Better Make It A Double

state of the Compact

I was recently asked if we’d managed to stick to our goals with the Compact so far, so I guess it’s time to give a little update:

We’ve done pretty well except for the chrome detailing on our Focus, the ornamental lawn jockey J brought home “on sale”, and the monogrammed tea towels from Macy’s that I couldn’t resist.

OK – early April Fool’s. Actually, we’ve done pretty darn well so far, and we’re going into the fourth month. I have bought sandals for the boys, but these are on our exception list, and I paid for ¾ of them with a Gift Card. Our only real “lapse” (as in, nonessential and not on our exception list) has been a $10 USB cord, which was very frustrating, because I found the original the next day after over a week of fruitless searching. It was exactly the kind of purchase I’d been trying to avoid, but nobody’s perfect.

Honestly, the Compact hasn’t been very difficult. Over time, in fits and starts, we’ve made major progress as far as getting rid of stuff, and I’m enjoying using my foraging instincts at the library and through the use of a little ingenuity here and there.

The other day, I realized that while mulch from Home Depot might technically qualify as a consumable good, buying it in bags didn’t really fit what I’m trying to do. I also just want to stay out of Home Depot. Literally as I was thinking about this, I noticed that there was a good sized crew of men pruning the gorgeous oak tree across the street. Hmmmm. I tapped on the shoulder of one of young men with ear protection on, and after apologizing for surprising him, asked what he’d charge for some mulch in our driveway. Nothing, it turns out – it’s good PR for them and saves them a trip to empty their dump truck. We now have a mountain of lovely oak and pine mulch in our driveway, where it can sit as long as it needs to since we don’t park inside our garage anyway. I can use it for the garden and for the chicken run, as well as share some with neighbors and family. Awesome. Were it not for the Compact and the fact that I can’t imagine trying to get through the season sans mulch, I probably wouldn’t have been bold enough to ask. I’ve gotten rid of about 2/3 of my clothes since January, and I’m a little short of items in a few categories. At my MOPS group a few weeks ago, we were talking about decluttering and Spring cleaning, and the idea of doing a toy, book, and clothing swap came up. Last week, I got rid of trunkload of stuff and came home with some new toys and books, a brand-new pair of Bjorn shoes that someone had incorrectly mail-ordered and not returned (but fit me perfectly), and a nice bag of summer clothes. I made sure to actually try all the clothes on before bringing them home. All the extra from the swap went right to a charitable program in the basement of the church.

I have noticed to two major psychological effects of doing the Compact over time. One, I am just more aware of all the ways and times that we’re advertised to. I can’t help but see it differently when shopping isn’t an option – I can better see the advertiser’s claim for what it is when considering its worth is out of the question. When I see an ad for a makeup company product that promises to “improve my look, improve my life”, I don’t have to ask, however semi-consciously, whether that’s true and whether I should consider putting it in my mental shopping cart. My reaction is more likely to be along the lines of “That makeup company is promising to improve my life! The nerve! Hilarious!” There’s something a little surreal about the billboards these days.

The other major effect is that I’m not so constantly overwhelmed by having to make choices. My tolerance for being in Target or a major grocery store is actually lower, and that’s a little inconvenient when I do have to buy sandals or a USB cord (yes, that woman who was staring blankly at the size 10 sandals at Target for 20 minutes was me), but overall, I think not having to constantly make those yes/no/maybe shopping decisions is freeing and less stressful than shopping all the time is. I think that type of evaluating can rob us of creative and intellectual energy. Instead of asking “which political party” or “which alternative energy source” or “which word choice” or “which color of oil paint on my canvass”, it’s possible to use up all that energy on making consumer choices. It’s kind of like the questions all get asked for us, and they’re all “which” and “how many” questions instead of “why”, and “how” questions. I’ve been writing a lot, and I think part of the reason is that my brain is a little less full of shopping noise. The irony, of course, is that we shop to relax, or at least we think we do. I don’t think those trips to Target were as relaxing as they seemed, and they certainly didn’t give me any real creative energy.

I know this all sounds rather rosy and cheery, but I’m being honest when I say it’s pretty much all been good. I really did expect it to be harder. I think this has a lot to do with my particular personality: I am just a lot better at turning the switch to “OFF” than I am at checking my shopping habits through constant evaluation. I like the “OFF” setting – what I’m actually most concerned about is when the Compact is over. I hope some of my new habits will really stick long-term. Another factor that has made the adjustment so doable is the fact that I already bought almost all of the boys’ and most of our clothing used.

I think one area where I could use some work is on non-essential on-the-fly consumables, like coffee from coffee shops. I’ve gotten a bit looser about this kind of expense since my spending is so limited in other areas right now, but I’d like to be better about it. J and I are also looking to take better advantage of my job’s public transportation subsidy and save on fossil fuels and increasing gas prices.

J and I are considering getting another laptop computer, as since we now have 24/7 access to municipal wireless, J could make more efficient use of downtime if he could drag it with him some days. Plus, we’re always using the computer one at a time and then not hanging out together because we need our “turn”, which is a bummer. Laptops are available used, but we’ll need a small, lightweight one with wireless. The one we have is big, heavy, and more powerful than he’d need. Anyone know of good sources of used laptops and maybe a laptop backpack that’s not too conspicuous when walking home from the train late at night?

slushy haiku

Horizontal sleet

Expect up to 9 inches

Last day of March; why?

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In 2 years, a field

Now we have a Metrodome

Nine inches, in March

Too Little / Too Much

I read an essay recently that talked about finding the balance between Too Little and Too Much. I’d venture that most Americans are far more acquainted with Too Much than Too Little when it comes to material possessions, even if most of us worry at least a little about major expenses like retirement and health care and last I heard, a full 10% of American kids are actually short on food for some of the month. It’s occurred to me that this isn’t just a problem of all of us wanting too much stuff. A culture that values excessive and conspicuous consumption is indeed part of the problem, but like health care and social security, it’s partly a problem because of our lack off effective cooperation. We feel like we have Too Little because in order to get anything done around the house, take care of our kids in an emergency, learn about how to accomplish something new, anything, so many of us are on our own. Family is the one welcome exception, but for most of us, that’s really about it if we even have that at all. Too Much is a half-baked illusion of an answer to Too Little of something other than the material goods that are filling up our basement, attics, and storage spaces.

There just isn’t much between Too Much and Too Little when you have no support, when you can’t just borrow a tool, pick a good friend’s brain about a parenting dilemma, borrow an extra car now and then, or even a cup of flour or an hour of two of babysitting in an emergency. Without support from a larger network than immediate family is usually able to realistically provide, we tend to spend our efforts creating fortresses that aim to avoid Too Little. Unfortunately, these fortresses just serve to reinforce habits of non-cooperation. So many of us have half a car more than we need or really want to pay for, have arsenals of tools virtually identical to that of our neighbor’s and friends’, buy things we need once because borrowing just isn’t really done in this culture. Libraries are a wonderful exception, but I am amazed at the amount of avid print readers I know that rarely, if ever, set foot inside one.

One of the areas I really want to work on in this year of the Compact is for our family to find cooperative solutions to some of our needs and to better share some of what we have to offer. We have supportive and helpful family near and far, but we would both benefit from and have something to offer to stronger, more extended networks.

My wish list:

• To find a few trusted people to swap childcare with on occasion. My sister-in-law and I already do this for date nights, and a group of us from my church that live in the same neighborhood are looking to set something up together. I’m excited about this for several reasons, not the least of which is that my kids may grow up knowing the kids they see every Sunday much better than they otherwise would. We have a practical need for a few hours of this kind of care a month, and we’d rather do a swap than pay for a regular babysitter.

• To find cooperative ways to take care of kids some of the time in a more “tribal” way. For example, a couple of friends and I could trade off watching our 6 kids together and gardening and doing yard work at each other’s houses once a week this summer, sharing a simple outdoor potluck meal together afterwards. Every week, one person could make a big main dish, another bring a salad and another a side dish, making dinner prep simple for two out of three of us. The “host” could weed, dig, whatever, while the other two watched the kids, maybe helping for a minute here or there, engaging the kids in helping, or taking them on a walk or trike ride up and down the block. If it rained, we could set up an indoor craft project and have one mess to clean up that day instead of three. If a baby was particularly clingy or something, one of the other parents could pitch in with some weeding or watering at the host’s house. Three moms or dads with 6 kids between them could probably watch all 6 more efficiently than three parents with 2 kids apiece, and weeding and whatnot is a lot more fun when you have company. Kids could help when interested, and play with “new” toys and each other. No obsessively cleaning the house beforehand allowed – nobody loves the parent of young children who raises the bar!

• To find some socially acceptable and not-too-complicated way to let friends know what we have to lend and find out what we might be able to borrow so that we aren’t caught in the trap of buying stuff we rarely use and better share the stuff we already have.

• To share some of our home-grown produce with the food shelf this summer. I just found out that I can drop it off right at an enormous former Victory Garden and current community garden that’s on my route to here and there anyway. I’m actually on the waiting list for a plot in this garden. It’ll be great when the boys are four or five and are more able to both help and play on their own. Frankly, even with three big raised beds, I’m out of land. I could easily just do beans and tomatoes for canning on my home plots and do the rest at the community garden. Maybe then I’ll find someone to trade some watering of my plot for chicken manure.

• To share excess chicken compost (we’re getting three more pullets in a few weeks, so the amount we have now will be doubled) with someone in exchange for some pile-turning, which is a killer with my bad back. I think J's youngest sister, who has a community garden plot of her own less than two blocks from her apartment this summer, has agreed to do this at least once, and we’ll fill a couple of landscape bags and deliver it to her plot. I was actually contacted by an organic landscaping company about manure, but I’m not willing to part with as much as they need.

Though we’ve never lived in an intentional community or anything, J and I actually have a fair bit of experience in "cooperative living". Either J’s youngest sister or our friend D have lived with us on and off for years, always offering house sitting, babysitting, yard work, cooking, and good company in return. J’s family is close by, and they’re a wonderfully helpful and cooperative bunch. Their willingness to lend time, skills, and goods are a wonderful example to me, since I didn’t live near extended family for most of my childhood, and live far from them now. Last summer, my father-in-law was kind enough to indulge my crazy idea of building a backyard chicken coop, and now my in-laws get first dibs on eggs.

My Christian denomination (Mennonite) has a rich tradition of mutual aid, and we share everything from time, to talent, to money and resources within the congregation. When I was pregnant and on bed rest, both my church and the church where J works brought us meals for weeks. That continued after the boys came home with us, along with a regular group of baby rockers. People I barely knew gave us gifts, and one kind soul even dropped a giant box of newborn diapers anonymously on our front steps. By now, with three year old twins, I'm finally feeling like I'm not just surviving, like I can offer that type of love to other people again. All of the support our family has from friends and family makes it possible to resist filling up our home (and working even more to pay for) an arsenal of stuff to fortify us against ever feeling like we have Too Little. We have time and talents, and things to lend and exchange, as well as a wealth of community to draw upon that should only become richer as the years go by. All we have to do is stay put and put a little effort into engaging with the people that are in our lives.

spring

As this never-ending winter breathes its last gasps of frigid air and heaves a few last inches of unwelcome snow every few days, Spring waits, coiled, inevitable, yet invisible. I know this to be true, even though the very idea of Spring is starting to seem like a fable we amuse the boys with as we read library books about the seasons. Is it my imagination, or do my children look authentically skeptical when I talk to them about the daffodil bulbs that will bloom in a month or so? Surely, we thought there’d be evidence to impress them with by now.

Everyone I know seems just a little depressed these days, a little struck by weary disbelief at the recent weather, which was actually quite beautiful, just untimely. Last weekend brought a fairytale wonderland to Minnesota, full of powdered sugar-coated trees, thick blinding flurries, heavy clouds of deep steely grays mixed with spots of blue sky, making for beautiful strange light felt in the back of my neck. This is exactly the type of weather that would have been so welcome in mid-December, but only the kids seemed to appreciate the several inches that came just after the snow that had laid for months had finally started to fade to spots of ever-so-slightly greening grass. Snowmen abound in our neighborhood this year, evidence that kids have had the more optimistic view that we might as well do something with all this snow. One family a mile North of our house has even created an entire installation of snow creatures in the front yard, some of which were spray painted various colors. A brown cat, a pink Easter bunny. If the little springtime animals won’t come and assure us of the annual fecund end to our frigid Minnesota hibernation, a can of spray paint doesn’t quite do it for me as a substitution, but I suppose I needn’t judge another’s attempt to make the best of things. My own attempts seem to involve a lot of tea, sleep, and complaining.

I have a package of spinach seeds sitting in my kitchen cupboard, and my hand reaches for it, fingers the substantial seeds two or three times a day, willing the white away and the ground to thaw just enough in one of my raised beds that I can suspend an old storm window over the seeds and semi-frozen dirt to make for a workable cold-frame.

So close. Water drips from the roof so fast it runs like rivers into basements and down the street into full-to-capacity storm drains. Birds chirp the way they only do in springtime, looking rather desperately for food and finding only melted puddles of water, their little mating clocks ticking the same way they always do regardless of our relentless winter, hard, under feathers. Buds swell despite the cold and snow, coiled, like a shotgun of life, of rescue, of a promise fulfilled like a fable. It is here, we just haven’t been invited quite yet.

bliss?

The word People Magazine used on its weekly cover to describe Jennifer Lopez’s first months with twins is “bliss”. Aaah, brings back memories, doesn’t it?

Well, no.  Somehow that doesn’t quite describe my experience. Was there something wrong with me? Her twins are awfully cute, but so were mine, even without celebrity stock. On the other hand, I didn’t have to explain my weight gain to millions (actually, in my case there was a net loss of about 20 pounds, which was not a good thing), and wear heels through the whole thing. Still, this kind of thing honestly drives me a batty, because celebrity or no, it feeds into the unrealistic attitude people have about twins, especially baby twins. Having twins has many blessings, it really does, but not usually the ones people seem to think it does (I'm still not sold on the idea that it's efficient to do everything twice but poorly and distractedly) and yet there are some great things about having twins that aren’t always obvious. But the two infants at once part? Well, as far as I’m concerned, there’s nothing really blissful about that. It’s really hard to feel torn in two, to have one baby crying because you are tending to, his twin, to have one wake up just as the other is finally asleep and resent the hell out of it, to have your veins course an ever steady river of guilt. That’s how it felt to me, at least. Really bonding took some time, and I only knew it had really happened when they started sleeping enough and being on regular enough of a routine that things were a little more relaxed. Thankfully, they did turn out to be good sleepers—two hour naps at the same time, now that was bliss. When I wasn’t quite so busy and sleep-deprived I could really get to know their individual quirks, have more little games and know ways of holding them that were particular to each baby, have the good, constant back-and-forth dance that makes for good bonding with a baby. The first three months or so were baby triage, and baby triage is not bliss.

The attention twinfants get you wasn’t any kind of bliss either – I personally hated that most of the time (though I’ve met twin moms who loved it.) The attention so often seemed to go like this:

Me: lonely as heck, desperate for conversation. Female twin fan: Friendly at first, but only because she wants to gape with her face and hands too close to my preemie twins,/ Then she starts to make inaccurate or ridiculous statements to the assembling crowd, doesn’t say boo to me again, not even to acknowledge my correction of statements like “There’s always a troublemaker with twins” or “He’s the happy one, I can tell.” I actually had visions of ramming my Peg Perego double-stroller-with-the-carseats into their knees on occasion, and I’m a pacifist. If they did say anything else to me, it was to tell me in one form or another that my current lot in life must suck, which, while that felt a tiny bit true on some days, was not helpful. Somehow, call me picky and hormonal, I didn’t really enjoy hearing how much they wished they had twins either.

Later, as multiples get older, people comment less, it seems less impossible to people, and thereby less fascinating, yet, it is then that having twins becomes particularly fun. The comment I most often get these days is “Wow, that must’ve been hard when they were babies”. My response is always the same honest answer: “Yes it was, but it’s a lot of fun now, and there are some advantages too.” I know that having your kids one at a time is ultimately easier on your sanity, not to mention less risky, but I can’t help but feel that I am reaping some rewards for having put forth a tremendous amount of effort on the front end.  The best parts of having twins are still happening. Partly this is because we really are done with the baby-making part of life, and since I’m really at peace with that, it’s easy to appreciate the advantages. (And these things still eventually apply to moms who do have another singleton, because they do all that twice instead of three times.) OK, so every mistake I make I get to make twice, but when the really difficult, or just even mundane stages pass, they’re gone. No starting all over again just as it gets easier, no starting all over with diapers again. As most of my friends are still getting up all night, we sleep through. We’re done with daytime diapers. They use their own hands to feed themselves, and get in and out of their own car seats. We have tantrums, but they are eventually followed by intelligible words. They tell us they love us.

There is much to like about the companionable way two and three year old twins can fill your life. The boys really are best buddies now. They interact as much with each other as with us, mostly very happily, and they’re always roping us into their fun. Because they’re exactly the same age, the house is more or less set up for both of them, as are our days. Whenever we figure out where they’re going to preschool, they’ll go together, same schedule, same days, no baby’s nap schedule to worry about, the house actually cleared of children for a few hours each week. This scheduling advantage will probably be true for much of their childhood, though I’m sure there will be exceptions.

I’m still not sure “bliss” is the right word for motherhood of twins or singletons, at least not as a catch-all describing the entire experience. There are certainly blissful moments though. Blissful when I realize that I really know both of them as individuals. Blissful is seeing them look out for each other, even knowing that sometimes their solidarity comes at my expense. Blissful is where I see evidence of their love for us and one another, when they take my breath away with their love of language and their humor, when I get great big hugs and messy kisses after coming home from work along with an “I missed you, Mama”. Bliss is knowing I really missed them too, because there were times that I didn’t, where part-time work saved my sanity because I was so overwhelmed (the age of 18 months comes to memory.)  This is still not an easy age, and we still have bad days, but I think I’m having more fun with my twins at just about three than I ever have.

When I run into moms with infant twins who seem approachable (and often when I have my boys with me, at the zoo or someplace, they approach me), I say this:

Your twins are gorgeous. Isn’t it tough on the parents in the beginning?  It gets so much easier, and  so much more fun.

 

 

introversion

I’ve heard it said that introversion and extroversion as personality traits aren’t defined by how you spend your time, but how you get your energy. In other words, you could be a decent public speaker and spend a lot of time networking, and still be an introvert who needs solitude to feel happy and sane. By that definition, I am an extreme introvert, though some who don’t know me all that well might never guess it. I need time alone to feel sane. Even time away from my children, even my spouse.

I went to a boarding school in high school, and it was so overwhelming it nearly killed me. I just couldn’t cope with the constant over stimulation from all those voices, all those people’s lives happening in such visible and audible proximity to my own. I stayed up until all hours of the night just to experience not only the quiet in the school halls, but also to know that everyone was asleep. I started smoking partly just for an excuse to go for a walk in the woods on a regular basis*. I mostly avoided room-mates until I got married, and while I love being married, I’d always been grateful that our only partly overlapping schedules allowed for some time alone in the house almost every day.

And then we had kids.

For me, this is the single hardest thing about having children. Not sleep deprivation. Not doubting myself. Not controlling frustration and anger, and not impatience. Those things are all hard, but never being truly alone (and being on call to coughing and bad dreams and whatever other noise on the monitor just doesn’t do it for me), and then needing to prioritize connecting with my spouse over holing myself up somewhere, well, I think most of my really bad days can be traced to not meeting my particular introverted needs. I am such a freak about this, and I wish I could change, because it would make life a lot easier, for me and by extension, my family. Unfortunately, though I have great faith in people’s ability to change, I’m fairly certain that introversion is pretty hard-wired within me. I’ve been this way my entire life – all my earliest good memories are of spending time alone, in peace.

I do really need people, value people. I’m actual fairly social in practice (though I avoid crowds and parties if I can at all help it unless I know almost everyone there at least somewhat well), and I’m not immune to feeling lonely if I don’t have good regular connections with friends. It’s just that regular alone time is a very primary, fundamental need. It’s where I get my energy, how I re-fuel. I’ve been an insomniac my entire life, but only when in circumstances that don’t meet that need. Call me dense, but I only recently made that connection. I can probably learn to deal a little better, and I have a thousand little things I do to cope, but the need is still there. And in my current life, this need is rarely met.

This is why going away for a couple of days in the woods every now and then is so important for me. I’m trying to recognize that even if no-one, not even J, actually affirms this need or claims to really understand it, their tacit, practical support is worth even more. It is a sign of love that people help meet needs they don't entirely understand, and I'm grateful for that, but it’s not easy to take the time, to ask family members to help me get it, to not feel guilty about the money, or the need to be away from people I love.  “What did you do?” is anyone’s question if my silent retreat comes up. “Not the point”, I think, though I am actually amazed at what I did, how much good thinking happened, how much prayer was heaved Godward, how much writing poured out of me.

On Friday evening I walked down to my cabin after a group meal and a goodbye to the friend who came with me, unlocked the door, walked in and locked the door behind me, then stood at the door with both my palms against it and my forehead leaning on it for minutes. It wasn’t that I thought anyone would ever come in through that door, like the lock had anything other than a symbolic purpose. I am not scared to be there alone at all. I just needed to breathe, to let it sink in that for the next 36 hours I’d be truly, completely alone, that no-one would disrespect that sacred space.

The exception, of course, is God. My belief in God is rooted at least partly in the fact that somewhere within me there has always been a strong sense that while I need some real space from other people on a regular basis, there is no such thing as true aloneness, because of my connection to the spiritual realm. I spent a lot of fruitless energy trying to deny that connection until I found a framework in my early twenties that made some sense to me. That framework is a particular Christianity, and my reasons for all that are best left for another complicated post, but suffice it to say that I’m grateful and enriched by having made and continuing to nurture that connection.

Some people most feel a connection to God by talking about it or through collective ritual, and while I do often feel a strong connection to God in church, I feel it most when truly otherwise alone. It doesn’t mean I value people any less than anyone else does —it just means that I need regular solitude in order to have the most meaningful, authentic relationships I can, to be present with people when we’re together,  to love the best I know how.

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*and quit many years ago.

alien mama

Let's see. The cost of jet fuel has doubled over the last year, sending ticket prices through the roof, the U.S. dollar just keeps sinking against the Euro, we have 3 year old twins, and we Americans aren't all that popular abroad at the moment. So what shall we do? Why go to Holland, of course! We are going to visit my Dutch family in June, including my 84 year old grandma. It will likely be the last time I ever see her. I am still a Dutch citizen, though I may become an American citizen as well at some point, if I can get over taking an oath to take up arms if called to do so. Not so sure I can do that (take the oath, definitely can't take up arms). The whole topic makes me a bit sick to my stomach, but I can't say I like being of different citizenship than the rest of my family either.

Now, back to Minne*sota, where we got snow again today after a week's steady thaw. Very depressing. I want to peek under the mulch and I can't even clean up dog shit back there.

I think I've mentioned this before, but breakfast is an extravagant affair around here, at least when J is home. I am usually getting ready for work in the morning, leaving Daddy in charge of breakfast. He cooks any combination of waffles, pancakes, French toast, scrambled eggs, and hot cereal (the good, non-instant kind). On Saturday mornings, O has been known to tell me that Daddies cook breakfast, not Mamas. As you can see, they've gotten quite adept at helping. They can both crack an egg fairly competently, and they love to mix and stir. They're not shown here, but they own two aprons apiece, and wear them every day, so they can grow up to be like Daddies. I love J's approach sometimes - why give them cold cereal then set up an elaborate craft project when you can make breakfast into a craft project and get a really good breakfast out of the deal?

Visiting the coop. The boys still talk about Fanny (who is going into the soup pot a week from Wednesday, when my SIL comes over to help and brings her fabulous chicken noodle soup recipe.) Clara is doing fine, and seems to be at the top of the pecking order all of a sudden. She's docile enough that even the boys can hold her. You can see below that N is spreading scratch, a mix of grains that keeps the girls busy digging since they can't run around much at the moment.

O showing off a watercolor masterpiece. In addition to painting and drawing (which he loves, but only at home) O is really into memorizing all of a sudden. He can say the words to whole nursery rhymes, and then take a little bow. You can't always understand him, though.

Bath-time is a rarer event around here than it used to be, as it gets them kind of riled up before bed now and finding another time of day to do it never seems to work, but it is still a lot of fun. I'm sure that come summer, we'll have to go back to daily baths, but then they should be able to get their wiggles out in the park and not in the tub (and all over my lap as I dare pull the plug).

They were so muddy after this outing that I had to pull their snowpants off before I could let them into the house. We've been talking a lot about how when it's warmer, we won't wear jackets outside, and we'll wear sandals. N is very excited to wear sandals. The other day O said, "and when it's really, really warm, we'll go naked!" Umm, not quite (at least not in the U.S. --Europe is quite a bit mellower about these things).

N is SO in love with the cat. He still gets too excited around the animals and bugs them a bit much, but he's starting to earn more and more moments like this with Orbit.

O was sick and had a high fever a few weeks ago (look at those cheeks and that ear!), and N doted on him. He was so cute--bringing him a bunny and letting him choose which one, asking me if O needed water or a snack, finally just giving him kisses on the head. I let them have fruit juice lollipops when they have coughs, because it's the closest safe thing to a cough drop I can give them.

A couple of days later, O was all better, and it was back to this:

As N would say to everyone under the sun plus his uncle:

GOOD BYE!!!!!!

(Oh, and by the way - that last photo of O was NOT of O's middle finger. It had not even occurred to me that it could look like it was! It was his pointer.)

I do a lot of important thinking with this finger

OK, OK, I hear you. Y'all are a persistent and picky bunch, but even though everyone keeps asking me, I can't remember where I put the camera cord. First it was a belt, then a snake, then a cat leash, then, "Poof!" Gone.

My mama finally gave up and went and bought a new USB cable so that gorgeous photos like these can again be yours for the viewing. Pictures are being loaded onto our hard drive as I write.
My mama says that this little expense is coming out of my allowance, which I don't really get yet (though I am very good at finding pennies. And bottle caps, especially from the bottom of puddles or stuck in the mud), so for all the griping I've been hearing from various corners of the universe, I am anticipating that someone will send me a $10 check in the mail....

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Oh, and I also forgot to add, for the permanent record, that O has actually lost a pound over the last few months. The doc thinks this is almost certainly due to the fact that he's quite a bit more active now that he's on preventative asthma meds. He's 37 lbs. and 38.5 inches tall.

and now I will dance

If one word could be used to describe how most people would see O, it would be “jolly”. As his parents, we are also privy to a lot of dramatic wailing from this particular boy, but jolly is a good word to describe him a blessedly large majority of the time.

Yesterday I took my jolly good fellow to his 3-year well child visit. Our pediatrician is a wonderfully comforting and knowledgeable woman that is likely already eligible for retirement. She and her patients benefit greatly from her commitment to reading the latest research balanced with by many decades of experience. As the parent, I am so grateful that she is willing to explain her reasoning for various recommendations and leave the final choices up to us.

At the beginning of the appointment, Dr. M  took out a box of blocks and pulled out four and lined them up. He identified all the colors, the shape of the blocks, and counted them for her, pointing out that there were no pink or brown blocks, but that the windowsill was brown and the plastic coating on her stethoscope was pink. She asked him to make a tower, and he said, “I need some more, please”. He pulled four more out of the box, made two towers of four, and pulled out a rectangle and made a bridge across the top. Then he said, “You should not go through this tunnel, Dr. M, because you will bump your head!”. She laughed again, and said that in all her years of doing this little test with 3 year olds, that was a new one. The boys have lots of practice with blocks!

After she did all the usual tooth-counting (19 out of 20 are in), tummy-poking, and ear-peeking, we talked about the asthma. Dr. M was more reassuring about O’s asthma than I expected given his troubles this winter. She agreed with the doc we saw a few weeks ago that his asthma is officially “severe”, but also said that she thought it most likely that the severity will improve to moderate or even mild over the next couple of years. He needs to be on preventative meds until at least a year from this coming May, and we’ll need to work out how to limit his cold-air exposure when he starts preschool (it’s a good thing we didn’t go with the nature-center based preschool we looked at, because they go out for an hour every day unless it’s dangerously cold, and poor O would have had to stay inside an awful lot). After going on preventative medication, he’s gotten through the winter with no more prednisone and stayed out of the hospital, which is wonderful. He has a cold and cough now, and she said his lungs sounded great. Now that he’s three, he can take a chewable tablet, so we’re switching his meds to a non-nebulizer kind. He’ll still use the neb for when he has colds or other exacerbations, but he won’t need the 2x daily 10 minute treatments anymore, which is nice. That actually wasn’t as bad as you’d think – he was very good about it, and it meant that we got in an extra 20 minutes or so of reading with both boys every day. They beg for books often enough anyway that we should be able to stay in the habit, and there’s also bedtime and naptime.

The switch in meds means that we most likely won’t have to lug the neb to Europe, which I was concerned about. We have an inhaler to try with albuterol (the med for acute asthma) the next time he gets a cold, and if that goes well, he should be OK with no nebulizer for the trip. If he’s not quite ready to use an inhaler and mask, we’ll get a special order to rent a battery-powered nebulizer.

During the appointment, O, in a t-shirt and underpants, was asked to hop across the room. His answer?

“I would prefer to gallop, Dr. M.”

She laughed, and he did. And then he said, “And now I will dance.” And he did.

waiting for Friday

It was one long snotty-nosed, hacking weekend around here, after one of those crazy weeks where both J and I had major deadlines of one kind or another.  I have been as crabby as a teething 18-month old with an ear infection lately.

During weeks like this, I’ve found it helpful to make lists of things I’m grateful for, because I rather easily fall into the pattern of negative thinking and only noticing the stuff that’s driving me insane. Keep in mind that we still have tantrums and poor behavior, exhaustion, sickness, and all the other crap – but this list is for just the good stuff:

• I’m grateful that my kiddos are usually so much easier to take places now. Yesterday we had to get a few things from Wal*greens—paper diapers for at night, a medication at the pharmacy, Milk Duds for me—all at different parts of the store. The boys took turns taking a “cart ride” and walking alongside the cart with one hand on it, and they were angels. They didn’t run around, and they didn’t beg or whine for anything, and they waited patiently while we were in line.
• I’m grateful that at least so far, being near the toy aisle doesn’t fill them with the frantic want that it did me as a child, and that they actually beg to get to ride in the cart rather than freak out about it. Both of these things are probably at least a little bit due to the fact that we don’t spend all that much time in stores.
• I am grateful that it’s above 30˚. Granted, it should be above 40˚, but I’ll take it. At least the snow is melting, and the bulbs were under good snow cover all winter.
• I’m grateful that J and I are past all our big deadlines and that I can now focus on organizing my house.
• I’m grateful that we have family in town that can help in a pinch, even when my kids are sick and I really have to be somewhere.
• I’m grateful that the boys may be “in” at preschool choice B that preschool choice B is a more than acceptable option, and that at least I’ll know something in a few weeks.
• I’m grateful that we never applied at Nature Center Preschool, because with all the time they spend outdoors in the winter cold there, O probably couldn’t have gone there anyway.
• I’m grateful for the wonderful libraries we have access to, because they make me and my kids so happy (and they satisfy that foraging instinct that used to lead to too many Target trips).
• I’m grateful that even though they are high-energy kids and not terribly easygoing by temperament, they are also great eaters and sleepers. They are becoming more polite and often self-correct when they forget, and many of the battles common to two-year-olds have not been an issue at our house, like willingness to ride in a stroller, refusing to wear certain things, or get in or out of their car seats. They take medication if they need to, and O sits very well for his 2x daily neb treatments. They are creative, try hard to learn new things, and have a great relationship with both each other and their parents. Their persistence is not just a plot to drive me insane – it is a quality that will likely serve both of them well later in life.
• I’m grateful for my spouse, and lately, his tolerance for my grumpiness. A safe person to be a little grumpy around is a beautiful thing sometimes. I’m grateful for stolen hugs and smooches in front of the kitchen sink, even as we’ve passed like ships in the night lately due to our extremely busy schedules.
• I’m grateful for his support in helping this poor sleeper get the sleep she needs.
• I’m grateful that we have our place tickets to the Netherlands for  June now, and that the passport application part was fairly painless. 
• I’m very grateful that this Friday, a friend and I are driving up to a weekend of silent retreat, each with our own tiny cabin in the woods. I will sleep, eat, think, write, and pray.

This retreat is beckoning to me like a crystal glass of iced cold water at the edge of the desert.