So, a wonderful week of family vacation is over. If any of you are parents, you'll know I use the word "vacation" really recklessly.

Originally, we'd planned to go to some themed park, but on examining gas costs, time spent in car, hassle, we decided it was the better part of wisdom (is there an ugly, worse part of wisdom? That colloquialism always confuses me..."Hey, there, Bill, looks like you got the crappy half of wisdom. Better luck next time, old boy!" No sense.) to stay at home.

Almighty Pinterest has deemed this the "stay-cation". I got a tick or two more stupid just typing that out.

So we stayed at home. For two days, my shiny-exciting-things-loving self really had a tough time with it, I won't lie. I wanted marvels and the novel. Instead, I got a novel and some marvel comics on my own crumb-filled couch. Sadness ensued.

After I had my pity-party (yes, I, the mama had the worst pity party, even though the decision was self imposed. There's no accounting for feelings, sometimes.), I started really enjoying my family and our time together.

We had an epic water balloon fight, during which I may have nailed my oldest daughter just a touch too hard with a water balloon filled with green water. I was going to feel guilty, but then surmised that a woman has to grab a harmless chuckle where she can. And since Oldest Spawn deemed it "The best water war EVER!!", I didn't feel too badly. For a glorious, sneaky, water-drenched 20 minutes, I felt like an eight year old again, tearing around the yard whooping like a banshee, the sun slapping my skin and making it red, grass clippings sticking randomly to my wet (ghostly white) legs.

A big first was taking the girls fishing for the first time. "It'll be great!" Nafe said. "You can drive one motor raft and I'll drive the other." Turns out I'm a slow learner on the water, and ended up driving in circles for a while, until I finally got the hang of it: left to go right, right to go left, with the smelly old Tananka motor gurgling and sputtering and chortling behind me. We caught one fish, with a little whining and bickering, while Electra played with her feet in my lap and ...

...and decided to call it a day after an hour or two, at which point dark clouds had started to blow in over the back stream where we'd dropped our lines in. It immediately dropped 20 degrees or so cooler which was a welcome sensation from the lazy heat. And then, halfway down the river, it started to sprinkle. Nafe tossed a sheepish "Isn't this FUN?" grin over his shoulder. It *was* fun. It was overcast and cool and the water was making ripples and waves from the breeze, and the trees coating the curves of the mountains were a luscious, glorious silvery green. Magic. It seemed like a good time to loosen up and have a little fun with my newfound steering skills, and Lark and Grace burst into mad giggles as we did donuts on the waves.

Then, it started raining harder, and I felt my eyebrows furrow. About the time the motor coughed out from too much gas (oops), the bottom fell out of the sky. Torrential sheets of water is the only sufficient way to describe what started dumping from the clouds onto our bodies. And the thunder started rolling. The miserable hilarity of my children curled up in fetal positions to keep the rain off their faces while our weenie little motors tried to fight back to the dock against the waves had me laughing. Until I realized I'd have to drive all the way back home in a sopping, dripping sundress all the way home once we (read: Nafe) got the rafts deflated and folded.

So the kids were toweled off in the bathroom and changed into an odd assortment clothes we had stashed away in the care for a rainy day, and I was standing outside the car with them buckled in, with random strangers from the dock standing around. I could NOT drench my car that way. No sir. My car already smells like the inside of a daycare's laundry basket. So I did what any reasonable, still-carrying-a-post-baby tire woman would do. I stripped down to my underwear and bra and drove home half naked. Right there in front of God and everybody.

The kids came home, and Nafe taught the big girls how to clean, cook and eat a fish third world style: eyeballs, brains, roe and all. And mama threw in a little splash of backwater AL, and demonstrated how to eat the crispy fins and tail. They had huge fun with it, and ate the poor little fish down to a skeleton.

We also baked bread, picked blackberries around the house, went to a birthday party, watched Mythbusters and did whatever the hell we wanted to whenever the hell we wanted to. And it was *dreamy*.

Now, life goes on. I think I'll let the children in the house (I kicked them out for the morning). They're now at the front door, back door and a window, pounding and pawing at the glass like little hungry zombies with sunhats on. "Juice!! Juuuuuuice...." Life goes on.

The belated Birth Story of Electra

I'll preface this by saying that I'd been having off and on prodromal labor for a week or so, which is pretty normal for me. Because of various emotional journeys during her pregnancy, including the pregnancy itself being a surprise, I felt like I was on a crash course of processing all the change in too short a period of time.

I knew beforehand I'd "go over" my estimated due date, mostly just because emotionally, I didn't feel ready enough. My third birth was a beautiful but drawn-out homebirth, and I'd experienced a really intense pushing phase in the water, a baby that was so focused on staring at mama that she forgot to breathe (and needed mild resuscitation), and a retained bit of placenta that had needed to be manually retrieved.

Two nights before labor started, I felt like a burning ball of energy; I literally felt like I was 100 degrees, but the thermometer told me I was "normal". My body felt FULL of energy, as if I were about to be the source of a nuclear meltdown, and I panicked. I started crying, and then sobbing, finally realizing that my heart and body were letting go of fear and apprehension. I breathed-it was almost as if I were going through emotional labor two days early.  I started having a few earnest contractions, but a phone call (full of insensitive questions and suggestions) shut things down pretty quickly. Let that be a lesson to you, my sisters. If you're pregnant, unplug your phone and avoid those that shut your energy down. If you're a supporter, ask yourself: "Is what I'm about to say kind/thoughtful/necessary/uplifting?" 

Thursday morning (41 weeks!), dh announced that he was taking our three girls boating for the day, to get them out of my hair, so I'd have time to relax and visit my MW in a leisurely way. The sheer bliss I felt when he offered this told me it was exactly what my soul and the baby's needed. SPACE. 

My doula brain said, "If this were a client, I'd be getting excited about now...it's always when they let go and have no one around..." But, of course, that would never apply to me. I was going to be pregnant forever.

I took a bath, watched a movie, ate a snack, and headed out to do errands. In the car, the song "A Thousand Years" came on, and I started flowing with love and oxytocin and talking to my baby...whatever I needed to be, whatever I needed to do; this wasn't about me anymore, or how tired or desperate I was. Whenever and however that sweet person needed to enter the world, I considered myself a vessel. I was filled with insane LOVE. The force of it surprised me. I could feel the baby feeling loved, too. It encouraged my heart.

MW confirmed that nothing exciting was going on. :lol I started driving home, content, and feeling that it was coming SOON, when contractions started. Ho-hum. Whatever. :lol

When I got home, I relaxed and did a little laundry until Daddy and the girls got there. I mentioned that I'd been contracting. Things picked up. I shut myself into the bedroom, feeling like being alone. Nothing I couldn't talk through, but I felt the instinct to burrow into a sunlit room and breathe.

Around dinner time, things felt a little more organized, but not "for sure". I called my MW and told her, "Head's up...it's probably nothing, and we're going out to eat Mexican food. I'll call back in an hour and a half or so". She agreed it was a good plan, and we went out. I contracted and ate chicken soup and tittered with my funny family, getting up to go to the bathroom periodically.

Back at home, I was glad I'd called for help to come get the girls. It was obvious that I was in early labor, and I couldn't handle anyone needing anything from me. With the house quiet around 9:30pm, Barefoot Man and I watched Portlandia with me blowing through contractions, until the show stopped being funny any more.  (This seems to be a pattern for my labors!)

We moved back to the bedroom, where I continued to breathe through contractions, and dh kept my rice sock heated for me and brought me drinks.  Around 10pm, my MW arrived, and suggested I hop in the shower to see whether labor slowed or sped up. A niggling suspicion told me that I'd use up all the hot water and it might not have time to refill before I needed the birth pool, but since I was only an hour into "real labor", I agreed a shower sounded lovely. :heart

I started unearthly sounding in the shower..."mmmmMMMMmmmmm. ohhhhhhhhh. mmmmMMMmmmmm", and must have sounded convincing, because when I got out of the shower, the birth tub had been completely blown up and was ready for filling.  (Dh asked if he could snap a few photos over the curtain, and I'm SO glad he did!) Inside the shower, I felt the baby turning down into my pelvis, and started an internal mantra of "I'm ready baby. Come as soon as you're ready. I'm ready-I'm open to bringing you earthside, love." I could feel the baby speaking to me and responding in a cooperative way. This was very different from anything I'd ever felt/thought in labor before, but I could feel the endorphins and oxytocin flowing, and it felt oddly nice. I decided to go with it, and let birth be a cooperative effort. She was such a little soul-talking, even during her birth!

When I got out of the shower, I never did put clothes back on. I didn't want to be touched or talked to or bothered in any way for the next 30-40 minutes! I could feel the baby slipping down, inch by inch, I could feel my cervix giving way, and could sense a pressure not dissimilar to orgasm (I know, I know, I lack a better description! ) during rushes. I was surprised at how *tired* I felt already, surprised at the early intensity, surprised at how easily my body was giving way to birth...and suddenly decided I needed to take a nap!

I started muttering, "I need to lay down; fill the pool-you need to go boil some water! I'm going to go to sleep for a while!" At that point, I was contracting every 1.5 min or so.  (I'm not sure how I thought I was getting a nap! Remembering it with my lucid mind makes me giggle with affection for my cute, irrational birthing animal-self. ) Then, a STRONG rush hit, and I yelled, "Somebody press HARD on my tailbone, NOW!!" Dh was there, and literally leaning into my back as hard as he could with me yelling, "Harder!! Press harder!" (I didn't realize it, but I was complete and she was descending into the birth canal at that point.) Again, my doula brain knows this too well, but we operate from a completely different place while bringing babies earthside.

I tottered from the foot of the bed where I'd been leaning on the birth ball to the side, ready to take my nap, when another rush hit me, and again I yelled for pressure on my back, when, "POP!!!" My water gushed into the floor with a fury. I felt eyes widen with a flicker of fleeting horror, as I realized that nap wasn't going to happen. My jaw dropped, and baby descended SO quickly and hit my pelvic floor very quickly, making my knees wobble with pressure, and I panicked. In one hospital birth and two water births at home, my water had never broken until a few minutes before the baby arrived, and I liked my cushion of water during labor. I braced for hours of misery.

My mw said, "Get up on the bed, honey! Climb onto the bed, sweetie." At that point, my brain completely went dumb for a minute or two. I couldn't for the life of me understand what she was saying, why she was saying it or how I'd accomplish such a feat. I just stood there dumbly, as if english weren't my native tongue, because, for the moment, it really wasn't. (What I didn't see was dh motioning "should I fill the pool?" and my MW mouthing, "The baby is here. NOW!!")

I whimper-yelled hysterically, "I don't know how to do this!! *grrrrrrunt* What do I do?! I don't have my pool! Somebody tell me what to DO!!", as I waved my hands in the arm in front of my face.

At that point, somehow, I magically landed on the bed on my hands and knees. (I later learned that my MW grabbed me under my armpits and Barefoot Man grabbed my hips and they hoisted me onto the bed...color me impressed! :lol :heart) And then, I *did* know what to do. I knew that grunting feeling.

For some inexplicable reason, I yelled, "Sorry, guys, I'm pretty sure I"m going to poop! >.<*GRUUUUUUUNT*" My MW laughed and said, "That's no poop; that's your BABY!" My brain and emotions were miles behind this information. My WHAT? I'm pushing??

And, again, my mantra of, "Come on, baby...I'm ready when you are" came back to me, and I decided, "Okey doke..here we go!" As if I had a choice! :lol The urge to push, as always, was a force that will not accept no for an answer. The urge to push will have it's way. :heart So, like we all do, because it feels good, because it means the promise of relief, because we have no choice..I pushed through the fear. I was vaguely aware of my fingers digging into the sheets as I grunted and blew instinctively *puff puff puff puff* (with my mw saying, "That's it, thatta girl, blow through and bring 'im down slow...") and more grunting.

What I wasn't ready for, and nearly laughed out loud when I realized it, was that the baby was *crowning* on push #2. I made a comical face into the mattress.  I was grunting and crying and laughing all at once. I was pushing on land! On the BED! On all fours! And my tub was 1/4 full and still filling, and the ring of fire was a-burning! Whose birth WAS this?

Two seconds and a slithering, slick, warm little body later, I found out whose; our smallest, gorgeous fourth daughter! My MW put her in my arms, and I promise it wasn't my birth-addled brain; the child smiled at me from the crook of my right arm. :lol :happytears I started laughing to myself. I couldn't believe it was over, couldn't believe I'd just had exactly the birth I'd always been terrified of, couldn't believe how *easy* it had been, and couldn't believe the tiny pink gal who was practically chatting me up already with her facial expressions. #gigglemelthappytears

I did end up with some clotting and bleeding, but some meds and belly binding set that right again (though it did leave me a little sore in the belly from the kneading, and very tired).

Little Electra, 8lbs 3oz, 20 inches-our smallest little one yet...after a 9lb 22" 14.5cm head #3, she seemed so tiny! Our hearts are blessed. I feel like I won the love lottery.

Hey There Little Mama...

(written for myself, and for my dearest dears at GCM.) 


Hey There Little Mama, 


I saw you beating yourself up today, frowning at the mirror and wondering what on earth others must think of you. 


I caught you looking with despair over your house strewn with crayon bits, stray shoes, toys and books. I watched you grind your teeth and breathe deeply in effort to not yell as your preschooler ignored your clear and patient instructions and whizzed through the house laughing that maniacal, nervous "will you come and make me?!!" laugh. I saw your panic when you realized everyone is out of underpants and that, once again, the laundry piled up beyond what you could possibly fix in a day. 


I saw the unflushed toilets, the pail of dirty diapers, the flies all over the place because your 2nd grader chronically leaves the door open. I saw the kitchen floor you haven't mopped for weeks. I'll be kind enough to not describe what YOU looked like today. 


I heard your 5yo use an interesting word with grandma on the phone. I saw your toddler wipe her bum on the shower curtain. I saw your preschooler lick that bug. I saw you hit the snooze button another time while your children eat corn flakes, of all the things! 


I saw your 3yo take a bite out of 3 different kinds of vegetables in the grocery store before you noticed her leaning over and helping herself, and saw the store manager scowl even as you bagged up the forbidden fruit. 



I saw you raise your voice as your child absentmindedly and systematically made an enormous mess in the floor for no particular reason. I saw her lip quiver in remorse and apologize and set to cleaning, and watched your shoulders slump with regret over your own sharpness. 

Things, by all appearances, have really gone to pot. You appear to have let yourself go. It's all a bit of a mess. 


And do you know what? I'm so very proud of you right now. Even more than when everyone's in clean, adorable outfits, more than when your children chose kindness in public, everyone is in an age of equilibrium, more than when you turn heads on the sidewalk, more than when life is easy. 


Why? Because I'm smart enough to know that when everything's this rough, you're working your absolute hardest. 


I know that you've been up all night relieving a gassy tiny belly, when you'd much rather be sleeping soundly on your own pillow. 


I recognize that the mess around you represents busy hands that are exploring the world in the safety of your home, even though you'd prefer it be clean. 


I can tell by the kindness in your eyes that you raising your voice is a big deal, that you'll apologize for it, and that you've been modeling remarkable patience and maturity all day long (and that you'll do it all again tomorrow). 


I'm glad for you that your children feel safe enough to express their big feelings, and am glad that they are safe enough to be re-directed in a gentle way. 


I see that you're rocking and nursing and bonding with that precious little baby in your lap, and that the love you're steeping them in now will warm the fire of their heart for the rest of their lives, even though it's exhausting in the moment for you.  


I see your heart torn in so many directions, trying hard to prioritize, constantly checking to make sure every person is honored and heard in your home. It's no small job you're doing, and I see that. 


I see you folding underwear for the child still having accidents, taking stains out of shirts of little girls old enough to care, carefully instilling competence and skill in your olders while your body nurtures your youngers. I saw you change no less than 20 diapers in one day. You're learning to juggle, even though it looks like you've done nothing at all today. 


You're my HERO. You're their hero. Even if they don't recognize it now, someday, they will. And the kindness that you instill and extend to their hungry hearts and bodies and mouths now won't fly into the void and return to you empty. Love begets love. 


You are beautiful. I am proud of you. You are doing a wonderful job, and honoring what your heart is calling you to do, and you're doing it in a way that only you can. I admire you, appreciate you and respect you. Thank you for caring and loving the future generation with such valor and tenderness and wisdom. 


Keep your chin up, little mama bird.  This is the hard part. All days won't always be like today; some will be harder and some will be infinitely easier. All will be full of love, because YOU are full of love. You bring that to your home, and the universe honors you for it.


Love, 


yourself. 

Since last I wrote...

I gave birth to a fourth beautiful, perfect (to me) daughter. We're awfully, awfully fond of her. Her head smells like milk and flowers and fresh, wild things, and it makes me giddy and drunk and full of love every time I bury my nose in her soft, downy hair. Bliss.

Her birth was a lovely, short, amazing home birth...she was 8 lbs and a few oz change, and is just absolutely gorgeous in every way. Three weeks later, I'm still amazed that she's here, and that we're lucky enough to have her. :mush:

This week was my first official week "on the job" as a full time mother of four, all by myself, with no hubby at home. The training wheels are off, so to speak. :OP So far, it's gone something like:

Day 1: Feed people. Breathe in and out. Nurse a lot. Cuddle, do what I can, pretend the clutter isn't really there. Babies "don't keep". This time is so incredibly fleeting, and I want to soak it all up and hopefully remember some of it. Revel in my toddler's chubby legs and the fantastic popcorn-y smell of breastfed poo. :happy grin:

Day 2: Get really brave. Take all four children to the park. Soak up some vitamin D. Enjoy the sound of squeaky swings and birds and no quarreling. Be thankful my spouse is a good cook. :) Reconnect with my toddler. Offer to let her nurse again. Giggle as she tentatively tries and then falls into a fit of laughter. Let her climb in bed with me and baby, discovered that my "top" side-lying boob reaches all the way down to her mouth, thus assuring that she shan't need to be endangered by her wallowing big sister while she sleeps. Cool beans. If the "girls" are going to be a C Long, it might as well come with perks (because it certainly doesn't come with "perky". Ba-dunk CHING! :P)


Day 3: Wake up with a stomach virus. Be even more thankful that my spouse has sick days left this year.

Day 4 (today): Make brunch for the kids. Gluten free waffles and vanilla'd yogurt with coconut oil and nitrite free bacon, baby. That's how we roll.

Sort colors with older kids. Discuss Oliver Twist with older daughter. Snuggle the middle two. Read books. Attempt to clean a bit. Nurse a lot (mush, love, kiss). Make a nice pot of bean soup for later this week.

Then, crazy hour happens. All parents know of what hour I speak. It's the hour when all children become rabid ADD squirrels on 'roid rage, PMS and crack all rolled into one, and parents try to keep their calm game face on until bedtime.

DD1 (in an attempt to be helpful) tossed glasses (yes, glasses :doh:) into the sink, and one missed and smashed on the floor. The middle two were out on the back porch throwing ubiquitous handfulls of dirt at one another, because hubs opened the doors to cool off the house. In a hurry to sweep up the glass while he corralled the other two and unloaded groceries, I forgot to remove my Vibrams before walking through the living room to grab a diaper to change the now fussing daughter #4.

I tracked a piece of glass into the living room. Our second born (5.5 years old), Lark,  was at this point tearing through the living room and dining area gleefully flapping pretend wings and announcing "I'm a chicken!! I'm a country chicken, and I lay eggs!!! WHEEEEEHA!", right up until her foot found said piece of glass. She came to me on the fragile edge of tears saying, "All of a sudden, something poked my foot. Am I OK?"

No, no, she wasn't. I could feel the glass ticking under my fingernail as I gently ran it across her pink heel, and I calmly hollered for my spouse. (Yes, I've mastered the womanly art of hollering dispassionately.) All the rest of the little chickens came running with worried looks on their faces, and for the next 15 minutes, I tried to distract my second-born from what she felt was the trauma of her life as my husband tried to remove the damned sliver of a mason jar from the poor child's foot. Her sister read Fancy Nancy to her. I fed her from my stash of chocolate. She squeezed my hand and punched a pillow and announced that "this is the worst night, EVER!" Our nearly 3yo was terribly troubled by the sight of daddy digging about in her sister's foot, as that's not something that normally happens, of course.

In the end, the thing that brought her the most relief (besides the glass ultimately being removed...go husband!) was me leaning in and saying, "You know, even though it's an adult word, I'd really understand if you wanted to say "fuck", just this once. It usually helps me when I'm in a lot of pain. I said it when I was in labor with you. :P" (The f-word is a coveted word for this child, though she generally refrains because I dislike her using it.) She said it, her eyes widened, and she whispered to me, "I really want to YELL it." I told her to let it fly. She did. I wasn't sure if I should self-flagellate or pat myself on the back. I try not to over-think these things.

Her quick-thinking big sister made her a badge that says, "#1 bravest!" with paper and glue. I was very proud of them both.

The #1 bravest. 

"Overdue" Natural Pregnancy Manifesto

Current culture can be so unintentionally unkind to "overdue" (aka, women who go past 40 weeks pregnant, as calculated by their LMP) women, causing women to feel particularly vulnerable and conspicuous if they chose to wait on baby's timing for a healthy birth.

This pressure comes in countless variations. As I'm currently nearly 41 weeks pregnant (although I suspect it's closer to 40 weeks, luteal phase/ovulation/conception considered), I'm well versed in the gems that people like to toss at ladies great with child. Ah, but the sting is still fresh! Considering how "catching" those comments leaves one's fragile resolve feeling, perhaps a better metaphor for such little pieces of cheer are the stinking fish tossed around in an open air market-if one slaps you in the face unexpectedly, it's insulting in more ways than one! 

There's Mother-pressure: "Hey, sweetie, I have the 14-16th off, so, you know...it'd be a great time to go into labor!"
There's spouse pressure: "Do you feel, yanno, birthy today? I really don't want to go to work..."
There's girlfriend pressure: "Well, you know what worked for me was castor oil. It made me feel awful, but I was in labor in 48 hours..."
There's well-meaing (but ignorant) cashier at the grocery store pressure: "When are you due? OH!!! *suspicious glare* Oh, HONEY. You're about to POP, aren't you? Let me know if you want us to boil some water."
And, of course, random dongleberry on the sidewalk comments: "You're about to calve right here, aincha, Mama?"

Instead of being praised for your patience and goddess-like ability to sustain such strong physical and spiritual energy in brand-new human life form, you're poked like a tired old cow who won't cross a grate quickly enough. Yowza. 

It's hard to remind yourself that you're giving your baby the gift of a peaceful and timely journey earth-side. But that's exactly what's happening; your body serves as a sacred buffer between a brand new soul and the outside world until every last intricate piece is in place for the last Big Push.  The final creative spinning and sustaining of an unborn child comes with a mighty weight, both literally and figuratively. I personally feel that I'm holding so much energy, both for my own body's journey and baby's, that I may well implode with a mighty "BANG!" if I'm not gentle with myself.

It helps to think of myself as a vessel that peace can flow through, washing out all anxiety and angst, rather than  a bomb waiting to go off. Just as easily as I can let go of worry and let my heart open up and release it, my body will be capable of opening and gently guiding my baby out into the world when the moment is right. I am not a lemon. I am a guide. I am a vessel. I am a protector. I am a mother.

http://www.inspiredchildbirth.net/overdue-pregnancy.html

You Can't Hurry Love.

One of my 70 year old grandma's favorite sayings is "Chop-chop!!". She says this half-teasingly as she stands at the door, waiting for someone to come inside from the cold. She says it when she's ready to go out to her church and is worried about us all being late and not making it to her favorite pew. She says it outside the bathroom door, when everyone else is gathered in the living room (over-stuffed with roasted chicken and green beans and mystery jello salad. I've stopped asking or even wanting to know what the mysterious crunchy things in it are), waiting to open gifts, and some poor soul on the other side of Mrs Jones' door, trying to pee. "Chop-chop!! Time's a-wastin'!" (for the record, in my humble opinion, any time spent trying to urinate is not wasted time. Who can feign appreciation for neon green mittens with Christmas trees on them when their bladder is wailing in protest? Not I. Bathroom time is time well. spent. Take that, grandma.) 

Chop-chop!! Hurry it up! I don't want to wait any more! Let's move it!!

I've got more than a little of grandma in me. Most of us do, I think. (Now, it just sounds like we all ate my grandma. Ah, well. No time to edit.) Especially people with fast-paced bodies and wit, who can't sit still to save their lives, or when they DO sit still, their brains are buzzing with ideas of what they'll do when they get up and move around again. We want results, dammit. We like waffles and freezer jam and time-travel and Netflix and ThinkGeek.com and formulas and quick-dry nail polish and magic bullets and high-speed DSL and miracle cures and wrinkle-free pants! We like to move it, move it, yo.

Unfortunately, human development didn't get the memo that our society is now instant-results oriented. There are no magic bullets when it comes to raising a person from the ground up. It's more like making Ethiopian Injera (or, for you American food lovers, Amish friendship bread...you know, the yeasty stuff your aunt gives you in a ziplock baggies with an instruction sheet, which you politely stuff into your purse where it bubbles and broods for a week until it explodes on your receipts and car keys?) I digress. My point is, strong relationship takes time.

You have to go slowly with children. You can't make them be more than where they are at that moment. You can't force logic before it's time. Pine all you want, but developing impulse control can't be hurried. You can't "chop-chop" kids. Wish all you want,  pretend all you want, cry, and you may be able to construct a well-orchestrated fantasy world for your family, if you get lucky. Some kids may even learn to jump through your hoops like trained ponies for all the reasons that won't last, just to make you happy with them. But telling yourself that you "really got through to your four year old" with that scary, long-winded, heavy-handed approach to personal responsibility is magical, wishful thinking.

Case in point: my oldest daughter, 7,  is a particularly quick-minded little girl, and likes more than anything to feel included and competent. She reads (no bragging here, I had literally nothing to do with it) at a 6th grade level. And so, because I was so excited to have someone to dish with about literature beyond Winnie the Pooh, and because she understood what the words meant, and because it was novel and fun, I let her tackle a LOT of books geared to older kids with some complex and intense emotional themes. In fairness to myself, I was interested in fostering her spunk and love for adventure, which seemed like a good idea,  but, let's be honest: this is my first child. I'm kind of winging it here.

It seemed to work out for about a year, until she finally admitted and demonstrated that, while she basically understood the plot, she couldn't process it in a healthy way yet.

I'd "chop-chop"ped her, and let her learn to chop-chop herself, and the fallout included confusion, bad dreams, fears she couldn't admit out loud, unrealistic expectations of herself and breakdown of relationship between she and I. She was pretending to be big, without really understanding what "big" means, because she skipped important, messy steps to getting there the slow way. Because she's observant, she learned to do a good imitation, but that's all it was. An imitation, with a worried little girl hiding behind it.

Sheepishly, I put the "big books" away, and replaced them with some challenging ones about people her age, with more realistic plots. I started making proverbial Amish Friendship Bread, and, slowly, she's started tentatively admitting some fears and insecurities and normal 7yo worries that were covered over before by the pretense of "I'm a big girl who doesn't NEED help." Conversation is slowly trickling back into a freer flow, because she's no longer afraid to be seen as small and needy and unskilled. Because she knows I *value* her, just where she is, as small and needy and unskilled. Where she is in her development is just fine, and I don't need or want her to be anything other than who she is in this moment. This is my humble gift to her. <3

Real development, it seems, takes TIME. Repetition, waiting, more repetition, love wrapped in goodly blanket of acceptance, tongue-biting, repetition, adjustment of parental expectation, humor, repetition and, sometimes, a very large glass of wine at the end of the day. Children naturally grow out of most annoying, awkward phases. The core child is still there, ordering their brain over and over as it learns new skills, moving from a predictable place of chaos to order to chaos cyclically as they do so...and asking, "Do you still see ME? Can you look beyond the confusing changes going on in my brain and still like me? Can you wait this out with me? Is this going to be OK?"

With my second daughter, answering that question became easier. "Yes, babe. This isn't always going to be so tricky for you, and I like you. Everything is OK." I'd seen this stage before, and watched it come and go, and, annoying as it may be, I can see that her brain is simply doing what a five year old's brain does, with all it's quirks and delightfully wild glory. With my third daughter, I just pick her up and tickle her and sigh over how quickly this little phase is passing, and blow raspberries on her belly for good measure. (Toddler bellies are delicious.)

My poor firstborn, though...she's getting the "Being a Mom for Dummies" version of each new year. She gets floundering like a guppy on land mom, take a giant centering breath before every sentence Mom, cry into your pillow every night and wonder if you're vaguely headed on the right trajectory Mom, and apologize every 10 minutes or so because you totaly blew it Mom. And, sometimes, sadly for her (and lucky for some therapist's wallet someday), she gets "Chop Chop Mom".

My understanding of (and faith in!)  human development is improving, however, as my own firstborn control freak tenancies loosen, and I'm increasingly able to close my eyes and take flying leaps of hope, trusting that if I'll just chill out and focus on enjoying our relationship in the moment, most things will, in the end, work themselves out. If I can give her anything, even if I lack skill/knowledge/wisdom/experience, I can give her time. That's a gift we all have to offer.

Some shots from this week.

Leftover roll of crepe paper = high fashion.

Marbleized prints. And goopey goop. ;oP

The sick baby hospital in my living room. {Perry's getting an IV)

Skin to skin contact. {giggle}

(Nomi isn't in a lot of these because she doesn't believe in clothing. But she'd like you to know she was there, anyway. ;oD)