Category Archives: Parenting

Where We Live Now

The house we live in now is where I intend to spend the majority of my life. That’s a strange feeling. After I left my parent’s house I was in a constant state of moving, always thinking of the next place, unsure of what furniture to buy and then not buying any because, who knows, the next place may have a square dining room and I may want a round, not rectangular, table.

Paul and I have looked at hundreds of houses in the Seattle area. Perhaps I’m difficult to please but that’s a story for another post. There was one house that we almost bought. It had a style similar to ours, 1950’s era, modern architecture, with a view of the lake. It was badly in need of a remodel and while we waited for an architect to meet us, I asked the selling agent about the giant front porch swing that was sitting in the middle of the living room. He said the owner, an elderly woman who raised her children there, drove half-an-hour every morning to sit in this chair and stare at the lake. She planned to do this every day until the house sold.

Then the architect came rushing in carrying on about plans to raise the ceiling ten feet and remove the wall that separated the living from the dining. I couldn’t do it. When I looked over the old green carpets, I didn’t see dirt and ick, I saw kids in soccer cleats and muddy dog prints. I didn’t want to paint over this woman’s childrens’ growth charts. I didn’t want to be the one to take this away from her.

We’ve been in our house for nearly three years now and I frequently think about the past owners, especially when I’m working in the yard. That’s where I see their choices, their personalities most clearly. I also think about the future owners. Who will buy this house from us?

I wonder who will comment on the wear patterns in our hardwood floors, the path worn from the stove to the sink to the fridge. Who will frown at and sand out the dog scratches where her toenails raked around the corner of the cabinets frantic to get to her dinner? Who will curse me for the navy blue walls in my bathroom? Whoever it is, I hope they understand that this place, all of it, is my growth chart.

How to Adopt a Baby

1.       Talk to friends and friends of friends about their experiences.

2.       Try not to get lost driving around foreign neighborhoods looking for a community center that will host the Journeys of the Love, Hope, Heart, Blessed-Child’s Dream of the Christ’s Open Adoption agency meeting.

3.       Ask the social workers what programs/countries will let you adopt if you are single, over 40, in a same-sex relationship, and/or a cancer survivor.

4.       Choose the agency that can answer your question.

5.       Get fingerprinted, background checked, dig up the value of your house, find pay stubs, photocopy bank statements, get friends to write references, find your dog’s vaccination records, have the pet store where you purchased your fish sign an affidavit of its health, make a list of every illness you’ve ever had, dig up the name of your third grade teacher who could verify that indeed your favorite color was lavender, make a list of your stuffed animals and their names and how well you took care of each and every one of them, and promise, that if they could talk, they would guarantee that, if given the opportunity, you’d be the bestest mother ever. Click here to read the rest…

Holidays

The cousins arrived.

Santa came to grandma’s house on Christmas Eve. Who do you think was most excited?

He came back that night and filled stockings with band-aids, scotch tape, play-doh.

Then we went to the island.

Now we are here. We wear down vests and mud boots all day. We walk. We sit on the couch and talk about investment portfolios, book contracts and potty training. We dig through the bin of 50 cookie cutters and try to guess the animal for each. It’s surprisingly difficult. Is that a giraffe or a llama? Paul fixed the faucet. I steam cleaned the carpet that Josie smeared with Aquaphor last summer. I’m enjoying a book (Out Stealing Horses) for the first time since I read Cutting for Stone. I read while sitting with my feet close enough to the fire to melt the tread off my slippers.

We promised the girls a trip to the lake after their naps. We took them even though it was almost dark.

Happy New Year everyone!

A Punch in the Face

After Josie was diagnosed with lactose and fructose intolerance I began to wonder how years of consuming lactose-laden foods had affected her behavior, and if her behavior would change with her new diet. Of course, as I thought (fantasized?) about my girl transforming into a quiet easy going child, like other kids I’d heard about but never actually met, I didn’t like the idea one bit. I love that she’s gritty and tough and doesn’t let anyone (including her parents) push her around.

A few weeks into her new diet I’m chatting with the director of her preschool and she tells me about an incident at snack time. Josie’s sitting next to her best friend, we’ll call her Maya. Maya is eighteen months older than Josie, significantly bigger and, um, let’s call her a natural leader (aka: kind of a bully). Maya likes to be in charge and most of the time Josie is so swept up in Maya’s awesome-olderness that she’s happy to follow.

At snack time Maya takes one of Josie’s animal crackers. Now, you don’t mess with Josie’s food. Josie asks for it back. Maya ignores Josie. The teacher tells Maya to give it back. Maya ignores the teacher. Josie stands up and reaches over to her friend’s plate and tries to grab one of her cookies. Maya grabs Josie’s hand and they push and pull and push and pull. Josie’s fingers get squished and she lets go. Josie sits back down but she’s mad. Nothing has worked. The teacher hasn’t been able to fix it. That’s when Josie turns to Maya, pulls her elbow back, and punches Maya in the face.

I guess we don’t have to worry about Josie going all submissive and mellow on us.

When I heard the story I kind of felt like laughing and saying good for her. The director seemed to think it was funny. You have to know how pushy Maya is to really understand. In a way, it’s great to see someone try to keep this girl in check. Josie’s punch may have been one of the strongest messages Maya could have received – from anyone. But then, of course, rational mother steps in and says it’s never okay to hit… Ever. Or is it?

I’m thinking about all this, my brain still whirring, when my friend posts this on his Facebook page.

Parenting survey: your 4 year old daughter comes down from the top of the playground structure, crying her eyes out. She says, through her tears: “Daddy, a boy hit me in the face!!” You give her a hug and then say …. What would you say?

Oh my, the comments he got… Some parents encouraged their children to defend themselves, to hit back when provoked. Others were strongly against hitting under any conditions.

What would you say? Do you encourage your kids defend themselves?

Josie’s Bootcamp

I guess we’re supposed to call it child-centered play. That term is so much more politically correct than child-dominated play. But dominated is so much more appropriate.

The other evening we’re in her bedroom.

She keeps her palms on the floor and kicks up her legs like a donkey. Do dis Mommy!

I do it.

Then she jumps from a squat reaching up toward the ceiling. And do dis Mommy!

I do it.

Then she puts them together – a donkey kick and a squat jump. Do dis den do dis Mommy!

I do it.

Again! Again!

I do it again and again. She stops doing it but insists I continue. I’m wearing my glasses, a wool sweater, and my sheepskin-lined slippers.

She puts her hands on her hips and watches. Every time I try to stop she shrieks Again! Again!

I am SUCH a good mom.

PS – I’ll write about my exciting book-related news when the contracts are signed. Stay tuned!

Accessible

We’re heading in the right direction in our household.

We have more positive interaction, more harmony. We have more good days now – more days of Josie at her best. She’s affectionate, verbal, and expressive. After dinner last night she came over to me and told me she had a secret. She whispered I wuv you in my ear.

Sometimes in the evening we do a little stretching/yoga-business to calm ourselves down after a long day. She copies my moves. She focuses on my complex poses, the placement of my arms and legs.

One recent Sunday morning when Paul was out of town she came into my room early. She patted me on the head very gently and said, “I know you’re tired Mommy, but it’s time to get up. Take your time but you’ll need to get up soon.” She finished it off with a kiss on the cheek.

We can reason with her again. Standard discipline approaches – like Parenting with Love & Logic and the Incredible Years – seem more likely to work. We still have our power struggles but we recover and she’s less likely to spend time screaming. She recovers.

She goes right to sleep an hour earlier than just a few months ago and she sleeps though the night.

The other morning when she was having a power struggle with her dad she walked into the kitchen, arms crossed, head down and said, “Daddy, it makes me feel sad when you talk at me that way.”

We’re just past her birthday and in the time of year when she’s more balanced anyway. It happens every year. Maybe all this positive awesomeness is the usual ebb and flow of child development, maybe it’s the result of a big verbal advancement, or maybe the dietary changes; maybe it’s all due to the fading evening light. Maybe, and most likely, it’s all of these things. It doesn’t matter. I’m just glad it’s here and that we’re connecting again. I know we’ll have hard times again in the future but for now I’m going to try to collect those moments, for all of us, so that when the next phase comes we have some good times in storage.

The Tablet Controversy

She asked him to bring her a cookie for Christmas. I hope he knows it needs to be lactose free.

On October 23rd, the FDA issued a warning to stop using Hyland’s Teething Tablets. The tablets contain belladonna which, when dissolved in a baby’s mouth, is thought to ease teething pain.

The FDA cited these problems with the tablets in their report:

  1. They’ve received reports of belladonna toxicity – symptoms include: seizures, difficulty breathing, lethargy, sleepiness, weakness, skin flushing, constipation, agitation.
  2. They’ve identified manufacturing inconsistencies that result in varying degrees of the substance in the tablets.
  3. They point out that the tablets have not been proven to work.
  4. They’ve received reports of babies consuming too many tablets because there is no child proof cap.

Seattle Mama Doc recommends not using any tablets or gels of any kind because they’re not proven to work.  She recommends baby Tylenol (if anything) for teething pain, but I’m not sure that is the right solution either after their recent recall debacle. I’m not sure I’ll ever look at Johnson & Johnson the same.

On the other side of the debate is Gaia Health who claims that the amount of belladonna is so low that a baby would have to consume thousands of the tablets to show any signs of toxicity and that the FDA’s actions are the result of pressure by big pharmaceuticals. Now, I’m all for a good conspiracy theory, especially one that involves the FDA, but the question I just can’t answer is this: why would big pharma want Hyland’s to be off the market? Are they competing with Hylands or is it just because Hylands is unregulated? Also, if it takes thousands of tablets to show signs of toxicity, is there really enough belladonna in each table to relieve pain?

We used the tablets when Josie was teething with mixed results. Sometimes it seemed like it helped, sometimes not. Josie was kind of a fussy baby and I think many times we incorrectly assumed her fussiness was a result of teething pain. Now we know that was likely lactose intolerance. Hello, bad mommy feeding her cow’s milk formula! Sheesh, the guilt… Anyhoo, it’s a tough call but I think the risks outweigh the benefits.

Have you used them? Did they work? What do you think of all this?

Tunes My Husband Whistles (While Sleeping)

Paul’s been doing a lot of sleep-whistling lately. I wish I wasn’t awake to hear it.

I bring this up with Paul at dinner. Lots of whistling going on over there at night – what’s up?

What’s the tune? He asks. Is it that Chicago song, 25 or 6 to 4? Because it’s been stuck in my head for like two months. I can’t get away from it. I heard it in a store or in the background somewhere and it keeps coming back.

I don’t know what song he’s been whistling. I’d never thought to listen. Even though I’m often painfully awake wondering why my melatonin isn’t working or if I should take more magnesium or break down and take an ambien. Even if I did listen and even if I did manage to identify the song, surely I wouldn’t remember in the morning. I’d write something unintelligible on my notepad about sunrise, chocolate milkshakes and slurpees that made perfect sense to me at the time but would represent some unbreakable code in the morning.

After dinner, I Google 25 or 6 to 4. Did you know Chicago has produced 250 songs? I came across this special treat (below), and discovered that it’s a song about staying up all night trying to write a song. When Paul hears it’s a song about a song, he hates it even more. He doesn’t like songs about rock and roll either. He’s like the opposite of post-modern. Pre-modern?

Anyway, I don’t know if it’s the song Paul’s been whistling or not but that doesn’t matter now. My sleep-deprived brain has made it so.

Maybe tonight I’ll sleep. Or maybe I’ll lie in bed with my finger on the button of my sound recorder. While I wait for the break of day, I’ll think about how poignant it is that the song he whistles is about waiting for the break of day. Maybe if this continues and I keep recording, over the next few years I’ll actually capture whistled versions of the whole Chicago collection. Once I have a handful of songs, I can make a mixed CD of sleep-whistling that I can give to him for our anniversary or his birthday or some other special occasion. He’ll love it. They’ll be like lullabies to him. Then other people will hear about it and I’ll post it online, you’ll be able to download it from this very blog. You’ll have your own copy of his sleep-whistling. We’ll expand to other classic rock bands by making him listen to classic rock right before bed. Hotel California sleep-whistled or maybe Wake Up Little Susie. Then, of course, it will become a massive internet sensation and he’ll be famous and then we’ll have a Twitter feed of his latest night whistles with millions of followers. And the whole world will wait every day for me to update his list of classic rock whistles. The CD will be produced by a big record label. Instead of Muzak, department stores will play Paul’s night-whistles in elevators. We’ll write a book about it. Someone will purchase the rights. OMG who will play me in the movie?!

Or, maybe the insomnia will go away, I’ll start sleeping again and Paul’s whistling will rise up and dissipate into the black sky unheard. Wouldn’t that be nice?

Babies Don’t Talk

Photo by Libby Lewis Photography

We’re taking another parenting class. Soon I will be a real life Wikipedia of child raising theories and strategies. This particular class recommends at least 15 minutes of child-dominated play per day. Seems easy enough but when they say dominated they mean dominated. (Oh, what the search engines will bring me for using that ‘d’ word three times…)

When it’s time to play I sit down with her and do what I am told. I am allowed to narrate her play – Josie’s picking up the red block, Josie’s building a tower, nice tower Josie – like the water-cooler guy on Saturday Night Live. I am not allowed to ask questions or make suggestions. I am purely a follower and Josie looooves it.

Here’s how our playtimes go these days.

Josie: You be the baby

Me: OK

J: Baby, ask me for some popcorn

Me: May I have some popcorn?

J: Babies don’t talk!

Repeat 3x.

The end.

Trust

Back in the spring when it was clear something was wrong in our house, when Josie started behaving like a colicky baby, waking up for two hours every night and screaming for two hours every day, I took her to a new pediatrician. He came highly recommended for complex cases and was considered to be fairly woo-woo. A friend told me he had a naturopathic physician in his office – my dream come true.

At our first appointment, he ordered more blood work, an EEG of the frontal lobe of her brain, and a breath tolerance test. The tests were going to be such a pain and I really didn’t think they were going to find anything. Here was an MD I respected who was taking my thoughts and concerns seriously and making suggestions and all I wanted to do was roll my eyes and say, an EEG, really?

The EEG was awful. It didn’t hurt her but I did have to hold her still for a long time then try to get her to fall asleep. The blood draw was hard to get. It took 3 visits and multiple tries. By the time we were done, Josie was crying, I was crying and I think the phlebotomist was on the verge.

When those tests came back normal, I decided we needed to take a break. The final piece, the breath tolerance test was supposed to take 3 hours and I just didn’t have it in me. A few months had passed when I finally decided to schedule it, not because I thought it would yield illuminating results, but because I wanted to see this doctor again and I didn’t feel like I could go back without following through with his recommendations.

So I started talking to Josie about the test a few days in advance. I explained that we’d go in the morning, that we wouldn’t have any breakfast, that she’d drink a glass of special juice, then breathe into the tube every 30 minutes for 2 and a half hours. They’d be able to tell by her breath if something (lactose) was giving her tummy ache. If she was unable to digest lactose they would find a level of hydrogen in her breath that would reach its peak after two hours – that’s why we had to stay so long.

We arrived the morning of the test, loaded down with bags of her favorites books and toys and a few snacks for when it was all over. We’d had three breath samples, and had been there for about an hour when the tech came out and told us we were done. We could go home.

But… Wait… I mean, we haven’t even touched the DVD’s yet. She’s only just now started rolling on the floor. We still have toys to play with. We’ve been pacing ourselves!

We were done. They sent us home after an hour because she’d already reached the top level, demonstrated the strongest reaction possible. They didn’t even want to see what happened when the level of gas in her tummy peaked at 2.5 hours.

Apparently our girl is totally off-the-charts lactose intolerant. You guys, I almost didn’t have her take the test because it was a hassle and because I didn’t think it was the real problem.

This is something I’ve had a problem with in the past. There are so many tests I wish I’d had. The things I could have learned – that I had endometriosis, that I was allergic to gluten, that I was B12 deficient. I should have let the doctors do their jobs. Here’s what I’m learning: when looking for the cause you’re bound to run into some dead ends, but you’ve got to go down those roads to see where they lead anyway because eventually, one of them may actually lead to a castle or a princess or a pony in a field, and I’ve always wanted a pony in a field.