To say that there is nothing than can prepare you for the shock of becoming a parent is putting it mildly. What a shock it is. You can read all of the books you want, make charts and diagrams for this, that and the other thing, you can research everything from birth to potty training until the cows come home. But I've discovered that, for me at least, parenting is not so much in these details, in the preparedness or in the doing, but rather it is a crash-course in the feeling. You can know that skydiving is a scary endeavour, but you can't know what that scary feels like until your ass is plummeting through the sky.
Becoming a parent is like cutting off your limbs and trying to grow them again, in a weird way that makes them only half yours. Or razing a house to the ground and rebuilding with new materials, like Extreme Makeover Home Edition, only the end result is much less grandiose. It is simultaneously elating and depressing; joy and wonder at the new beings we've had a hand in creating, and sadness, even resentment at the seepage of our own selves, the hazing and blurring of our identity as individuals.
As a bit of an aside, I think it's crazy that we treat post-partum depression like it's an anomaly, something purely hormonal, something that people can/should just "get over". I think that in the face of the magnitude of changes to our physical and emotional selves and the incredible disruption to our lives, experiencing various forms and severities of depression and/or anxieties post partum, though undoubtably unpleasant, makes a whole world of sense. But I digress.
My life, previously attuned to my own well-being and best interests, is no longer my own. My time, previously devoted to my own projects and needs, has become someone elses. I struggle to scrape together moments of solitude, write snippets and thoughts and memories of self on scraps of construction paper and kitchen chalkboards, beside grocery and to-do lists. The mundane necessity of keeping chaos at bay, dishes clean, babies fed, toddlers and pre-schoolers amused, soothed and loved is an endless, and often unforgiving, pursuit- one that more often than not, I seem to fail at.
I teeter between anxiety and pride about my small charges, who are at once so fragile and so unflinchingly fearless. There are so many things to protect my children from in any given day, not the least of which is myself -- my own baggage, childhood and knee jerk emotional reflexes. These reflexes too, have to be swallowed, thought about, revisited, smoothed over.
I have had my absolute best, and proudest moments as a mama. I have also been taken to my rock bottom lowest as a mama. The pendulum seems to swing back and forth between these highs and lows so often. Motherhood has made me turn myself inside out and pull out my stuffing. I'm restuffing bit by bit, and learning so much about myself in the process. What a crazy, amazing, horrible, dark, scary, wonderful, exciting ride. I have never felt so responsible, so fierce, so protective, so loving, so angry, so helpless, so grateful, so raw. And we musn't forget so tired.
I've just started reading this really lovely anthology on mothering, edited by Eden Steinberg. In her introduction, Steinberg writes:
"I realized that if I was going to survive this thing, I was going to have to grow and change. . . I also saw that I was ultimately going to have to let go of my very self-concept, my idea of motherhood, and my expectations of my child. All of it had to go. . . . I thought that as a mother I would carefully mold and shape my children. If I did my job right, my children would turn out to be well-adjusted, loving, thoughtful and interesting people. As it turns out, motherhood is molding and shaping me. At the end of all this, I am the one who could end up well-adjusted, loving, thoughtful and interesting." (xv, 2007).
I couldn't have said it better if I tried.
Tuesday, December 29, 2009
Tuesday, December 22, 2009
knowing one's audience
I don't know why I did it. It must have been an unusual moment of sunny optimism. It really seemed like a good idea at the time.
It wasn't my idea to start with. My friend Linds did it first, and my friend Heidi followed suit. It seemed so creative, so free-to-be-you-and-me, so innocent. The sort of activity that results in delightful and splendidly messy kiddie pics to post on facebook.
So, this morning, I set out the gigantic paper on the floor and taped it down. I stripped my giggling fool of a child bare naked. And then I did it. I got out the fingerpaints. Oh yes I did.
Well, who's the fool now?!
In my defense, I think it bears repeating that my friends and their children successfully undertook and completed this activity. What I seemed to have forgotten in this moment of optimism, is that their children are largely civilized, and mine, though 9/10's perfectly charming, is also 1/10 barbarian.
First the paper was painted. This lasted about 10 seconds. I got some cute pictures. Then his body got painted. Whoohoo. More cute pictures.
Then my floors were painted. Not so much with the cute pictures. My walls have hand marks streaked from the crime scene (living room) clear through to the bathroom. It looks like somebody green died a horrible, unspeakable death in my house. Or like L. and I have entered a phase of very, erm, "contemporary" taste in artwork. (We have not).
There was a rotten yelling bit, followed by more defiant wall "art," followed by more yelling, some crying and a longgggg bath.
I'm not sure whether to curse my friends for having civilized children and cute facebook pictures, or myself for completely forgetting my audience.
I'll have to think about it while I'm cleaning up the crime scene.
It wasn't my idea to start with. My friend Linds did it first, and my friend Heidi followed suit. It seemed so creative, so free-to-be-you-and-me, so innocent. The sort of activity that results in delightful and splendidly messy kiddie pics to post on facebook.
So, this morning, I set out the gigantic paper on the floor and taped it down. I stripped my giggling fool of a child bare naked. And then I did it. I got out the fingerpaints. Oh yes I did.
Well, who's the fool now?!
In my defense, I think it bears repeating that my friends and their children successfully undertook and completed this activity. What I seemed to have forgotten in this moment of optimism, is that their children are largely civilized, and mine, though 9/10's perfectly charming, is also 1/10 barbarian.
First the paper was painted. This lasted about 10 seconds. I got some cute pictures. Then his body got painted. Whoohoo. More cute pictures.
Then my floors were painted. Not so much with the cute pictures. My walls have hand marks streaked from the crime scene (living room) clear through to the bathroom. It looks like somebody green died a horrible, unspeakable death in my house. Or like L. and I have entered a phase of very, erm, "contemporary" taste in artwork. (We have not).
There was a rotten yelling bit, followed by more defiant wall "art," followed by more yelling, some crying and a longgggg bath.
I'm not sure whether to curse my friends for having civilized children and cute facebook pictures, or myself for completely forgetting my audience.
I'll have to think about it while I'm cleaning up the crime scene.
Monday, December 21, 2009
my life of leisure....
I get a little testy when, after hearing that I am a stay-at-homer, people ask me "what do you do all day?" And/or "Don't you get bored?" Or, "Jeez, I sure wish I could stay home all day." Or "What do you do with all that down time?"
Recently, I also encountered, after describing the birthday cake I made for my son (a rocking cool hot air balloon cake if I do say so myself), "hey that must be nice..." (in a voice dripping with insinuation that "it must be nice to have so much extra time on your hands"
Seriously? Seriously? No... seriously??? I'm not gonna list what I do all day because quite frankly, I don't have the time. I do get bored, but it sure isn't because I have nothing to do. And I made the damn cake after my 'dayjobs' were sleeping, while your ass was chillin' for the night, watching CSI Miami, or some other crappy show (I spent my 'down time' making the cake because it was important to me, just like you make time outta your busy day for things that are important to you).
Now if you'll excuse me, I hear some bon-bons calling my name. I have to get back to my life of leisure.
Recently, I also encountered, after describing the birthday cake I made for my son (a rocking cool hot air balloon cake if I do say so myself), "hey that must be nice..." (in a voice dripping with insinuation that "it must be nice to have so much extra time on your hands"
Seriously? Seriously? No... seriously??? I'm not gonna list what I do all day because quite frankly, I don't have the time. I do get bored, but it sure isn't because I have nothing to do. And I made the damn cake after my 'dayjobs' were sleeping, while your ass was chillin' for the night, watching CSI Miami, or some other crappy show (I spent my 'down time' making the cake because it was important to me, just like you make time outta your busy day for things that are important to you).
Now if you'll excuse me, I hear some bon-bons calling my name. I have to get back to my life of leisure.
Friday, December 18, 2009
mothering and identity
I think I may be losing my identity, or at the very least having some identity confusion. I seem to have ventured, albeit not all at once, from being this person, Natasha, to being this entity called Mama. Mama and Natasha aren't always separate (as in, I'm not developing some kind of split personality here people), but they seem to be getting further and further apart. Lately, it seems that I haven't seen traces of that Natasha girl for awhile. As I struggle with the beauty and frequently (let's not sugarcoat things, shall we?) awfulness of being a full-time stay-at-home mama, I'm really starting to miss her.
The Natasha I used to be was hella smart. She got a Master's degree, and worked as a research coordinator in a country wide, big budget research project. She read books about things that mattered outside the walls of her home. She was approached by people to do book reviews for academic journals. People actually sought out her opinion on things other than the grocery list. She went out for coffee and had conversations with people, that were, like, uninterrupted and often intellectually and/or emotionally stimulating. She went for pee breaks by herself. People expected her to know things, to learn things, to do exciting things. She was a lover and a friend and someone who worked toward the betterment of her community.
Now I morphed into that person called Mama. While I know that I am still Natasha, I am finding more difficult to locate any vestiges of the things that I thought made up my identity as a person. My children, while hugely important pieces of my world, my work and my heart, are neither extensions of me, nor are they reflections of who I am as a person.
I miss having external obligations. A paycheque. Being valued by people who aren't my wife and children. I miss peeing by myself, and being by myself long enough to feel lonely. I miss having better things to worry about than the state of my kitchen floors or whether my tykes are feeling emotionally and intellectually stimulated. These are all important and worthy tasks, of course. But I am starting to feel like
I'm drowning in my little pond, even though it is a pond that I love and call home.
I think I need to make it my task and challenge for the New Year to reintroduce Natasha to this person called Mama.... and see what new adventures they can come up with together.
The Natasha I used to be was hella smart. She got a Master's degree, and worked as a research coordinator in a country wide, big budget research project. She read books about things that mattered outside the walls of her home. She was approached by people to do book reviews for academic journals. People actually sought out her opinion on things other than the grocery list. She went out for coffee and had conversations with people, that were, like, uninterrupted and often intellectually and/or emotionally stimulating. She went for pee breaks by herself. People expected her to know things, to learn things, to do exciting things. She was a lover and a friend and someone who worked toward the betterment of her community.
Now I morphed into that person called Mama. While I know that I am still Natasha, I am finding more difficult to locate any vestiges of the things that I thought made up my identity as a person. My children, while hugely important pieces of my world, my work and my heart, are neither extensions of me, nor are they reflections of who I am as a person.
I miss having external obligations. A paycheque. Being valued by people who aren't my wife and children. I miss peeing by myself, and being by myself long enough to feel lonely. I miss having better things to worry about than the state of my kitchen floors or whether my tykes are feeling emotionally and intellectually stimulated. These are all important and worthy tasks, of course. But I am starting to feel like
I'm drowning in my little pond, even though it is a pond that I love and call home.
I think I need to make it my task and challenge for the New Year to reintroduce Natasha to this person called Mama.... and see what new adventures they can come up with together.
Tuesday, December 15, 2009
my boy
turned 3 yesterday. It is almost inconceivable to me that this much time has elapsed since his birth, which rocked me to the core and changed my world irrevocably, wonderfully, totally. Because of him, I became a different person entirely. My life trajectory changed. He made me a mama.
He is growing, physically and emotionally, in leaps and bounds. His body, once baby-ish and perfectly fat, is getting so tall and lanky. Any traces of baby have been erased from his once pudgy face, and replaced with little boy. His expressions are as varied as his mood - bored, sullen, stubborn, joyous, contemplative, angry, thrilled, scared, loving, gentle, wound up. What a little person he has become, with boundless energy and excitement about the world around him.
Today at 3, he is determined that he will grow up to be a pilot - all games and imaginative play revolves around planes and airports. I wonder how this will change by the time he is 4, or if it will.
Though many days coming through the "terrible twos" have been challenging, today I am determined to take the time to marvel at the love, compassion and endless energy Oliver has, as we welcome in whatever the "threes" will bring.
As Oliver got ready for his birthday celebration on Sunday, he got dressed in his "big skater boy clothes," an outfit sent by my brother and sister-in-law. He took my breathe away, and my eyes welled up. All of the sudden, my little dude seemed so so tall. So so grown up. He noticed my eyes welling up and looked over at his mommy with concern. L. said "it's okay buddy, Mama's just happy. Those are happy tears." "Oh yes Mama," he said to me knowingly, "because I'm all grown up." What a kid.
Happy birthday sweet boy.
He is growing, physically and emotionally, in leaps and bounds. His body, once baby-ish and perfectly fat, is getting so tall and lanky. Any traces of baby have been erased from his once pudgy face, and replaced with little boy. His expressions are as varied as his mood - bored, sullen, stubborn, joyous, contemplative, angry, thrilled, scared, loving, gentle, wound up. What a little person he has become, with boundless energy and excitement about the world around him.
Today at 3, he is determined that he will grow up to be a pilot - all games and imaginative play revolves around planes and airports. I wonder how this will change by the time he is 4, or if it will.
Though many days coming through the "terrible twos" have been challenging, today I am determined to take the time to marvel at the love, compassion and endless energy Oliver has, as we welcome in whatever the "threes" will bring.
As Oliver got ready for his birthday celebration on Sunday, he got dressed in his "big skater boy clothes," an outfit sent by my brother and sister-in-law. He took my breathe away, and my eyes welled up. All of the sudden, my little dude seemed so so tall. So so grown up. He noticed my eyes welling up and looked over at his mommy with concern. L. said "it's okay buddy, Mama's just happy. Those are happy tears." "Oh yes Mama," he said to me knowingly, "because I'm all grown up." What a kid.
Happy birthday sweet boy.
Thursday, November 19, 2009
(h)ec(k)onomics...
For those of us mom folks who feel a little down on their worth from time to time.
taken from Today's Parent Canada - May 2009
Average time per week employed moms and at-home moms with two tots spend on unpaid work, along with estimated fair market value if this work were to be contracted out to the kind of folks who get paid:
employed moms/at home moms/fair hourly wage
housekeeping 7.8 17.2 $10.38
daycare teacher 6.3 16.4 $14.19
cook 6.4 11.5 $14.40
launderer 5.1 8.0 $10.65
(*clothes, not money cause wouldn't that solve all of our problems)
janitor 3.7 6.4 $10.92
(*interesting to note the pay differential between janitors and housekeepers, no?)
facilities manager 4.4 6.8 $37.23
(*I don't know what this job is, but apparently I have experience and should try to get a paid job doing this!)
CEO 5.9 6.4 $73.06
van driver 4.6 6.6 $17.12
psychologist 4.9 6.9 $39.24
(*I would like to note that MY psychologist makes a fuck of a lot more per hour than that!)
The article notes that the estimated annual market worth of mom's unpaid labour is:
employed moms - $68 405
at-home moms - $116 805
(note here that all of these figures are U.S.)
I guess it's heartening to know that I make a pretty damn good imaginary salary.
But it would feel so so so so much better if women's unpaid labour was actually valued.
taken from Today's Parent Canada - May 2009
Average time per week employed moms and at-home moms with two tots spend on unpaid work, along with estimated fair market value if this work were to be contracted out to the kind of folks who get paid:
employed moms/at home moms/fair hourly wage
housekeeping 7.8 17.2 $10.38
daycare teacher 6.3 16.4 $14.19
cook 6.4 11.5 $14.40
launderer 5.1 8.0 $10.65
(*clothes, not money cause wouldn't that solve all of our problems)
janitor 3.7 6.4 $10.92
(*interesting to note the pay differential between janitors and housekeepers, no?)
facilities manager 4.4 6.8 $37.23
(*I don't know what this job is, but apparently I have experience and should try to get a paid job doing this!)
CEO 5.9 6.4 $73.06
van driver 4.6 6.6 $17.12
psychologist 4.9 6.9 $39.24
(*I would like to note that MY psychologist makes a fuck of a lot more per hour than that!)
The article notes that the estimated annual market worth of mom's unpaid labour is:
employed moms - $68 405
at-home moms - $116 805
(note here that all of these figures are U.S.)
I guess it's heartening to know that I make a pretty damn good imaginary salary.
But it would feel so so so so much better if women's unpaid labour was actually valued.
Thursday, October 29, 2009
teevee
Okay boys and girls. Please prepare yourselves for some mighty shocking news. Disney, the makers of Baby Einstein, would now like us all to know that their videos won't actually make our kids smarter. I know right. You're thinking what I'm thinking. Shiiiiittttttttt. And here we were, diligently sitting our beloved progeny in front of Baby Einstein day after day, expecting them to get an invitation for early membership to MENSA.
As if this blow wasn't enough, there is more to this shocking turn of events. Not only will watching television NOT make your pre-two year old tots smarter, it will actually turn them into stupid, fat, violent offenders in later life. I know. It's a lot to take in. But even as I type, the pediatricians of Canada are preparing to roll out a new policy cautioning against any television viewing for children under the age of two, claiming that it stunts brain development, causes language delays, promotes childhood obesity and, among other things, desensitization to violence in later life. "A screen should not be a babysitter; it's as simple as that" says one of the pediatric experts.
Huh. Why didn't I think of that?
Well I have my own newsflash.
Disney - I never thought watching your product placement videos was going to make my kid smart. I did however plunk his squirmy little butt down in front of one from time to time because I, like many other stay-at-homers, needed a fucking break for 25 minutes.
And to the pediatricians of Canada. Fuck you. Don't insult my intelligence. I don't actually need you to tell me that the television set should not be babysitting my child. (I know that some people may need you to tell them this information, but I'm also willing to wager that they might have bigger problems than their child's television habits to worry about).
I don't also don't need you to tell me that it's healthier for "a live person smiling at the child and interacting with the child." Why? Because I'm not a total moron. My 2.5 year old has been watching a bit of tv here and there (yes, sometimes too much, and I'm painfully aware of that fact without your learned ass judging me for it). But he's pretty freaking clever. And very physically fit, what with the fact that his sojourns in front of the television are pretty much the only times he (and consequently I) stop during the day. He does throw the occasional tantrum (or shoe) on me from time to time, but I'm pretty sure he didn't learn that from the Backyardigans or Zoobamafoo.
I will, however, after your learned recommendation, cut out his CSI Miami time. It's gonna be hard, given his deep and abiding love for the acting skills of David Caruso. (Who taught Oliver to say everything twice, for added dramatic tension).
Seriously. I would like to "respectfully" submit that anyone who spends the day doing nothing but educationally engaging with their children is probably somebody headed for a nervous breakdown.
And I would also like to suggest that perhaps the pediatricians of Canada could stick to making medical recommendations, and leave the moral judgements for those who are better qualified. (Other parents, naturally).
Everything in moderation people. Especially moderation.
As if this blow wasn't enough, there is more to this shocking turn of events. Not only will watching television NOT make your pre-two year old tots smarter, it will actually turn them into stupid, fat, violent offenders in later life. I know. It's a lot to take in. But even as I type, the pediatricians of Canada are preparing to roll out a new policy cautioning against any television viewing for children under the age of two, claiming that it stunts brain development, causes language delays, promotes childhood obesity and, among other things, desensitization to violence in later life. "A screen should not be a babysitter; it's as simple as that" says one of the pediatric experts.
Huh. Why didn't I think of that?
Well I have my own newsflash.
Disney - I never thought watching your product placement videos was going to make my kid smart. I did however plunk his squirmy little butt down in front of one from time to time because I, like many other stay-at-homers, needed a fucking break for 25 minutes.
And to the pediatricians of Canada. Fuck you. Don't insult my intelligence. I don't actually need you to tell me that the television set should not be babysitting my child. (I know that some people may need you to tell them this information, but I'm also willing to wager that they might have bigger problems than their child's television habits to worry about).
I don't also don't need you to tell me that it's healthier for "a live person smiling at the child and interacting with the child." Why? Because I'm not a total moron. My 2.5 year old has been watching a bit of tv here and there (yes, sometimes too much, and I'm painfully aware of that fact without your learned ass judging me for it). But he's pretty freaking clever. And very physically fit, what with the fact that his sojourns in front of the television are pretty much the only times he (and consequently I) stop during the day. He does throw the occasional tantrum (or shoe) on me from time to time, but I'm pretty sure he didn't learn that from the Backyardigans or Zoobamafoo.
I will, however, after your learned recommendation, cut out his CSI Miami time. It's gonna be hard, given his deep and abiding love for the acting skills of David Caruso. (Who taught Oliver to say everything twice, for added dramatic tension).
Seriously. I would like to "respectfully" submit that anyone who spends the day doing nothing but educationally engaging with their children is probably somebody headed for a nervous breakdown.
And I would also like to suggest that perhaps the pediatricians of Canada could stick to making medical recommendations, and leave the moral judgements for those who are better qualified. (Other parents, naturally).
Everything in moderation people. Especially moderation.
Monday, October 26, 2009
kidlit
Kids books. Love 'em. We can't ever have too many! But not all kids books are created equal. There's some really really really crappy ones out there. For starters - as a queer household, we avoid so so so many books because of the default "traditional" family model. Seriously - in a world that has so so many different kinds of families (single parented, grandparented, queer parented, whathaveyou) you'd think there would be some more variety out there in books! And secondly, lots of kids books are just badly written. Kids aren't stupid - they're just, well, young. They need good literature too!
So here's a list of (a few of) our current bookshelf faves...
1. Where the Wild Things Are, by Maurice Sendak. A classic, clearly.
2. The Family Book, by Todd Parr (Also, The Feelings Book, The Okay Book, The Peace Book etc. Todd Parr is prolific). Todd Parr does an amazing job of introducing all different kinds of families (feelings, experiences, etc.). Includes single parents, two mom/dad households, families whose members are different colours, live in different places, etc. Great, great book with fun illustrations.
3. No Matter What, by Debi Gliori. A sweet read about the enduring love between parents and kids, and easing the anxieties that kids can sometimes have (particularly separation anxiety). I love that the kid character is called Small and the adult is called Large, so that kids can fill in the blanks with their own experiences.
4. Baby Haiku, by Betsy Snyder. The most beautiful baby book I've ever seen. Hands down.
5. Stella Star of the Sea (Also: Stella Queen of the Snow, Stella Fairy of the Forest, When Stella was very Little, Good Morning Sam, Goodnight Sam, What are you Doing Sam? - Or pretty much any Stella or Sam book by Marie-Louise Gay). Stella is a spectacular, spunky and bossy heroine, and Sam (the little brother) is a sweet timid counterpart. Together, they are ridiculously loveable.
6. When Wishes Come True, by Per Henrick Gürth. Really quite beautiful illustrations with a baby polar bear, his mama and lots of stars and northern lights. I tear up at the end. It's true. I do.
7. I Love You Forever, by Robert Munsch. Do I really need to say anything here?
8. Hilda Must be Dancing, by Karma Wilson. A cute and funny read about a hippo (with a lotta junk in her trunk) who loves to get her groove on.
9. Lost and Found, by Oliver Jeffers. A sweet but spare look at friendship between a boy and his penguin.
10. My Granny Went to Market, by Stella Blackstone. A gorgeous counting book and round the world adventure.
11. Llama, Llama Red Pajama, by Anna Dewdney. This is a wonderful and cute book for dealing with bedtime/nighttime anxieties. How can you not love the phrase..."Lets stop all this Llama drama!" (We also have her follow-up Llama Llama Mad at Mama, which chronicles the difficulties of grocery shopping with a toddler... very beneficial to Oliver's store time behaviour!)
12. Mabel Murple, by Sheree Fitch. This book is fantastic! By a Nova Scotia author, it chronicles the mis/adventures of a wild -and purple- little girl.
13. The Whole Human Race by Jamie Lee Curtis. Actually all of her books are good - check 'em out!. They are all definitely the traditional family model, BUT - they do an awesome job of educating kids about all kinds of wonderful values, making positive change in the world around us, appreciating diversity, being okay with all of our feelings, self-esteem, etc. And the illustrations by Laura Cornell are gorgeous. (Oliver loves them and we just edit out the dad bits most of the time).
14. On Top of the Potty and other Get up and Go Songs, By Alan Katz. Super fun potty songs for singing while potty training. Our whole family pretty much has them memorized. They'll get stuck in your head for days, but you probably won't mind too much, and your little potty fan won't either!
I'm totally up for suggestions on other great kids lit... if anyone feels so inclined!
So here's a list of (a few of) our current bookshelf faves...
1. Where the Wild Things Are, by Maurice Sendak. A classic, clearly.
2. The Family Book, by Todd Parr (Also, The Feelings Book, The Okay Book, The Peace Book etc. Todd Parr is prolific). Todd Parr does an amazing job of introducing all different kinds of families (feelings, experiences, etc.). Includes single parents, two mom/dad households, families whose members are different colours, live in different places, etc. Great, great book with fun illustrations.
3. No Matter What, by Debi Gliori. A sweet read about the enduring love between parents and kids, and easing the anxieties that kids can sometimes have (particularly separation anxiety). I love that the kid character is called Small and the adult is called Large, so that kids can fill in the blanks with their own experiences.
4. Baby Haiku, by Betsy Snyder. The most beautiful baby book I've ever seen. Hands down.
5. Stella Star of the Sea (Also: Stella Queen of the Snow, Stella Fairy of the Forest, When Stella was very Little, Good Morning Sam, Goodnight Sam, What are you Doing Sam? - Or pretty much any Stella or Sam book by Marie-Louise Gay). Stella is a spectacular, spunky and bossy heroine, and Sam (the little brother) is a sweet timid counterpart. Together, they are ridiculously loveable.
6. When Wishes Come True, by Per Henrick Gürth. Really quite beautiful illustrations with a baby polar bear, his mama and lots of stars and northern lights. I tear up at the end. It's true. I do.
7. I Love You Forever, by Robert Munsch. Do I really need to say anything here?
8. Hilda Must be Dancing, by Karma Wilson. A cute and funny read about a hippo (with a lotta junk in her trunk) who loves to get her groove on.
9. Lost and Found, by Oliver Jeffers. A sweet but spare look at friendship between a boy and his penguin.
10. My Granny Went to Market, by Stella Blackstone. A gorgeous counting book and round the world adventure.
11. Llama, Llama Red Pajama, by Anna Dewdney. This is a wonderful and cute book for dealing with bedtime/nighttime anxieties. How can you not love the phrase..."Lets stop all this Llama drama!" (We also have her follow-up Llama Llama Mad at Mama, which chronicles the difficulties of grocery shopping with a toddler... very beneficial to Oliver's store time behaviour!)
12. Mabel Murple, by Sheree Fitch. This book is fantastic! By a Nova Scotia author, it chronicles the mis/adventures of a wild -and purple- little girl.
13. The Whole Human Race by Jamie Lee Curtis. Actually all of her books are good - check 'em out!. They are all definitely the traditional family model, BUT - they do an awesome job of educating kids about all kinds of wonderful values, making positive change in the world around us, appreciating diversity, being okay with all of our feelings, self-esteem, etc. And the illustrations by Laura Cornell are gorgeous. (Oliver loves them and we just edit out the dad bits most of the time).
14. On Top of the Potty and other Get up and Go Songs, By Alan Katz. Super fun potty songs for singing while potty training. Our whole family pretty much has them memorized. They'll get stuck in your head for days, but you probably won't mind too much, and your little potty fan won't either!
I'm totally up for suggestions on other great kids lit... if anyone feels so inclined!
Tuesday, October 20, 2009
the motherload
I know I've been a delinquent blogger. I'm in a bit of a parenting slump these days. With possibly some PPD thrown in just for fun. The days are seeming mighty long. Lucy still won't take a bottle, and I can't remember the last time I got to be by myself for any length of time. (I had to take her on my mom's night out. Thus defeating the purpose of, well, the out part). I'm way tired. I'm a little bored. A little sad. And fresh out of exciting and innovative parenting ideas.
I feel guilty about it. I'll just say that right up front. And then I'll keep saying it.
I let my kid watch wayyyy too much tv today because I just don't have any creativity and energy left. Guilty. (And yes, he's watching tv as I'm typing this. More guilt).
Even when I am able to make more of a go of it, I feel distracted and restless. Guilty-guilty-guilty.
I let my kid drink juice and eat sugar because I'm too tired to argue and it makes him happy. Guilty as charged.
The other day, while running on the treadmill, I fantasized about running away... and it was the only bright spot in my day. More guilt.
I'm having a hard time enjoying my amazing and wonderful kids. I am acutely aware that this is not something mothers are supposed to say out loud. MAJOR guilt.
I feel a bit like I'm stuck in parent prison and there's no possibility of parole for the next twenty years. I know I signed up for this. And I love my tots. I love being a mom. I'm glad I signed up for this. Really.
But the work of mothering, the work of loving, the work of nurturing, the work of taking care, feels exhausting right now. I'm burnt out and in my job, there's no stress leave. Hell, there isn't even bathroom breaks. (If this an actual "workplace," I'm pretty sure employment standards would shut this place down for worker exploitation - what with the lack of time off, sick days, pay, benefits and the oodles of forced overtime).
Sigh.
I'm not feeling so great at my job these days.
Guilt. The motherload.
I feel guilty about it. I'll just say that right up front. And then I'll keep saying it.
I let my kid watch wayyyy too much tv today because I just don't have any creativity and energy left. Guilty. (And yes, he's watching tv as I'm typing this. More guilt).
Even when I am able to make more of a go of it, I feel distracted and restless. Guilty-guilty-guilty.
I let my kid drink juice and eat sugar because I'm too tired to argue and it makes him happy. Guilty as charged.
The other day, while running on the treadmill, I fantasized about running away... and it was the only bright spot in my day. More guilt.
I'm having a hard time enjoying my amazing and wonderful kids. I am acutely aware that this is not something mothers are supposed to say out loud. MAJOR guilt.
I feel a bit like I'm stuck in parent prison and there's no possibility of parole for the next twenty years. I know I signed up for this. And I love my tots. I love being a mom. I'm glad I signed up for this. Really.
But the work of mothering, the work of loving, the work of nurturing, the work of taking care, feels exhausting right now. I'm burnt out and in my job, there's no stress leave. Hell, there isn't even bathroom breaks. (If this an actual "workplace," I'm pretty sure employment standards would shut this place down for worker exploitation - what with the lack of time off, sick days, pay, benefits and the oodles of forced overtime).
Sigh.
I'm not feeling so great at my job these days.
Guilt. The motherload.
Wednesday, October 14, 2009
heterosexualizing kids...
L. and I are really trying to raise our kids not to make assumptions around gender and sexual orientation. Whoever they choose to love in their lives is fine by us, as long as they are true to themselves, and happy in their choices. But the rest of the world is really intent on trying to make our kids (and everyone else's) believe that straight is the only way to be. And it really, really pisses me off.
Statistically speaking, 1 in 10 people (and I think this stat is a bit low) is queer. Just think for a second, how much less terrifying, painful and isolating it would be for those 1 in 10 to come out and to be at home in their own skin, if we just stopped indoctrinating everyone that straight is the only choice out there?
"Ooooooooh look at those eyes.... he's going to break all the girl's hearts"
"Fathers, lock up your daughters!"
"All the girls must be after you little man!"
"Want to be my daughter's boyfriend?"
If I had a dollar for everytime someone said this to or about my son, I would be a rich, rich woman.
First of all. My son is two. He's not allowed to date yet, okay? (and besides which, it's just plain weird that we talk about two year olds in such a sexualized manner).
Secondly, he hasn't decided if he's straight yet. When he lets us know, I'll let you know.
Thirdly, whether he's gay or straight or somewhere in between, he's likely going to be breaking everyone's hearts, cause he's so freaking cute.
Alright?
Statistically speaking, 1 in 10 people (and I think this stat is a bit low) is queer. Just think for a second, how much less terrifying, painful and isolating it would be for those 1 in 10 to come out and to be at home in their own skin, if we just stopped indoctrinating everyone that straight is the only choice out there?
"Ooooooooh look at those eyes.... he's going to break all the girl's hearts"
"Fathers, lock up your daughters!"
"All the girls must be after you little man!"
"Want to be my daughter's boyfriend?"
If I had a dollar for everytime someone said this to or about my son, I would be a rich, rich woman.
First of all. My son is two. He's not allowed to date yet, okay? (and besides which, it's just plain weird that we talk about two year olds in such a sexualized manner).
Secondly, he hasn't decided if he's straight yet. When he lets us know, I'll let you know.
Thirdly, whether he's gay or straight or somewhere in between, he's likely going to be breaking everyone's hearts, cause he's so freaking cute.
Alright?
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