This will be my last post to www.radcliffe-family.blogspot.com. You can continue to follow my thoughts on www.thinkbigmuch.wordpress.com. I moved all of my posts and comments to the new site. Some comments may have not accurately re-posted on the new site... nothing personal, let me know if you see something amiss! I'm still learning here!
I started a blog to have a platform to express my thoughts and write about things that are interesting to me. I have kept journals or diaries before for this purpose, but there wasn't any incentive to write in a journal. When I blog, people can read what I wrote and write back to me - how fun! So, I started www.radcliffe-family.blogspot.com to write about what was happening in our family. I discovered quickly that I had more to write about than what was happening between the walls of our little house. When my friend Jessie started her blog, she came up with a cool name for it - I started a quest to find a cool name for my blog, too, something that would capture the essence of why I wanted a blog in the first place. A series of e-mails with friends and brainstorming sessions led me to start thinking and listening to those around me. My daughter was the inspiration for my blog name. I used to tell her, "I love you SO much." One day she said, "I love you BIG BIG BIG much, mama." From then on, when she wanted to convey something very large, she used the phrase 'big much' (I want big much crackers, I want big much milk, I don't want little bit fruit snacks - I want big much!)
I try to write things that make people think. Think Big Much seemed like a good title for my blog! Blogger.com did not allow me as much flexibility as I wanted for customizing my blog, so I have been searching for another platform. Very soon I will be writing about ways that you can follow blogs easily so you don't miss any updates posted by your favorite bloggers. One way on Wordpress is to subscribe (look to the right of my pages) so you will receive updates in your e-mail inbox. Thanks for reading!
Tuesday, May 18, 2010
Friday, May 14, 2010
On Wool Sweaters
When I lay down in my bed at night, I sigh and relax and think of the vastness of hours that spread before me in anticipation of a restful slumber. As I drift off to sleep, forgetting the stresses of the day, I feel my body and my mind relax... letting go... I doze off, peacefully. Then JOLT awake to the sound of a crying baby who decided to start fussing 10 minutes after I fell asleep... "Riley - you go," I say, as my body, now made of cement, will not allow me to get out of bed. Dutifully, he heads off to Baby J's room and spends 20 minutes patting his back. Baby J drifts off to sleep and Riley, ever so quietly tip-toes back into the bedroom, collapses onto the bed and sighs, closing his eyes, relaxing. Somewhere, in the dark beyond, a baby again cries. Can't... get... up... A discussion ensues about how the child cannot be hungry, no dirty diaper, not cold, not wet, not in pain, just not tired. And so, the baby fussed, off and on until almost midnight. I don't remember drifting off to sleep, but was woken up with a JOLT to the sound of a little girl calling her mama and the distinct sound of the frustrated, disappointed, uncomfortableness that follows an episode of bed-wetting. The time? 2:15 am. I feel my night shrinking. Shrinking away like a wool sweater that has been accidentally thrown in the dryer.
Thursday, May 13, 2010
On "Mamamamama"
I have been trying to teach Baby J that calling for someone produces more favorable results than just screaming until you get attention. I've been working on resisting the temptation to even look at him when he releases his blood-curdling yelps. So tonight (a.k.a. early this morning) when the clock read but 1:37 am, and I could hear "mamamamama" gently, yet persistently wafting from his bedroom, I couldn't really ignore him, now could I?
**ADDITION**
I posted the above at 2 am. I'm also trying to work on nighttime potty training with my daughter. She does pretty well with no pull-up but when I heard her say "Mama, I gotta go pee," the clock read 3:15 am. I couldn't very well ignore her either. Then the fateful words, "Can I just sleep 'wis' you?". Sure.
I must mention that Riley heard none of this and continued to saw logs. This morning he couldn't figure out why I couldn't get out of bed. Well, I hate mornings and 5 am marked my third one for the day. Sometimes being "Mama" is like being stuck in some sort of Groundhogs Day... It just keeps starting over...
Sunday, May 9, 2010
On Educating Girls
I came across an African proverb, then held on to it for a Mother’s Day blog post. I sat down to write and then I wasn’t sure what I thought of the proverb. It holds truth to me, but I am not sure if I can dissect it accurately and eloquently state it any better than it already exists:
“If you educate a boy, you educate an individual. If you educate a girl, you educate a community.” -African Proverb
Instead of trying to explain what this proverb means to me, I’ll give you some background and let you make up your own mind. This proverb has recently become popularized by Greg Mortenson, who is the author of the book Three Cups of Tea. Back in 1993, Mortenson had to give up on a dream to climb K2 when one of his climbing crew members needed medical attention. Mortenson took him back down the mountain and into a small Pakistani village where they shared tea and scraps of food with the climbers. In his book he says that if you have one cup of tea with a person, you are strangers, if you have two cups you are friends, if you have three cups you are family. While there, he met some children who were receiving school lessons not on whiteboards or fancy Smart boards or chalkboards or even paper, but written in the dirt with sticks. Right then and there Mortenson promised to help build these children real schools. The book is said to discuss the journey Mortenson took, and what he gave up in his own life, to realize this promise.
During his mission to build real schools for the children, mostly girls, of Pakistan and Afghanistan, he met a young girl who endured taunting and stoning on her way to and from school each day. She was the only girl who dared to be educated in her small community. She went on to read and write and eventually became trained as some sort of mid-wife and has saved many mothers and babies from death during childbirth. The young girl, now with a degree in maternal healthcare, educates other women in her village.
Mortenson also points out that “One thing you'll see is kids coming home from the bazaar with meat or vegetables wrapped in newspaper, and then you'll see mothers very carefully unfold the newspaper and have their child read the news to them. It's the first time they're able to get a dissemination of news and understand what the outside world is like. It's a very powerful, transforming thing to see that happen.” Children pass on their education to their mothers. And the girls, become mothers, and pass on the importance of education to their children. Mortenson said if you educate a girl to a fifth-grade level, infant mortality is reduced, quality of life improves and population explosion is reduced. And so, truly, educating a girl in turn educates a future mother, who then educates other future mothers…
Happy Mother's Day to the world's greatest teachers - mothers.
Sources:
http://www.stonesintoschools.com/2010/04/oklahoma_daily/
http://www.media.rice.edu/media/NewsBot.asp?MODE=VIEW&ID=11410
http://www.stonehill.edu/x13967.xml
http://www.iwu.edu/CurrentNews/newsreleases09/fea_2009PresConvo_00909.shtml
Photo from kcgotr.org via flikr.com
Friday, May 7, 2010
On Red, White, and Blue
My blog post for today is short and sweet. I think that, in America, a child should be able to wear any color or combination of colors he or she chooses on any given day. Cinqo de Mayo is not a national American holiday last time I checked. And, really? Would we send a kid home for wearing a Santa shirt on Halloween? I think not. (photo used with permission from jcolman)
Thursday, May 6, 2010
On Milwaukee County Mother
I came across this video on a web search. I found it very interesting in light of some of my posts in recent months. Watch and see for yourself... (and I wanted to see if I could be fancy and embed a video from another website in my blog... woo hoo html codes! I feel smart now!)
P.S. I guessed right on the little quiz. Intuitively makes sense to me...
P.S. I guessed right on the little quiz. Intuitively makes sense to me...
Tuesday, May 4, 2010
On Making a Decision and Being Okay With It (part III of III)
You might wonder where my opinion on the matter comes in, and why I was hesitant to post this stuff. Well, here goes. I am sick of the campaign “Breast is Best.” It makes mom feel guilty. For the most part, the people I talk to about babies are adults who have chosen to have children. They understand the importance of making good decisions. They understand the responsibility of raising a child. And yet, they dive in, head first, with the heart full of love and their head full of… well, questions. None of them would do something to hurt their child. None of them would deprive their child of any experience. They are all good mothers. You know how I know this? Because all of them have struggled over the decision of whether to breast or bottle feed… cloth or disposible… cry-it-out or co-sleep… pacifier or no pacifier… Robeez or shoes… and the list goes on.So, back to Breast is Best. Yes, I agree, breastfeeding is natural. It is produced biologically for our bodies to create the perfect balance of nutrients (unless it no longer produces fat). Our bodies were made for it (unless it causes excruciating pain or the child cannot properly latch on). And, its convenient (unless you have to go back to work and your production does not keep up with demand). Oh, and it creates a unique bond between mother and child (unless you cry while you’re doing it).
Two mom friends have called La Leche League for support, but those volunteer mom’s of the League were so busy knowing that “Breast is Best” that these moms felt WORSE after talking to the La Leche League volunteers. Really? Is that how we want to do things?
Am I against breastfeeding? Absolutely NOT! I support my friends and family who want to try it and I try to be honest and kind to them. I loved breastfeeding James. Am I against formula? Absolutely NOT! I had only formula, my daughter had formula. Many of my friends have given their infant formula after returning to work or weaning their child. Baby J now drinks formula.
But, I am against the “Breast is Best” campaign because, I think that every woman should have the knowledge and information available to make an informed decision. My opinion is that breastfeeding is best when it works out for mom and baby. My hope would be that every woman would try breastfeeding, but the truth is, it does work out for everyone. We need to stop making people feel guilty for their choices. We need to let them make a decision, and be okay with it! “Best” in my opinion is when mom is happy, baby is happy, and all is well!
P.S. In all of the situation listed above, the “baby” in question was a girl. I’m just sayin…
P.P.S. None of the names of these moms have been included, but you know who you are and thank you for sharing your stories with me through the years!
P.P.P.S. For all of you people who read my blog from Facebook, sign up for a Blogger account so that everyone can see what you're saying! You have great comments!
On Having a Friend Jessie
In honor of Jessie’s birthday today, I am going to blog about her. I think that’s the new technologically cool way to show affection. We’ve been friends for about 22 years, so I am honoring her by compiling a “pros” and “cons” list to determine if we should still be friends. So, here goes. Things I like about Jessie:
She is logical.
She is fun.
She likes Diet Coke and homemade caramel popcorn.
She teaches me about chickens.
She talks to me while I drive.
She lets me copy her when she has good ideas.
She’s always on my side.
She thinks right politically.
She likes Diet Coke. (Did I say that already?)
She taught me about being a locavore.
She taught me about cloth diapering.
She is good at making plans.
She didn’t kill me when I rearranged our room in college while she was gone.
She has a nice family.
She encourages me.
She got chocolate cake because she knows I like it better.
She showed me how to make the best Rice Krispie Treats ever!
She likes Great Big Sea.
She likes to help people.
She knows I'm mean and she's okay with that.
She only sometimes hates Dave Ramsey.
She found a non-mini-van vehicle with a third row of seats.
She has 2 kids.
She reads more books than anyone I know.
She’s 30!
Things I don’t like about Jessie:
She lives too far away.
Well, that solves it. We’re still friends. Happy Birthday, Friend!
Monday, May 3, 2010
On Making a Decision and Being Okay With It (part II of III)
Lately (and over the last 3 years) I have heard all kinds of stories of women, my friends and my family making the best decisions they can regarding breastfeeding and their baby.
One friend was determined to breast feed. Her daughter had a very difficult time latching on and had a tongue thrust. She tried nursing when she could and then pumped and fed her daughter expressed milk through a 5 cc syringe attached to a tube. Dad would tape it on his finger and try to get baby to latch on to his finger while releasing milk from the tube. They were advised to do this at 2-3 hour increments around the clock. The whole fiasco, from waking to feeding to changing took at least 45 minutes, which meant, once you settle back into bed and will yourself to fall back asleep, very little sleep at all. But, baby caught on and began latching and nursing properly. Mom was happy, baby was happy, all was well.
One friend suddenly stopped producing fat in her milk. This after successfully nursing for 10 weeks. If you know anything about breastfeeding, you know that the first milk the baby gets is foremilk, it is sweet watery milk designed to hydrate the baby. The second milk they get, from the same breast, is hind milk, this is fatty milk designed to fill the baby up, make them feel full and give them calories to burn. The hind milk also produces a type of laxative - thus explaining the constant pooping of breastfed babies! So, anyway, this mom’s baby suddenly became fussy, gassy and spitty-upy (after previously not gaining as much weight as expected), as she was trying to sustain herself on essentially sugar water. She probably felt a little hungry and did not have the fat to keep her full and help her keep the liquid down and digest it. This problem was discovered during a consultation with a lactation nurse for her county. The lactation consultant suggested that she pump, spacing her pumping out longer than her daughter usually ate so that she was not emptying her breasts as often as before, which sometimes would stimulate fat production. She also suggested that mom think about giving the baby some formula and see if it improved her fussiness. The formula did that, right away. No more gassy, spitty, fussy baby. And, mom continued to pump and mixed her bottles half-and-half. The doctor suggested that she could give herself injections of oxytocin to stimulate release of hind milk. With only 2 weeks to go on her maternity leave, she opted to wean her from nursing and switch over to formula, keeping her expressed breast milk for rice cereal later. Baby is happy, mom is happy, all is well.
Another friend had a baby recently and started nursing in the hospital. She had intense pain with nursing, but thought that was normal, so she continued. She endured it for her daughter. But, after arriving home, her daughter pulled off after nursing and had blood in her mouth. Blood from her mom’s nipple. Ouch! So, she has been consulting experts and trying different things to help her breasts heal, including pumping. She had to start mixing formula with the expressed milk because she wasn’t able to pump enough and wants to go back to nursing after her nipples heal a little, but is worried about supply issues since she is already supplementing. Baby is happy, mom is getting there…
And, yet another friend has a one week old baby. The baby wasn’t gaining weight like the nurses had hoped after leaving the hospital. This, of course, worried mom, who had been pumping the side that baby didn’t nurse on at each feeding to start stock piling milk for when she returned to work. Dad gave the baby a bottle of expressed milk between feedings and baby sucked it dry. She was having trouble latching on again and mom and baby decided that, to make everyone happy, baby would drink expressed milk. Baby is happy, mom is… guilty.
Mom is guilty. That’s the underlying theme in all of this trouble. If you could press “pause” on the baby’s hungry little tummy, figure out some solutions and then press “play” again, we could all nurse long term. But, let’s face it, while we’re learning, and hurting, and asking and consulting, baby is still hungry. And growing. And we’re trying to make a good decision.
Stay tuned tomorrow for the conclusion...
One friend was determined to breast feed. Her daughter had a very difficult time latching on and had a tongue thrust. She tried nursing when she could and then pumped and fed her daughter expressed milk through a 5 cc syringe attached to a tube. Dad would tape it on his finger and try to get baby to latch on to his finger while releasing milk from the tube. They were advised to do this at 2-3 hour increments around the clock. The whole fiasco, from waking to feeding to changing took at least 45 minutes, which meant, once you settle back into bed and will yourself to fall back asleep, very little sleep at all. But, baby caught on and began latching and nursing properly. Mom was happy, baby was happy, all was well.
One friend suddenly stopped producing fat in her milk. This after successfully nursing for 10 weeks. If you know anything about breastfeeding, you know that the first milk the baby gets is foremilk, it is sweet watery milk designed to hydrate the baby. The second milk they get, from the same breast, is hind milk, this is fatty milk designed to fill the baby up, make them feel full and give them calories to burn. The hind milk also produces a type of laxative - thus explaining the constant pooping of breastfed babies! So, anyway, this mom’s baby suddenly became fussy, gassy and spitty-upy (after previously not gaining as much weight as expected), as she was trying to sustain herself on essentially sugar water. She probably felt a little hungry and did not have the fat to keep her full and help her keep the liquid down and digest it. This problem was discovered during a consultation with a lactation nurse for her county. The lactation consultant suggested that she pump, spacing her pumping out longer than her daughter usually ate so that she was not emptying her breasts as often as before, which sometimes would stimulate fat production. She also suggested that mom think about giving the baby some formula and see if it improved her fussiness. The formula did that, right away. No more gassy, spitty, fussy baby. And, mom continued to pump and mixed her bottles half-and-half. The doctor suggested that she could give herself injections of oxytocin to stimulate release of hind milk. With only 2 weeks to go on her maternity leave, she opted to wean her from nursing and switch over to formula, keeping her expressed breast milk for rice cereal later. Baby is happy, mom is happy, all is well.
Another friend had a baby recently and started nursing in the hospital. She had intense pain with nursing, but thought that was normal, so she continued. She endured it for her daughter. But, after arriving home, her daughter pulled off after nursing and had blood in her mouth. Blood from her mom’s nipple. Ouch! So, she has been consulting experts and trying different things to help her breasts heal, including pumping. She had to start mixing formula with the expressed milk because she wasn’t able to pump enough and wants to go back to nursing after her nipples heal a little, but is worried about supply issues since she is already supplementing. Baby is happy, mom is getting there…
And, yet another friend has a one week old baby. The baby wasn’t gaining weight like the nurses had hoped after leaving the hospital. This, of course, worried mom, who had been pumping the side that baby didn’t nurse on at each feeding to start stock piling milk for when she returned to work. Dad gave the baby a bottle of expressed milk between feedings and baby sucked it dry. She was having trouble latching on again and mom and baby decided that, to make everyone happy, baby would drink expressed milk. Baby is happy, mom is… guilty.
Mom is guilty. That’s the underlying theme in all of this trouble. If you could press “pause” on the baby’s hungry little tummy, figure out some solutions and then press “play” again, we could all nurse long term. But, let’s face it, while we’re learning, and hurting, and asking and consulting, baby is still hungry. And growing. And we’re trying to make a good decision.
Stay tuned tomorrow for the conclusion...
Sunday, May 2, 2010
On Making a Decision and Being Okay With It (part I of III)
(This post got kind of lengthy, so I'm givin' it to you in parts...)
My sister wanted me to write a blog post on nursing and I wasn’t sure that I wanted to. Its kind of a hot topic and people take it so personally, but recent events have led me to want to write about what I’ve heard, what I’ve learned.
The story starts with my first-born. I thought I wanted to breastfeed. Neither anyone on my side of the family nor anyone on Riley’s side of the family really breastfed. A few of my cousins tried it or nursed for a little while. I think one of my cousins breastfed one or two of her kids for more than a few months, but we do not come from a line of breast feeders. (By the way, none of us have permanent detachment disorders or anything, and some of us are even smart, but more on that later). When dear daughter was born, I tried nursing her right away. The pain was excruciating. Nothing could have prepared me for what that felt like, but I had heard that it hurt at first and I tried to toughen up. I listened to advice from the nurses and lactation consultants in the hospital, gritted my teeth and hoped that things would get better. It didn’t. I was sent home with this new little baby who wanted to eat every time she woke up. And, every time, I tried to nurse her. After the first few sucks, things felt better, but I still had to curl my toes for the first little bit each time. I was too nervous, private and, well, bull-headed, really, to ask for help, I just knew I didn’t like it. I sat in the afternoon and cried each time I fed her. This was not for me. I kept it up for 2 weeks, which was the goal I set for myself in the beginning and then decided it was not my cup of tea. I pumped a bottle for her and she took to it like a champ. So I continued to pump a little bit and mixed it with formula and slowly weaned her from breast milk. No repercussions. I was happy, she was happy, all was well.
Enter Mr. Baby J. Again, I decided to give it a try. I didn’t have a good first experience, but was older, wiser (ha) and maybe more determined the second time. Baby J and I had a distinctly different experience. We were totally compatible right from the start. I don’t tell a lot of people this, but, with him, it never hurt at all. Okay, so I was hopped up on pain killers from my c-section at first, but really, no pain, no tenderness. Just a simple connection. So, I nursed him. He had pumped bottles occasionally, but since I was on maternity leave (+ summer vacation) for almost 6 months, there wasn’t much of a need for bottles. I went back to work in December and, determined to make it to his 6 month “birthday,” pumped in the car on the way to work, and sat in solitary confinement to pump at lunch. Things went well. My production stayed just slightly ahead of his consumption, so I knew he wouldn’t starve. Just in case, I wanted him to be able to have some formula, in case I somehow ran out of breast milk in the freezer. So, he started having 1 bottle of formula per day over Christmas break. Then, I went back to work again in January, continuing my pumping regime. Only this time, I started getting less milk. Then I worried that I had less milk, which probably didn’t help me. I spent my 25 minute lunch pumping and sometimes only got 1.5 ounces… that plus the 3 ounces I got on the way to work would not for a happy boy make! So, I re-examined. Was 4.5 ounces, not even one whole bottle, per day of breast milk worth not carpooling and spending my lunch period alone in a 4x6 cement wall room? Not to me. So I stopped. I nursed him in the evening and in the morning and at night if he needed it. Then, one fateful day in the beginning of February, when life seemed to get suddenly busy, I realized that I had not nursed the child in 3 days. He didn’t seem to miss it and either did I. And, he was weaned. I really couldn’t have asked for a more wonderful breastfeeding experience. No one cried. I was happy, he was happy, all was well.
Stay tuned for more thoughts coming up!
My sister wanted me to write a blog post on nursing and I wasn’t sure that I wanted to. Its kind of a hot topic and people take it so personally, but recent events have led me to want to write about what I’ve heard, what I’ve learned.
The story starts with my first-born. I thought I wanted to breastfeed. Neither anyone on my side of the family nor anyone on Riley’s side of the family really breastfed. A few of my cousins tried it or nursed for a little while. I think one of my cousins breastfed one or two of her kids for more than a few months, but we do not come from a line of breast feeders. (By the way, none of us have permanent detachment disorders or anything, and some of us are even smart, but more on that later). When dear daughter was born, I tried nursing her right away. The pain was excruciating. Nothing could have prepared me for what that felt like, but I had heard that it hurt at first and I tried to toughen up. I listened to advice from the nurses and lactation consultants in the hospital, gritted my teeth and hoped that things would get better. It didn’t. I was sent home with this new little baby who wanted to eat every time she woke up. And, every time, I tried to nurse her. After the first few sucks, things felt better, but I still had to curl my toes for the first little bit each time. I was too nervous, private and, well, bull-headed, really, to ask for help, I just knew I didn’t like it. I sat in the afternoon and cried each time I fed her. This was not for me. I kept it up for 2 weeks, which was the goal I set for myself in the beginning and then decided it was not my cup of tea. I pumped a bottle for her and she took to it like a champ. So I continued to pump a little bit and mixed it with formula and slowly weaned her from breast milk. No repercussions. I was happy, she was happy, all was well.
Enter Mr. Baby J. Again, I decided to give it a try. I didn’t have a good first experience, but was older, wiser (ha) and maybe more determined the second time. Baby J and I had a distinctly different experience. We were totally compatible right from the start. I don’t tell a lot of people this, but, with him, it never hurt at all. Okay, so I was hopped up on pain killers from my c-section at first, but really, no pain, no tenderness. Just a simple connection. So, I nursed him. He had pumped bottles occasionally, but since I was on maternity leave (+ summer vacation) for almost 6 months, there wasn’t much of a need for bottles. I went back to work in December and, determined to make it to his 6 month “birthday,” pumped in the car on the way to work, and sat in solitary confinement to pump at lunch. Things went well. My production stayed just slightly ahead of his consumption, so I knew he wouldn’t starve. Just in case, I wanted him to be able to have some formula, in case I somehow ran out of breast milk in the freezer. So, he started having 1 bottle of formula per day over Christmas break. Then, I went back to work again in January, continuing my pumping regime. Only this time, I started getting less milk. Then I worried that I had less milk, which probably didn’t help me. I spent my 25 minute lunch pumping and sometimes only got 1.5 ounces… that plus the 3 ounces I got on the way to work would not for a happy boy make! So, I re-examined. Was 4.5 ounces, not even one whole bottle, per day of breast milk worth not carpooling and spending my lunch period alone in a 4x6 cement wall room? Not to me. So I stopped. I nursed him in the evening and in the morning and at night if he needed it. Then, one fateful day in the beginning of February, when life seemed to get suddenly busy, I realized that I had not nursed the child in 3 days. He didn’t seem to miss it and either did I. And, he was weaned. I really couldn’t have asked for a more wonderful breastfeeding experience. No one cried. I was happy, he was happy, all was well.
Stay tuned for more thoughts coming up!
Friday, April 30, 2010
On Boys and Whips
No doubt about it, boys and girls are different. Just to prove it everyday, my step-son chases dear daughter, growling like a monster and she tries to dress him up like a princess. Different. Step-son got a bull whip from Grampa Jimbo that he uses to try to whip up cans or trees or sticks or anything non-living (I put a stop to boyishness when the whip is aimed at a living thing).
Sometimes a boy does target practice on Diet Coke cans.
Sometimes a boy tries to teach a girl how to use a whip.
Baby J feels his pain, then checks in to see if he's okay. Boys.
Sometimes a boy does target practice on Diet Coke cans.
Sometimes a boy tries to teach a girl how to use a whip.
Sometimes a boy accidentally whips himself. He makes this face.
Here's a close-up.
Baby J feels his pain, then checks in to see if he's okay. Boys.
Sunday, April 25, 2010
On Spring Cleaning
If you know my husband, you know a neat-freak. He likes everything put away. I think he uses the phrases "clean up" and "put away" more than any other. Behind closed doors? Thats another story. My closet? Yikes! But, as long as its not on the floor or the counters or the tables, its fine by Riley. If you've ever looked for dishes in our house, you'd know what I mean. And, not the plates, no, those are out in the open. The plates look like this pretty much all the time:
P.S. I did have a picture of the dishes and Riley wouldn't let me use it. He cleaned the glass, straightened up the dishes and made me take another one. I think I'll go take a picture of my bedroom closet next and threaten to post it...
But, today we did some Spring cleaning of things behind closed doors. *shudder* I did not take before pictures. Wouldn't want to scare anyone, but I did take after pictures. Here they are:
P.S. I did have a picture of the dishes and Riley wouldn't let me use it. He cleaned the glass, straightened up the dishes and made me take another one. I think I'll go take a picture of my bedroom closet next and threaten to post it...
Friday, April 23, 2010
On Saying Good-bye
It is with sadness that I share that we will no longer keep chickens. After raising 2 "flocks" to adulthood and building both a chicken tractor and a coop, we have decided to give up backyard chickens for a while. 
There are a myriad of reasons for this decision. First, and foremost, having 3 kids at home with countless activities, two full-time jobs and lengthy commutes, we no longer want to invest the time in keeping chickens happy. They are a relatively easy creature to get along with and care for, however, they still do take up time. There is the daily watering and feeding, letting them out, locking them up, collecting the eggs, checking for health and well-being, etc. Mind you, these activities continue in the dead of winter, trudging out to the coop, checking on the girls, tucking them in at night, constant fights to keep water thawed out… We only need to clean out their coop about 4-5 times per year, but that proves to be a challenge with the combination of three kids, poop, lots of dust, and, well, three kids.
The by-law in Menomonie, back when I read it in 2005, states that livestock shall not run at large within the city limits. Well, two of my chickens completely ignore this ordinance and free-range the entire neighborhood. They lay eggs in neighbors’ yards, roost on their cars, hide under their campers, and *ahem* fertilize their grass. This cannot go on!
I believe that animals (mostly pets, but pet chickens in this case) are meant to bring a person joy. When that no longer occurs, it is time to move on. My adult laying chickens will live on a farm in Chippewa Falls with a seasoned veteran chicken keeper, Jeff. Their new daily schedule (once they're accustomed to the place) will be spending the morning in chicken daycare (a fenced-in area covered with deer netting to keep them safe) and afternoon/evenings free-ranging on the farm. The new baby chicks will go back to the farm where they were laid as eggs to reunite with their family! In any case, we will miss their presence and their presents (eggs!) but not their poop.
We will miss you: Sandy, Raven, Cleo, Dottie, Coco, Damn-Rooster, Salt, Pepper, Buffy, Goldilocks, Bobby, Chicky-Chick, Dixie, Honey.
There are a myriad of reasons for this decision. First, and foremost, having 3 kids at home with countless activities, two full-time jobs and lengthy commutes, we no longer want to invest the time in keeping chickens happy. They are a relatively easy creature to get along with and care for, however, they still do take up time. There is the daily watering and feeding, letting them out, locking them up, collecting the eggs, checking for health and well-being, etc. Mind you, these activities continue in the dead of winter, trudging out to the coop, checking on the girls, tucking them in at night, constant fights to keep water thawed out… We only need to clean out their coop about 4-5 times per year, but that proves to be a challenge with the combination of three kids, poop, lots of dust, and, well, three kids.
The by-law in Menomonie, back when I read it in 2005, states that livestock shall not run at large within the city limits. Well, two of my chickens completely ignore this ordinance and free-range the entire neighborhood. They lay eggs in neighbors’ yards, roost on their cars, hide under their campers, and *ahem* fertilize their grass. This cannot go on!
I believe that animals (mostly pets, but pet chickens in this case) are meant to bring a person joy. When that no longer occurs, it is time to move on. My adult laying chickens will live on a farm in Chippewa Falls with a seasoned veteran chicken keeper, Jeff. Their new daily schedule (once they're accustomed to the place) will be spending the morning in chicken daycare (a fenced-in area covered with deer netting to keep them safe) and afternoon/evenings free-ranging on the farm. The new baby chicks will go back to the farm where they were laid as eggs to reunite with their family! In any case, we will miss their presence and their presents (eggs!) but not their poop.
We will miss you: Sandy, Raven, Cleo, Dottie, Coco, Damn-Rooster, Salt, Pepper, Buffy, Goldilocks, Bobby, Chicky-Chick, Dixie, Honey.
Monday, April 19, 2010
On Friends
I promised myself that my next blog post would be on the ‘lighter’ side. An observation I’ve made in the last 9 years of parenting children is that they make friends in the darndest places. My step-son had an imaginary friend named John Radger. John Radger (always both names, never just “John” for short) lived in paintings on the wall. I’m not sure how he traveled between paintings, but that is where he lived. Dear daughter thinks everyone is her friend. I have been telling her that not every random person is her friend; that you have to at least know a person’s name before he or she can become your friend. Now, she walks up to kids at the park and says, “You’re not my friend yet… What’s your name… Oh, now you’re my friend.” I’m not sure she gets the idea… Baby J thinks every living thing is his friend. He seems to prefer small dogs and chickens. This is a pretty typical scenario if you let Baby J out into the backyard:
"Going to see my friends, going to see my friends... la la la la la... going to see my friends."
*squeal* "Hey guys!" *squeal*
"Jigsy! BoBo! How's it going?"
"Hey buddy! Hey buddy! Hey buddy! Give me five!"
"Hey, man, give me a kiss!"
"Hey, where'd you go? Was it something I said? Guess I'll see you around..."Sunday, April 18, 2010
On Baby Sleep
Ha! I piqued your interest, didn’t I? You have a baby, or have had a baby that didn’t sleep through the night when he or she was ‘supposed to.’ Am I right? Well, if you’re here looking for the magic answer, you may as well click that little red ‘x’ in the top right corner of your window (left for Mac users). I don’t have the answer. What I am here to say today is, there is no magic answer.
When my daughter was a baby, she fell asleep eating at night just about every night. I had no tricks up my sleeve for her if she didn’t fall asleep eating. It meant we were in for a long night. When she was about 10 months old, I decided this dependency on bottles wasn’t going to work for me, so I started weaning her from her night-time bottle - started giving it to her earlier in the evening and then rocking, singing and dancing with her or patting her back until she fell asleep. This worked pretty well. I was able to basically just back off from these methods and she began falling asleep in her own. We had minimal periods of “cry-it-out” but we did ascribe to letting her cry sometimes. She seems fine. Sleeps through the night for about 11 hours and continues to take a 2-3 hour nap every afternoon.
Baby J is a whole different breed of kid. Be it that he’s a boy or just his personality, he is like night and day when compared to his sister. He cried a LOT when he was little. Except for his enchanting smile and snuggly personality, we may have considered throwing him out with the bath water. But, he did have his strengths - he has pretty much eaten anything I’ve given him and, in that way, weaned from nursing quite easily and by his own choosing. He has also been a good sleeper. He slept in bed with us when he was really little and then around 4 months, I started putting him in his bed at night and then keeping him in bed with me the rest of the night if he had trouble sleeping. He went so easily from co-sleeping with mom and dad to sleeping in his own bed - and has been sleeping through the night since he was 6 months old. Wonderful! From about the time he was 3 months old, James did not want a lot of fuss over bed time. I tried rocking and consoling him, but finally one day, I turned on some white noise and walked away - he had been crying for so long that mom needed a little break. Low and behold, just a few minutes later, he was sound asleep. He actually demonstrated a preference to “crying-it-out.” So, all has been well.
Enter an article I recently saw on a blog post about a woman who suffered from extreme morning sickness with her pregnancy that lasted all day. She went on to describe how weak she became, etc, and that she depended on her husband for everything. Then, she went on to describe that her husband would just decide it was her bed time, tuck her in, turn off the light and leave. Didn’t matter if she was thirsty or hungry or needed to use the bathroom. She tried calling out to him, but he just ignored her. Horrible, right? Well, about half-way through the article, I knew where she was going with this story. She was trying to paint a picture of how horrific it is to let your child “cry-it-out.” At the end of the story, she pointed out that while her morning sickness was a true symptom of her pregnancy, her husband did not treat her this way. It was a farce! Not a great method of getting your point across. But, it sure made me think…
What if my son began to resent me? To even hate me? What if he became a delinquent or socially mal-adjusted? What if he was unable to maintain relationships? Would this be my fault?
So, at 10 months of age, I stopped letting him cry in his bed. It has been disastrous. Today, while putting him down for his nap, I rocked him, bounced him, fed him, sang to him, patted his back, shushed him, etc… he continued to scream. I stepped out of his room to collect my thoughts and take a breath, thinking, “what the hell happened to this child?” I used the bathroom and strained my ear as I washed my hands… what is that? Silence? He fell asleep in less than 2 minutes. Ahhhh…. Could it be that the child knows what he needs?
The morale of this story is not to tell you that “crying-it-out” is the way to get your kid to sleep or that co-sleeping will work for every family. The morale of the story is, in the great words of my friend Jessie: whatever method works in order to get the most sleep for everyone in the house is the best method. Hey, maybe there is a magic answer; its just different for everyone.
PS, if you want to read the article I referred to, check out: http://womanuncensored.blogspot.com/2009/12/just-let-her-cry.html
When my daughter was a baby, she fell asleep eating at night just about every night. I had no tricks up my sleeve for her if she didn’t fall asleep eating. It meant we were in for a long night. When she was about 10 months old, I decided this dependency on bottles wasn’t going to work for me, so I started weaning her from her night-time bottle - started giving it to her earlier in the evening and then rocking, singing and dancing with her or patting her back until she fell asleep. This worked pretty well. I was able to basically just back off from these methods and she began falling asleep in her own. We had minimal periods of “cry-it-out” but we did ascribe to letting her cry sometimes. She seems fine. Sleeps through the night for about 11 hours and continues to take a 2-3 hour nap every afternoon.
Baby J is a whole different breed of kid. Be it that he’s a boy or just his personality, he is like night and day when compared to his sister. He cried a LOT when he was little. Except for his enchanting smile and snuggly personality, we may have considered throwing him out with the bath water. But, he did have his strengths - he has pretty much eaten anything I’ve given him and, in that way, weaned from nursing quite easily and by his own choosing. He has also been a good sleeper. He slept in bed with us when he was really little and then around 4 months, I started putting him in his bed at night and then keeping him in bed with me the rest of the night if he had trouble sleeping. He went so easily from co-sleeping with mom and dad to sleeping in his own bed - and has been sleeping through the night since he was 6 months old. Wonderful! From about the time he was 3 months old, James did not want a lot of fuss over bed time. I tried rocking and consoling him, but finally one day, I turned on some white noise and walked away - he had been crying for so long that mom needed a little break. Low and behold, just a few minutes later, he was sound asleep. He actually demonstrated a preference to “crying-it-out.” So, all has been well.
Enter an article I recently saw on a blog post about a woman who suffered from extreme morning sickness with her pregnancy that lasted all day. She went on to describe how weak she became, etc, and that she depended on her husband for everything. Then, she went on to describe that her husband would just decide it was her bed time, tuck her in, turn off the light and leave. Didn’t matter if she was thirsty or hungry or needed to use the bathroom. She tried calling out to him, but he just ignored her. Horrible, right? Well, about half-way through the article, I knew where she was going with this story. She was trying to paint a picture of how horrific it is to let your child “cry-it-out.” At the end of the story, she pointed out that while her morning sickness was a true symptom of her pregnancy, her husband did not treat her this way. It was a farce! Not a great method of getting your point across. But, it sure made me think…
What if my son began to resent me? To even hate me? What if he became a delinquent or socially mal-adjusted? What if he was unable to maintain relationships? Would this be my fault?
So, at 10 months of age, I stopped letting him cry in his bed. It has been disastrous. Today, while putting him down for his nap, I rocked him, bounced him, fed him, sang to him, patted his back, shushed him, etc… he continued to scream. I stepped out of his room to collect my thoughts and take a breath, thinking, “what the hell happened to this child?” I used the bathroom and strained my ear as I washed my hands… what is that? Silence? He fell asleep in less than 2 minutes. Ahhhh…. Could it be that the child knows what he needs?
The morale of this story is not to tell you that “crying-it-out” is the way to get your kid to sleep or that co-sleeping will work for every family. The morale of the story is, in the great words of my friend Jessie: whatever method works in order to get the most sleep for everyone in the house is the best method. Hey, maybe there is a magic answer; its just different for everyone.
PS, if you want to read the article I referred to, check out: http://womanuncensored.blogspot.com/2009/12/just-let-her-cry.html
Thursday, April 15, 2010
On Being Me
I am not a stay at home mom. I played the part of a stay at home mom once when I was fortunate enough to spend almost 6 months home with my kids on maternity leave, but I am not a stay at home mom. I am fortunate enough to have a great job, which I love. That job just happens to have great benefits, comfortable working conditions, and good hours for raising a family. (Did I mention I also love my job?) What I wouldn’t give to spend more time with my kids. They are, after all, the most wonderful things I have ever done. But, I love my job. I worked hard - went to college for 7 years to train for my job. My job has purpose. My job has merit. My job is to help those who are desperately in need of help. To help them develop tools they will use throughout their entire life. I teach them to communicate - effectively. I love my job.
My dad took me to a movie a couple of months ago. He asked Uma to watch the kids and took me out to a movie. I only texted her once during the movie to make sure that the kids were okay. I only texted her once on the way home. Its not that I don’t trust her, its just that they are mine to worry about… and I do. Dad told me that he doesn’t carry his cell phone around like he used to. He retired in 2007 from a long, strong career in the railroad. He is enjoying NOT being called upon 24 hours a day, 7 days a week to fix this, or problem-solve that. He says that running a railroad has made him no longer desire being connected 24/7 via cell phone. I told him that being a mom, is kind of like running a railroad.
I take issue with people who judge me for being a working mom. Living in those shoes is very difficult. When Natalie was born, we were both working to put Riley through college. We were definitely not in a financial position to be a one-income household. And, we are still paying for college careers, loans from divorce, reliable vehicles to transport us each 30+ miles per day to our jobs, medical bills from two c-sections and two ear-tube placements in the last 3 years… the list goes on…
Recently an acquaintance, who is a stay at home mom, related that she was in need of some relaxation. I suggested she get a baby-sitter and go out, or read a book, or take a bath… all things I might try in the same situation. She replied that she did not believe in baby sitters. That if there is somewhere that she can’t bring her three girls, she doesn’t go. Its all in the choice of your lifestyle. I don’t judge any mother for the choice of working or not working. I think, as women, we have fought long and hard to choose for ourselves whether we work, bear families, or both. This aforementioned discussion took place on Facebook. Her comment spurred comments from her ‘friends’ about how they couldn’t believe how people cast off their children to any old person to watch them. Excuse me if that offends me. I did not judge you for wanting to be with your kids 24/7 - that’s just not for me.
And, I know working moms. I know stay at home moms and the decision is not taken lightly by any of them. Its a decision a family makes based on what is best for them. One friend was a teacher. She continued to teach to put her husband through school while her first daughter was young. He graduated, bought a business and they relocated. She has been able to stay home with her two girls since then. She has been on both sides of the fence. Another friend used to do research for cancer. A strong, smart, female scientist. She currently stays home with her wonderful girls, but plans to return to work at some point to continue her important job. Another friend went to school to teach and is currently raising her kids at home. She will return to work when her youngest starts school and looks forward to beginning her career at that time. Other friends have had to return when their dear little babies were but 6 weeks old… or 12 weeks old… or 2 weeks old… I do not judge.
I love every minute of time I get to spend raising my kids (okay, maybe not every minute). I see them through their milestones and trials. They are well-loved, well-adjusted little people in this world. I am a working mom. And I am proud of who I am.
My dad took me to a movie a couple of months ago. He asked Uma to watch the kids and took me out to a movie. I only texted her once during the movie to make sure that the kids were okay. I only texted her once on the way home. Its not that I don’t trust her, its just that they are mine to worry about… and I do. Dad told me that he doesn’t carry his cell phone around like he used to. He retired in 2007 from a long, strong career in the railroad. He is enjoying NOT being called upon 24 hours a day, 7 days a week to fix this, or problem-solve that. He says that running a railroad has made him no longer desire being connected 24/7 via cell phone. I told him that being a mom, is kind of like running a railroad.
I take issue with people who judge me for being a working mom. Living in those shoes is very difficult. When Natalie was born, we were both working to put Riley through college. We were definitely not in a financial position to be a one-income household. And, we are still paying for college careers, loans from divorce, reliable vehicles to transport us each 30+ miles per day to our jobs, medical bills from two c-sections and two ear-tube placements in the last 3 years… the list goes on…
Recently an acquaintance, who is a stay at home mom, related that she was in need of some relaxation. I suggested she get a baby-sitter and go out, or read a book, or take a bath… all things I might try in the same situation. She replied that she did not believe in baby sitters. That if there is somewhere that she can’t bring her three girls, she doesn’t go. Its all in the choice of your lifestyle. I don’t judge any mother for the choice of working or not working. I think, as women, we have fought long and hard to choose for ourselves whether we work, bear families, or both. This aforementioned discussion took place on Facebook. Her comment spurred comments from her ‘friends’ about how they couldn’t believe how people cast off their children to any old person to watch them. Excuse me if that offends me. I did not judge you for wanting to be with your kids 24/7 - that’s just not for me.
And, I know working moms. I know stay at home moms and the decision is not taken lightly by any of them. Its a decision a family makes based on what is best for them. One friend was a teacher. She continued to teach to put her husband through school while her first daughter was young. He graduated, bought a business and they relocated. She has been able to stay home with her two girls since then. She has been on both sides of the fence. Another friend used to do research for cancer. A strong, smart, female scientist. She currently stays home with her wonderful girls, but plans to return to work at some point to continue her important job. Another friend went to school to teach and is currently raising her kids at home. She will return to work when her youngest starts school and looks forward to beginning her career at that time. Other friends have had to return when their dear little babies were but 6 weeks old… or 12 weeks old… or 2 weeks old… I do not judge.
I love every minute of time I get to spend raising my kids (okay, maybe not every minute). I see them through their milestones and trials. They are well-loved, well-adjusted little people in this world. I am a working mom. And I am proud of who I am.
Tuesday, April 13, 2010
City Slicker Chickens
I grew up in the suburbs. My parents grew up in the suburbs. THEIR parents grew up in the suburbs. But, somehow, I have a love for all things farm. If you knew me as a youngster, you would know that I was afraid of all animals - even kittens and baby chicks. Once, when I was really young, I held a baby bunny and it peed on me. From then on, I didn't want to hold or touch any animal. When I was a bit older, and knew better, I held a baby chick and promptly dropped her on the ground at first twitch. Oops.
But, that younger me wouldn't recognize this older me. Now I love farm animals (although, admittedly, I am still skittish around other people's farm animals). I raise chickens in my backyard in the city. They have a nice view of the city pool from where they roost. We have 5 hens who free-range in our backyard and 4 new chicks living in a wooden box on the porch.
These 4 new chicks are an adventure. A certain little girl of mine recently requested a jump rope and baby chicks for her birthday, thus an idea was born... A friend of mine hatched the eggs out for me in an incubator. I have no idea if they are hens or roosters or what kind of chickens they are, what color they will be, what color their eggs will be, how big they will get...
But, what I do know is that they are loved... and named. They've been handled quite a bit by a pair of sticky 3-year-old hands. Dear daughter has named all of the chicks. They are: Honey, Chicky-Chick, Dixie Chick, and Bobby. She had a little help coming up with Bobby. Bobby is the chick that has the most possible rooster characteristics, so we pointed her in the direction of a gender-neutral name. (last time, we ended up with a rooster named Sandy...)
Dear son, who is nearing 10 months of age, loves the backyard chickens. His second psuedo-word (after buh-bye) was "bak bak." Whenever we go near the door he says "bak bak" and looks for the chickens. He has now started associating the baby chicks with "bak bak" although dear daughter informs him that baby chicks do not say "bak bak," that they in fact say "peep peep."
I mentioned to my family the other day that I had had a dream about moving to a new house. I described the house in its glorious hobby farm location. Dear daughter informed me "I don't like farms. I want to buy a castle." For now, we will remain in our city home, but if we do ever move, we'll be searching for the best castle on a farm that money can buy!
But, that younger me wouldn't recognize this older me. Now I love farm animals (although, admittedly, I am still skittish around other people's farm animals). I raise chickens in my backyard in the city. They have a nice view of the city pool from where they roost. We have 5 hens who free-range in our backyard and 4 new chicks living in a wooden box on the porch.
These 4 new chicks are an adventure. A certain little girl of mine recently requested a jump rope and baby chicks for her birthday, thus an idea was born... A friend of mine hatched the eggs out for me in an incubator. I have no idea if they are hens or roosters or what kind of chickens they are, what color they will be, what color their eggs will be, how big they will get...
But, what I do know is that they are loved... and named. They've been handled quite a bit by a pair of sticky 3-year-old hands. Dear daughter has named all of the chicks. They are: Honey, Chicky-Chick, Dixie Chick, and Bobby. She had a little help coming up with Bobby. Bobby is the chick that has the most possible rooster characteristics, so we pointed her in the direction of a gender-neutral name. (last time, we ended up with a rooster named Sandy...)
Dear son, who is nearing 10 months of age, loves the backyard chickens. His second psuedo-word (after buh-bye) was "bak bak." Whenever we go near the door he says "bak bak" and looks for the chickens. He has now started associating the baby chicks with "bak bak" although dear daughter informs him that baby chicks do not say "bak bak," that they in fact say "peep peep."
I mentioned to my family the other day that I had had a dream about moving to a new house. I described the house in its glorious hobby farm location. Dear daughter informed me "I don't like farms. I want to buy a castle." For now, we will remain in our city home, but if we do ever move, we'll be searching for the best castle on a farm that money can buy!
Friday, April 9, 2010
Bathroom Floor Gunk
When you have three kids, and two are under the age of 3, you find a lot of gunk in your house. There is gunk on the kitchen table and gunk on the high chair, and gunk on you shirt. Yesterday, as I feverishly got ready for dear daughter's birthday party, I realized there was gunk on the bathroom floor. Gross. What could that be?
I cleaned it up with a quick swipe of the cloth, but curiosity got to me. I gave it a sniff. The sweet, recognizable smell of blueberry Nutrigrain bar jarred my memory to the day before, when my sweet son was sitting in the hallway outside of the bathroom while the flurry of morning activity went on around him. He was eating part of a Nutrigrain bar offered by his big sister. Inevitably, some of that bar ended up on the bathroom floor.
I would say, from the moment of gunk discovery, through the trip down memory lane, this moment could have been quite a bit more noxious as you never know what that gunk on the bathroom floor could be...
I cleaned it up with a quick swipe of the cloth, but curiosity got to me. I gave it a sniff. The sweet, recognizable smell of blueberry Nutrigrain bar jarred my memory to the day before, when my sweet son was sitting in the hallway outside of the bathroom while the flurry of morning activity went on around him. He was eating part of a Nutrigrain bar offered by his big sister. Inevitably, some of that bar ended up on the bathroom floor.
I would say, from the moment of gunk discovery, through the trip down memory lane, this moment could have been quite a bit more noxious as you never know what that gunk on the bathroom floor could be...
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