild child. He has to be crawling and moving all the time, and is not content to just hang out anywhere. He is learning to show his displeasure when, for example, we take away a dirty plastic menu that he was eagerly chomping on. He gives us a look, eyes wide in disbelief, and then comes the squeal. It's a shriek, really. A high-pitched, ear drum-busting protest. There's no warning, no working up to the screaming. Just this obnoxious cry that grates the nerves. It's bad enough that it has me wondering why we had a second kid. Life would have been so easy if we were just traveling with Esme right now. But Emil, my god, that kid has lungs.

Yes, of course I love our son dearly. He is so cute as he crawls around. Today, as we took a break in the cafe of the Joan Miro museum, he was crawling on the floor and crawled straight into a clear glass door, not have realized it was there. It was one of those hilarious moments that you really wish had been captured of video. Even other onlookers started to laugh. He was a trooper, and took it in his dog-like stride. He has also taken to carrying his toys around in his mouth, increasing his resemblance to a puppy. He crawls around all over the place, a little finger puppet dangling from his lips, curved up into a grin, eyes all asparkling. Very cute. If only he didn't shriek like a wild animal.

We are closing in on the final leg of our trip. We've been in Barcelona for the past week or so, and have decided to stay here until Monday instead of moving on to Girona. We are revisiting this town that we fell in love with years ago, before we had children. It's amazing how well we remember our old haunts. We walked by our old apartment, visited the market where we used to shop, hiked around our favorite park, which even in the height of tourist season is deserted (it's a fabulous terraced garden just below the Miro museum, if you ever find yourself looking for a magic escape in this Catalan city). Esme has been enjoying the eggs, potatoes and ham. She loves the Spanish book store, and will sit perfectly content as we read story after story in Spanish to her. I don't think she understands most of it, but she is definitely picking up on many of the words and phrases, although she always responds in English.

With less than a week of our trip left, I'm starting to feel ready to head home. I miss our dog and our calm daily routine. Emil is waking now, so I'd better close. I probably won't be able to post again until we return to the States, so wish us a buen viaje. Cheers!

Happy anniversary to us!

Here we are, back at our hotel in London. We have a lovely little spot in Notting Hill, just a few blocks from Hyde Park with its Diana Memorial Playground. The first few nights we spent here at the beginning of our trip were riddled with the wakefulness of jetlag. Last night, though, we all slept like babies. Esme was thrilled to return here, because it was someplace familiar to her, and Emil could be anywhere as long as he's with Mom.

Today is a special day for us. It's Jacob's and my anniversary, and although we have no babysitter lined up and no plans for a fancy dinner anywhere, I think we have a perfect day planned. Really, what better way to celebrate our anniversary than with the two most tangible manifestations of our relationship? I look at Esme and Emil, and I see myself and Jacob, and more than that. I see my brother sometimes in Esme's looks, and at other times she gives a coquettish glance that is straight from Jacob's grandmother Gigi. Our two families are combined, and it is a wild, surreal experience watching our children grow. Already, their personalities are budding. Emil, at 7 months cruising around furniture and climbing stairs, will someday climb mountains just like his Grandpa Jim. And Esme, she has an intense way of studying things and digesting the world around her that is so much like my mother.

Anyway, I'd better get up to the hotel room and relieve Jacob. I'm sure the kids are climbing the walls by now. We'll get them to the playground soon so they can climb pirate ships and the such, and then we'll pop into a couple of stores in the afternoon before we go to high tea somewhere. Tomorrow, we're off to Barcelona.

Make friends, make friends, never, ever break friends . . .

We all grow up choosing our friends, in fact this is a right we take for granted. It is when we have children, though, that everything changes. Suddenly we feel obliged to become friends with people who just happen to have had offspring at the same time as we did. The resulting playdates are full of small-talk and misbehaviour, as neither parents nor children have anything in common, other than the approximate birthdays of their children. Also, previously long-term friends can loose interest, as priorities and hours of social availability change. Anyone who has had a hangover with their young children around knows well that this is no longer an option, and such Friday nights of partying are replaced by Saturday lunches in pubs with a good garden, or picnics in the park. Sometimes, serendipitously, you stumble across someone new whose family circumstances and philosophy dovetail your own, and new friendships are born between parents and children simultaneously.

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Then there is a fourth group of friends, a real blessing in life. People you have known and liked for years who also fall into the first category, and through some wonderful happenstance, have children of about the same age. These are friends with whom you share both a past and opinions. Watching your child play happily with the child of a good friend is as miraculous to you both. Looking across to someone who knew you in those dim, distant, childless days and sharing in the unexpected joy of a toddler moment is a real treat. Watching your babies gaze at each other in spellbound, babbling wonder is equally wonderful. But sitting in the garden as the children play, saying to a friend "Can you believe it?" and knowing that your relationship has weathered that crossing into adult, family life is a real joy.

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I hope it isn't another two years before we meet up again, Aeron, but if it is, I know everything will be just fine! Thanks for a wonderful visit.

Update from the Road - Europe with young children

Don't have a lot of time to write, as I'm borrowing a friend's computer, but we made it to England safe and sound with minimal difficulties. After two quick days in London, we are now in the tiny village of Nettleham, outside of Lincoln, visiting Emily (co-blogger) and her family. Slowing down to a small town pace is a wonderful way to travel with the kids. We have a little cottage with a kitchen and two bedrooms, so it's much like life at home in terms of daily ritual. Esme naps in her own room, and we prepare meals there or eat at our friends' house. Esme has three-year-old Imogen to run around with, while Emil gets to stare at (and be stared at by) three-month-old Atticus.

It's very interesting being "the American" around town. Emily, who was always "Wonderful English Emily" is just Wonderful Emily now, and I am the foreigner in her land. I've never really thought about what it was like for her living in the States for so long. I don't know if Esme is aware of the differences between the English and the Americans yet. She has picked up on some of the verbal differences. Just today, she was talking about her Nappy Diapers, a phrase that amused me. She is proving to be an adept traveler, as well. While we were slightly afraid she might break down in tears whenever a stranger talked to her, she explained to Jacob the other day how he was going to have to take a train back to London, and that he would have to change trains, which she further explained meant that he would have to get off one train and then get on a different train.

I think preparing her for the trip by discussing each step of it in detail has been tremendously helpful. She knew we were taking a long plane ride and would be staying in a hotel in London, and that we would see a puppet show there. She likewise knew that we would take a train to Nettleham where we would visit friends. Occasionally, she asks me wear we're going next, but other times, she tells me that we're taking another train and a plane to someplace else, and that we have to stay in more hotels and go to a toy store and a beach (both things I had told her we would do at some point).

Well, gotta run now. I'll try to post more later!

Preparing for the big adventure

I am starting to think positively again. But the past few weeks have been difficult, and the idea of packing two very young children around Europe suddenly seemed ludicrous. Of course there was the vomit and the diarrhea at 3 a.m. That didn't help my outlook.

A few weeks ago (the night before Mother's Day), Esme got sick. She was ill for a week, and just as things were getting back to normal, Emil got sick. Another week of fevers, throwing up and constant diarrhea (all very scary things when they are occurring in a 7-month-old). Somewhere in there, Jacob got sick and then I got sick, and it's been just one big illness fest.

When I thought forward to this month-long journey, my stomach clenched. Was I nuts to think this was possible? What if one or all of us were sick on the trip? How were we going to get on the Tube with Esme and Emil? What were we thinking? The echoes of people's shock upon hearing of our trip started reverberating around my head: "Wow. You're brave." Brave, or stupid?

But we've turned a page. Now both kids are healthy. Jacob is healthy. I'm at least on my way to healthy. We leave on Wednesday, and suddenly the fog is lifting. My emotions are switching from frightened and anxious (the bad kind of butterflies) to getting excited, daydreaming about streets that I once roamed and miss, as well as streets I've never seen before (the good kind of butterflies).

Maybe Esme and Emil won't remember any of this trip, but I believe they will be affected by it. They are little sponges right now. They are forming their fundamental understanding of how the world works, how people talk and interact, so exposing them to other cultures will only richen that core world view.

And then there is the ultimate truth of the matter: I need to travel for me, not for them. They are just too young to be away from me for that long, so they have to come along because I absolutely have to go. There's a reason I used to run a website called Travelfiend.com. Traveling fulfills something deep inside. It's a passion that helps make me who I am, and I can't quelch it.

I know that I have gone through some serious transitions since having children. There are times that I feel like my soul explodes with happiness, and other moments that my soul feels like it's lost touch with its passions. There is so much that is all about the children: growing them in the womb, feeding them, cleaning them, making their first experiences of this world as magical as possible, it is all very positive. But then there are those moments when I sit back and think, "I had other interests before having kids. What were those again?" And I wonder how the passions that used to define who I was were all pushed to the wayside, discarded like old clothes.

I'm trying not to lose my old passions. I rediscover them in the closet of my mind and pull them out to look at them in the sunlight. I hope you are all trying to hold onto your passions, too. It can be difficult sometimes, but it's doable. I think traipsing about London and Barcelona with two babes will be difficult at times, but overall it will be amazing. An experience that we will remember forever. Yes, I'm able to be optimistic again. Just please pray for me that none of us get sick.

Screw the pink or blue!

Ok, so anyone who knows me knows about my multiple parenting issues: pink everything for girls, plastic everything for children, kids' food, routine circumcision . . . now add boys clothing to the list. Not having had a son before, I've paid very little attention to boys clothes and the conditioning that lies therein. But now I have, I am stunned. I have always been a little flamboyant (!) as a dresser- favouring costumes as often as possible for everyday wear (something you can get away with better in SF than rural England). My tastes may be a little quirky, but I don't punish my kids and make them wear what I choose (well I suppose I do with Atticus, but that's what he gets for being 9 weeks old!). Imogen wears things she can play in- climbing trees, digging in the garden, paddling in the stream. It's just that she might choose a charity-shop bridesmaid's dress instead of overalls. Now that I look at boys' clothes, I am stunned. Blues, browns, muted greens and occasional rusty orange. The only animals I see as images are either big (hippo, dinosaur, etc) or violent (t-rex, shark, monster etc); there are vehicles on everything (JCB even has a Hight St kids clothes line!); and pirate, fireman or construction worker seem to be the boys' equivalent of girls' princess or fairy quandry.

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It also seems that I am expected to want my son to wear mini combat trousers (what would he put in all those pockets?) and harder textured fabrics (he obviously needs toughening up). I knew a 5th grade lad in Sebastopol who used to come to school in a Chinese brocade jacket and feather boa. Why should this be so unusual, and why should boys' clothes be so dull? Even their fancy dress clothes options are restricted to fireman/monster. I don't want the world to think my boy's a freak, but I want him to have fun with clothes and feel as free to wear stuff that feels good, just as I don't want my daughter to feel prissy and inhibited by pretty clothes.

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Now, I know I'm being extremist about this, and that there are exceptions (Zutano stripes, Babystyle softest cotton), but it's making me cross that I will have to go out of my way for this, or make his clothes myself.

Equal opportunity diapering

We went to Sam's Chowder House, a new restaurant in Half Moon Bay, a few weeks ago, and found that the owners were doing a good job of catering to families with young children. Crayons, coloring sheets, a good kid's menu, friendly servers, etc. They had thought about almost everything. Almost being the key word here.

Jacob had already visited the bathroom when we got a whiff of a stinker coming from Esme. I looked at Jacob. He looked at me, and said, "There's no changing table in the men's room."

What is going on when even newly constructed or remodeled restaurants don't put changing tables in the men's rooms? Why is it a pervasive thought that only women should change diapers? My only thought is that men must have designed most of these restaurants.

I came across this Google map mashup some time ago that tracks all of the restaurants in Manhattan (and a few in Brooklyn) that have changing tables in the men's room. I can't believe there are this many. If I were more technically savvy, I would try to do the same for the Bay Area. Alas, I'm not.

Happy Mother's Day!

It's Mother's Day, and by all rights, it should be the perfect day. It was planned that way. Jacob woke me up with coffee in bed. As I stirred and roused myself from the bedroom, Esme eagerly gave the present that has been sitting wrapped on the mantel. "I made that for you," she said as I unwrapped the hand-painted box and accompanying beaded bracelet. Jacob had made steamed artichokes with hollandaise sauce, cranberry mimosas, and cantelope wrapped in prosciutto. We had plans to go to the museum for the day, having a picnic lunch in the park and ending with dinner in San Francisco.

What could be wrong with such a perfect picture? Let me fill in the blanks.

It was the middle of the night. We heard Esme crying from her room. Jacob ran to see what was wrong, and I heard footsteps running to the bathroom, followed by the unmistakable sound of vomiting.

Morning light brought my coffee in bed, followed by Esme throwing up in the bowl by our bed. Esme's bath was likewise interrupted by vomiting. I ate the prosciutto-wrapped melon balls with my mimosa to have Esme vomit into the bowl next to me. We sat at the table and ate artichokes dipped in hollandaise, to have Esme vomit into the bowl on the floor next to us.

We looked at each other, and that's when Jacob told me about the planned picnic in the park and the early dinner reservations at Millennium. I had already said I would like to go the museum for the day. "I guess we're not going." Esme was curled up in a ball on the floor.

We have taken turns playing with her in the spells that she feels okay and comforting her when her stomach cramps this morning. It's just proof of how a mother (and a father) don't really get a break, even for a designated holiday. Happy Mother's Day to all of you mommies out there, and may your day be vomit free.

To nap or not to nap . . .

As I sneak away to write and munch a salad, with both children snoozing happily, I wonder how long I can hope for it to last. Not just today, you understand, but future weeks or months. At 3 1/4 Imogen still naps for up to two hours a day, right after lunch. If we are out and about, she sleeps in the push-chair or car seat, but she almost always sleeps. In fact she asks to, or tells me when it's time if I'm busilly scurrying around. On those few times when she skips it, then the afternoon is a near right-off with her griselling and clumsy, then in bed around 6pm.

She tried to give it up a couple of times, and we battled it out. I told her that she needed to have some quiet time after lunch on her bed. If she didn't need to sleep then that was fine, but she had to play or look at books by herself for half an hour. Only a handful of times did she actually stay awake.

None of her friends nap still, or her classmates and both teachers and friends' parents are surprised when I mention it. But she sleeps well at night (solidly from 7pm-7am usually) and obviously needs the daytime rest. I need it, too- even if baby Atticus is up then I can tuck him in the sling and get busy. If both are asleep, like now, I can have some selfishly indulgent time (like taking a shower, doing the dishes, making a cappucino, catching up on email or prepping dinner, oh how things have changed!)

I do feel a slave to the nap, though, and it is well that I am a morning person. We often pop into the city on the bus for the morning, then get home by lunch/nap. In some ways it would be easier if she didn't nap- we could have a long, slow morning, then head off somewhere with our lunch in a backpack. Instead we are out and about right after breakfast- either walking the fields and footpaths or down into the village. I am a cruel mother and make her walk everywhere- no monstrous double-buggy for me! It does mean that we move more slowly, but I get to notice all the details that she sees (oh- that leaf, stone, puppy, squashed bird etc). So maybe I am wearing her out in the mornings, I don't know. And I don't know how long it can last, but I do know that my days will be very different when she is up from 7-7!

Oh horrid morning, hung over from stranger anxiety and sleepnessnes

Maybe I shouldn't even be blogging this morning. I'm exhausted. Jacob is exhausted. The children are exhausted. Esme cried all night. Jacob let her into bed sometime around midnight, and she did her new thing of staying up in bed sighing repeatedly, tossing and turning, then talking to herself. Finally, what seemed like hours later, Jacob took her back to her bed.

The results were predictable. She screamed. Blood-curdling cries. Emil woke up, threatened to cry, but was quickly pacified at mommy's breast. He ate all night as Esme cried all night. Eventually, we let her back in our bed, and sometime way too close to dawn, we all fell asleep.

This followed on the heals of a frustrating dinner experience last night. Every once in a while, we try to take the kids to a decent restaurant. Maybe we're masochists, but we keep thinking it might work out. When Esme was little we were able to do this no problem. But it's more difficult with two kids.

We were doing all right until the waiter spoke directly to Esme. The result was tears, building to what I could tell would become hysterical tears, so I swooped her up into my arms and exited the building. We have a firm rule of no crying in restaurants, and she usually waits until we get outside to wail. We went back inside, and the waiter spoke to her again. Yes, again she started crying. The third time he spoke to her, I had actually just told him he probably shouldn't. It's like seeing a wet paint sign, though, and happens impulsively. For the third time, I swept her from the dining room. We left with a full glass of wine I was rather enjoying on the table, but we did manage to finish our food.

Last night wasn't an isolated incidence. An adult just has to come near her in public (or a child, for that matter), and she threatens to dissolve into tears. I have to confess that those little children who are deathly afraid of everyone who talk to them annoy me. I can't believe that my daughter is in that category.

I have been contemplating ways to train it out of her this morning, but with my background in dog-rearing, all I can come up with is having strangers give her jelly bellies. Uhm, yeah, I realize I shouldn't teach her to take candy from strangers, so that won't work. Jacob reminds me, "She's two." Yes, I know she's two. But I can't help but think that MY two-year-old shouldn't have those issues.

X Chromosome is one flexible mama

There was a great article (subscription required) in the NY Times today about the X Chromosome and how it has come to be more flexible and hard to understand than most other chromosomes (and especially from the male Y chromosome, which apparently just has to sprout a little penis). I couldn't help but giggle my way through the article, which concluded with this paragraph:

Every daughter, then, is a walking mosaic of clamorous and quiet chromosomes, of fatherly sermons and maternal advice, while every son has but his mother’s voice to guide him. Remember this, fellows: you are all mama’s boys.

Ah, how often I have told Emil that already!

Have potty, will travel

It's time for a potty training update here. Things are going pretty well right now (knock on wood). Emil has pooped in the potty twice today, and peed a few times. He's only peed in his diaper once today. Esme has peed in the potty all day, but did poop in her diaper once, too. There was a sweet moment just now when I was pottying Emil, and Esme said, "I want to go potty too, like Emil!" Too bad she had pooped in her diaper about five minutes before making that announcement. I guess you can't win them all.

I'm not sure what caused the recent change in Esme's desire to use the potty. It could be any number of things. A natural progression of maturity, seeing her baby brother use the potty, switching to cloth when at home. Who knows? All I know is that two weeks ago, when I asked Esme if she wanted to use the potty she would answer with a resolute no. I would reply that it would make mommy very happy, to which she answered, "But you already very happy, Mommy."

Then one day, it was like a switch was flipped in her little noggin. Suddenly, she announced, "I use the potty!" And lo and behold, she did, and has several times since then.

I know many of you aren't as interested in a toddler's potty training as you may be in the infant's, so here's the quick update on Emil.

I still haven't read the book on Infant Potty Training, but what we're doing is pretty simple. I just try to remember to give Emil the opportunity to go in the potty frequently throughout the day. His little body has a natural reaction to the "pssss" sound now, and as soon as I hold him over his little Baby Bjorn potty, he lets it go if he has to. The hardest thing is me remembering to get him there. On busy days, he goes way more often in his diaper. But on days that I'm on the ball and able to do it, he goes mostly on the potty. My hope is that by doing this now, he will make the transition to potty much earlier than Esme. My goal is to have him out of diapers by the time he's 2.

We're going to be traveling in Europe for most of the month of June, and as the date quickly approaches, I'm wondering how our potty training will survive this trip. Will we be crossing the ocean with a potty in our luggage? Most likely. God knows how we'll pack for all of us for a month and still be able to make it through the airport and to and from hotels and apartments and on trains and into rental cars. But if Esme can be mostly potty trained by then, I'll be one happy mama.

Sippy cup pitfalls

As I was showing the nanny how well Emil drinks out of a glass, she looked at me in surprise, and then said, "No one can believe me that he's using the potty already at 6 months. They're gonna think I'm crazy when I tell them that he drinks out of a regular cup."

When Esme was 5 months old, my mom visited us and announced that Es was ready to learn how to use a regular cup. Jacob and I looked at each other in surprise, but we didn't stand in her way. Sure enough, Esme knew just what to do when that cup was lifted to her mouth. Jacob recently announced that Emil was ready, and he likewise took to the cup quickly. I still remember the day that Esme's daycare teacher told me that she was teaching the children how to use a cup at school. Esme was the youngest of her students at that time, and I said something about Esme always using regular cups at home, to which the teacher responded, "No wonder she's the only one who doesn't spill."

In a consumer world, we easily forget that there was a time that we didn't have all these gadgets, like sippy cups. People honestly think that a baby can't drink out of a regular cup! We use sippy cups at our house, but only for certain situations, like riding in a car or going to bed, where spills are more likely. Those are the times that I can see why someone invented the sippy cup. But using sippy cups all the time just slows our children's learning curve. They never learn how to handle a regular cup, and when it's time to take the sippy cup (or the bottle) away from an older toddler, you tend to meet with resistance.

I'm sure that there are plenty of other baby gadgets that we have come to depend on unnecessarily. Yes, these things can make our lives easier in the short run, but by becoming overly dependent on them, I don't think we let our kids learn to do the things that they are capable of for themselves.

Searching for the perfect baby-wearing device

Ever since Esme was born I have been on the search for the perfect sling/pouch/baby-wearing device. Now that I have two children and seen one child through different ages of baby-wearing (we still wear her, even though she is 2 and a half!), I have learned a lot. The biggest lesson is that not one carrier will fit every person or every baby.

When Esme was a newborn, the Kangaroo pouch was one of her favorite places to be. But Emil was born leaping out of our arms, almost literally. He is a squirmy worm, arms and legs jutting out with no warning or rhythm, back arched in defiance. The pouch, which holds a tiny baby in stretchy fleece material is kind of like an artificial womb, and thus way too confining for Emil. He is much more of a Baby Bjorn kind of kid, facing out to watch the world, kicking his legs and punching his arms freely as he sees something that excites him (usually a smiling woman going all goo-goo on him).

But the Baby Bjorn hurts my back, so we recently tried a new carrier called the Ergo. It also serves as a soft (as opposed to hard frame) back carrier. Emil likes it better than the pouch, but not as well as the Bjorn. However, it is so much nicer for my back that I don't carry him in the Bjorn anymore. The Ergo works almost like a good backpack for hiking - takes the weight and holds it in around the waist, reducing the stress on the back. The only problem with it is that Emil can't face outward, but only inward towards me, and he's a little extrovert, always on the lookout for women to flirt with. The Ergo cramps his style a little, but he puts up with it.

The pouch has been a wonderful carrier for Esme even as she has gotten older. She now rides in it on our hips, with the pouch hugging her tight to my body and keeping my arms from doing the tough job of holding her for extended periods of time. Last May, when we were in a small town Mexico for a week, she went everywhere attached to our hips this way, and it was wonderful - much better than a stroller bumping over dirt and cobbled streets.

And so the result of my search is this: different babies might have the different perfect baby-wearing devices. May you find your perfect one sooner rather than later! They make life so much nicer.

Looking a Gift Horse in the Mouth

We all know the saying, "Don't look a gift horse in the mouth." I never understood the saying, because if you know the story at all, then the moral should be, "Be sure to look a gift horse in the mouth." So it is that I address the topic of gifts for our children, and what we allow.

After Esme looked at us all crazy-eyed, strung out on sugar from her Easter egg hunts, I called our neighbor and good friend to beg her not to bring Esme another basket filled with candy. "Can't you just eat it?" she asked. No way - she's gotten smarter since last year (when, I confess, I did eat it all!). I felt a little guilty, but I couldn't seen another week with a sugar-jacked toddler around the house.

Several weeks ago, a friend came over for dinner and brought gifts for the kids. She brought Esme the cutest flashlight in a soft, bug case. Now I know that Esme loves flashlights. But she's not allowed to keep gifts unless she says thank you. It became a showdown. "Say thank you, Esme." Big eyes float down to the floor, pouty mouth staying shut. "Don't you want the toy?" No, she said. Little liar.

The next week, we saw the same friend again. "Are you going to say thank you?" No. I was going to be firm and stand my ground. But then that friend's dog snapped at Esme and scared the bejezus out of her (and me). The friend saw her opportunity, "Now can I give her the flashlight?"

I was broken. I turned to Esme and said, "Do you want the flashlight?" No. "You don't have to say thank you. Now do you want the flashlight?" An emphatic YES punctuated by puppy dog eyes was the answer. Esme won that round. I probably need to loosen up when it comes to people giving my children gifts. We'll see who wins the next round.

A child's place in nature's rhythm

The nature table is present in most of our homes in some form or another. A mantelpiece holding a fossil, feather and flower or a windowsill with carefully chosen stones piled up by a vase and candle. Teaching in a Steiner/Waldorf classroom I learned that it is a subtle tool reinforcing the rhythms of the year; adding to the richness of a child's life and deepening their self-esteem.
Rhythm is fundamental to our children’s development: the simple order of breakfast-lunch-tea provides comfort in so far as the child knows certain things to be absolutely true. They can relax into play, unworried about getting hungry because there is always a mid-afternoon snack. When the scope is opened wider and the rhythms of the week, then of the year, are added to create additional patterns of their own, the child gains not only a new security but the cognitive ability to layer truths.
These rhythms are an earlier part of the same mathematical development as music and handwork (sewing, weaving, knitting). That knitting or cross-stitch would support and strengthen the ability to learn maths skills like times tables seems logical. That learning to play an instrument stimulates our mental arithmetic is borne out by the metronome or the foot-tapper. Skipping with a jump-rope can allow the most fidgetty of children to have the mental space to play number games. But the rhythms of the year hold a child in an embrace as eternal as our own. The bitterest chill of Winter can be softened when a child truly understands that Spring is coming. Such lessons certainly continue to apply throughout life, and just as a grandparent may die, so an aunt may have a baby.
The nature table is a physical manifestation of these rhythms, a miniature world. By changing the coloured silks and figures seasonally, our place in the year is reinforced. So there should always be a fresh branch to remind us what the trees are doing outside, and animals who are particularly active that season (spring lambs, summer butterflies, autumn squirrels and winter robins are a first thought). I like to include fairies, gnomes and the like because human helpers bring the child into the scene. Now a child knows what to look for whenever they go out for a walk: nests or hatched eggs, returning swallows and geese, first shoots and sticky buds. Acting out the animals’ lives at this time (either with finger puppets or through ‘being’ the squirrel) helps develop empathy and give a richer texture to our children’s lives. Understanding and accepting that there are rhythms in nature (our heartbeat, phases of the moon, tides on the beach) and in the world all around us can help a child to become grounded and ready to learn. Something as simple as a quick walk outside to find a contribution for the nature table can calm a fractious child, because they are reassured by knowing that ‘Now is Autumn, I can look for a good leaf’.
So, too, we must learn gentleness towards the treasures which are being offered. If a child places their flower or stone on the nature table after choosing and bringing it, then others may lift it and appreciate it but must always put it back. The animals and fairies may be played with- that is what they are there for, but they live in their world on the nature table and that is where they should stay. In an atmosphere of respect, children are capable of sharing their greatest treasures. Just as we teach them to run with the wind, and hoot at the moon, we teach them to use calm voices in libraries, to touch gently in botanical gardens and to just look in art galleries.

Esme's first Easter egg hunt - searching for the meaning of Easter

We took the kids to the neighborhood brunch and Easter egg hunt this past Sunday, and Esme discovered the joy of the hunt. Even as I type this, she's happily munching on the jelly beans from her loot bin. Being only 2 and a half in a hunt for kids 5 and under has its disadvantages. She only found one egg by herself, then the sweetest little boy named Brandon took pity on her and started shoveling his own eggs into Esme's basket. For the rest of the hunt, I surreptitiously stole eggs from Esme's basket and re-hid them for her to find. At one point she looked at me and said, "Mommy, throw another one!" I was busted.

Jacob and I have noticed that other people make assumptions about our religious beliefs when we tell them we went to an Easter egg hunt over the weekend. I was talking to my good friend Courtnay, who responded, "I thought y'all didn't celebrate Easter." I was stumped. Was going to an Easter egg hunt celebrating Easter? We don't consider ourselves Christian or Jewish (or Muslim or Buddhist or Hindu or any other religion). Jacob, being the good MIT grad that he is, has more of a "science is god" perspective on life, whereas I believe in the mystical and spiritual, but don't believe that any single brand of religion has the sole key to the spiritual world. Both of us believe strongly in morality, and we try hard to teach our children the difference between right and wrong. But major wars have been fought in the name of religion, and we don't support the dogmatic view points that come from associating yourself with one single path.

When we headed off to the Easter egg hunt, none of this was going through either of our minds. We were simply going to a neighborhood party, looking forward to chatting with the neighbors, drinking coffee, and watching Esme discover a fun new game with all her preschooler friends. I'm sure that while most of our neighbors probably do consider themselves Christian, they weren't thinking of religion on Sunday either. They were thinking, "God, this is a gorgeous day to be out here in the redwoods. Aren't all those kids running around cute." "God" in this sense of the word, is a figure of speech, not an evocation. (And, by the way, I saw a family I know to be Buddhist there, and another family that belongs to a local Temple.)

Yet when Jacob told his Mom that we went to an Easter egg hunt, her reply was, "So I guess you're not celebrating Passover." I wasn't even aware it was Passover until I talked to my friend Beca, who was home visiting her family for the holiday. Of course, I wasn't aware it was Easter until I got the email about the neighborhood brunch. If we had gotten an email about a neighborhood seder, we would have gone. And the truth is, I will take the kids to seders when they get old enough to be aware of what's going on. I think it's important for them to understand the traditions of world religions, because it is a way for them to understand different cultures and it might help them later on their own spiritual paths. But I don't think that we need to subscribe to just one religion to give our children a spiritual education.

What about tradition, some people may ask. And what about it? Almost every major religion was founded by an individual who broke with tradition, recognizing that the established institution gets corrupt and needs to be shaken up. The great religious leaders have been mavericks, and I think it's important that my children recognize that and learn to think for themselves. Morality is not something that you achieve by following a religion. It is something you show in your everyday choices. When suicide bombers kills themselves and scores of others in the name of religion, are they making good moral choices? When Christians scoured Europe during the crusades, forcing out the Jews and Gypsies, were they making good moral choices? Does it sound like I have a grudge against religion? Maybe I do.

Our lives are not devoid of tradition. We have family traditions, and since we are a young family, those traditions are still in the making. But I look at composting and planting seeds as our religious traditions, teaching our kids how to be responsible and live in harmony with nature. What does finding a plastic Easter egg stuffed with sweets teach kids? To eat lots of sugar and get cracked out on candy? I don't see the religious element there. The meaning behind Easter, the rebirth of Christ, is religiously significant. It's symbolically and spiritually significant, but is a 2 year old going to get it? I don't think so. Similarly with Passover, it documents the Jewish story that is an important part of the culture. But I don't think Esme would understand it yet. And it's a story that reinforces one of the things about Judaism that I don't really like, which is the concept of the "Chosen People." What does that mean? That all the "Unchosen People" are shite? I thought we were all God's creations, and therefore all connected.

This gets at the root of why religion does not play a strong role in our family. It stresses differences between cultures, and I would rather my children grow up seeing themselves as connected to other human beings and the the natural world around them. Seeing the world in terms of "us" and "them" is what enables us to justify waging war on others. God help my children from ever viewing things that way.

WE HAVE A CATCH!

Even as I type this, I'm in awe of the whole process. But Emil seems to be well on his way to being potty trained. He has successfully been pottied about six times since last night! He has caught on immediately, and seems perfectly happy to pee in a bowl instead of his diaper. All I have to do is hold him over the bowl in a supportive way, with his back up against me so he's comfortable, make the cue pssss sound, and he immediately begins to pee and/or poop. I know he has to go pretty soon after he wakes up and pretty soon after he eats, so all I have to do is get him over the bowl at those times. It's amazing.

And I have to confess something. The EC lingo has been creeping into my head as my enthusiasm for this whole process grows. I feed him, and my thoughts race unbidden to this new language: "Yes, it's a pottitunity! Maybe we'll get a catch!"

I have decided to keep using diapers on him as if they were underwear. That way accidents - or misses, as the EC community would say - aren't as frustrating. Reading other women's accounts, many people choose to take that route and continue to be successful.

Today comes a new challenge - getting the nanny to potty Emil. I think mother's intuition plays a large role in my knowing when he has to go, especially when he has to poop, since we haven't seen an identifiable pattern there yet. But in 24 hours we have already gone further with Emil's potty training than we have gone in six months with Esme. She knows how to use the potty, but simply refuses. And if she does go, she sets a limit of once or twice a day. No amount of stickers, jelly beans, or praise is reward enough to train her away from that nasty habit of peeing and pooping in her diaper. Better to prevent the habit in the first place!

Update on the Infant Potty Training

There's not a lot of progress to report at this point, but we've been letting Emil go diaper-free for a few hours at a time to get an understanding of his patterns. Basically, he goes just when I thought he did - almost immediately after eating, and within 15 minutes of waking up. We've also started making the pssss and hmmm sounds to get him to associate those with elimination.

The next step is the big one, actually trying to anticipate and aim him into the bowl, making the sound cues. I'm not sure how long we will give it - if it doesn't come too easily, we may abandon this whole idea. He's just on the cusp of being an older baby, and thus harder to train in this method. But we'll see. If you want to read a little about this whole process (and verify that I'm not making it all up!), you can check out the following links:

Diaper Free Baby organization
A good description of EC is on this site.
This site is by the author of a book that is the de facto reference on the topic.