Having a dog . . .

is nothing like have a baby.  Nothing.  I'm just saying.

An Event

This weekend we had our children baptized.  The ceremony was for all three of them, which made it both chaotic and incredibly special.  I'm still trying to process everything associated with the baptism, including our decision to do it as well as my reaction to it.  I think I'll be writing about this again.  For now I want to say that I am generally fairly ambivalent about religious ceremonies.  For reasons I don't completely understand I was deeply touched by this ceremony, both by the number of friends and family who attended the ceremony and by the reaction of our church community.  I didn't expect to feel anything more than moderately happy that we'd formally introduced our family to the church we've joined.  It was more than that, though.  I can't put it into words just yet, but it was important and good and uplifting.  I went to bed on Sunday feeling as though we'd done something really significant for our children.  What that is remains to be seen, but I'm really happy that we made the decision to have them baptized.

No, we don't . . .

have after school care, I have said at least 200 times since school began.  And then I think to myself, "Not that it is any of your damn business."  Inevitably, I get a look of astonishment, followed by, "Oh, okay, I guess we'll have to make meetings work around that schedule."  And I respond, "Yes, I guess we will, or else I'll just have to miss the meeting."

So no, we don't have after school care for Wild Man and Bear.  Actually, we only have it two days a week.  Those two days a former student of mine brings them home from school and stays with them until we get home.  Mondays I work from home, so Archer gets to stay a bit later at his office.  Fridays Archer works from home, so I get to stay a bit later at my office.  We did this for several reasons.  First, we're paying for full-time childcare for George.  Adding in the cost of after school care for Wild Man and Bear was more than our budget could take, or more accurately, it was more than we were willing for our budget to take.  Second, we're in the habit of picking our children up by 4:15 or 4:30, which means we'd be paying roughly $280 per child per month (for a total of $560 per month) for about forty-five minutes of care per day.  That didn't make sense.  This is a schedule/arrangement that works for us.  And if one more person asks me about it, I am likely to lose my cool.

As an aside, my colleagues who don't have children (or who have grown children) seem to get this decision.  It's the colleagues who have children the same age as Wild Man and Bear who are the most judgmental.  I am struggling to understand that.

A sleepless night

George is teething.  My easy-going baby isn't so easy-going right now.  He has cut four teeth in as many weeks.  Some days and nights he handles it well, others not so well.  Last night was a not-so-well night.  He was restless, which means I was restless. 

In addition to being unable to sleep because of George's restlessness, I was unable to sleep because I read Eli Saslow's article "After Newtown shooting, mourning parents enter into the lonely quiet" yesterday evening.  By the end of the article I was sobbing.  I felt compelled to check on my children, even though I knew each of them were soundly asleep in their beds (until George woke up 30 minutes later, that is). 

I've written about Newtown before, and I think about the families who are still struggling to get through the most horrific of experiences every day.  Last night I dreamed about them, about meeting them, and hearing their stories.  That dream was oddly comforting.  Then I dreamed that Wild Man was one of the 20 children.  I woke up crying, sweating, and almost hyper-ventilating.  Luckily George was stirring so I could focus on getting him back to sleep; without that task I think I would have had a full-blown panic attack, something that hasn't happened to me in years. 

The thing is, I had one sleepless night as a result of a young man who felt compelled to commit an unfathomable act of violence in a place that is meant to be safe, to house the innocent, and to help them grow.  I cannot imagine how the parents and siblings of those 20 sweet children and the families of those 6 amazing teachers sleep at all. . .

Community, Bus Stops, and Class Issues

One of the things I've struggled with since we sold our condo and moved into our house is the lack of community we've experienced.  When we moved last August, we anticipated that we'd get to know our neighbors and that Wild Man and Bear would play with the other kids on the street, as there are several around their ages.  That, however, did not happen.  Very few of the neighbors came over to introduce themselves, and it soon became clear that our schedules were very different from most of our neighbors (we were gone all day during the week, and our boys are almost always in bed by 7:30 or 8:00 whereas many of the neighborhood children are out playing much later).  We did not send Wild Man to the neighborhood school, which complicated things.  Over the course of the year, we met a few of the neighbors, and one of the first questions everyone asked was, "What grade is Wild Man in?"  That was followed by "Where does he go to school?"  Every time Archer and I explained that he was currently enrolled at a school close to CU and that when he started Grade 1 he would be going to the local French Immersion school rather than our neighborhood school.  The reactions we witnessed were immediate.  The people we spoke with were consistently taken aback, and everyone always tried to reassure us how good the neighborhood school is, which we know.  In fact, we chose this house because the school is so good, thinking that we'd end up sending the boys there if FI didn't work out.  But we felt judged, as though we thought we were too good for the neighborhood school.

Fast forward a year.  I finally feel a sense of community, and it is all because of the bus stop.  We've met several families through the bus stop, which is about three blocks away from our house.  While none of the families are on our street (we are the only family on our street sending our children to the FI school), all are within walking distance.  And each of these families are sending their children to the FI school for the same reasons we are.  As we got to know everyone, we learned something really interesting.  Every parent at the bus stop was a professional.  There are two lawyers, one teacher, an executive at a local corporation, another executive who commutes between CU Land and a city in the States, and a small business owner.  Moreover, two families employ nannies, and both parents work in all the families.  Also, the moms and the dads split drop off and pick up duties.  On our street, the situation is very different.  We've learned that most people on our street would be defined as "working class."  Four of the moms stay at home, one dad works with a heating company, another installs alarm systems, and another is a foreman for a construction company.  With one exception, the moms walk the kids to and from school (the school is 2 blocks away), and one mom actually runs a home daycare.  It seems, from a class perspective, that we don't fit in on this street.

I'm not sure where I'm going with this.  I do know this: I come from a working class background, as does Archer.  My dad was a firefighter, and my mom was a secretary.  Archer's dad worked in a factory (although he worked he way up to upper management), and his mom was also a secretary. Although we've both gone on to get graduate degrees and have academic careers, we were not expected to do that.  My parents wanted me to be a teacher, and Archer's parents wanted him to work at the same factory his dad did (because doing so would keep us close to them).  My point is that we're both comfortable with our roots, so to speak.  We've gone out of way to introduce ourselves to our neighbors; we've tried to coordinate playdates for Wild Man and Bear with the other kids in the neighborhood.  We've participated in neighborhood gatherings.  We decorate when everyone else does.  We say hello and goodbye, and we generally try to be neighborly.  But none of our overtures have been well received.  It's hard to live on a street in which we really don't know anyone, despite our attempts to know people.  I find myself increasingly thankful for our bus stop community every day.

For the record. . .

I hate baby talk.  I do not speak baby talk to my children (although I don't necessarily talk to them like they are adults).  Baby talk drives me absolutely insane.  Seriously.  Insane.

Parenting Dilemma

For the past few months we've been dealing with Bear's anger.  He is almost three, and the kid has a temper.  As he has gotten more verbal he has gotten much better at controlling his temper and expressing himself.  He does have a tendency, however, to  hit Wild Man or me.  As an aside, Bear rarely hits Archer, and the only explanation I have for this is that at 6'2", Archer is much bigger than Bear.  Bear hits under fairly normal circumstance--when he and Wild Man are squabbling over a toy, when I'm disciplining him, or when he is unable to express himself.  As I've said, he has improved a lot in the past 4 months or so, primarily because we've been firm.  At times, I've been firmer than I'd like to be, but honestly, Bear responds to firmness in a way that Wild Man did not.  We were at a point when I thought we had almost moved past this stage. 

Recently though Bear has regressed a bit.  A few times a week he will walk up to me or to Wild Man and just hit us for no real reason.  Archer and I were both at a loss for this behavior.  We continued our normal discipline tactics, but it didn't really seem to work.  This morning I witnessed something that explains the behavior.

At daycare this morning, Bear was unusually fussy.  He has never handled drop offs particularly well, although he is generally fine less than two minutes after we leave his classroom.  This morning he was out of sorts because Archer's schedule necessitated that we took him to his classroom by 8:30, which means that we were out of the house a bit earlier than usual and that I was the only parent dropping off.  Any change can throw Bear off, whereas Wild Man adapts much easier.  Because he was upset, I spent more time with Bear.  As I was finally able to get him settled into an activity with one of his teachers another child came up to him and smacked him in the face.  It wasn't a hard smack, but it shocked Bear.  He went from whining to full on sobbing.  The teacher nearest Bear picked him up to comfort him, and the other teacher ran across the room to redirect the hitter.  Unfortunately, she wasn't fast enough, and he hit Bear again.  The teachers both apologized to me, and I didn't say much.  As the situation was under control, I left.  I knew my staying would only prolong how long it took Bear to calm down, and frankly, I wasn't sure I could be in the room with the hitter.

So here is the dilemma.  The hitter has some sort of developmental delay.  I'm inclined to think he is autistic, but I have no confirmation of this.  I know an aid comes in to work with him every day; I know he gets speech therapy; and I know there are pictures and charts posted around the room reminding him of the rules and the schedule.  I also know he takes his clothes off regularly and that, at 3, he doesn't yet speak, nor is he potty trained.  I've seen some behaviors that suggest autism, but I haven't asked.  It also isn't the center's practice to disclose which children have disabilities or what those disabilities are.  I do think, however, that Bear may be learning to hit in certain circumstances from this child.  Considering how hard we've worked to get Bear to stop hitting, I really don't want to start all over. But I'm not sure what to say or even how to broach this with Bear's teachers, both of whom were Wild Man's teachers and both of whom I really like.  I realize there is only so much they can do, given the rules of the center--time out isn't an option, and it likely wouldn't work for this child.  But I think there must be a way to let the other children know not to mimic the hitter's behavior.  Thoughts?

Parenting Dilemmas

During our lengthy trip to Home State, we were able to spend a bit of time with some good friends from Southwest College Town.  On the way to Home State, we visited Solon and Megs  They have three children, two girls and a boy, and Archer and I are their youngest daughter's godparents.  Likewise they are Bear's godparents.  While we were together, I observed some very key differences between their girls and our boys (their son, whom I will call Ringo because he loves drums, just turned one, so any differences I noticed between him, his sisters, and our boys I'm going to attribute to age).  The key differences are fairly expected.  Solon and Megs's girls (whom I will call Aurora and Belle, in honor of their favorite princesses) are "quieter" and "calmer," but they also seem to listen better.  If Megs wanted Aurora, the eldest, (to Solon and Megs, if you're reading this, yes, I know these are totally lame pseudonyms, so you don't need to comment on the lameness) to do something, she asked, and more often than not, Aurora complied.  Similarly, if Solon needed Belle to do something, she complied, with only one exception that I recall.

In contrast, Archer and I find ourselves asking Wild Man and Bear to do the same thing over and over again.  For example, if I want Wild Man, who is about 4 months older than Aurora, to get dressed, I say, "Wild Man, here are you clothes.  Please get dressed."  He may take off his PJ bottoms as soon as I make the request, but before putting on his shorts, he gets distracted and starts playing.  I repeat the request, and completely absorbed in his imaginary world of who knows what, Wild Man ignores me.  I repeat the request a third time, and this time he may take off his PJ top.  Once that is off, he recalls the joy of being in his underwear and proceeds to perform the underwear dance for about 3 minutes.  I remind him again to get dressed, and usually by now, I'm starting to lose my patience.  Wild Man may pick up his shirt and toss it across the bedroom.  At this, I'm getting angry, so I raise my voice and tell him to come to me.  I then hand him each piece of clothing while he puts in on.  Only then is he dressed.  This, frankly, is a good morning.  Bad mornings include at least one trip to time out for Wild Man for not listening.  Bear is slightly more willing to get dressed, but then he is just two.  Unlike Wild Man, he is not able to dress himself.  It can, however, be a bit of a wrestling match to get him to stand still long enough to get clothes on him.

While we were with Solon and Megs, I watched Megs dress Aurora and Belle.  Megs said, "Aurora, here are your clothes.  Please put them on."  Aurora said something like, "I'd rather wear this shirt, Mommy."  Megs said, "Ok, now please get dressed."  And without saying anything else, Aurora did.  Belle had to be asked twice, but then she isn't quite three.  Whereas it took me about ten minutes to get Wild Man and Bear dressed, Aurora and Belle were dressed in under five minutes.  I also noticed that Megs never lost her patience (I lose my patience a lot), and she didn't seem frazzled at all.  Aurora and Belle listened to their mother and did what she asked.  I began to wonder if I was doing something wrong.

Fast forward to the end of our trip.  We spent a day and night with some other dear friends from Southwest College Town, who, by virtue of the academic job market, now live three hours from our parents.  Like us, Supadiscomama and Harrogate have two boys.  Captain and Climber (names that reflect their eldest son's love of pirates and their youngest son's propensity to climb up Supadiscomama) are 3 months older than Wild Man and ten months younger than Bear, respectively.  As with Ringo, I'm not including Climber in any observations because of his age.  In the time we were with them, I observed that Supadiscomama and Harrogate, like Archer and me, often had to repeat their instructions to Captain.  While he occasionally seemed to chose not to listen as an act of defiance (as does Wild Man), more often than not he just seemed too wrapped up in what he was doing to focus on his parents' instructions.  Like Archer and me, Captain's parents lost their patience and, after asking him to do something at least four times, sent him to time out for not listening.  Throughout the visit, both Wild Man and Captain struggled to focus on directions and to listen, but several times both did exactly what they were asked to do without hesitation or question. Following our time with Supadiscomama and Harrogate, I began to wonder if girls just listen better than boys, especially at this age. 

Since our return to CU Land, I've been thinking about this question a lot, primarily because some days I am literally at my wit's end.  When Wild Man doesn't listen, for whatever reason, I find myself losing my patience, as does Archer.  We both end up raising our voices, threatening, and taking things away all in an attempt to get Wild Man to do what we're asking.  We've tried a reward system, and that has worked with some success.  But we both think that at 4 1/2 there are some things Wild Man should be able to do without a reward--like getting dressed and brushing his teeth.  So at the end of most days, we're both annoyed with our child, and we're both feeling like horrible parents.  We've talked about this endlessly, and we've tried various things, including explaining consequences, giving warnings, etc.  No matter what we try it seems like we end up raising our voices and threatening, and in turn, Wild Man is now raising his voice at Bear.  So we've only succeeded in teaching him to yell at his little brother.  I feel like what we're doing just isn't working.  And, while Archer would argue that I'm overreacting, I feel like we're failing as parents, at least in this particular area.  Moreover, despite some research on the topic, I'm left with lots of questions and virtually no answers.  Are boys different than girls (which, ultimately, really isn't the point)?  What techniques are more effective helping boys learn to listen?  How can we help Wild Man and Bear to focus and listen without resorting to yelling and time outs?  Or are we simply expecting too much from our children, Wild Man especially?

A third child

A few weeks ago, Wild Man asked me, “Mommy, are Bear and I ever going to have a baby sister?’  Wild Man has been asking this particular question for about a year now.  He is very interested in babies, and he is especially preoccupied with a baby sister.  His most recent interest in babies was prompted by the birth of Baby Minerva, the daughter of our friends. 

Wild Man loves Baby Minerva.  The few times he has seen her he has doted on her.  He displays a gentleness with Baby Minerva that he no longer demonstrates with Bear.  Now, Wild Man loves Bear, and Bear most certainly loves Wild Man.  Their relationship, however, is one of extremes.  Wild Man is either giving Bear his favorite car, or Wild Man is holding Bear’s favorite car over his head while saying, “Oh, is this the car you want, Bear? I found it first!”  Likewise, Bear is either bringing Wild Man books so they can read together, or Bear is smacking Wild Man in a vain attempt to get Wild Man to pay attention to him.  In other words, they are siblings.  One minute they are hugging, and the next they are fighting. 

In contrast, Wild Man was sincerely interested in helping care for Baby Minerva.  He brought her toys, he repeatedly found her pacifier for her, and he even wanted to help give her a bottle.  Now, I’m not naïve enough to think that Wild Man would display this level of interest consistently if Archer and I were to have a third child.  I am, after all, the youngest of three.  Of all people, I know how much a third child can disrupt the lives of older children.  In fact, my own sister still identifies the day our parents brought me home from the hospital as one of the most traumatic days of her life (I take that with a grain of salt, though, given that my sister is more than a bit dramatic. . . ).  Wild Man’s question and interest did get me thinking about a third child again, something that I haven’t given much thought to recently. 

In the wake of Wild Man’s question and his continuing interest in babies, I’ve found myself thinking about a third child.  Do we want a third child?  If I had asked myself this question a year ago, I think the answer, for me at least, would have been a definitive yes.  I would have said that having a third child depended on so many things, but I would have definitely said I wanted another child.  Now as I ponder that question, I’m no longer as sure as I was.

So, do I want a third child?  Well, yes and no.  I do want a third child for most of the reasons I wanted a second child—I enjoy being a mother, and I enjoy parenting.  Given my position at CU, I would now be entitled to a year-long maternity leave, something I wasn’t able to experience with either Bear or Wild Man.  I have also profoundly enjoyed watching Wild Man and Bear’s relationship develop.  But I also don’t think having a third child is the most responsible decision we could make.  Children are expensive, and having third child limits what we’re able to offer Wild Man and Bear.  This may seem like a materialistic way to respond to parenthood, but it is a fact, plain and simple. 

Given the nature of what we do, Archer and I will be traveling a fair amount through our careers.  I feel like we can afford to turn many of the research trips into family trips for the four of us, which means that Wild Man and Bear will experience a fair amount of the world as children, something I didn’t have an opportunity to do.  Our trip to Italy, for example, would have been exponentially more expensive if we had to buy a fifth plane ticket. 

Beyond cost, there are other factors.  I would like to sleep through the night before I’m forty, for example.  We’re also at a point where Wild Man is becoming very independent.  We no longer have to stand watch over everything he does anymore, and I can see that point with Bear in the not-so distant future.  I’m not sure I want to start all over again, even given how joyful I find the entire experience of having an infant.  Archer and I are also able to get out of the house at least once a month to have dinner together at a real restaurant.  Our ability to do that (and the simple fact that we finally have a reliable babysitter

So it seems that I’m coming to terms with the reality that it is very unlikely that we will have a third child, and while I feel like that is the best decision for many reasons, I also find myself a little sad.  I realize now that I always assumed we would have a third child, and I find myself mourning the loss of that assumed child, which is a strange feeling for me to comprehend and to describe.  This feeling is further complicated by the realization that a decision not to have a third child means I will not have a daughter, and surprisingly, that adds to the sadness I’m feeling.  It seems odd, to me, to be mourning something that I have never known. 

Weaning

I've started the process of weaning Bear, who is almost 19-months old.  Prior to my trip, he was only nursing once a day, right before bedtime, and he was rarely nursing to sleep.  I assumed, given my experience weaning Wild Man, this would be fairly easy.  The moment Bear saw me on Sunday evening, however, he began screaming, "Nigh, nigh," his phrase for nursing (as he was only nursing right before bed for the past few months, he has come to associate nursing with going "night, night.").  I was able to get him to sleep Sunday and Monday night without nursing him, and Archer put him to bed Tuesday night.  I did nurse him early in the morning Monday and Tuesday, but he didn't nurse to sleep either time.  Last night was difficult, though.  He is getting over a bad cold, is teething, and is going through some major developmental changes (he's added about 20 words to his vocabulary in the past 2 weeks).  He screamed (and I mean screamed) for an hour before finally falling asleep, and he woke up in the middle of the night screaming "nigh, nigh."  Archer and I took terms calming him down, and while I did nurse him at 1:00 am, I only did so after he calmed down. 

When I finally nursed Wild Man, it was fairly painless.  He was the same age, and he was only nursing right before bed.  He seemed to understand it was time to stop, and when he asked to nurse, I firmly and gently said no.  He cried a bit, but nothing serious.  Certainly nothing to match the screaming fits Bear is having.  I'm doing all of these things with Bear, but to no avail.  And while there is no real need for me to stop nursing, I'm done.  Since February of 2006, I've either been pregnant or nursing, aside from a 4 month respite between weaning Wild Man and getting pregnant with Bear.  As selfish as it may sound, I want my body back, or I want as much of it back as I can have given that I'm a mother of two young children (I mean seriously, I'm not going to be able to go to the bathroom by myself for years to come, so I'd like to have my breasts return to being decorative rather than functional). 

I'm also at the point where I no longer enjoy nursing.  I know Bear is still getting some benefits from it, but he isn't getting much nutrition.  And, frankly, he's barely getting any milk at all.  It is mostly comfort, which I get, but it actually seems to distract him more than it relaxes him.  Instead, he plays with my hair, plays with my earrings, breaks off the breast to talk to me, and then returns to it, giggling.  It's very difficult to get him to relax, which has been the primary reason to continue nursing at bedtime.  But given his reaction, I'm more than a bit conflicted.  The easy thing to do is to just keep nursing him.  But I think that will only prolong the problem.  It isn't as though one day Bear is going to wake up and be willing to stop.  For now the plan is to stop nursing at bedtime so at to end the association with sleep.  I'll continue to nurse as needed in the mornings, but I plan to delay him as long as possible.  Neither Archer nor I are convinced this approach will be easy.

Sexuality, Gender, and My Son

After Sarah's post on RB and the infamous Judith Butler, I've been thinking a lot about S, gender, and sexuality. For several weeks now, C and I have been commenting on S's fascination with women. My 3-month-old son will bat his big blue eyes and flash his charming smile at any woman he sees, but he will only smile for C and a few close male friends. He really seems to prefer women. Yesterday a good friend and I took S to a coffee shop, where we sat near a pretty undergrad studying macroeconomics. S immediately began smiling at her and "talking" to her; he only stopped when she finally acknowledged him. For the entire 45 minutes we were there, he made eyes at this attractive young woman, and quite honestly, he gave me the dirtiest look when we left. Does this mean anything? I certainly don't think so, but when C relayed this story to his mother last night, she expressed relief that "S isn't gay." Apparently since her youngest grandson is growing up with academic parents who vote Democrat and don't go to church regularly, she feared he would be gay. When C told me of his mother's comments, I rolled my eyes and went on with my nightly routine. But the comment bothered me. Frankly, I couldn't care less if my son is homosexual or heterosexual or bisexual; he can be whatever he wants to be so long as he grows up to be a caring, thoughtful individual who is considerate of other people. So why is my son's gender and sexuality so important to so many people?

I don't believe S has a gender right now, and I've read enough theory (and more to the point, I actually buy into a lot of the theory) to know his sex can change too. But to be honest, I'm not so progressive that I dress him in dresses or put bows on his head. I buy his clothes in the boys' department, and after he was born I was very happy to be able to do so rather than buying one more yellow sleeper, as yellow is apparently the only gender-neutral color. That said, gender seems so irrelevant at his age. He doesn't know the difference between a truck and a doll (and yes, he has both, and right now, he prefers the doll, although he doesn't know what a doll is), and he won't know the difference until C and I explain it to him. So why did my mother wait to begin making him a baby quilt until he was born? She wanted to know if she could use pink or blue. Why did my mother-in-law put aside the Madame Alexander catalog once S was born? Boys don't like dolls. If RB can realize that gender is malleable and ever-changing, why can't most adults? I think I'll invite RB over to play with S so she can begin to explain the complexities of gender to him.