Alrik recently turned five years old. Maybe this engendered a sense of impending mortality, because he's been talking daily about how he doesn't want to die, and doesn't want me to die, and doesn't want family members or pets to die, or really anybody.
I think there are two types of people in this world: those who fear death constantly, and those who kind of push it out of their minds to think about occasionally but not obsess. I am one of the former group. Apparently so is my son, despite my efforts not to pass along the useless anxiety.
I didn't realize it would start so young.
Alrik, being young, though, came up with a great idea: I'm a scientist, or so he tells me, and I can make a potion to keep us from dying. I'm not sure if that makes me more a witch than a scientist, but I'll take either unearned title.
We were driving back from Chuck E. Cheese when Mikko piped up from the back seat — again. As
I've mentioned before, he loves to chatter, so he'd spent the drive regaling me with "Remember when…?" exclusively from
Spongebob episodes. I figured this would be another Squarepantsian reminiscence and, after a long day and then a frenetic arcade experience, was nearly prepared to tune him out or shut him off.
But this time, he said, "Mama, who decided that numbers just keep going on and on?"
I said, "I have no idea who it was. It's just — whatever the biggest number you can think of, you can always add one to it, and then it's bigger."
"What about a gabillion? That's the biggest number there is."
We're sharing our poems from the Weekly Parenting Poetry Workshop:
Week 4:
Trust
This week — our next to last! — we're considering the move into our confidence and rhythm as parents even as we navigate the uncertain waters of discipline, spirituality, and seeking answers to big questions.
If you have a poem or poems posted on your blog,
link up below, or paste your poem(s) in the comments!
Welcome to the Sunday Surf, a tour of the
best blogposts I've read throughout the week.
Mikko specifically wanted me to show off the food in his mouth with this photo.
You're welcome.
Time for some weekend reading!
I’d never heard the 5-Second Rule applied to anything but eating food that’s dropped on the ground, but this makes so much sense:
The rule is this: “If you can think of it in five seconds, I can think of it in five seconds.” That is, don’t give obvious advice or ask really silly questions about something a friend has told you until you’ve given it more than five seconds of thought.
If the only thing someone can think to kneejerkily ask about homeschooling is “But what about socialization?” maybe you could ask that person to give it more than five seconds of thought … since as a homeschooler, I certainly have!
So. Incredibly. Impressed. I am never this articulate when someone’s being a snot to me!
Ladies and gentlemen, I was hot under the collar at this point, but I wanted to be nice. “I understand fully what age appropriate means”, I said, “and I am sorry that you have an issue with my children attending mass. It is in no way inappropriate for them to attend with me, and I will continue to listen to their needs and attend mass as long as it works for our family.”
On setting limits when breastfeeding isn’t working well anymore for the mother.
Balanced interpretation of Aletha Solter’s work (author of
The Aware Baby, which encourages letting babies and children whose other needs are met to cry in arms to release stress).
When I first heard of her position, I was nervous because it seemed too close to encouraging crying-it-out and discouraging breastfeeding (or I feared that’s what people would make of it, which as you point out, can be the case). However, the flip side is it has given me chances to examine what makes me so uncomfortable about my children expressing emotion and realizing that I don’t always need to respond with the breast. For instance, now I often hug or offer verbal comfort first, talk through the situation, and let my toddler ask for the breast if that’s what he needs instead, rather than assume he wants to nurse, as if having him nurse is the fastest way to shut him up and turn off the crying. The younger the child, of course, the less talking-through can happen or be useful, but reading her work did offer me some reassurance and lead me to this self-reflection of when I was using the breast perhaps inappropriately.
However, my little ones have always nursed a LOT, including comfort nursing, so I think any reading of the book should be taken with common sense and compassion in mind, even as some of her lessons might be beneficial.
As Olive approaches 2 years old, and as I look back on two years of nursing her, and as I look forward to what is bound to be at least a little more time of continuing to nurse her, I am struck by how easy it has been to decide to keep going.
Before I had a kid, any breastfeeding I saw was unusual, and nursing toddlers seemed so big to me. But when it was my kid, he just looked like — my kid. Who needed nummies just like when he was a newborn, until he eventually didn’t anymore. I do like for it to be gentle and nonjudgmental like that, where people know it’s just a child seeking comfort and nutrition and a mother responding. I stopped feeling comfortable in public at some point, though, so I know there was a time when I decided it was best to keep it private, that I knew there were strangers (or not strangers) who would judge us. My second nursling is 20 months, and he just seems so much like a baby to me still — it’s hard to imagine that nursing him is odd to anybody.
Guest posting:
I'm happy to share my post on
"Side-lying nursing: A breastfeeding tutorial to give you more sleep" at African Babies Don't Cry!
Welcome to the Sunday Surf, a tour of the
best blogposts I've read throughout the week.
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| A day at the beach in 40˚ F weather … but indoors, at Sandbox Sports! |
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| Great chance for digging & sand angels! |
Some reading for you!
Breastfeeding advocacy doesn’t need to start and end with the timespan of actively breastfeeding one’s children. This is a rousing article from Destany calling everyone to support breastfeeding.
When I was a breastfeeding, I didn’t know many women who nursed. […]
I had decided, therefore, that my days as a breastfeeding advocate would not be limited to the days that breastfed my children. I know that when we wean, it sometimes feels that it’s not our battle anymore. I have indeed found myself in situations, vehemently arguing (over the internet) about the rights of breastfeeding mothers, and when I mention that I am not currently lactating, my argument seems to lose validity and I am left in the lurch as the person I am arguing with smugly stalks away.
I continue to argue and to stand up for nursing rights, however. Why? Because one day, I may have a daughter who breastfeeds. Or my nieces. Perhaps one day I will nurse again. Perhaps not. But my friends do. And my sisters and cousins. And so do many, many women who I do not know, but should not have to stand up alone. As women, we must support each other, even when standing up for things which don’t affect us directly in the here and now.
I want to make it clear to women (and men) that we do not have to be a nursing mother to stand up for the rights of others to breastfeed. Even if you have never breastfed. Even if you do not have children yourself. Even if you’re not a woman, but a man who supports not only a woman’s right to breastfeed, but infants right to nurse and to eat when they are hungry.
If you’re a non-lactating breastfeeding supporter, grab one of Destany’s buttons! (code on
the post)
Paige writes movingly and honestly about her journey away from a Christian faith. Since I’ve shared a
similar path, I found this incredibly meaningful.
Not a new post, but I appreciate how this brings together a lot of the specious arguments seen over and over whenever the topic of racism comes up.
I don’t usually share things with a lot of rough language, so be forewarned if you’re sensitive to that.
I really like these suggestions for getting kids to eat a different way (specifically paleo, but they can be adapted to other eating styles as well).
I’ve been looking for some good resources on transitioning kids to a different way of eating, as it’s always been a struggle with Mikko (5.5) to encourage him to eat the foods I wished he ate (there’s a much longer story behind that, but I’ll keep it there for now), and now Alrik (1.5) is getting his own pickiness. Due to some reading I’ve been doing lately, I’ve been convicted that grains aren’t doing us any favors and Sam and I have cut them out, but we’ve had differing opinions on whether the boys should also lose them (I’m in favor; Sam’s on the fence) and just how to do it if so. I like the general idea of a gradual, kid-friendly approach, taking it slowly and in phases. (We’re not eating strict paleo, and I think the idea of gradual transitioning could work for any diet, except when immediate health concerns force a sudden change.)
Yea! It feels more doable. Wish us luck…
A practical, respectful answer.
Welcome to the Sunday Surf, a tour of the
best blogposts I've read throughout the week.
It's finally decided to be summer here! So exciting. Not too hot, thankfully, so I don't have to complain. Much.
We're going to a baseball game today, which is always a slice of Americana for me. Also a slice of pizza. And nachos. And a hot dog. And cotton candy. And fresh roasted peanuts. Ok, maybe I'll have to limit myself to one or two. (Am I the only one who goes to ballparks for the food?)
My brother-in-law was in town, so we also spent a lot of time at the beach. I don't know how one follows the other, but so it is. It's perfect beach weather — if you don't like being too hot and don't care about going into the water. So, perfect for me. We watched a glorious sunset and snapped some family photos. Which I was going to share, until I realized I'd probably be stealing my Wordless Wednesday thunder.
Usually I have some silly phone photo to share, but alas, my phone has been doing this inconvenient little thing where it won't stay on. Yeah, not as useful a feature as you might expect.
But that's ok, because I've got sandal weather, clear skies, Americana, a lush garden, long walks, the beach, and long walks on the beach to enjoy. Summertime. How is it where you are?
On to the links!
This post about a non-parent’s perspective on kids in a worship service brought me to tears. The good kind.
The assumptions about my child-free status are that I either don’t like children or I grieve the lack of them, I am immature, I must still want them even if I say I don’t, I am not a complete woman, my husband will love me less and I’ve robbed him of his dreams, we are going to grow old alone, and I am prejudiced against your children and your life decisions. Taken all together, I am a terrible, no good, very bad person, a child-hater who openly dishonours her husband. I am selfish and lacking in maternal warmth.
These kinds of assumptions are common, and they make me more than a little angry. They minimize who we are in this world and the roles that we play, and they define us by what we are perceived to lack.
I really like this perspective of a child-free person who still respects those of us who have chosen to be child-full.
P.S. Don’t read the comments. You’ll find the same old poison both sides spew at each other. Enough, already, people.
I would like to put forth the radical notion that, if a fat person is fat by choice, it’s okay.
It can be a hatred that’s hard to let go of, even for fat people, because letting go of that hatred, and replacing it with acceptance, can feel akin to giving fat people permission to be fat.
But being in the position of feeling like permission is yours to give is a manifestation of privilege. And maybe it’s all right to let that privilege go.
Poetry book review at The Mule:
Oh, my goodness, I am so happy for
this review of Poetry of a Hobo Mama from The Mule!
For some reason in spite of these credentials I was a bit skeptical when I took my first dip into her volume of poetry. Maybe it's because it's so easy to write poetry badly, and these days anyone with an internet connection can publish the sort of dross that a few years ago would have stayed safely under the mattress. My cynicism quickly melted away, however, within moments of beginning to read Poetry of a Hobo Mama. Wayne forges short, stark, luminous poems out of the deep melting pot of motherhood, bringing us little creations filled with exquisite detail on birth, love, miscarriage, breastfeeding, mortality - even elevating pumping to a thing of beauty! (The first tantalizing drip — drip — drip / like the flirting of a sprinkler / just out of reach on a hot day).
I often get reviews that say, "I expected it to be bad! And it's good!" And I totally get that (and am appreciative it's not the reverse), because doesn't "self-published poetry book" just
scream at you to run away? I'm so glad people are liking it and connecting with it.
Read more at The Mule. You can buy your own copy of
Poetry of a Hobo Mama at
Amazon
or
CreateSpace.
Carnival of Natural Parenting:
I hope you saw our latest collection!
We were talking Family Creations this month, and a creative carnival it was, too. All the links are live and waiting to be savored — and pinned!
I'm Lauren Wayne, writer and natural parent. I embrace attached parenting with an emphasis toward green living. 
