Happy Second Birthday!

I can't believe it's been two years.

Wow.

How could something so small and helpless turn into a hyperactive chatterbox?

I look through pictures and scan memories and find myself overwhelmed by how much Kiddo has changed in such a short time.

He transformed from a little human larvae into a little boy. He tells involved stories about his toys and favorite Sesame Street characters. He pretends - actively transforming his environment into childhood wonderlands where baskets are motorcycle helmets, lace cards are talking pets, motorcycles have friendly conversations in the refrigerator, and anything can become a horsie or a golf club.

Kiddo sits happily drawing for hours. But he's just as likely to run bases (sliding into home plate), or build towers, or dig in sand. He makes up songs for anything and everything, and loves watching musicians with their instruments.

Of course he throws tantrums when he can't communicate or isn't quite able to do something. But he also gives hugs and kisses, and says "please" and "thank you."

I can't believe he does so much - or how much my life has changed because of him. When I look at him, I can imagine him towering over me, talking about his plans for some exciting adventure or life-changing experience. I can feel how that will feel - the whole twenty or thirty years of parenting that went before and every stage of his experience from that moment all the way back to his first hour of life. I can do that, but I'd rather just enjoy the kisses of now, full-body giggles, excited toddler gibberish, and even the intense need for me in the middle of the night...

"Mama? Mama? Mama? I want Mama. Mama?"

That ask, born of the knowledge that separation will happen at some point. And then, we may or may not be ready. But for now, just for now, I'll savor everything about two. Good days and bad.

Happy Second Birthday Kiddo! I can't wait to see all the wonderful things in store for you and our family.

The Reward for Training Your Dragon - er, uh - Toddler

Having a toddler is a bit like having a pet dragon; they are both tremendously rewarding, but require an equal amount of effort and trouble.

Fortunately for me, reward and effort often mingle. There are few days that are only trouble, and few days that are just rewards. The result is the lows seem lower and the highs, higher.

Yesterday was one of those days.

I saw my effort and parenting philosophy realized.

"Thank you Mama - for Cheerios, and bowl, and motorcycles."
"Thank you Mama."
"Please Grandad"
"Thank you for strawberries."

I couldn't stop beaming. Every time his sweet little voice spoke those precious words my heart melted in a way I never thought possible.

I was so thankful. I was so proud.

It is rare to hear toddlers say "please," "thank you," or "your welcome" (we're still learning the last one). Actually, it is rare to hear anyone say these things. Maybe it is a result of entitlement, or selfishness, or obliviousness. Whatever the case, I believe in honoring the time and energies of those around me, so I try to thank everyone who is generous with their resources. I thank everyone who serves me or works for me in any way. If it doesn't fit the circumstance, I at least smile at the person, not because it is expected that women should smile, but because I recognize the human being before me and want them to know.

I wanted Kiddo to honor those around him in a similar way. This is something I feel strongly about, and it is why from a very young age, when Kiddo did any desired behavior, I told him "thank you for [insert behavior here]." Some people might think this was a strange thing - a child is not equal to an adult and therefore it is beneath adults to thank children (or to apologize to them etc).

This is complete bullshit and shows just how insecure a person is if they are incapable of recognizing the personhood of a child. A child has agency. They make choices. They choose to act a certain way. Once an adult recognizes this, it makes things a lot easier. Then the adult gives the child reasons to act a desired way (or in our case, say the desired thing).

Normalizing "thank you" made a difference. Thanking everyone appropriately gave a model of behavior for Kiddo. He saw his worth, how other people are valued, and the positive response.

So now, even in the middle of the night, after crying for me, when I go into his room, he immediately says, "Thank you Mama."

*SQUEE!*

Yes, Kiddo had several temper tantrums yesterday. Yes, I wanted to gauge out my ears when he was wailing. But then I heard those precious words, "Thank you Mama," and the tantrums faded into the distance like so many bad memories.

It took a while, but the effort paid off in some serious rewards.

Making Summer Memories

The last few weeks, while including days from motherhood hell (read: 20 tantrums plus in a single day with severe sleep deprivation), also had some serious fun.

Kiddo got to see two minor league baseball games, which he loves. He loves sports and so he really enjoyed watching the players and listening to us explain what was happening on the field. Having a ton of snacks didn't hurt either.

Also, we did end up marching around the bleachers. Sometimes it was Mommy or Daddy doing this, and sometimes it was Grandad. Fortunately most of the fans found Kiddo adorable, so they smiled graciously despite his loud clomping around.

Daddy and Kiddo got some boy-bonding fun time playing soccer and ripping up leaves, as well as checking out a clock shop and wandering around little Californian towns. We also checked out a really awesome playground, and got to see the miniature horse farm.

Kiddo: I want ride!
*blink*
Mommy: I don't think we can do that.
Kiddo: I want pet!
Mommy: Well, they have signs up saying not to put your fingers in the enclosure so...

Despite the limitations of the visit, Kiddo really liked the horses. Then again, he's in love with animals of all kinds and has already expressed his desire for a dog (The rule is absolutely not at least until he can clean up dog poop.).

Kiddo also tried his first health smoothie, which despite not liking cold things, he drank a fair amount of.

To top it off, he got to hang out with his baby cousin and one of his older cousins in the same day. There were bubbles, bats, Sesame Street and Cheerios involved. It was a dream come true.

While the tantrum days aren't very fun, these other experiences more than make up the difference. I am so glad we get to do these things together. It is such a joy to make memories like these, and I look forward to many more.

Smiling to Wailing and Back Again

Ugh.

That is how I would describe the past five days.

Just...ugh.

This kid is driving me up a wall. Sometimes he cries because he's frustrated: the blocks won't stack. The stacking rings don't lock in place. Grover doesn't sit astride the Ducati Diavel.

Other times, he just...cries.

And I have no frickin' clue what the hell is going on. Really. None. It's not that he's hungry, or tired, or even teething. It's not that he hasn't gotten to play or read or whatever. Every concievable need is met, and yet... crying. Total meltdown.

Oh sure. Sometimes he willfully does things he is not supposed to do and he suffers the consequences of such actions, like not being able to play outside. But really, the crying is just...dumb. And annoying when redirecting doesn't work any more.

I've heard about this phase. I've read moms talking about it on forums and in articles on parenting sites, but really guys, being in it is a LOT worse than reading about it. And the advice...does NOT work. Yeah. Pretty sure we're in the lovely toddler wonder week thing.

They should have medication for parents specifically for this time. I mean, besides wine and ibuprofen.

I jest. I know it is temporary. I know it will end. And I know he will be graduating from college when I blink. So I'll cling to the moment of discovery and joy - the dimpled smiles, giggling, counting to 5 for the first time, stacking 8 blocks without them falling, telling understandable stories about toys and activities. I'll hold those in my mind and grit my teeth until he goes to sleep on the rough days.

Yeah.

And drink a beer.

A Geek Parent with a Jock Kid

I always said if I had a kid, it wouldn't matter what they wanted to do I would support them. If, for example, they wanted to be a ribbon dancer, I would help them to be the best damn ribbon dancer ever. And this is still true.

I just never thought I, a creative geek, would end up with a super athlete kid. Not really. I mean, I thought it would be funny....but...I didn't think it would ACTUALLY happen.

My husband jokes that he is the least athletic in his family. This is true, however when we say the least athletic, this needs perspective. This is a man who taught himself how to spear fish, who has strung marines up by a single ankle and shook them, who chopped off the heads of baby rattle snakes with a hatchet at the age of 11. He is, in my estimation, a sort of Paul Bunyon type. This is my picture of my husband.

So then, I can tell you about his sisters. His sisters, one of whom had a full ride scholarship to play soccer. Another tried out for the basketball team without never having played, and was placed on varsity as a sophomore, without EVER HAVING PLAYED.

Oh, and did I mention his dad? Kiddo's grandfather? who STILL holds track and field records at his high school? STILL!

Sigh.

So my son, my darling boy, has this in his blood. He watches an inning of baseball and starts trying to pitch. He hits balls off the tee, with a bat that is as big as he is. He dribbles soccer balls without trying. He runs EVERYWHERE. This is the kind of boy I have. An athlete. And I don't even know all the rules to these games. I don't know all the stances. But you can be sure I'm going to learn.

Kiddo will stay still to watch sports. Golf. Baseball. Basketball. Football. Soccer (actually, he doesn't sit still for soccer - he runs around kicking the ball like the players because he thinks it's super fun).

Oh, and then there are motorcycles. He LOVES motorcycles. And bicycles. Pretty much anything with wheels. He likes how they work - another inherited trait from his father's side.

However, he also loves music. And fabric. And animals. And colors. And telling stories. And walking around looking at nature. So at least we have that to bond over.

It is funny that I ended up with an athlete. The irony was too good for it NOT to happen. And that's fine. Even though I don't know much about these sports, I will support Kiddo as he pursues them. He has his uncles and aunts who played all manner of things and will enjoy sharing that with him. And I will go to the games and I will take him to camps or whatever he finds enjoyable. I am committed to that, because that is where his interest lies. That's part of what it means to be a parent.

And he is still extremely young. He could end up being really into writing too. That could happen. Or he could go in a completely different direction. Who knows? Life takes all kinds of twists and turns. However, I'm pretty sure, whatever direction it goes for Kiddo, there will be sports somewhere in the mix. He loves them too much for it not to be the case.

In the mean time, I have to figure out ways to weather all the sports related events. And the other sporty parents - you know, the ones who were into sports themselves and have nothing in common with me except the fact their kid plays on the same team as mine.

Tips would be welcome. I'm going to store them up in preparation. Until then, I'll play ball with my limited skills, hoping I've got at least a few years before Kiddo outstrips me. And then I'll start outsourcing the play time to more competent family members. In a few years. I hope...

Remembering Gifts

We were walking around the neighborhood, holding hands. Kiddo had been telling me stories in toddler gibberish, which slowly trailed off. It was quiet. No one was around. The only sound was the wind blowing through the trees.

"Do you see the pretty flowers?" He looks. "And hear the wind through the leaves? How wonderful is that?!"
Then, he looks up at me, and gives me a beaming smile of such delight in that moment, my heart completely melts. Just thinking about it makes my eyes water.

Kiddo is a gift. This is the thing I have to remember always.

In some ways, my time that I've had as a stay-at-home parent has been stressful. It has been stressful to not contribute to our family coffers directly. It has been stressful to be isolated, both by being a SAHM, as well as through my writing. Neither one of these occupations screams "social." It has been stressful to try to manage those two occupations, which frequently conflict with one another.

How many times has Kiddo come to my arm, as I'm sitting at the computer, and pulled on my sleeve? How many times have I had to shrug him off because I had to get something done that day in order to feel like I was progressing?

I can't count. I don't know. It's too much. It's too many. It makes me feel a little ashamed to admit it in this public way.

Because there are warring priorities. And there is only one resource. Time. There is never enough time. There is only so much time. How is one considered wealthy? By their use of time.

I made a promise to myself. I would write - or at least, work on whatever it was that needed work that day - in the morning. And this work continues through nap time. After nap time, I try to devote my afternoon to Kiddo. Completely.

And sometimes that is hard. Sometimes it is really hard. I get bored doing toddler things (although that is growing less so) and will often catch myself flicking through something on my phone. Sometimes I get really irritated - truly stuck on a bit of formatting or marketing. Eventually I recognize it would be better for everyone if I paid exclusive attention to Kiddo, and I come around. And that is good. Everyone ends up happier.

And I love being a writer. I do. I love doing it and focusing on it completely. And I love being a mom. I do. I love doing it and focusing on Kiddo completely. Trying to do both at once however, is an abysmal failure.

So I try to separate them. This allows me to spend time doing the thing I feel called to do, the thing I must to stay sane, as well as spend time with the little boy I love, my son. It's the closest to a win-win I can get.

And times like this, make me think about how I allocate my precious resource. They make me wonder about what I am willing to give up, and what I cannot live without. They make me question what kind of memories I want to have. When I look back at my life, what story will be there? What will I have accomplished? What relationships will I have built? What kind of a person will I have been?

Part of the answer is my writing. But a bigger part of that answer is the relationship I want with Kiddo. I want to experience him fully. I'm still not sure I want a second kid, and I will only have one chance with Kiddo. He is one person - my precious little boy. The child who makes emotional and abstract connections constantly, who sings and dances, and whose smile lights up even my darkest moments, that is a person I always want with me. That is a person I want to make and share memories with, always. And every single moment - the wild energy bursts, the silly expressions, and the intense tantrums - all of that is a gift I have been given.

There are not words to express my gratitude for my time with Kiddo. Parents understand this feeling - it is unique to the parenting experience. I have never felt it to this depth as I do with Kiddo. Of course, I am grateful for all the wonderful people I've had the pleasure to meet, who have been in my life at one time or another. Of course I love my close friends, my parents, my husband. Of course. And they are each gifts.

But they are not Kiddo.

Earlier in the day, Kiddo was taking a nap. I was exhausted. I was cranky. He fell asleep in the car, and I couldn't move him because moving him wakes him. So I stayed in the car, and dozed myself. When he woke up, I carried up the stairs into a sitting area and we nursed. Of course, the couch was in the sun. Of course, he fell asleep on my lap. Of course I was extraordinarily thirsty.

I got so irritated, I set him down. I couldn't handle the heat any more. I got a glass of water. He woke up. He sat up. He said a few gibberish words.

I sat down.

Then, for some reason, I look across the room and our eyes meet. Kiddo's face cracks into a huge smile - that beaming perfect smile that reflects all his joy and love and light in a single look, and I remember.

Mother Heartbreaker

Mothers' Day has a lot of different meanings for people. It is only my second, and even in the middle of family gatherings, I found myself reflecting on how the day has changed for me. I found myself thinking about the changes I experienced in becoming a mother.

When I was younger I never thought of myself as a mothering type. In fact I thought I was cold, reserved, and awkward around children. I was convinced I would be horrible. Actually terrible.

I learned how to be around kids by being around kids. I started tutoring elementary and junior high students. During that time, I learned a lot about children and realized that while children are at a different place in development, they are people. They are jniust people.

Yes, they have specific needs. Yes they have smaller vocabularies and may struggle to understand some abstract concepts BUT for the most part, they just need love, support, and security.

And I did not understand that once you become a mother, all the training you took in subconsciously from your own mother kicked in. I did not understand that at some point in pregnancy your brain changed in such a way that marks you. Childless women and men do not understand this transformation. It is a biological change that occurs. There is nothing else like it. And I did not know its depth.

I cannot watch children being hurt. The idea of a child going without breaks my heart. Going without food, or shelter, or clothes, or education, or parents, or love. It all hurts my heart. It constricts my chest.

And I cannot breathe when I hear of a parent losing a child. That pain is unnatural. Wrong. But I did not understand how it would be so before I became a parent. I did not understand how gut wrenching even the idea could be.

I know it bothers Christian more now that he is a father, but I wonder about the way it impacts a mother, one whose brain changes during pregnancy...who bonds through breastfeeding.

So when I look at my son, I find myself a stranger. I turned into a super lovey mom. I have to kiss his cheeks. I have to hug and cuddle him. I have to tell him I love him several times a day. I have to pick him up when he is sad and put words to his intense feelings. The sweetest sound is his laugh, or maybe him singing, or just telling a gibberish toddler story. And I know he has more power over me than any other human in this world. Because more than anyone, he can break my heart.

The Wild World of A 20 Month-old

Kiddo is 20 months old. I cannot believe we are only 4 months away from 2. It is wild to watch him every day.

Now he wakes up singing or telling stories, and about half the time they are understandable. He picks his clothes. He requests certain foods and books by name. He calls "Mom" like Stewie from Family Guy to get my attention. He throws a tantrum if he isn't allowed to help vacuum and takes great delight in helping with laundry. He follows simple instructions and often does things just for a laugh. He can eat from a bowl with a spoon and needs minimal supervision.

His three favorite things are cars (he calls motorcycles cars too), sports with balls (baseball, basketball, and football are his absolute favs), and of course music (specifically drums and stringed instruments). When asked what he wants to play, he always says guitar (though a uke is a guitar to him). Kiddo also regularly says he will play basketball and baseball.

A requested activity!

In addition to this, he LOVES Sesame Street. His favorite characters are of course, Cookie Monster and Elmo. He has a figurine of each. He has them ride animals, take baths, drink pretend soup, and give each other hugs. Sometimes he shares his Cheerios with them.

Kiddo's favorite foods at the moment are Cheerios, crackers (a rare treat), broccoli, strawberries, noodles, cheese, cauliflower, chicken tenders, plain yogurt, and brussel sprouts (although he does eat a lot more).

Can I ride?

He is always smiling, laughing, talking, and running full tilt. That said, he is painfully aware of others' moods and will pout or cry if someone, even a stranger, is upset. He also gives hugs and kisses when someone is upset, or just because.

I can't believe 2 years ago he was just a ball of cells in my womb - not even a person - and now he is an independent, curious, loving little boy. Wild.

10 Lessons in Toddler Tantrums

Kiddo amazes me.

He's gotten to that intense phase of toddlerhood where he can be an angel one second and the next is screaming bloody murder. There is very little, if any, middle ground.

As part of this, I have discovered ten lessons I thought I would share:

1. Saying "no" to him almost always gets at least a pout. It is adorable, and frequently makes everyone giggle...which often leads us to lesson 2...
2. If he gets past the pout and into whimpering, evasive action (i.e. redirect) must happen immediately. Beloved toys and rough-housing or dancing have the highest success rates.
3. If he gets past whimpering, it is over unless he can nurse. This is the last ditch effort to avoid total meltdown, which sometimes can't happen. If we're in the middle of a park, shopping area, or I am busy, Kiddo proceeds to blow my eardrums out.
4. If he calms down after the tantrum, only to be told "no" again, he will bypass pouting and whimpering, going straight to blood-curdling scream. Often this is accompanied by hand gestures, wild facial expressions, toy-throwing, and kicking or stomping. Sometimes he flings himself against a couch like a damsel in distress.
5. Redirects work most of the time, unless he is hungry, tired, hurt, or ill.
6. He is angelic in public 99% of the time, so much so, that people do not believe me when I say he has meltdowns.
7. As soon as we are away from other people, the potential for a meltdown jumps like 75 points.
8. I love my kid even when he is throwing a temper tantrum.
9. Temper tantrums make me laugh....a lot...unless I am frustrated myself.
10. I am the all-purpose soother and everything calms down much faster when I am around. Kisses, cuddles, nursing, and soothing words in his ear, all work to make things better. About 20 seconds into this, he jumps off my lap grinning ear to ear, squealing in delight.

Tantrums are not the best part of parenting, but they can definitely be managed. Through trial and error I discovered how best to manage Kiddo's swings. And now, we take them as they come. This way, everyone gets calmer faster, and my eardrums stay intact. It's almost a win-win. Almost.

Toddler The Destroyer

"He is all boy."

That's what people say about Kiddo when they see him.

"You are such a toddler."

That's what I say to Kiddo when he's getting into things.

A pool of Tylenol

Kiddo has spilled water and Tylenol all over three Roger Hargreaves books. He has ripped up one Ducati book. He has ripped out pages from his Hello Kitty coloring book. He has spilled cat food all over the floor. He has spilled his water all over...well, everything. He has dumped sand everywhere, resulting in diapers and shoes full of sand. He has dumped dirt on his head, leaving a layer of grit on his scalp.

Often when we try to get him clean up, he has a meltdown, or at the very least, fights me.

Kiddo does still like to use brooms, and enjoys helping with the laundry. Unfortunately, his sweeping makes more of a mess. Kiddo's laundry help usually means he crumples Christian's work shirt into a ball, and then puts it in a random drawer.

This is not the most enjoyable part of parenting a toddler. However, I wouldn't get the smiles, giggles, hugs, and kisses if I didn't have these parts too. I remind myself he is learning and exploring the world and that is a marvel.

Even though I sometimes yell, or need a break, I love my little boy. The awesome parts far out number the tough parts...

"I love you Mommy."

That one gets me every time.

Being A Model: Trust The Choice

Every day we make choices: what to wear, what to eat, to sleep in or not, coffee or tea, Dancing with the Stars or Daredevil...

There are some choices that are a bigger deal. The small ones certainly add up. I mean, in aggregate, the small choices are important. They point to the kind of person you actively choose to be every day. They point to the motivating forces, the principles behind actions. And other people see that.

Your life partner sees that. In fact, you probably became life partners because of those very principles, if not consciously, certainly at a subconscious level. Your partner was like, "Damn. Those are the kind of values I like!" and so you got married, or moved in, or whatever.

Your kids see those daily choices. Unlike your partner, your kids didn't get a choice for you as a parent. They got stuck with you as part of the package. So for better or worse, they look at you, every day, and see your choices. They see your reactions and your principles, lived out, second by second. And it's sinking in.

I am a systems thinker. I never look at something in isolation. I can't. It isn't possible for me. When I look at something, I see its causes and effects. I see its influences - the confluence of factors that allowed it to become. I see its wake, the pieces it leaves behind, the ripples that run through time and space.

Because of this, I take my life choices very seriously. Like, stupidly seriously. I never do something without careful consideration. Granted, that careful consideration may be the length of a few moments, or I may have been thinking about something for years and years before having the opportunity of a given choice.

My point is, I do everything with purpose. I do everything for a reason. I know every action I take and choice I make impacts the people around me. I know that. A good example of this is me taking forever to drive a car. Whenever you get behind the wheel, everyone in your vicinity, their lives, are all in your hands. That is why I never text. I never drive after drinking. I always signal and check my blind spot, because I feel responsible for every life around me. That is the kind of thing I see every second of my life - that I actively push down so I function like a normal human being.

Of course, this is a burden. It is an incredible burden. And it is frustrating when someone doesn't understand. It is frustrating when someone gives me advice because they think I have not considered the impact my choices make.

Please, for your own safety, never make that mistake. Know, I have thought about the range of impacts. I have come up with a thousand scenarios. I wrote them down. I compared pros and cons. I went through a self-assessment. I wrote several journal entries, and I talked to at least three close people, at least one of whom goes fractal when thinking.

It is possible I missed something. I am human. I make mistakes. I do miss things. This is why I need editors. But giving me advice about what to do is the opposite of helpful...

For example:
X: You should get a job at [insert random company here].
A: Well, right now I'm focusing on my book launch.
X: They're hiring. I know someone.
(Struggle not to roll eyes or laugh in face)
A: Seeing as I can't afford a babysitter, can't bring Kiddo to work, and I need to work on this book launch until at least June 15, I'm not going to apply right now.
X: Don't you think you should get a job?
(Bites tongue)
A: The current labor market relies on referrals. Companies don't want someone under qualified because they don't want to train. They don't want someone over qualified, because that person will jump ship at the earliest convenience. I have applied to jobs that I am perfect for, and not gotten an interview.
X: Maybe you should broaden your search.
(Nods and fixes smile to face)
A: Right. I'll do that.
(Walks away)

Believe me when I say I have thought carefully about how much our loans are costing our family, how me not working strains our situation. Believe me when I say I have gone through a thousand options for moves, jobs, life directions, and whole life plans. That is, as I stated above, what I do.

The tricky part is this: Trust me. I am focusing on something right now that is worth my time. I control all the factors of this book launch. I have direct control on the product I put out. I have direct control on the effort I put into marketing this book. I have direct control over the website design. I have direct control over how many people receive information about this book, my beloved THRIVE.

This book can help a lot of people. I know that. My beta readers have told me as much. I know what I'm doing. Know, I have to do this. I choose leaving a legacy. I choose trying my hardest to accomplish my life goals. I choose to show Kiddo what is possible in life. This is who I am. This is who I will always be: a purposeful writer, a voice. I can be nothing else.

The minute I start trying something else, focusing on something else, is the minute I've given up my purpose, my calling. In that moment, I have chosen a life of misery and despair. That is not the model I want Kiddo to have. Those are not the values I want for him. I am not that person.

It is a hard choice, but it is mine. Mine and no one else's. Trust my ability. Trust my vision. I know exactly what I'm doing, and I have a reason for everything I do. This is not some self-absorbed, self-indulgent act. It is much, much, much more.

Simple Joys

 Because my kid is such an outside kind of guy, I thought I would share with you some of his best moments. Being a toddler, especially in the last few weeks, has been a mixed blessing. I say mixed because on the one hand, it is stressful as hell with the insane temper tantrums. On the other hand, it involves simple joys, like raising arms in the air to feel the wind, chasing a ball across a playground, or running around a tree...over, and over, and over, and over again.

New favorite sport!

As an adult I forgot some of these things. It feels like it wasn't that long ago that I used to do the same things - that I raised my hands in the air to enjoy the wind rushing past my skin - nature's kiss. But when I think about it, it was a long time ago. Maybe seventeen or more years since I did this with the kind of wanton abandon of Kiddo. And that makes me sad that I missed all those simple joys, but it also makes me happy...because I get to experience them again with him. So along those lines, here are some photos of Kiddo amid those simple joys. Hopefully they jog your memory too.

The only puddle in California...and he sat in it.

Raising Creative: Artistry and Appreciation Early On

Admittedly, there is definitely a difference between kids on the creative front. Some people really...aren't. I'm not saying this as a judgement, it's just that some people are not bent that way. They don't like to recombine pieces into something new. They don't innovate. They don't imagine. They don't like doing things...differently. And this isn't a bad thing. The world needs people like this. It does. It wouldn't run without them. These maintainers are necessary.

And then there's us - those creative people who cannot avoid innovation, or imagination, or problem-solving. It is part of what makes us tick. It is as necessary as breathing.

Now, I would argue that our preferences are somewhat established at birth, maybe in our very souls, but that doesn't mean parents can't nurture things. Even in the maintainer types, an appreciation for beauty and artistry can be fostered.

As a parent, I want to do that with Kiddo. I want to nurture an appreciation for art and creation in all its forms. It seems he has this inherently anyway, as he responds strongly to music, dance, and visual art. But, how do I consciously make an effort to foster this?

1. Music - I expose Kiddo to a wide variety of music because he LOVES it. LOVES it. He plays instruments with his granddad (ukulele, drums, guitar, harp etc). I play Bossa Nova, Celtic, rock, bluegrass, folk, indie, dance, and orchestral. We sing together, and frequently Kiddo wakes up singing. And I love every second of this.
2. Art - Kiddo gets to see all kinds of illustrations in his books, but also we draw almost every day. At first this was a project initiated by me, but now he requests to draw. He loves using his markers and crayons. I hope to add clay and finger paint to his repertoire as soon as I can acquire an oil cloth to cover the table or patio. He spends a lot of time and thought on his creations, and often will talk about them in Kiddo gibberish for several minutes after they are finished.
3. Writing/stories - Kiddo is a talker. He tells stories about his toys. He tells stories about his drawings. And of course, he LOVES books. We have story time at least three times a day, and each involves several long picture books. After we finish reading, he likes to go back through the book and point to pictures and discuss them, in Kiddo gibberish. As a writer, I am thrilled with this.
4. Dance - we have dance parties daily. Some of this is coupled with our music exposure (Bossa Nova or singing). Other times it is during his limited screen time with Sesame Street. He dances for almost all the songs, of which there are many. He also enjoys imitating dance moves of those around him, which Christian and I frequently bust out, just for fun.
5. Acting - I think Kiddo has a healthy dose of the performance bug. I say this because he really enjoys children's time at church. He gets in the front of the congregation, and rather than listening to granddad, he looks around the congregation (staring at him) and grins, often interacting with church members. It is a little trying, making sure he doesn't completely derail granddad, but clearly this is something he should be allowed to explore as he continues to mature.

Based on how Kiddo relishes these areas, it seems his continued exposure to the arts is not only beneficial for developing speech, fine and gross motor skills, but also is a source of joy. I think we have a little artist on our hands, and certainly an art lover. I see plenty of museum visits and classes in our future. Seeing as I'm a creative myself, I couldn't be happier with this.

Raising A Gentleman (Part 2): Dangerous Boys

WARNING: This post contains content regarding rape and violence that may disturb readers. Names have been changed to protect the innocent and guilty.

“James, you pretend to rape her,” said Jack, pointing from James to me. My whole body tensed.

“Huh?” James looked at Jack in confusion. Then he shook his head. “Nu-uh.”

“Just hold her down. Pin her arms to her side and pretend to rape her,” said Jack in irritation to James. It was Jack's game. Someone was supposed to be a police officer or spy. I can't remember which. Someone else was supposed to be some criminal master mind, some kind of mafia boss, except this was not any cops and robbers game I ever played. I was uncomfortable. Still, Jack was my next door neighbor. My family went to his house for dinner. His parents seemed nice. They did short term foster care placements. By all accounts they were upstanding citizens. They seemed to be a good family.

Except for Jack.

“Come on!” he spat, his foot tapping the broken cement sidewalk. Jack was the aggressive one. He asserted his dominance without caring what other people thought or wanted. But we did want to play. Even though I was introverted I needed to get out of my own head. I wanted to be with people for a little while, people I knew. We wanted to be outside. It was north of sixty degrees, the grass was green, and the sun was shining. We wanted to belong. No one else was out. No other kids were living on the street at that time. We were kids. What else were we supposed to do?

“I don't want to,” mumbled James.

“I don't want to either,” I mumbled, feeling the strength of numbers. I felt the danger of the suggestion – the idea of a boy holding me down, against any surface, in any position. Any way I pictured it, it made me uncomfortable. But I didn't know what rape was. I was only eight years old.

Jack rolled his eyes and let out an exasperated sigh.

“Fine!” he snapped. “Just kiss her on the cheek and we can move on!” This was hard enough. This was awkward enough. Whatever rape was, this tiny peck was meant to stand in for it. To compound the strangeness, Jack knew James had a crush on me. Some perverse part of his eleven year old self knew the whole exercise was awkward for this seven year old boy and he wanted to make him uncomfortable. He wanted to make me uncomfortable. He wanted to both give James an opportunity with his crush even while relishing in the pain it would cause us both.

James flushed, leaned in, and kissed my cheek. My face a mask, I withstood the indignity. Jack grinned impishly.

“Okay, let's go!” Jack spun on his heels and took off running, James following quickly in an effort to avoid what just happened. I hesitated, giving them a head start, because of course, I wasn't sure how I felt about the situation myself.

Because I didn't know, I didn't tell anyone. I'm not sure Jack or James ever did either. If they did, they probably never said anything about that particular exchange. They probably never mentioned the fact that Jack, an eleven year old boy, ordered James, a seven year old boy, to pretend to rape me, an eight year old girl, in the course of play.

When I share this story, my husband tells me this is abnormal. Little boys don't play this way. Relaying the story makes his knuckles whiten and his jaw clench. His eyes water in a combination of frustration, anger, and disgust. He repeats himself.

"That is not normal, Alexis. Not normal."

But this was my experience. This kind of experience has marked my understanding of boys and men.

I can pull out a long list of times I have been hurt by both boys and men throughout my life because of my sex. It is extensive. It is disturbing. It is upsetting. It shouldn't be true, but it is.

So now, you wonder, why did she want to have a boy? Because I did. I absolutely wanted to have a boy. I wanted to have a boy so badly it hurt.

Because for me, raising a son would be redemptive. It would be an opportunity for me to raise a boy into a man who was compassionate - who saw all people around him as his equals - as human beings. I could raise an ally, as opposed to a predator. I could raise a gentleman.

And then there was the other side - the reason I didn't want to have a girl.

I didn't want to have a girl because I knew I couldn't protect her. I knew that no matter what I did, I couldn't save her from the realities of the world. At some point, I knew she would be stalked or harassed. I knew she would be offered a drugged drink. I knew someone would call her "bitch" or "slut" or ignore her very considered and valuable opinion just because she had a uterus and breasts.

I know if I had been pregnant with a girl I would have cried. I would have cried so hard, and long, and been so depressed, I don't know what I would have done. Because of boys like Jack. Because the world is so dangerous for women even still. Because men - and women - still don't admit the danger, and still blame women for it, even though the danger is perpetrated by boys and men.

And we raised them. Mothers and fathers raised these dangerous boys. We raised hecklers, abusers, and rapists. We raised them. We raised them because we didn't think about the shows they were watching. We raised them because we didn't tell them about our experiences of misogynist violence and how it affected our entire lives. We raised them because we didn't filter their music and movies. We raised them that way because we just laughed off their hitting the girl they liked because, "Ha, ha! Boys will be boys!"

I plan to tell Kiddo my story. My whole story. I plan to explain what happened to me and what effects it had. I plan to talk with him about what other boys do and say in his peer group. I plan to talk to him about how he interacts with girls. I plan to filter his music, movies, books, and shows. And if something contains questionable content, I plan to unpack it and answer his questions.

It's never too early to have these conversations. I know this because I knew boys - little boys - who were predators. I knew boys like Jack, who made it seem like this behavior was alright, even when it so obviously wasn't. I know if I wait, there could be consequences, the kind that ripple across people's lives. And I can't allow that. I won't leave my son's treatment of other people up to chance. I plan to raise a gentleman, a compassionate ally, a defender of people no matter their type. That is something that requires intention, and hopefully, a community of like-minded people committed to the same.

We can't have boys like Jack running around the world. Such boys do not turn into good men, and we're lying to ourselves if we think they can. Boys like Jack shouldn't be normal. They shouldn't even exist.

Raising A Gentleman (Part 1): Respect & Courtesy

The other day I went on Twitter to pitch some books to agents. There was an event. I hadn't been on my Twitter account for a long time. I found my feed to be full of garbage advertisements and self-aggrandizing, and for the most part, wasn't interested in what people dumped on to the site (Full disclosure: I take responsibility for at least part of this development, though I think how people use it is largely in this way.). I decided, during the event, that I would look through my mentions. I was pleased to see some blog posts got attention (yay!) and tweets favorited (again, yay!). That said, I did get my first "Die, feminist scum, die!" threat/insult. It got me thinking.

While I didn't take it personally (how could you take such a preposterous comment this way?), I wondered why this person would think it perfectly fine to threaten a stranger (I hope) in a violent way.

I mean, who was this guy's mother?!?!

Part of it had to be role modeling. I mean, it's not a mom's fault. She could have done everything right. She could have made him keep his elbows off the table and use the correct fork for shrimp, salad, and cake, for all I know. It could have been his father who was rude and misogynist. Or none of the above.

He could have been a bad apple.

But all this got me thinking about the ways in which I show courtesy to other people and how I want Kiddo to behave as an adult, regardless of his opinions. Because while I probably disagree with anyone who says "Die feminist scum!" the problem isn't the opinion so much, but the uncivil and disrespectful manner in which it is delivered.

I won't debate whether or not someone with such a response can be civil to a woman. That is a different post for a different blog. Rather, whatever opinion a person holds, I think it should be voiced with the understanding that on the other side of the debate is a human being.

Fundamentally I want Kiddo to speak to other people as his equals, in the way he would want to be treated. I want him to use words like "please" and "thank you" but I also want him to phrase complex arguments thoughtfully and respectfully. So how do I do that? I have some theories.

1. Civil debate - obviously I need to show Kiddo and explain that people have different opinions and that it is acceptable to disagree, even vehemently, while still respecting the other person's humanity. Until he is much older, the rational/respectful argument thing is going to have to stick to just modeling.
2. Supplying words like "please" and "thank you" and "you're welcome" goes a long way. Kiddo is starting to use these at the correct times in conversation.
3. Volunteering - this goes back to my previous post about religious service. I think volunteering goes a long way to developing empathy, which in turn is helpful in developing respect and courtesy. Our church has some volunteering opportunities for families and when Kiddo is a little older, I'd like us to participate in those kinds of things.
4. Apology - owning up to being wrong when Kiddo is wrong. Both Christian and I apologize when we mess up, and I have been known to apologize to my students openly. I think this is an excellent way to illustrate respect and therefore, courtesy.
5. Cleaning - respecting people extends to spaces, which is best done by keeping things clean and tidy. This goes for virtual as well as real spaces. I recently got a board book from the library about clean-up time and we have started singing the clean-up song to reinforce the idea of tidy spaces. Kiddo happens to like cleaning however, so that makes this process easier.
6. Turn taking - this is a hard one because it plays out in many ways. Taking turns in play, as well as conversation is important. Right now I can model this, but as Kiddo gets older we can talk about why we should take turns and connect it to feelings.

Grandma, Kiddo, and Daddy playing ball

It might seem strange to connect these parenting practices with a Twitter post about me being essentialized to a single ideology which somehow renders me little better than a cockroach, but I assure you - it is all connected.


When Kiddo sees how I treat people, even people I don't like or don't agree with, it will teach him what is acceptable behavior. As I've said before, I am very conscious of how we are socialize our son, and we are trying to be intentional about it. Through this process I hope in the very least, we raise a human who when he disagrees with someone doesn't send death threats. 

Raising Religious: Keeping Kids in Faith

"Love Can Change The World"

If you are familiar with my writing, or have been following me for any length of time, you are aware that I am a religious person. Yes, I am part of the Christian minority (Seriously - how many people still go to church every Sunday?).

Now, I have blogged about this on my religion blog before (ages ago) but I'm kind of going through a whole "Alexis' idiosyncratic parenting philosophy" series on Raising An Alien (RAA), so I figured I would write about raising religion, or faith, or spirituality (three in one? heh heh...).

I have heard many arguments against religion over the course of my short time on earth. Of course, you say. How could you not? I mean, having two parents who are ordained ministers, it would be impossible not to hear EVERYTHING both for, and against. Sadly, I think the arguments about religion tend to go super emotional without much supportive evidence. This is particularly true once you head into the extreme ends of the spectrum. This is a disservice to everyone.

While I freely admit critics raise some important points, there are some things that parents need to seriously consider when choosing how to raise their children regarding religious communities.

Frankly I had given up on finding a good church before having Kiddo. I was tired of boring hymns from the 19th and early 20th century. I was tired of trying to find the right level of progressive theology. I tired of trying to find a church where there were a few people under the age of 55. But then I decided to let go of this mythical creature in favor of a church that was close.

I gave up this unicorn when I became pregnant for a few reasons, but there were three major ones. First, I wanted my son to have a clear spiritual path, with a related internally consistent ethical code. The reason is that while I could let kiddo "make his own choices" without a solid base from which to understand faith and spirituality, he wouldn't have the vocabulary to dive into this realm. Without exposure to religion, to spirituality, there is little chance he would find this important to his spiritual development. Judging by the emptiness I often hear people without faith discuss, this base of understanding is something worth giving to Kiddo. I can say for myself, that scripture and spiritual discussion as well as ritual have many life affirming and psychic benefits (anything from general well-being, to inner peace, to broadening perspective, to experiencing spiritual joy).

As for the associated code of ethics, some may question the type of morality associated with religions or say that morals can be taught with humanist philosophies. This may be true, but I feel the deep socialization associated with progressive religion has such a strong pull, that it is next to impossible to root out. Personally, I like the idea of Kiddo having a strong sense of compassion and a drive to volunteer, to serve his community, rooted in his understanding of faith. The example of Jesus, for example, is a powerful one, one that has inspired the creation of many non-profit organizations that continue to make an important impact in people's lives across the world. What a wonderful thing to encourage in a child!

The final major reason thing is to give Kiddo a community. The benefits of religious communities cannot be overestimated. I know this from personal experience when Christian lost his job in San Francisco. We had only been attending a church for a few months and they were amazing. They threw us a baby shower at the last minute. They gave us enough food to last several months. Some of these people didn't know our names. I didn't know all their names. Some of them, the first time I talked with them was after they handed me a check or a package of receiving blankets. EVERY SINGLE church I have ever attended has been like this. They welcomed and supported us with open arms. They invited us to participate in service events. They invited us to dinner at different families' homes. They became family, no matter how short our attendance. I can attest to my atheist and agnostic friends frustration at not having a similar type of community, but that is the thing. God - the divine - has a strong pull in a way that other ideas and beliefs do not.

The combination of spiritual nourishment, morals, and community is not just attractive, it is an undeniably powerful gift a parent can give her child.  All religions have their particular combination of these three items, and ultimately what a parent chooses will be directly related to their own upbringing. I don't judge one to be better than another. And it may be that Kiddo will decide to renounce Christianity as an adult and convert to Judaism or Hinduism. Maybe he will renounce belief altogether.

Do I care? Well, maybe a little. But more than caring whether or not he goes to church with me as an adult, I care about how he is socialized. I care about the morals and values I instill. I care about making conscious decisions regarding these things, and I care about how supported he feels as he grows up. It is my personal feeling that raising him in a religious community will give him the most support and spiritual nourishment he can get. I love how he has a community of adults who love him and support him. I love how he will be connected to people across the world by scripture, music, ritual, holidays, and ethics. I love that he will have a solid base from which to build his spiritual understanding, and then, when he is old enough to explore these things on his own, that he will have the spiritual vocabulary to do so.

It is through these things I hope to raise a thoughtful, well-rounded, well-grounded human being, and ultimately, isn't that every parent's hope?

Raising White: Recognizing Privilege and Becoming an Ally

You might not know this about me, but I'm white. Like pasty super white. My husband is impossibly whiter than me. And our kid?

Kiddo glows.

I love our son. He is a sweet boy and I hope he grows up to be a wonderful human being. That is why I have to reconcile myself to the fact that I have to work to make him recognize how white he is.

Somehow, against every male disregard for bodily care I've encountered, I have to convince him to use sunblock. Now it's easy because he thinks it's a game and it's an excuse to get attention from Mommy. So it works - although the added treat of going outside doesn't hurt.

Of course, getting him to wear sunblock is one thing. One minor thing in the course of life when compared to the fact that he is white. HE is WHITE.

A white boy, who will hopefully grow into a white man. I gave birth to a potential white man.

Some people will ignore the issue. White moms will ignore the issue. White dads will ignore the issue, as though it doesn't bear talking about. It isn't a thing. Except of course, it is. Being white is definitely a thing.

I like Louis C.K.'s bit about being white. He says not that white people are better than other people, but that being white is absolutely better because it comes with the privilege package. The privilege package means white people can pretty much go anywhere and do whatever we want. We are part of the dominant culture of America. Institutions function under WASP rules. The more WASP you are, the better things are for you. The more WASP you are, the more likely doors will open for you, even if you get caught doing something really, really, bad.

So how, as a parent, do I show Kiddo this privilege? How as a parent do I help him to realize where he fits in this crazy social hierarchy? How as a parent do I show him how he can be an ally? A respectful, compassionate, educated ally?

Well, first, I think Sesame Street is a good start. Seriously. Sesame Street is my new favorite show. It's got families of all different iterations. It's got kids of all different iterations. It's got different cultures represented. Everything in that show emphasizes diversity without coming right out and saying that.

Except for the preponderance of white actors doing the word of the day thing it's perfect, but I think we can chalk that up to Hollywood's failure and not Sesame Street as an enterprise.

So after Sesame Street? Well, I'm sending Kiddo to public school, despite people like Scott Walker or Andrew Cuomo or laws like No Child Left Behind.

Why? Because public school is awesome.

Public school is one of the places where different classes, ethnicities, and family structures can be discovered. Exposure is one of the best ways to understand diversity. Exposure is one of the best ways for people to feel comfortable and embrace difference. It was definitely part of my education, even though no curriculum was involved.

And along those lines, I'm taking Kiddo to cultural festivals. As soon as he's old enough, we're going to volunteer at different organizations that address social justice gaps in society. With any luck, we'll live in a diverse city. If not a diverse city, I hope we will have a home in a location surrounded by people who do NOT look like us.

I am convinced this is the best way for Kiddo to learn about his privilege and to respect the diversity and beauty of American pluralism. I feel it is my responsibility as a parent to make sure he is not isolated in a bubble of whiteness in some suburban ranch home, working on his white male entitlement.

Children are our future. That is true. But nurture helps to shape them. As parents we have to ask ourselves, what kind of future are we raising?

The Introverted Mom

For a day without people...

I am an introvert. I can put on a good show, and a lot of extroverts will claim I am otherwise but no. I can assure you, I am an introvert.

As an introvert I have needs. I need alone time. I need time to observe a situation before diving in. I need people I know around me to feel comfortable in social settings, and even then, I may run away as fast as humanly possible.

Now that I am a mom, small talk is much easier for me. I don't have to reach for topics of conversation. I can always mention Kiddo. Someone always has a question or comment, and I can always spit out a witty one liner and be on my way. It is convenient, but it is absolutely an introverted crutch.

I fear I have lost my small talk skills I learned with two extroverted parents.

But that is a small problem. The bigger problem is the fact that I don't get alone time. Being a stay at home parent, it's not the lack of sleep, or the excessive toddler stubbornness, or even the difficulty in finding time to work on my projects that bothers me. It's not even the lack of adult conversation about completely adult things (though that is something I do need).

No, the problem for the introverted stay at home parent is I never get a break. I am always surrounded by people. And as a mom, I am always needed. Extended breastfeeding, cosleeping, and the waves of excessive clinginess are taking their toll on my emotional and mental health.

If nap time could last four hours safely, and I could be in a locked room alone with my computer, journal, or weights, I would be a happy person. If I could assure several hours a day of total isolation, with no specific demands on my time except taking care of myself, I would be relish it.

As it is, when I do get the house to myself, I close my bedroom door and curl up in my bed. Not even my cat is allowed in. Sometimes I sleep. Sometimes I just lie there thinking. Sometimes I paint my nails. Whatever I do, it is slow and methodical, purposeful in its simplicity and self-centeredness. Whatever I do, it is for me, and me alone.

But even in those moments I feel pressure. I feel pressure to be "mom" or to do some household chores. I feel the pressure of the clock ticking away, my isolation counting down until there is none left and I am forced out of my solitude to face responsibility. My stomach roils with anxiety. I hate thinking about it, yet I can't stop. I want my isolation to continue. And I feel guilty for wanting that, for needing it, because it is taboo. Because moms are supposed to enjoy being with their children all the time.

But I am an introverted stay at home mom, so even though it is isolating to stay at home meeting the demands of a toddler, it is not isolating enough. It is not reclusive enough. Not the way I need. So as much as I would love to talk about adult things with adult people, give me an hour in an empty house, in a locked room, to be completely by myself.

The Watching Part of Parenting

Honestly, I'm struggling to write a post. Kiddo is doing his thing, and I can't say there is much to talk about. I mean, there are a ton of things to talk about - but I'm never sure if I'm just being a gushing mom, or if there is actually something to report.

He likes to play ball these days. But he doesn't quite know how to throw to someone or how to catch. Instead, he likes people to throw the ball at him. The ball hits him in the chest and he giggles. I think dodge ball is not the game for him...

He says "mom" or "mama" on a daily basis. He says "up" regularly. He answers questions with gestures, nods, and shakes of his head.

Kiddo's bottom molars are basically out. We're just waiting on the top ones to come through. I hope the sharp bottom molars will help this process be a little faster than his earlier molar acquisition, but so far it's hard to tell.

We regularly use "1-2-3." It helps Kiddo understand transitions are occurring as well as preventing tantrums when he isn't following directions.

Chase is a favorite game. The park is a favorite place. Peek is another favorite game. Blowing bubbles is a favorite outside activity.

He stacks blocks and attaches MegaBlox with ease. He makes figures and animals talk to one another during play. He pretends to cook and eat food, which he likes to share with anyone nearby.

He runs around, but also walks with his legs wide apart as though he's some crazy bowlegged sheriff. He also marches and stomps. He even does a kind of crazy kick-out-Russian-military-march-walk. And of course, he dances.

Every week brings changes, but they are more subtle than they used to be.  It is probably more subtle to me because I see him every day. To the casual observer, I'm sure he's still growing and changing by leaps, if not bounds.

No matter how obvious, it is clear Kiddo continues his steady march through childhood. It's weird, marvelous, scary, joyful, and sad all at once. Even when someone hints at parenthood being that way, you can't know until you're in the middle of it. Once you're in the middle of it, you feel it all, in every fiber of your being with every passing glance and goofy face. It's hard. It's a hard thing to do, but not in the way everyone says. Not in the "I'm-so-sleep-deprived-and-the-kids-are-screaming-I-can't-poop-in-peace" way (though there may be a little of that too).

No. Watching it unfold is much harder. Watching every new discovery, holding my breath during every bump, biting my lip off as you comfort through every fever, and nightmare is the hard part. It's hard because somewhere deep down I know, even years before it happens, this will end. He will make his own choices. Life will happen around him. And I am powerless to stop it.

All I can do is watch. Is it special? Is it miraculous? Is it just the daily grind? Yes. Yes it is. Kiddo just smiled at me. It is all that and so much more.

New Year's Resolutions

I recently read that parents should have resolutions for their kids...or that kids should have their own resolutions. I''ve also read that resolutions don't work, that you should instead have something that you can really follow and implement consistently.

With all these things in mind, I am resolved to the following for 2015:

Kiddo can play with any safe toy he wants. Pink. Turquoise. Bedazzled. Glitter coated. If he loves it and it is age appropriate, it's good.

I will continue to honor his preferences - however they may change or develop.

I will continue to cloth diaper...intermittently as his body's needs and our water shortage shift and change (this way I don't feel too guilty for using so much water on laundry or throwing away disposables).

I will try to expose him to a variety of good foods and hold off on junk as long as humanly possible (despite the mockery of various people in my life as I refuse to let him have chocolate etc).

Kiddo can have as many bananas as he wants.

We will have dance parties once a day to music like Pentatonix.

Kiddo can nurse as often as he likes.

I will continue to help him develop various skills by playing games, singing, talking, and reading with him.

Kiddo will continue to have routines, boundaries, and rules appropriate for his age.

I will make sure I get my needs met so I can be the best mom I can be.

We will snuggle at least twice a day.

Here's to a fantastic new year of reasonably raising an alien!