Girl Detective

Last night G. Grod and I pushed our luck and succeeded at dinner and a movie while our babysitter played with the boys. As per their usual, they were better behaved and went to bed earlier than they do with us. Either our sitter is being nice, or our kids trust G. Grod and me to love their good and bad behavior. I know it’s the latter, and even while I’m a bit resentful that we get the defiance, I’m also glad that the sitter gets the mostly good behavior because we all like her a lot. Plus G. Grod and I really like these occasional nights out.

We started with a very good meal at the new Harry’s Food and Cocktails. For a while I fretted that G. and I had little to talk about, then I just enjoyed the peace and quiet. We then managed the 7:40 show of Stardust, a funny, sweet and dark fantasy based on the excellent graphic novel by Neil Gaiman and Charles Vess, begun in the wake of their winning the World Fantasy Award:

It mostly started with, in 1991, Charles and I won the World Fantasy Award for “Sandman” #19, “A Midsummer’s Night Dream.” We were out in Tuscon, Arizona, and astonished ourselves and everybody else by winning the award. We astonished everyone else to the point where the secret committee behind the judging got together the following morning to change the rules so that it could never happen again!

It’s more than a little reminiscent of Princess Bride, and one sequence is a very close homage to one of the PB plot threads. Stardust is a lot of fun (aside from a truly execrable closing ballad), and I hope it finds a wide audience. Gaiman has said he’s now too famous for his comfort level; I suspect he’s not going to get more comfortable anytime soon, with upcoming productions of Beowulf and Coraline.

Last night, G. Grod and I were huddled in the basement, desperately trying to stay cool in this horrible ongoing heat and humidity. G. heard a noise, well after we’d put the boys to bed, and went upstairs, where he found Drake sitting quietly on the steps.

“What’s up, buddy?” G. asked.

“It’s the friends,” Drake sighed, referring to the group of stuffed animals that he sleeps with, of which Mouton (a sheep blankie from France, pronounced to rhyme with “crouton”) and Daisy are the leaders. “They said they wanted me to sleep in the big bed tonight, not with them.”

G. wasn’t sure if Drake meant our bed, or the guest bed, but he managed to persuade Drake that his friends DID want him in his own bed. Drake returned quietly and happily there.

I felt very sad when G. related this to me. Poor Drake, kicked out of bed by his own coterie of imaginary friends.

Mom #1 is sitting far away with her partner and two kids. Mom #2 is walking by me, Mom #3.

Child of Mom #1, shouting: Mom, mom, mom, mom!

Mom #1 is talking to her partner and not answering the child.

Mom #2 (not in earshot of one, but very close to me): Sheesh! Pay attention to your kid!

Me: I think the needs of kids outstrip anyone’s ability to pay attention all the time.

[Mom #1 has acknowledged her daughter and they're talking.]

Mom #2, to me directly: Well, then, they should stop having them.

Me: It’s hard to know that until after the kids are already there though.

Mom #2: Well, I have four kids, and I give them all equal attention.

Me: You’re a braver mom than me! I only have two, and I can barely keep up with them.

I’m not sure why I felt I needed to defend Mom #1. Probably because I know that feeling of irritated fatigue that the multiple cries of “Mom!” can induce. But I also well know the judgment of Mom #2, and work hard to move beyond it, which is why I tried to nudge her toward empathy.

I’ve written this more than once, and I don’t mean to be a broken record, or up on a soap box. I write this mostly as a reminder to myself, since I can be incredibly snobby and judgmental (just ask my family):

Moms don’t need judgment. They need help. Polite smiles aren’t enough. If I see a mom having a tough time with a kid, I try to quell the judgment in my head, and offer help instead. I at least tell her that I know what she’s going through.

This has been a challenging week: Drake had a virus and was sick everywhere. He didn’t make it to the bathroom and peed all over me and the basement steps. I drank too much coffee and got so wound up I could barely function on my only day to myself this week. Drake and Guppy are constantly fighting and screeching. I tried to take them to story time at the library today, but Drake kept running around yelling. When I took him out of story time, he and Guppy ran in opposite directions in the library while I tried to check out, then a mentally ill woman began yelling and cursing at them.

Sometimes, I have the urge to crawl under a chair and curl up in a ball, like the baby wombat in one of our favorite picture books, Sometimes I Like to Curl up in a Ball. But my virtual penpal M, who writes at Mental Multivitamin, likes to quote this from Sydney J. Harris:

When I hear somebody sigh, “Life is hard,” I am always tempted to ask, “Compared to what?”

Yes, this week felt hard. But it wasn’t nearly as hard as it might have been if we’d been on the bridge at 6ish p.m. on Wednesday, as we usually are, heading into Minneapolis for new comics at Big Brain.

Life could always be harder, so it isn’t a good use of energy to gripe and dwell. As the teacher notes in yet another of our favorite picture books, Lilly’s Purple Plastic Purse:

Today was a difficult day. Tomorrow will be better.

Fisher-Price is the most recent child product producer to announce a recall. This list is for all their recalled products, and the newest is for many licensed Sesame Street and Dora products.

In the wake of my post-partum depression, many parents of older children, my father included, shared with me that they’d found parenting small children very difficult, and didn’t much enjoy parenthood until their children were older.

I find it interesting that so many parents are able to admit this is retrospect, but so few of us can while we’re in the midst of it. I frequently find caring for my small children stressful. Their needs are greater than my capacity to meet them, and I often feel resentful that my own physical, emotional, and intellectual needs are indefinitely put on hold.

Yes, there’s joy and wonder, but there’s also a lot of poop (literal and metaphorical) to be dealt with. The ratio of sacred to mundane is so imbalanced that it can only be reckoned as apples to oranges, quality to quantity.

I don’t think it’s coincidence that so many women experience post-partum depression, and yet there’s still this taboo about admitting how parenthood is often harder and less pleasant than we’d hoped.

I have a good friend who is expecting her first child. She recently had the “I don’t have what I need, wait, what do I need?” episode that I experienced as my due date loomed. She lives in England, though, where registries aren’t as common as they are in the US. In many ways, I think this is a good thing. The baby industry, like the wedding industry, sprang up to distract parents-to-be from the imminent life upheaval with shiny, pretty things. And, like all industries, it succeeds because it generates both perceived need and desire.

Looking back, I only needed to procure two things to bring baby Drake home: a securely installed, safe-rated infant car seat, and an outfit for him to wear. (Dan Savage echoes this in his adoption memoir The Kid, and says that everything else can be purchased on the way home.) Our hospital sent us home with many of the things we would need, but different hospitals have different practices. Here’s a list of the things I really needed in those first, bleary post-partum days (along with what I think are the English terms for them), as well as some of the things I didn’t need, either right away or ever.

Books:

Baby Bargains: for what to buy and when
Baby 411: simple answers to most questions

For home:

Unscented laundry detergent. Does not have to be Dreft, which is scented. Wash the first-use baby items beforehand if possible.

For baby:

Infant car seat
1 pack diapers (nappies), size N
Alcohol-free, scent-free baby wipes
Diaper cream with zinc to treat rash; with petroleum as barrier to wetness (modern diapers do this really well, though)
Baby fingernail scissors and toe-nail clippers (buy separately not as part of kit)
Onesies or wraparound tops (vests)
3 swaddling blankets, best size was 40″ square in cotton flannel (rectangle is harder to swaddle, smaller than 35″ impossible to swaddle)
Bassinette/Co-Sleeper
A few newborn-sized sleepers (babygros), with zippers rather than snaps for easier changes. Zippers/snaps down both legs is MUCH easier to change. Some parents like the open-bottom nightgowns for easier night changing, but I found these bothered the babies; too unrestrictive.
Sleepsack if house is cold.
Bundle Me if weather is cold
Light, jersey-knit hat, even in warm weather
Baby mittens, not just for cool weather but to protect baby’s face from scratches till you can trim fingernails
Sling
Electronic thermometer for mouth, underarm or rectum, NOT ear
Bouncer
Soap: Dove Sensitive Skin
Very small, tight-fitting socks, or footed sleepers. Booties get kicked off immediately
Hooded towel and washcloth (smaller and softer than adult ones)
Baby monitor (OK, this is the crazy expensive one, but I swear we’ve spent so much on the Fisher-Price ones that always break that this one sounds dreamy)
Nursing pillow (The embarrassingly named My Brest Friend was my favorite from birth to six months)
Glider

For mom:

Nursing bra
Nursing pads
Lanolin cream
Healing pads
Sanitary napkins for postpartum bleeding, even after C-section
Hemorrhoid pads if vaginal birth
Easy-access pajamas for nursing
Ibuprofen
Stool softener (NOT bulk-forming laxative–different things!)

Didn’t need right away:

Pacifier, bottles and breast pump–not till weight gain established and nursing routine in place–two to four weeks
Stroller (Buggy or Pram) Depends on weather, but we didn’t use till 10 days; Zoopers have good built-in features
Rattles and other toys
Crib and crib mattress (four or five months)
Infant Tylenol and Ibuprofen
Outfits–buy next size from NB, (often labelled 3M or 0-3M)
Robeez (aka sock-keepers-on)
Two more hooded towels and washcloths
Boppy, for tummy time, sitting support, and for nursing older infant
Front carrier

Didn’t really need:

Special burp cloths (muslins); could have used dish towels; should’ve used black dish towels
Baby shampoo; our kids were born bald, plus Dove Sensitive Skin soap worked fine
Baby brush and comb; regular ones worked fine
Stuffed animals: most had choking hazard, also hard to keep clean, only a few ever made the cut to “lovey”
Changing pad cover; could use towels or one of myriad baby blankets
Gas drops; who knows if they work
Baby bathtub; could have just used kitchen sink. Newborns don’t need frequent baths.
Tiny drool bibs; needed food bibs at about six months

Didn’t need ever:

Crib bedding other than sheet
Mobile
Most items in baby emergency kit
What to Expect books
Gum numbing gel

Agree? Disagree? Did I forget anything?

My friend JV emailed me, wondering if my elder was screaming more than my younger, as his were. I replied that I am painfully, head-splittingly familiar with this scenario. Drake, at nearly 4yo, screams frequently. His screams are like grenades that set off adjacent sound bombs in Guppy, and soon we’ve got a full-circle echo screamfest. That is usually the point at which I think despairingly, “I like quiet. My life used to be quiet.”

My husband, G. Grod, theorizes that it’s because Drake has recently begun thinking ahead to what he thinks is going to happen. When things don’t go his way, he has only limited vocab and emotional experience to deal with it, so he starts to scream out his frustration. In other words, G thinks that he’s learning the painful lesson that “expectations are pre-planned resentments”.

I’ve got a very bare toolbox for the screaming. I try to empathize, use a calm voice and ask for quiet politely.

The more I communicate with other people, and other parents, the more I realize how non-unique we are. Yeah, we’re all individuals, but at some level, in many ways, we’re not. As the cook notes in one of our favorite picture books, Two Eggs, Please, “Different, but the same.”

The author of the blog, Semicolon, shares her experience that parenting three kids is the apex of difficulty, and has a lovely end to the post:

The wonderful part of this story is that adding another and another and another never gets any harder than three. When you realize that it’s really, truly only by God’s grace that any of them survive to adulthood, that each child is a gift, and that the molding and shaping and even educating that parents do is somewhat limited in scope and influence, and that as a parent you are almost completely deficient in the skills, patience, and wisdom that are needed to parent these children . . . well, then you can begin to relax, do the best you can and depend on God to fill in the gaps.

I might substitute community, the universe, or family/friends for God, but I take her point, and I only have two children. For me, two is the number that is beyond my capability. I am humbly reminded on a daily basis that I do not have enough skill or patience to meet all the needs of the family, much less the attendant wants.

As I’ve noted before, there’s ALWAYS too much to do. It’s how I handle myself in the face of this, though, that makes a difference on a daily basis. Traveling with the kids, I’ve told myself to enjoy it when it goes well, and not flip out if it doesn’t. This advice also works on a larger level, if only I can remember it.

I was excited for today; I had many things I wanted to do. The boys were going to the babysitter, so I’d have the day to myself. Then Drake woke up whimpering and clutching his stomach. I told myself that it was because he was hungry (he eats so very little). He downed two glasses of milk, and has spent the morning vomiting them back up. The carpet, the stroller, and the couch have seen better days. And most of mine has been spent comforting him and cajoling him into the few things that might help. He’s dozing on the couch and I’m hoping that we aren’t in for a full 24 hours of this.

In case you haven’t heard already

Gerber Products Company, a division of Novartis Consumer Health, is voluntarily recalling all packages of Gerber ORGANIC Rice and ORGANIC Oatmeal Cereals due to a potential choking risk. A limited quantity of product may contain lumps of cereal, which do not dissolve in water or milk and pose a potential choking hazard. Gerber has received choking complaints, but no reports of injury. The FDA is aware of this recall.

According to The London Free Press,

Gerber dominates the U.S. baby-food market, with the company holding a 79 percent share, according to Morgan Stanley.

Instead, look for Earth’s Best Baby Food, a brand of the Hain Celestial Group, owned in part by the HJ Heinz company. This is one of many examples of corporate-owned organic food companies.

More discouraging recall new for parents. Veggie Booty, a staple snack in our family that Guppy particularly loves, has been linked to cases of Salmonella. Throw out any bags of Veggie Booty in your house, and keep an eye on your little ones for symptoms.

We have no Booty in the house right now, and though 16mo Guppy has eaten it regularly for many months now, he hasn’t gotten sick.

I recently took a three-week vacation. My sons Drake and Guppy stayed with G. Grod’s kind, brave parents. I went to an Arizona spa for a week, spent a weekend with a friend and her sister, then the remainder of the week on my own in their AZ condo, and returned to MN for a week with G., sans kids. It was part of my recovery process from the depression I became mired in after Guppy was born, sixteen months ago.

Both during and after this vacation, I felt more balanced, happy, and possessed of clear insight than I have ever in my life. This vacation was life changing.

Three Things:

1. I was burned out after three years as a full-time caregiver, first for Drake, and later with Guppy.

2. I became burned out as a full-time caregiver because I am

a. Introverted: small children have many needs, which don’t allow for much down time.
b. Irritible: small children scream, fight, and defecate frequently. It may be normal, but I still find it irritating.
c. Intellectual: caring full-time for small children leaves little time for my own intellectual pursuits, though my book and movie challenges remind me to keep trying.

3. Finding balance involves no longer being the full-time caregiver for my kids. We are trying a nearby 3-day-a-week home daycare that is off to a promising start. This will allow me quiet time to pursue work in writing and teaching. It also enables me to better enjoy the time I do have with my family.

Since I’ve been back we’ve played more, laughed more, and hugged more. There has been far less frustration and yelling on everyone’s part. The time away, which some might view as selfish and overlong, has had an enormous positive impact on all of us.

The Wall Street Journal details the new industry around baby names, and credits some of the rising demand to the internet. (Link from Arts & Letters Daily.) I don’t think it’s out of line for parents to care deeply about choosing a good name for their child(ren). Names are important, and they’re difficult and costly to change.

When we were expecting our first child, my husband G. Grod and I never bought a baby name book, but we did search the internet for ideas. I had one hard, fast rule: no names after living relatives–too confusing, and prone to hurt feelings. I had a strong preference to use names to connect to family heritage. G. Grod wanted names with hard consonants, since he has none in his surname. He also wanted to consider the name of the Philadelphia Eagles quarterback, Donovan. We made a list, and told anyone who asked what was on it, even though we were pretty sure what the name was going to be. We got lots of feedback, but it didn’t change our decision one jot.

We waited until Drake was born to confirm his name. His first and second names are family names of both G. Grod and me, his third name is my last name, as I didn’t take G’s when we married, and his fourth name is G’s surname. (No hyphens.)

We did things a bit differently when we were expecting our second child. As before, we chose to find out the sex (FYI, gender is NOT the same as sex) at the 20wk ultrasound. They didn’t have to look hard; both boys were exhibitionists. I had hoped for a girl, if only because I really liked the name I’d picked: Judith (after my father’s late sister, who died young of breast cancer) and Mariah (the middle name of my maternal great-grandmother, a strong willed woman who outlived three husbands.)

Once we knew it was a boy, we picked possible names, but didn’t share them, since I didn’t want to know what others thought. We first picked names we liked, then checked to see if they were on family trees; they were. Guppy’s first name is one that a few people I knew had chosen as a middle name. It was also the name of one of my maternal grandfather’s brothers. His second name is the pseudonym of an author G. and I both admire, whose real name is shared by both my sister and a dear friend. It was also a name from G.’s stepfather’s family tree. Again, his third name is my surname, and his fourth is G’s surname.

I like the names we picked. The names work well in full, or shortened. Interestingly, Drake often tells us his name is Donovan, so perhaps we made the wrong choice after all.

For Fathers Day, I got G. Grod a chimney starter for the charcoal grill our neighbor kindly gave to us. Since I’d never used a chimney starter, and all recipes said they took 20 to 30 minutes to ready the briquettes, I figured I should start prepping before G. Grod got home from work, or we’d be eating past Drake and Guppy’s bedtimes.

I had this lovely, rose-tinged picture in my head that Guppy would play quietly in the backyard, while I got Drake to help with the briquettes, and then both would be well away by the time any fire was involved.

I can be such a moron.

First, I didn’t realize the grill was full of ash. Both Drake and Guppy were fascinated by this. I tried to involve Drake in the cleanup, but while my attention was diverted, Guppy rushed in, grabbed a handful of ash, and stuffed it in his mouth.

Unwilling to abandon my mission, I started throwing balls across the yard to get Guppy to chase them. Yes, like Seth Rogen did in Knocked Up, I was playing fetch with my child.

Drake loves numbers, so I asked him to help me count out the briquettes. He so enjoyed throwing them into the starter, though, that he quickly lost count. Further, when he discovered that his hands were blackened by the charcoal (”Cool!) he rubbed his arms and legs with briquettes. I did finally manage to get the starter filled, and keep Drake and Guppy away while I lit it. I then hustled them both inside.

I snapped at Drake not to touch anything till we got to the shower to wash him off. No surprise, there were little black handprints all the way to the bathroom. I did get him clean eventually.

By the time G. Grod arrived, the briquettes were ready to go. He looked at me in disbelief.

“I didn’t expect you to start it till I got here.”

Somehow, I was not able to summon any pride in the accomplishment.

“We’re never grilling again,” I spit out, to his amusement.

I am thankful that no deaths or incidents are listed, but this recall is discouraging. How many toys that are labeled non-toxic may actually (perhaps accidentally) have lead paint? These toy trains are in the home of nearly every child I know. (Link via the Freakonomics Blog.)

RC2 Corp. Recalls Various Thomas & Friendsâ„¢ Wooden Railway Toys Due to Lead Poisoning Hazard

This article from The Edge (link via Arts and Letters Daily) elucidates how and why many adults choose speculative beliefs over scientific findings:

…resistance to science will arise in children when scientific claims clash with early emerging, intuitive expectations. This resistance will persist through adulthood if the scientific claims are contested within a society, and will be especially strong if there is a non-scientific alternative that is rooted in common sense and championed by people who are taken as reliable and trustworthy.

which have become so difficult with two small children around that they FEEL like luxuries.

1. Eating when I’m hungry. Drinking enough water.
2. Going to the bathroom whenever I want. With the door open. Alone.
3. Phoning family. Giving attention only to the phone call.
4. Going to sleep when I’m merely tired. Getting up when I no longer am.
5. Drinking coffee WHILE IT’S STILL HOT! Freely eating a biscotti, or strudel, or toaster pastry.

#18 in my 2007 book challenge for the year was Discipline without Tears, a book recommended to me by the doula who helped me through labor with Guppy. It’s not aimed at parents, but rather at teachers, though it has some good insights for both. The authors note that children are good observers, but bad interpreters. They contend that young children have four major desires when they act out: attention, power, revenge, and withdrawal. How an adult feels is a good hint as to the child’s object. An adult often feels annoyed at a child wanting attention, threatened by one seeking power, hurt by one seeking revenge, and helpless by one who has withdrawn. Adults are encouraged to communicate with the child to clarify the situation, and act in response to the different situations: give attention when the child isn’t seeking it, not when she is; give power to the child; don’t show hurt, and find ways for other children to draw out withdrawn peers. This is an old book, and somewhat dated, but it’s worthwhile in that it encourages adults to take the time to analyze what’s going on, learn new patterns, and teach new patterns. Skip the workbook at the end. I recommend re-reading the most relevant chapters instead.

The Peter Principle is the idea, first formulated for business, that people rise to the level of their incompetence. Most mornings I struggle with the clashes between my sons, 3yo Drake and 15mo Guppy, plus try to meet my basic needs, like breakfast and coffee. Both are either lukewarm or stone cold by the time I get to them.

A friend of a friend (and mother of an only child) once remarked that parents find out how many kids are too many for them after the fact. It’s best to be cautious and not assume that one is having kids, plural. I think about this remark a lot lately, as well as the Peter Principle, and wonder if two kids put me in over my head.

Maybe it’s their ages, maybe it’s their developmental stages, maybe it’s just me. I’m muddling along as best I can, reading Siblings without Rivaly and Raising a Thinking Child. Having a second child, like having the first one, was a huge life change with dramatic impact, both physical and emotional. Some friends say things get better, others say they merely become harder in different ways. Hope and self-learning–they’ve pulled me through life, and they’re pulling me through the screaming and fighting that makes up so much of parenting for me right now.