Wow! Apparently the birthday month really took it out of me, huh?
Well, in reality, we've had a most exhausting year, with sickness and over-workedness leaving no room for much else but simple maintenance.
But I'm back. We're started the new school year- this is week three already, and it's going great. Avery's so independent and interested, Miles is excited to have his own school time each day devoted just to him. Ansel is, well, Ansel, and pretty much happy for any scraps of attention a third kid can get.
Ah....
Showing posts with label Miles. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Miles. Show all posts
Tuesday, August 31, 2010
Thursday, January 7, 2010
Reasons to Homeschool: Harried to Happy
Morning could be hectic and harried for us- if we had to get everyone washed, dressed, fed, bundled up, out of the house and to school, daycare, work on time. They could be, but they're not, because we don't HAVE to be anywhere but right where we are.
This morning, when I felt obliged to give the baby an impromptu bath to wash the fistfuls of crusting-in mush and browning banana smoosh out of his hair, and the three year old decided to strip naked in the hall and take a running dive into the tub (no one in my house can stand missing out on a bath) I felt just a little put out. This wasn't on the schedule for the morning. But they're so cute, you know, so sweet. How can you stay grumpy with two little ones in the tub? All those bubbles and splashes, soapy clean smells and giggles. When the nine year old decided to join in the fun it just felt perfectly, well... perfect. Two little ones in the tub, warm and shiny, a big one perched in the corner, serenading (guitar practice without threats or shouting, check!) them with his entire play list while they danced and laughed, well, I was just glad to be home, free to enjoy such a lovely unscheduled and unplanned moment.
How many of those moments would be missed if we were caught rushing off to our important days elsewhere? How sad would it be if a baby's 6-grain hairdo were enough to start everyone's day off wrong (too rushed, late for school, late for work)? Those moments, simple and unstaged, are the ones that fill our family memory-bank, easy and quick to pull out on rainy days and hold on to during troublesome times. And so grateful are we, to be present here, filling our bank with memories we share, gathering moments of grace together.
This morning, when I felt obliged to give the baby an impromptu bath to wash the fistfuls of crusting-in mush and browning banana smoosh out of his hair, and the three year old decided to strip naked in the hall and take a running dive into the tub (no one in my house can stand missing out on a bath) I felt just a little put out. This wasn't on the schedule for the morning. But they're so cute, you know, so sweet. How can you stay grumpy with two little ones in the tub? All those bubbles and splashes, soapy clean smells and giggles. When the nine year old decided to join in the fun it just felt perfectly, well... perfect. Two little ones in the tub, warm and shiny, a big one perched in the corner, serenading (guitar practice without threats or shouting, check!) them with his entire play list while they danced and laughed, well, I was just glad to be home, free to enjoy such a lovely unscheduled and unplanned moment.
How many of those moments would be missed if we were caught rushing off to our important days elsewhere? How sad would it be if a baby's 6-grain hairdo were enough to start everyone's day off wrong (too rushed, late for school, late for work)? Those moments, simple and unstaged, are the ones that fill our family memory-bank, easy and quick to pull out on rainy days and hold on to during troublesome times. And so grateful are we, to be present here, filling our bank with memories we share, gathering moments of grace together.
Tuesday, December 22, 2009
Outsmarted
This afternoon, in a mad rush of trying to finish up a sewing project that wasn't working well, nursing the baby, tidying up the family room (and the epic mess of post-fort-deconstruction AND an entire box of party crackers and a block of cream cheese-don't ask), presents to wrap, and a shower still to take:
Me Miles, if you touch that drill (toy) one more time before the family room is tidied up I will take it away for the rest of the day.
Miles Okay, I'm sorry. I won't touch it.
Fine. Except that he quietly went upstairs and came back down with ziploc sandwich bags on his hands, and picked up the toy drill and started back to his "work".
Me Miles, I told you not to play with that drill.
Miles No you didn't Mama. You told me not to touch it. I'm not touching it, see? I'm being really careful. I'm really not touching it one bit.
Oh my. He's three. And my head hurts.
Me Miles, if you touch that drill (toy) one more time before the family room is tidied up I will take it away for the rest of the day.
Miles Okay, I'm sorry. I won't touch it.
Fine. Except that he quietly went upstairs and came back down with ziploc sandwich bags on his hands, and picked up the toy drill and started back to his "work".
Me Miles, I told you not to play with that drill.
Miles No you didn't Mama. You told me not to touch it. I'm not touching it, see? I'm being really careful. I'm really not touching it one bit.
Oh my. He's three. And my head hurts.
Wednesday, December 2, 2009
Pirates
My brother has a big boat that just happens to be in dry dock right now, in our very state, instead of Alaska. So we went to visit him a few weeks ago, before everyone got sick and everything in our house broke (Did I mention the stove broke on Thanksgiving? Did I?!). One of his crew members was there, working, when he arrived- a very sweet girl with tight black jeans, a striped shirt under a sweatshirt, severe black hair, some facial piercings and tattoos. She seemed quiet, nice, and smart, though she was mostly working hard most of the time we were there.
ANYWAY...
Yesterday Miles came running to me in the midst of the epic boat-fort building game he and Avery were engaged in, wanting, no NEEDING, to know the name of "Uncle Trevor's Pirate".
Uncle Trevor's Pirate?
Trevor's leg is broken, he was in a cast when we were there, but it didn't seem like a peg leg, did it? No one had lost an eye or a hand- no patches or hook-hands were seen. Finally I figured out he meant Shannon! Trevor's girl-crew member. His "Pirate". Of course.
Because ships have pirates. Duh.
And who else but a pirate would make gold look so fierce?
I wonder, should I take my kids out of this poky little town more often? Should they know that pirates aren't the only people with piercings and tattoos? How embarrassing will it be when they go off to college and think their dorm mate is a pirate?
ANYWAY...
Yesterday Miles came running to me in the midst of the epic boat-fort building game he and Avery were engaged in, wanting, no NEEDING, to know the name of "Uncle Trevor's Pirate".
Uncle Trevor's Pirate?
Trevor's leg is broken, he was in a cast when we were there, but it didn't seem like a peg leg, did it? No one had lost an eye or a hand- no patches or hook-hands were seen. Finally I figured out he meant Shannon! Trevor's girl-crew member. His "Pirate". Of course.
Because ships have pirates. Duh.
And who else but a pirate would make gold look so fierce?
I wonder, should I take my kids out of this poky little town more often? Should they know that pirates aren't the only people with piercings and tattoos? How embarrassing will it be when they go off to college and think their dorm mate is a pirate?
Thursday, November 19, 2009
Miles
I've been so lucky to have my wonderful Mom and a talented physical therapist Aunt here helping our family out during this difficult time. I really don't know how we'd have managed without my Mom here, holding fussy sick babies and cleaning up puke, taking temperatures and making chicken soup, exuding confidence that everything would be okay, that Miles would pull through.
Miles, you know, is 3 years and 9 months old, full of fire burning bright, the one who jumps headfirst into every experience, and pulls all the rest of us along with him. He is so funny and sincere and beautiful that he gets by with a lot that a more serious, less antic-filled kid wouldn't be able to get away with. Of all my boys he's the one always in the center of the action, making everyone laugh, causing trouble, and smoothing things over with his incredible sweetness and generosity. He is healthy and strong, positively glowing with youthful health and rosy cheeks, sparkling blue eyes and cheerful laugh. Glowing, I tell you.
But Miles is the one I always secretly worry about. Always. I imagine it's because of the worry of my pregnancy with him (preterm labor and 4 solid months of bedrest) and how sick I was after he was born, at least that's what I tell myself. The other boys, though of course I worry, I feel more confident about, healthwise. Miles is the one I am sort of irrational about, the one I really have to talk myself down about. Every bruise might be a sign of some awful thing, leukemia or a clotting disorder. Every cough whispers pneumonia. I know it's crazy. I talk myself out of it all the time, or else we'd be in the emergency room more often than we already are (and Lord knows we're there for legitimate reasons often enough that it's a joke among our friends).
So you can imagine how I was feeling this week, with Miles trying to recuperate from an appendectomy and swine flu at the same time, lying in his hospital bed pale and feverish and still, not wanting to eat or drink, not wanting to talk or watch TV or even respond to us. I spent the whole time talking myself down, trying to trust that he would be well. And he is.
He is well. He is bouncing off the furniture, climbing the walls, shrieking and laughing and running around. You've never even know he'd been sick, except around the edges. That raggedy cough, a low grade fever that hasn't gone away just yet, the quickness to anger, the quickness to tears, the length and restlessness of sleep-times.
And so, last night, when my Mom and Aunt were talking about all the phone calls between the extended family, and how worried everyone was, when I asked "Why was Grandma crying?" they were shocked. As though I didn't understand how dangerous this all was, how close we'd been to Miles slipping away from us. And I couldn't correct them. I couldn't bear to just say that I have lived four years with the constant fear of him slipping away, and I am so used to constantly telling myself I am being silly, he is fine, HE IS FINE, that the knowledge that other people, rational, reasonable, intelligent people were as worried as I was more than I could deal with.
But he is fine. He is funny and sweet and energetic and you wouldn't know he'd been so sick. And I feel no choice but to keep on reminding myself of how fine he is.
He is not slipping away anywhere. He is jumping off the couch over a giant pile of cushions and onto the coffee table. He is running away and laughing, and I am so grateful. Running away laughing is as good as in my arms. He's definitely not slipping anywhere.
Miles, you know, is 3 years and 9 months old, full of fire burning bright, the one who jumps headfirst into every experience, and pulls all the rest of us along with him. He is so funny and sincere and beautiful that he gets by with a lot that a more serious, less antic-filled kid wouldn't be able to get away with. Of all my boys he's the one always in the center of the action, making everyone laugh, causing trouble, and smoothing things over with his incredible sweetness and generosity. He is healthy and strong, positively glowing with youthful health and rosy cheeks, sparkling blue eyes and cheerful laugh. Glowing, I tell you.
But Miles is the one I always secretly worry about. Always. I imagine it's because of the worry of my pregnancy with him (preterm labor and 4 solid months of bedrest) and how sick I was after he was born, at least that's what I tell myself. The other boys, though of course I worry, I feel more confident about, healthwise. Miles is the one I am sort of irrational about, the one I really have to talk myself down about. Every bruise might be a sign of some awful thing, leukemia or a clotting disorder. Every cough whispers pneumonia. I know it's crazy. I talk myself out of it all the time, or else we'd be in the emergency room more often than we already are (and Lord knows we're there for legitimate reasons often enough that it's a joke among our friends).
So you can imagine how I was feeling this week, with Miles trying to recuperate from an appendectomy and swine flu at the same time, lying in his hospital bed pale and feverish and still, not wanting to eat or drink, not wanting to talk or watch TV or even respond to us. I spent the whole time talking myself down, trying to trust that he would be well. And he is.
He is well. He is bouncing off the furniture, climbing the walls, shrieking and laughing and running around. You've never even know he'd been sick, except around the edges. That raggedy cough, a low grade fever that hasn't gone away just yet, the quickness to anger, the quickness to tears, the length and restlessness of sleep-times.
And so, last night, when my Mom and Aunt were talking about all the phone calls between the extended family, and how worried everyone was, when I asked "Why was Grandma crying?" they were shocked. As though I didn't understand how dangerous this all was, how close we'd been to Miles slipping away from us. And I couldn't correct them. I couldn't bear to just say that I have lived four years with the constant fear of him slipping away, and I am so used to constantly telling myself I am being silly, he is fine, HE IS FINE, that the knowledge that other people, rational, reasonable, intelligent people were as worried as I was more than I could deal with.
But he is fine. He is funny and sweet and energetic and you wouldn't know he'd been so sick. And I feel no choice but to keep on reminding myself of how fine he is.
He is not slipping away anywhere. He is jumping off the couch over a giant pile of cushions and onto the coffee table. He is running away and laughing, and I am so grateful. Running away laughing is as good as in my arms. He's definitely not slipping anywhere.
Wednesday, November 18, 2009
... and holding... again
Yep. Holding my breath again, just waiting for this week to end.
Thursday Miles developed appendicitis, Friday was spent at the pediatrician's office (first thing in the morning) and the emergency room (the rest of the day). Who knew the health insurance companies require preapproval for CT scans, unless it's an emergency room doc? Yep. So, ER, then surgery. Is anything more heart rending than a three year old being rolled away to the operating room screaming and holding his arms out to you? (If there is, don't tell me, please!) My Mom arrived just after the surgery, and thank goodness- having three adults meant someone could stay with miles, another could stay with Avery and Ansel, and the third could do errands and travel back and forth.
Saturday started with Miles spiking a fever and developing a cough, and getting sicker and sicker. Guess what? Swine flu, that's what. And we all got it.
The pediatrician at the hospital prescribed Tamiflu for us all, which definitely seems to help shorten and lighten the impact. But it wasn't the nicest way to learn that we have an entirely separate $600 deductible for name brand prescriptions, and that for the four of us (plus the last three days dosage for Miles) would cost us $412. Cash.
Some dear friends turned their house over to us and the convenience of having a crash pad directly across the street from the hospital was a blessing. Especially since the hospital has a ban on visitors under 14, which meant that the nursing baby couldn't come in to the hospital, and I had to leave Miles' bedside to take care of the other boys.
Back at home Miles has asserted his anger at the pace of his recovery in many dramatic and awful ways, shouting and throwing and generally acting out. Including kicking the computer off the couch and killing it. We just got word from the shop. Dead. With the whole entire year's worth of school lesson plans painstakingly written out but not backed up. When will I remember to do that?
I won't even mention the pipe under the sink bursting and making a big mess everywhere.
Or the baby's ear infection.
Anyway, I'm glad I took that good long breath last week. I needed it more than I knew.
This week seems to be all about holding it again. Holding and hoping.... please, God, let nothing else go wrong, at least not this week....
Thursday Miles developed appendicitis, Friday was spent at the pediatrician's office (first thing in the morning) and the emergency room (the rest of the day). Who knew the health insurance companies require preapproval for CT scans, unless it's an emergency room doc? Yep. So, ER, then surgery. Is anything more heart rending than a three year old being rolled away to the operating room screaming and holding his arms out to you? (If there is, don't tell me, please!) My Mom arrived just after the surgery, and thank goodness- having three adults meant someone could stay with miles, another could stay with Avery and Ansel, and the third could do errands and travel back and forth.
Saturday started with Miles spiking a fever and developing a cough, and getting sicker and sicker. Guess what? Swine flu, that's what. And we all got it.
The pediatrician at the hospital prescribed Tamiflu for us all, which definitely seems to help shorten and lighten the impact. But it wasn't the nicest way to learn that we have an entirely separate $600 deductible for name brand prescriptions, and that for the four of us (plus the last three days dosage for Miles) would cost us $412. Cash.
Some dear friends turned their house over to us and the convenience of having a crash pad directly across the street from the hospital was a blessing. Especially since the hospital has a ban on visitors under 14, which meant that the nursing baby couldn't come in to the hospital, and I had to leave Miles' bedside to take care of the other boys.
Back at home Miles has asserted his anger at the pace of his recovery in many dramatic and awful ways, shouting and throwing and generally acting out. Including kicking the computer off the couch and killing it. We just got word from the shop. Dead. With the whole entire year's worth of school lesson plans painstakingly written out but not backed up. When will I remember to do that?
I won't even mention the pipe under the sink bursting and making a big mess everywhere.
Or the baby's ear infection.
Anyway, I'm glad I took that good long breath last week. I needed it more than I knew.
This week seems to be all about holding it again. Holding and hoping.... please, God, let nothing else go wrong, at least not this week....
Wednesday, September 23, 2009
Capturing the Sun: Marigold Salve
In the spirit of using the harvest, enjoying the last summer sunshine, making do and making at home, Miles and I created a little homemade marigold salve.
He went out and picked marigolds himself, and washed them, took the petals off, and put the stems and heads in the compost, all by himself. I wanted to use beeswax, and almond oil, but we were out, so we raided the cupboards and came up with nearly a pint: unpetroleum, shea butter, coconut oil, Weleda baby oil, honey. Miles dumped all this stuff in a pan.
Next in the saucepan: all those lovely, sunshiney marigold petals. Miles picked, washed, and plucked petals himself.
We brought our concoction to a boil, then simmered for half an hour. Marigold and honey scent filled the house.
Then we strained the mixture into a jar, and let it cool. It is a lovely orangey-golden color, smelling flowery and a little bit sweet. The salve itself is soft-ish and melts right in to Miles' eczema-raw arms. Oh! How he hates having lotion rubbed into his skin! This is just perfect for after baths, and Miles is certain it is full of goodness, sunshine, "strongness" and bravery, perfect for Michaelmas coming up, the waning of the sun's season, and all of the things little boys need extra courage to face. "It's like a sunshine hug!"
This was my first attempt at making salve, and it was super easy. I'm thinking, of course, of all the variations to try: maybe something with all that mint outside, what about the lemonbalm, the echinacea? I have comfrey, too! Rosemary? Lavender?Saturday, September 5, 2009
New Friends and Old
Miles describing his new friend "She's nice. She's a good burper. A REALLY good burper!" and his old friend "She's my best girl. Best in the world!".
Just take a moment of grace for you friends, old and new, and appreciate their many talents, would you? Even burping.
Just take a moment of grace for you friends, old and new, and appreciate their many talents, would you? Even burping.
Tuesday, August 11, 2009
Walk and Talk, Mama
I always forget to post all the silly, sweet things my kids say. The things I really do want to remember. Well, no more!
Today at the Y, waiting for Avery's swimming lesson to finish, Miles asked for a carrot, took a bite, looked up at me and said "Let's walk and talk, Mama." So, of course we did, back and forth in the hall, munching carrots. "So how are you feeling? How was your day today?" He asked me.
Little man!
Today at the Y, waiting for Avery's swimming lesson to finish, Miles asked for a carrot, took a bite, looked up at me and said "Let's walk and talk, Mama." So, of course we did, back and forth in the hall, munching carrots. "So how are you feeling? How was your day today?" He asked me.
Little man!
Thursday, August 6, 2009
My Summer Boys
You probably wouldn't believe me if I told you how many hours we spend "driving" old tractors and trucks and forklifts and excavators. With permission, of course. For some reason that eludes me, this is an endlessly fascinating activity. Well, it's free, and plentiful, around here, what with all the farms and such.
Avery doing the concrete work for his play structure, at the beginning of the summer.
Amazing how gorgeous babies are, huh? It's a good talent, they have!
Miles, in a petulant pose. Or maybe it's more like a Save the Children pose or something.
Miles loves holding his baby. He is torn, always going back and forth between wanting to be a big boy like Avery and a baby like Ansel. It's a hard decision- Avery gets to use electric tools, and ride his bike in the street alone, Ansel gets to nurse and be held whenever he wants.
Miles at the Sprinkler Park- a favorite place this summer.
Baby cuteness!
A pretty typical sort of pose lately- Avery playing it cool, Miles hamming it up, front and center.
More ham!
Miles found a tree he could climb on by himself. A great day!
Next summer he'll be running around, following his brothers, getting into trouble. This summer he's still mine, and he still stays pretty much where I put him. And he's still entertained by looking up and talking to the leaves and clouds and breeze. 
Beaver masks. They wear them all the time. Thank you Artsvan!
Miles at swimming lessons. 
Avery's play structure, almost, almost, this close to done! Good work, eh?Sunday, July 26, 2009
Snow Cones!
We capped off a great weekend in Seattle with a visit to Greenlake, a good hour at the playground and snow cones- the boys' first!
Ansel did not get one, however he is very interested in food, and watches with eagle eyes whenever there is eating or drinking happening. Snow cones involve both!Wednesday, July 22, 2009
Eating The Rainbow (Miles style)
Miles, our candy-crazed sugar-fiend, made a picnic for us, following all of the advice about food groups and "eating the rainbow". Perhaps not quite what the people at Today I Ate A Rainbow had in mind, but hey, color sorting is educational, right? Doesn't that make up for the complete lack of nutritional value and toxic levels of artificial colors and flavors represented by this rainbow? No, you say? Really?Well... don't you at least like my metal TV-tray plates as much as I do?
Monday, July 6, 2009
Nature Study 1
We started our new Nature Study program today. We're using Anna Botsford Comstock's The Handbook of Nature Study, and the guidance and some of the ideas from The One Hour Challenges at this website, plus our regular nature science stories, like these, and these, as well as made up ones and Native American stories.
Avery's drawing of a Clover flower. It doesn't show up well in the picture, but in his book it is sweet. Diminutive, but isn't clover, really?
We had a picnic under this tree. What a great way to start a nature study outing!
One of the original old apple trees still growing and producing on the Mission grounds.
I think this is the seedpod of an American Sycamore tree. There are several at the Mission, providing beauty and shade to the park grounds.
Wasp nest under the slide ramp. The boys watched closely for some time.
Miles' nature book drawing. He finished pretty quickly then spent some time moving piles of dirt around and poking them with his apple wood stick.
My page. We were sitting directly under one of those ancient apple trees, so it seemed natural to draw that. Ummm... not that I'm a fabulous artist or anything, but it's fun to all sit and draw together. And we were using these cool Lyra Aquacolor crayons, which draw nicely like rich, soft crayons, then magically turn into a watercolor painting when you brush with water!
Avery's drawing of a Clover flower. It doesn't show up well in the picture, but in his book it is sweet. Diminutive, but isn't clover, really?
We had a picnic under this tree. What a great way to start a nature study outing!
One of the original old apple trees still growing and producing on the Mission grounds. 
I think this is the seedpod of an American Sycamore tree. There are several at the Mission, providing beauty and shade to the park grounds.
Wasp nest under the slide ramp. The boys watched closely for some time.
Miles' nature book drawing. He finished pretty quickly then spent some time moving piles of dirt around and poking them with his apple wood stick.
My page. We were sitting directly under one of those ancient apple trees, so it seemed natural to draw that. Ummm... not that I'm a fabulous artist or anything, but it's fun to all sit and draw together. And we were using these cool Lyra Aquacolor crayons, which draw nicely like rich, soft crayons, then magically turn into a watercolor painting when you brush with water!
Our two topics for further study are wasps and cottonwoods. We'll spend a bit of time this week finding out about those things.
Sunday, July 5, 2009
The Fifth of July
The day after is starting out quietly. Homemade granola, fresh picked raspberries. The Sunday paper. First load of cherries out of the dehydrator and the second load in. Wimbledon and skittles with Papa. Later the Farmer's Market, grocery shopping, setting grains to soak for bread tomorrow. Making cherry jam. The 80 pounds of pesticide-free Johnson's Orchards Bings and Rainiers we picked Friday sure went fast! Laundry. Yogurt making. Yard mowing and weeding.
Attack!
Finished!
Can I use my hands now?
The Day: The Fourth of July was sparkly, hot, silly, fun! A perfect birthday!
Cherry Festival at the Fruit Place: pit spitting contest (45 ft!), cherry pie eating, cherry tasting, hay ride, tractor sitting (why oh why is sitting on a tractor so amusing for little boys?)
Attack!
Finished!
Can I use my hands now?Going to the reservation to buy firecrackers: a big pack of sparklers and a few Roman Candles to save for some wintry, snowy, safer night (Why oh why do boys love fire and explosions so? And why oh why do grown men revert to absolute boy-hood around the Fourth, so that Moms have to turn nervous and shrill and ruin all the fun? Why?)
Supper with friends: So relaxing and nice. Amazing to watch all the kids, usually asleep by 8 (or earlier) stay up, and up, and up! Barbecue beef, delicious German potato salad, coleslaw, corn on the cob (Miles ate three!). Moms talked and took care of babies, Dads and older kids watched and sang along with the Schoolhouse Rock songs about America. Miles woke up this morning singing the Preamble to the Constitution. Papa might have gotten a little misty singing along to "The Great American Melting Pot". It's possible. Three year olds running in and out, up and down, riding trikes and spring horses, eating watermelon and cherries. Thrilling, scary, exciting, beautiful sparklers. So, so good. Happy Independence Day!
Fireworks: Much debate, a final decision. With lots of bug spray, plates of raspberry shortbread bars, we'll brave the mosquitoes, the crowds, the late hour, and make our way to the Arboretum to watch the fireworks. It was great! The little ones who'd never seen fireworks were entranced, heartbroken when it was over. Baby Ansel, dressed head to toe and covered in a wrap on my chest was unmolested by mosquitoes (though I was prepared to retreat to the car if necessary). The rest of us were under attack (though Papa and the boys not so much as me, luckily). It really is unheard of in this area- it's awful. And yet, no one wanted to leave. The excitement of fireworks was worth it, and the pure joy of watching little faces so entranced, so amazed, was pretty great. Even if my arms, shoulders, back, legs, feet are swollen and itchy and hurting today. It was a great day, yesterday, the Fourth of July!
Tuesday, June 30, 2009
Neglectful Parent, Happy child
Today, at home:
The three year old gathered nails of various sizes, a hammer, a screwdriver and screws, safety goggles, and asked if he could do some "banging and working, like a factory man" on our friend Andy's amplifier. Uh... NO! (but I'll help you in a moment, find something you can hammer). Not wanting to wait for me to get off the phone he went outside, found some scrap wood, and set up a little work bench in the shady corner of the deck. Bang, bang, bang, and away he goes.
This morning, at the park:
The nine year old really wanted to check out the free kid's art van project being hosted by the local arts' center, but he was worried about going halfway across this little park by himself, being that far away from me. It's nice to have kids that know to stay close, not to just wander off. I can't chase in three directions at once. But he is NINE. And the art tables were in sight of the play structure where the little kids were playing. It was SAFE!
Yesterday, at Fred Meyer:
I let the nine year old take the three year old into the men's restroom at the grocery store, without a supervising adult. I stood guard right outside, with the baby. Men and boys came and went, and my two were still inside, spending a long time carefully washing their hands, taking turns with the air dryer and tearing off paper towels. Things I always rush them through. Things they like to do. I could hear their voices, happy and good. A man and his little son went in, and I heard my little boy's cheerful voice chattering away. My boys came out, the nine year old proud I had let him go, and hadn't made him come to the women's room with me (as is usual), the three year old excited that he'd had "a nice talking" with a grown up Daddy in there. Hmm.
Yesterday, at home:
The nine year old made lunch for everyone (as he does at least a couple times a week). He chose mac and cheese- from the box with the bunny on it- and cut cucumbers, and strawberries. This is a non-event, almost, he is so used to the routine of cooking, so careful about the stove and knives and boiling hot water and steam.
I think it is interesting that the older boy is, while hardly timid by nature, clearly worried about "stranger danger" and safety rules, and has always been so, while the younger one is more worried about the possibility of not being allowed to do everything his much older brother is, and finds rules a detail not worth piffling with. Partly this is personality, partly birth order and spacing, I think, partly my emphasis on making the world safe enough for my first born and the fact that I've spent the second child's life just trying to catch him as he falls from cliffs I didn't even know existed before he figured out how to fall off of them!
I am conflicted. I want to raise adults who are fearless and bold, who will follow their hearts and change the world, who will speak their minds and know themselves to be true. I want them to grow strong and free in the light that surrounds them now, so that they can take their place in the world still bathed in the light of God and Love. But I worry- is my concern that I do everything possible to ensure that they REACH adulthood compromising the quality, not just of their childhoods, but of their adult hoods?
The three year old gathered nails of various sizes, a hammer, a screwdriver and screws, safety goggles, and asked if he could do some "banging and working, like a factory man" on our friend Andy's amplifier. Uh... NO! (but I'll help you in a moment, find something you can hammer). Not wanting to wait for me to get off the phone he went outside, found some scrap wood, and set up a little work bench in the shady corner of the deck. Bang, bang, bang, and away he goes.
This morning, at the park:
The nine year old really wanted to check out the free kid's art van project being hosted by the local arts' center, but he was worried about going halfway across this little park by himself, being that far away from me. It's nice to have kids that know to stay close, not to just wander off. I can't chase in three directions at once. But he is NINE. And the art tables were in sight of the play structure where the little kids were playing. It was SAFE!
Yesterday, at Fred Meyer:
I let the nine year old take the three year old into the men's restroom at the grocery store, without a supervising adult. I stood guard right outside, with the baby. Men and boys came and went, and my two were still inside, spending a long time carefully washing their hands, taking turns with the air dryer and tearing off paper towels. Things I always rush them through. Things they like to do. I could hear their voices, happy and good. A man and his little son went in, and I heard my little boy's cheerful voice chattering away. My boys came out, the nine year old proud I had let him go, and hadn't made him come to the women's room with me (as is usual), the three year old excited that he'd had "a nice talking" with a grown up Daddy in there. Hmm.
Yesterday, at home:
The nine year old made lunch for everyone (as he does at least a couple times a week). He chose mac and cheese- from the box with the bunny on it- and cut cucumbers, and strawberries. This is a non-event, almost, he is so used to the routine of cooking, so careful about the stove and knives and boiling hot water and steam.
I think it is interesting that the older boy is, while hardly timid by nature, clearly worried about "stranger danger" and safety rules, and has always been so, while the younger one is more worried about the possibility of not being allowed to do everything his much older brother is, and finds rules a detail not worth piffling with. Partly this is personality, partly birth order and spacing, I think, partly my emphasis on making the world safe enough for my first born and the fact that I've spent the second child's life just trying to catch him as he falls from cliffs I didn't even know existed before he figured out how to fall off of them!
I am conflicted. I want to raise adults who are fearless and bold, who will follow their hearts and change the world, who will speak their minds and know themselves to be true. I want them to grow strong and free in the light that surrounds them now, so that they can take their place in the world still bathed in the light of God and Love. But I worry- is my concern that I do everything possible to ensure that they REACH adulthood compromising the quality, not just of their childhoods, but of their adult hoods?
Sunday, June 28, 2009
Our Weekend, A-L (no, not Z- it wasn't THAT busy!)
We took a little trip over the mountains to Seattle. I guess its been raining over there quite a bit- everywhere we went people kept asking if we were enjoying the sunshine. That's just not a question people ask each other over
here. It would be like asking random strangers if they were enjoying being alive or breathing air. Because the air is nearly always sunny here. And enjoyable.
In fact one of my favorite things about going to the west side of the state is the greater chance that my kids will get to actually use their raincoats and rain boots. Well, they do use their rain gear- rubber boots are awesome for little boys (no straps, no laces!), and Avery wears his raincoat as a costume for his Evil Scientist persona. But, you know, they've actually had rain gear that has NEVER been used to keep water off of their bodies.
But no, it didn't rain.
They didn't wear their rain gear.
Here's what did happen, though:
A) I thought of an awesome photo project- pictures of people driving or riding in cars! Except I'm not sure how you'd do it. Pictures I take from cars always look like they were taken from behind a pane of smeary moving glass. But maybe, if I put the thought out there, maybe somebody else will do this project, and I will buy the book and be really happy.
B) We rediscovered why Newman's Own Ginger O's are the perfect road trip cookie. I can't explain it, they just are. Try it for your self sometime.
C) We went straight to our favorite U-Pick strawberry field:Dues Berry Farm north of Everett. They were flooded this winter and thought they'd lost all the berries, but to their surprise strawberries are there. The great thing is, they don't use pesticides or anything, and the strawberries were only $1 a pound. The bummer is, they weren't expecting berries, so they didn't weed or anything, and we picked pretty hard among thistles and something else, something allergy-inducing to get 18 pounds of tiny berries, which just isn't that much. And really expensive when you take into consideration the $35 in gas to get there.... Anyway, we still love the farm, and next year is their 100th year! so we're happy about that. And the strawberries are awesomely delicious. Even if I was sneezing so much the rest of the evening that I got a nosebleed, which hasn't happened in forever.
D) We went out to eat at a Mexican restaurant, which we'd vowed never to do over there, given how many delicious, authentic Mexican restaurants there are here, and how few delicious restaurants of any other kind there are here. Except Rusillos, and a few others... not that we eat out very often anyway. Three kids, no money... easier, cheaper, and usually more delicious to stay home. But this restaurant, El Rey, in Lake Stevens is very yummy and authentic.
E) Rented Bolt on DVD. Because even though my parents finally have digital cable, there's still nothing on. Bolt was cute. A little scary, but cute. About an hour too long for Miles, though.
F) Ansel rolled over. Again, and again and again. And started scooting forward. Directly to the edge of wherever he was (bed, lounge pad, other bed, rug). No, baby, no! Don't grow so fast!
G) I thought of another book to write. I'll call it Neglectful Parent, Happy Child.* Don't you just want to buy it already? (I have a theory about self-help books- I think sometimes people are just looking for the easy way out, they're hoping to spend $20 to have an "expert" tell them that what they're doing is fine, or that doing nothing but watching TV and being self-absorbed is great. And, you know, I could cash in on some of that crazy, lazy stuff.)
No, really, I had the idea for this book because of the raspberries- I didn't even cut out the old canes last fall, and this year there are SO MANY raspberries they're coming out our ears. I dashed out to pick a bowl full before we left for Seattle, and an hour later everyone else came out, and we ALL picked for another half an hour. At least. And Avery is happy to do grown up things by himself- make lunch, mow the lawn, start a load of laundry, fix the doorknob, Miles happily plays with his little cars or tree house toys for hours, without me, and makes up little songs to sing, and Ansel finally rolled over all by himself when I was not even in the room. You see? A little neglect is, apparently, good for children. And raspberries. Believe me, I'm an expert. * I guess there are some people who already live this, without my telling them how. Can you imagine? Parenting without an expert opinion like mine?! Well, they call it raising Free Range Kids, and their trust in their own children and the universe at large is lovely. Not so much where I can let myself go, at least not all the way, but nice. Trusting. And at least it adds some perspective to the decisions we make all the time as parents: when can my child go to the public restroom by himself, walk to a friend's house, go to the library alone? Check it out. Tell me what you think. Where do you draw those lines, and when do you redraw them?
H) We went on another letterboxing adventure, in these cool old woods, and spent quite a bit of time tromping around, finding the THREE! stamps that made a picture. It was fun. Muddy and woodsy and all things good. Except for the nettles. And something scared or hurt the baby, who screamed and screamed and screamed and cried and cried and cried. He who NEVER does that, hardly ever really fusses about anything. Poor little one. He seems fine now, though, so hopefully nothing permanent!
I) More berry picking, at Biringer Farms this time. 54 pounds total. They were having a little strawberry festival. The boys played with Grandma while we picked. Played, watched a church group puppet show and ate pulled pork sandwiches and somehow got orange and strawberry soda-colored mustaches. I don't know how....
J) REI. One of our favorite stores. Avery is in awe of the climbing mountain they have, and is already begging to go back so he can climb. Instead the boys got new Keens (on sale! these ones, matching! the last pairs in their sizes!!), checked out all of the tents, over and over again, tried all the water filters, tried out their new shoes (and their old ones, too, just to see) on the hiking boot test-trail thingy in the middle of the shoe department. And we got a new buckle for the baby back-pack. Which Ansel will be able to go in pretty soon, I guess. Weird, him getting so big and growing up so much. I'm starting to feel nostalgic for his baby days, and he's still only 4 months old. What does that mean?
K) Home. The boys all slept over the mountains and across the desert. They woke up as we were pulling into town. Hours after we'd PLANNED to be home. Granola and strawberries for supper, at 9 o'clock.
L) And I should be thinking other less productive thoughts, but I can't wait for May to come around again (May seems to be my fertile month, as evidenced by the boys all being born within a two week span in late winter....)
here. It would be like asking random strangers if they were enjoying being alive or breathing air. Because the air is nearly always sunny here. And enjoyable.In fact one of my favorite things about going to the west side of the state is the greater chance that my kids will get to actually use their raincoats and rain boots. Well, they do use their rain gear- rubber boots are awesome for little boys (no straps, no laces!), and Avery wears his raincoat as a costume for his Evil Scientist persona. But, you know, they've actually had rain gear that has NEVER been used to keep water off of their bodies.
But no, it didn't rain.
They didn't wear their rain gear.
Here's what did happen, though:
A) I thought of an awesome photo project- pictures of people driving or riding in cars! Except I'm not sure how you'd do it. Pictures I take from cars always look like they were taken from behind a pane of smeary moving glass. But maybe, if I put the thought out there, maybe somebody else will do this project, and I will buy the book and be really happy.
B) We rediscovered why Newman's Own Ginger O's are the perfect road trip cookie. I can't explain it, they just are. Try it for your self sometime.
C) We went straight to our favorite U-Pick strawberry field:Dues Berry Farm north of Everett. They were flooded this winter and thought they'd lost all the berries, but to their surprise strawberries are there. The great thing is, they don't use pesticides or anything, and the strawberries were only $1 a pound. The bummer is, they weren't expecting berries, so they didn't weed or anything, and we picked pretty hard among thistles and something else, something allergy-inducing to get 18 pounds of tiny berries, which just isn't that much. And really expensive when you take into consideration the $35 in gas to get there.... Anyway, we still love the farm, and next year is their 100th year! so we're happy about that. And the strawberries are awesomely delicious. Even if I was sneezing so much the rest of the evening that I got a nosebleed, which hasn't happened in forever.
D) We went out to eat at a Mexican restaurant, which we'd vowed never to do over there, given how many delicious, authentic Mexican restaurants there are here, and how few delicious restaurants of any other kind there are here. Except Rusillos, and a few others... not that we eat out very often anyway. Three kids, no money... easier, cheaper, and usually more delicious to stay home. But this restaurant, El Rey, in Lake Stevens is very yummy and authentic.
E) Rented Bolt on DVD. Because even though my parents finally have digital cable, there's still nothing on. Bolt was cute. A little scary, but cute. About an hour too long for Miles, though.
F) Ansel rolled over. Again, and again and again. And started scooting forward. Directly to the edge of wherever he was (bed, lounge pad, other bed, rug). No, baby, no! Don't grow so fast!
G) I thought of another book to write. I'll call it Neglectful Parent, Happy Child.* Don't you just want to buy it already? (I have a theory about self-help books- I think sometimes people are just looking for the easy way out, they're hoping to spend $20 to have an "expert" tell them that what they're doing is fine, or that doing nothing but watching TV and being self-absorbed is great. And, you know, I could cash in on some of that crazy, lazy stuff.)
No, really, I had the idea for this book because of the raspberries- I didn't even cut out the old canes last fall, and this year there are SO MANY raspberries they're coming out our ears. I dashed out to pick a bowl full before we left for Seattle, and an hour later everyone else came out, and we ALL picked for another half an hour. At least. And Avery is happy to do grown up things by himself- make lunch, mow the lawn, start a load of laundry, fix the doorknob, Miles happily plays with his little cars or tree house toys for hours, without me, and makes up little songs to sing, and Ansel finally rolled over all by himself when I was not even in the room. You see? A little neglect is, apparently, good for children. And raspberries. Believe me, I'm an expert. * I guess there are some people who already live this, without my telling them how. Can you imagine? Parenting without an expert opinion like mine?! Well, they call it raising Free Range Kids, and their trust in their own children and the universe at large is lovely. Not so much where I can let myself go, at least not all the way, but nice. Trusting. And at least it adds some perspective to the decisions we make all the time as parents: when can my child go to the public restroom by himself, walk to a friend's house, go to the library alone? Check it out. Tell me what you think. Where do you draw those lines, and when do you redraw them?
H) We went on another letterboxing adventure, in these cool old woods, and spent quite a bit of time tromping around, finding the THREE! stamps that made a picture. It was fun. Muddy and woodsy and all things good. Except for the nettles. And something scared or hurt the baby, who screamed and screamed and screamed and cried and cried and cried. He who NEVER does that, hardly ever really fusses about anything. Poor little one. He seems fine now, though, so hopefully nothing permanent!
I) More berry picking, at Biringer Farms this time. 54 pounds total. They were having a little strawberry festival. The boys played with Grandma while we picked. Played, watched a church group puppet show and ate pulled pork sandwiches and somehow got orange and strawberry soda-colored mustaches. I don't know how....
J) REI. One of our favorite stores. Avery is in awe of the climbing mountain they have, and is already begging to go back so he can climb. Instead the boys got new Keens (on sale! these ones, matching! the last pairs in their sizes!!), checked out all of the tents, over and over again, tried all the water filters, tried out their new shoes (and their old ones, too, just to see) on the hiking boot test-trail thingy in the middle of the shoe department. And we got a new buckle for the baby back-pack. Which Ansel will be able to go in pretty soon, I guess. Weird, him getting so big and growing up so much. I'm starting to feel nostalgic for his baby days, and he's still only 4 months old. What does that mean?
K) Home. The boys all slept over the mountains and across the desert. They woke up as we were pulling into town. Hours after we'd PLANNED to be home. Granola and strawberries for supper, at 9 o'clock.
L) And I should be thinking other less productive thoughts, but I can't wait for May to come around again (May seems to be my fertile month, as evidenced by the boys all being born within a two week span in late winter....)
Tuesday, June 23, 2009
How To:: Remove Gum From Hair
When your 3 year old drops his gum on the baby's head and tries to pick it but somehow smashes it in a little more, then tries to rub it off... what do you do?
In all of the years I've been a parent I've only once had to deal with this- and I just chopped a little bit of hair off- the boy had just given himself a lovely little haircut so I figured another chunk missing wouldn't really be noticeable. But the baby?! He hardly has any hair as it is! I wouldn't be able to cut it if I wanted to, it's so short. After a few moments of panic, a few attempts to tease it off his head, a few exasperated sighs and one under the breath "Oh, Miles, what next?"I found the solution.
Oil, it turns out, is the key.
I poured a little bit of the Weleda Calendula Baby Oil that I love so much on his head, let it sit a few seconds, then gently brushed the gum out with an old toothbrush. Good as new.
I think any oil would work- olive oil, canola, the usual kitchen staples. But almond oil with calendula and chamomile makes removing gum from your baby's head seem luxurious, almost spa-like. Guaranteed.
edited to say: And the next day, when you put the baby back down in the exact same bouncy chair without remembering it's still got gum all over it, and then later you pick up the baby and he smells curiously minty and his poor head is curiously gum-covered once again, know that a washcloth with a little oil poured on it, and rubbed gently over the baby's head will remove the gum with far less mess than pouring oil on his head and using a toothbrush. Really. But please, just clean the chair, right? We don't want to this every day, do we?
In all of the years I've been a parent I've only once had to deal with this- and I just chopped a little bit of hair off- the boy had just given himself a lovely little haircut so I figured another chunk missing wouldn't really be noticeable. But the baby?! He hardly has any hair as it is! I wouldn't be able to cut it if I wanted to, it's so short. After a few moments of panic, a few attempts to tease it off his head, a few exasperated sighs and one under the breath "Oh, Miles, what next?"I found the solution.
Oil, it turns out, is the key.
I poured a little bit of the Weleda Calendula Baby Oil that I love so much on his head, let it sit a few seconds, then gently brushed the gum out with an old toothbrush. Good as new.
I think any oil would work- olive oil, canola, the usual kitchen staples. But almond oil with calendula and chamomile makes removing gum from your baby's head seem luxurious, almost spa-like. Guaranteed.
edited to say: And the next day, when you put the baby back down in the exact same bouncy chair without remembering it's still got gum all over it, and then later you pick up the baby and he smells curiously minty and his poor head is curiously gum-covered once again, know that a washcloth with a little oil poured on it, and rubbed gently over the baby's head will remove the gum with far less mess than pouring oil on his head and using a toothbrush. Really. But please, just clean the chair, right? We don't want to this every day, do we?
Monday, June 22, 2009
Thursday, June 18, 2009
Sleep
Oh my! My friend Lisa Russell just wrote about sleep, and her family's completely joyful lack of a bedtime. I completely admire her seemingly laid back approach to parenting, home schooling, life. She works hard, but keeps a great sense of humor, and is the kind of parent I always wanted to be. But I'm not. That kind of parent. Calm, mellow, quiet, cheerful. And I tried to respond in the comments section, but my comment was turning into an essay, so I decided to be nice and move it over here. Because really, our bedtime is foundational to the happiness and goodness of our family, and I just can't keep it to a handful of words.
When we had just one child he went to sleep whenever he wanted. Which was never. Really. Papa would get home from work when he could, we'd eat supper, read stories, hang out, have a bath, hang out, read more stories, go to bed, talk and talk and talk until eventually we all fell asleep (usually parents first!). Variations of a theme, including working on peace/political campaigns and the only child sleeping under desks, behind signs, and in his play tent in the corner of a campaign office. Somehow or another we ended up with two children (then three) and tried to keep up the same lifestyle, same crazy busy life, same erratic hours, but it just didn't work.
Neither of the boys sleep past 7am unless they're sick, no matter how late they've been up or how tired they are. When Avery was 6 or 7 I got so tired of backtalk I sent him to bed every day for a week at 8 o'clock. And the results were amazing! Suddenly my child had an appetite, his old sweet demeanor, energy to play outside and run around for hours, attention for his schoolwork.* It was really a clear and immediate change. By the end of the week I was convinced that "bedtimers" knew what they were doing, and we happily joined their ranks!
Our family works so much better with a consistent bedtime, because it lends itself to a consistent rhythm to the whole day. Papa knows the boys will be in bed at 8, so he makes a bigger effort to come home for supper by 7. We eat together most of the time, then get ready for bed and he helps them to sleep. It's early enough that he doesn't fall asleep with them too often (or if he does, he wakes up with time still to do computer work or watch a show before he really goes to bed). If he's not home I lead them through the bedtime routine, and they go to sleep on their own. Those nights, when Papa does finally get home, he has a quiet, peaceful house to come home to, to relax in, he can eat supper without being climbed over, we have a chance to talk together without interruption of little people, and we might even watch The Daily Show together! Those weeks when he's working late every day the boys' bedtime is even MORE important to me- it's my only time alone, to think and plan and organize for the next day. The boys don't wake up any earlier with an earlier bedtime, but they are well rested and cheerful in the mornings, ready to jump into the day. If it were only up to me I'd send them to bed at 7, because I think they can use even a little more sleep than what they get now, but I know the possibility of getting Papa home an hour earlier each day is NOT likely, and the children don't get much time with him as it is.
And we do make exceptions. We're not the strictest bedtimers there are. Right now is So You Think You Can Dance season, so we stay up to watch that. We might have a picnic in the park for supper and play late, or have friends over who stay past bedtime, but for the most part bedtime is 8 o'clock, and we can all count on it. I can schedule school time knowing that we'll all be up, ready, and willing to work at 8, which means we can be done with schoolwork by lunch time, we can fit in a morning walk, then play time and activities in the afternoon. I like having a plan for the day, and the kids do too. I also like having the ultimate punishment at my disposal- before we had a "bedtime" I couldn't ever send them to bed early for misbehaviour, and now I can (even if I don't very often). It's nice to have a Hail Mary pass, or Ace in the Hole, or whatever metaphor works best.
Whenever I hear parents talking about not getting enough personal time, getting sick of their kids' bad behaviour, wanting to create a better rhythm for their days, struggling to get everyone going in the mornings, having to wake their kids up, not having time with their spouses, the very first thing I think of is look at BEDTIME**. It's my best advice to struggling parents. Not a particular hour for every family, but a consistent routine and consistent bedtime for each person in each family.
*I know Lisa isn't talking about her kids being sleep deprived, she's letting them more or less choose their own hours, and they get the sleep they need, but I couldn't ever figure out how to keep them from waking early AND staying up late. And her family doesn't need to get up early, where ours does, and her family has to eat awfully late in order to eat together- they're just kind of on a later schedule than a lot of families. They're on restaurant schedule, after all.
**BTW- I am pro-family bed, attachment parenting, all that good stuff. But I have recently realized that attachment parenting doesn't have to mean "attached to Mama 24 hours a day". It can also mean attached to Papa and the big brothers. Attachment Family if you will. Avery puts Miles to bed when Papa isn't home (and they get sweet sleepy bonding time together), Papa puts both big boys to bed when he is home (and gets to share that sleepy end of the day talk and cuddling), instead of me getting everyone to sleep on my own (and then trying to sleep in the mad hot jumble of limbs and dreams and blankets) like before the Bedtime Revolution.
When we had just one child he went to sleep whenever he wanted. Which was never. Really. Papa would get home from work when he could, we'd eat supper, read stories, hang out, have a bath, hang out, read more stories, go to bed, talk and talk and talk until eventually we all fell asleep (usually parents first!). Variations of a theme, including working on peace/political campaigns and the only child sleeping under desks, behind signs, and in his play tent in the corner of a campaign office. Somehow or another we ended up with two children (then three) and tried to keep up the same lifestyle, same crazy busy life, same erratic hours, but it just didn't work.
Neither of the boys sleep past 7am unless they're sick, no matter how late they've been up or how tired they are. When Avery was 6 or 7 I got so tired of backtalk I sent him to bed every day for a week at 8 o'clock. And the results were amazing! Suddenly my child had an appetite, his old sweet demeanor, energy to play outside and run around for hours, attention for his schoolwork.* It was really a clear and immediate change. By the end of the week I was convinced that "bedtimers" knew what they were doing, and we happily joined their ranks!
Our family works so much better with a consistent bedtime, because it lends itself to a consistent rhythm to the whole day. Papa knows the boys will be in bed at 8, so he makes a bigger effort to come home for supper by 7. We eat together most of the time, then get ready for bed and he helps them to sleep. It's early enough that he doesn't fall asleep with them too often (or if he does, he wakes up with time still to do computer work or watch a show before he really goes to bed). If he's not home I lead them through the bedtime routine, and they go to sleep on their own. Those nights, when Papa does finally get home, he has a quiet, peaceful house to come home to, to relax in, he can eat supper without being climbed over, we have a chance to talk together without interruption of little people, and we might even watch The Daily Show together! Those weeks when he's working late every day the boys' bedtime is even MORE important to me- it's my only time alone, to think and plan and organize for the next day. The boys don't wake up any earlier with an earlier bedtime, but they are well rested and cheerful in the mornings, ready to jump into the day. If it were only up to me I'd send them to bed at 7, because I think they can use even a little more sleep than what they get now, but I know the possibility of getting Papa home an hour earlier each day is NOT likely, and the children don't get much time with him as it is.
And we do make exceptions. We're not the strictest bedtimers there are. Right now is So You Think You Can Dance season, so we stay up to watch that. We might have a picnic in the park for supper and play late, or have friends over who stay past bedtime, but for the most part bedtime is 8 o'clock, and we can all count on it. I can schedule school time knowing that we'll all be up, ready, and willing to work at 8, which means we can be done with schoolwork by lunch time, we can fit in a morning walk, then play time and activities in the afternoon. I like having a plan for the day, and the kids do too. I also like having the ultimate punishment at my disposal- before we had a "bedtime" I couldn't ever send them to bed early for misbehaviour, and now I can (even if I don't very often). It's nice to have a Hail Mary pass, or Ace in the Hole, or whatever metaphor works best.
Whenever I hear parents talking about not getting enough personal time, getting sick of their kids' bad behaviour, wanting to create a better rhythm for their days, struggling to get everyone going in the mornings, having to wake their kids up, not having time with their spouses, the very first thing I think of is look at BEDTIME**. It's my best advice to struggling parents. Not a particular hour for every family, but a consistent routine and consistent bedtime for each person in each family.
*I know Lisa isn't talking about her kids being sleep deprived, she's letting them more or less choose their own hours, and they get the sleep they need, but I couldn't ever figure out how to keep them from waking early AND staying up late. And her family doesn't need to get up early, where ours does, and her family has to eat awfully late in order to eat together- they're just kind of on a later schedule than a lot of families. They're on restaurant schedule, after all.
**BTW- I am pro-family bed, attachment parenting, all that good stuff. But I have recently realized that attachment parenting doesn't have to mean "attached to Mama 24 hours a day". It can also mean attached to Papa and the big brothers. Attachment Family if you will. Avery puts Miles to bed when Papa isn't home (and they get sweet sleepy bonding time together), Papa puts both big boys to bed when he is home (and gets to share that sleepy end of the day talk and cuddling), instead of me getting everyone to sleep on my own (and then trying to sleep in the mad hot jumble of limbs and dreams and blankets) like before the Bedtime Revolution.
Wednesday, May 27, 2009
Mr Scissorhands
The newest alter-ego at our house. Mr. Scissorhands. Ummm, well, thank goodness he's just got the canning jar tongs, huh? For some reason Mr. Scissorhands always makes this particular face:
These look like mug shots, funnily. (I really do want to paint the dining room.)
Goodnight Mr. Scissorhands. It's way past bed time. Yep, even alter egos need to go to bed sometimes!
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)