QOC: And so God is going to make a new earth with everything good in it and nothing bad.
D2: Let's still live in our same house!
D1: Except on the new earth it will be cleaner.
D2: Yes, because all the toys will be picked up.
*****************
It used to be that the babies when nursing would reach out and hold each others' hand as they nursed. Then their arms grew longer. Now they either try to scratch each others' eyes out or arm wrestle as they nurse. Somehow it's just not as heartwarming.
*****************
D2 has been in search of a generalized complaint. He tried, "I'm so tired," for awhile, until he discovered that tired people got to spend ten minutes resting in bed. Then it was, "I'm so hungry," which produced whatever food he had turned up his nose at during the previous meal; then, "I'm so lonely," which we pointed out was a bit ridiculous in a room with four other people.
So for a while he was reduced to standing in the middle of the house, saying, "I'm so . . . so . . . so . . . so . . . so . . . so . . ."
The other night he finally found a way to end the sentence. "I'm so . . . goopy."
Goopy he may be.
Monday, March 16, 2009
Friday, March 13, 2009
Coping
My sister-in-law once made fun of me on a visit because I was rummaging in the pantry for candy. "QOC has become a normal person at last," she said, "She needs chocolate."
Maybe I held myself to too tight of a standard when I was younger. Maybe I still do. Self-control was always my point of pride. I could, and did, make a microscopic bag of M&Ms last a month. If I decided that rising at 4:30 in the morning every day was what needed to be done, then up at 4:30 I would be. I didn't need to indulge myself. Don't get me wrong--I could always enjoy life, including M&Ms and sleeping in--but not in a needy way. I always had to feel that I could do without it. I never wanted to need a crutch.
Now--well, I understand a little more. Food still doesn't affect me that way and probably never will, but I understand the desire to binge. The need to do something, anything, that will quiet the noises in your head and maybe even hurt a little because the real pain is too much to deal with. Food is a handy thing for some people. Sleep for others. I can't eat when I'm upset and suffer from insomnia, so those don't work for me.
The irony is, there's nothing wrong in my life. Nothing bad. Just too much of good things. But that can hurt, too. If I were to make a list of the type of activities that I find difficult, and a list of the activities that I absolutely must do in the course of a day, the overlap would be almost total: following routines; emotional interactions; monitoring my surroundings; crisis management. There is simply no time or energy or need for the things I am good at: spontaneity; abstract interactions; detailed analysis.
What I do to cope is read. It sounds harmless enough. And it's not that there's anything wrong with reading. Nor am I distressed at the books I read, mostly light fantasy, as being evil. I just don't like to need them. I don't like that I'm always, always, looking for an escape from my real life and my real duties. But I am.
And it seems wrong. Shouldn't it be enough to be assured I'm doing the right thing? Am I saying that God and the Bible aren't enough to pull me through my daily tasks? I've tried to find ways to rearrange my life to work from my strengths and--they're not there. There's only so much improvement a housekeeping plan can take. Do something fun and spontaneous and I wind up regretting it amid piles of laundry and dishes for the next three days. I can sit down and pretend I'm planning for future years of school, but I know perfectly well I'll scrap it all and start over when the time comes, so what is the point?
There is no room for anything but diapers meals laundry diapers laundry meals diapers meals laundry (none of those done well), and if there's a momentary pause I'm too exhausted to tackle the sort of housekeeping projects I might actually enjoy, too mentally frazzled to even communicate with another human being (some evenings DOB comes home and I literally cannot speak to him)---so, I read. Serious books require too much mental effort and housekeeping and mothering books just depress me. I don't need more ideas about how to do things better; I have read all that before. So I read fantasy. As if I were drowning, grabbing at twigs and hoping they will hold. Or, if my hands are full (as they often are), I click refresh a hundred time, looking for messages.
I turn to words like some people turn to drink. And if I can't make my own words I have to go hunting for someone else's.
I think I should interact with the children more, but the more I interact early in the day the less likely I am to still be able to speak to them by dinnertime. I think I should do something that had some value for someone else or even for myself, but I can't come up with anything that wouldn't push me over the edge. Taking a walk used to be my favorite way to relieve stress, but I can't do that now.
So I just . . . read. But I don't like it because I'm not reading for fun so much as I am reading to cope, and I don't like that I need to cope. I ought to be stronger than this. I shouldn't need something. Or maybe I should. Maybe I am not supposed to be as tough as I would like to be.
Maybe I held myself to too tight of a standard when I was younger. Maybe I still do. Self-control was always my point of pride. I could, and did, make a microscopic bag of M&Ms last a month. If I decided that rising at 4:30 in the morning every day was what needed to be done, then up at 4:30 I would be. I didn't need to indulge myself. Don't get me wrong--I could always enjoy life, including M&Ms and sleeping in--but not in a needy way. I always had to feel that I could do without it. I never wanted to need a crutch.
Now--well, I understand a little more. Food still doesn't affect me that way and probably never will, but I understand the desire to binge. The need to do something, anything, that will quiet the noises in your head and maybe even hurt a little because the real pain is too much to deal with. Food is a handy thing for some people. Sleep for others. I can't eat when I'm upset and suffer from insomnia, so those don't work for me.
The irony is, there's nothing wrong in my life. Nothing bad. Just too much of good things. But that can hurt, too. If I were to make a list of the type of activities that I find difficult, and a list of the activities that I absolutely must do in the course of a day, the overlap would be almost total: following routines; emotional interactions; monitoring my surroundings; crisis management. There is simply no time or energy or need for the things I am good at: spontaneity; abstract interactions; detailed analysis.
What I do to cope is read. It sounds harmless enough. And it's not that there's anything wrong with reading. Nor am I distressed at the books I read, mostly light fantasy, as being evil. I just don't like to need them. I don't like that I'm always, always, looking for an escape from my real life and my real duties. But I am.
And it seems wrong. Shouldn't it be enough to be assured I'm doing the right thing? Am I saying that God and the Bible aren't enough to pull me through my daily tasks? I've tried to find ways to rearrange my life to work from my strengths and--they're not there. There's only so much improvement a housekeeping plan can take. Do something fun and spontaneous and I wind up regretting it amid piles of laundry and dishes for the next three days. I can sit down and pretend I'm planning for future years of school, but I know perfectly well I'll scrap it all and start over when the time comes, so what is the point?
There is no room for anything but diapers meals laundry diapers laundry meals diapers meals laundry (none of those done well), and if there's a momentary pause I'm too exhausted to tackle the sort of housekeeping projects I might actually enjoy, too mentally frazzled to even communicate with another human being (some evenings DOB comes home and I literally cannot speak to him)---so, I read. Serious books require too much mental effort and housekeeping and mothering books just depress me. I don't need more ideas about how to do things better; I have read all that before. So I read fantasy. As if I were drowning, grabbing at twigs and hoping they will hold. Or, if my hands are full (as they often are), I click refresh a hundred time, looking for messages.
I turn to words like some people turn to drink. And if I can't make my own words I have to go hunting for someone else's.
I think I should interact with the children more, but the more I interact early in the day the less likely I am to still be able to speak to them by dinnertime. I think I should do something that had some value for someone else or even for myself, but I can't come up with anything that wouldn't push me over the edge. Taking a walk used to be my favorite way to relieve stress, but I can't do that now.
So I just . . . read. But I don't like it because I'm not reading for fun so much as I am reading to cope, and I don't like that I need to cope. I ought to be stronger than this. I shouldn't need something. Or maybe I should. Maybe I am not supposed to be as tough as I would like to be.
Thursday, March 12, 2009
Epic Battle
I'm going to try a trick I learned from the Zoomlians.
This afternoon I will attack . . .
the dreaded laundry monster of DOOOOOMMMMM!!!!
Yes, that feels better already. I wonder if D2 will loan me his sword?
This afternoon I will attack . . .
the dreaded laundry monster of DOOOOOMMMMM!!!!
Yes, that feels better already. I wonder if D2 will loan me his sword?
Wednesday, March 11, 2009
Doing Things
Sometimes I wonder if I want the wrong things for my children. Being me, I more often wonder why everybody else does. One time I came across a blog where a mother recounted how she would train her children when the ship was getting a bit too loosely run, and one of the things on her list to retrain them in was to ask permission before doing anything.
Maybe that was just a temporary measure in response to running too wild. But I was still struck dumb at the thought. I'd probably survive about five minutes of that much decision-making. More than that, though, I don't want my children to have every choice they make subject to my scrutiny. I try to set things up so they have a wide range of things they can do without even consulting me (although if it involves poison, fire, or considerable heights I hope they'll check in first). Maybe it's just for my own sanity. But maybe there's something more to it.
Another thing that would bother me, that doesn't seem to bother (in the sense of thinking it ought to be otherwise) many mothers, is children who have trouble finding things to do. Most parents of schooled children complain about the difficulties of summer and the need to plan for it, and many parents of homeschooled children complain (or boast?) that their children soon find life dull without lessons and are eager to start up again. I do plan to start lessons one of these days, but if it comes at the cost of my children losing their astounding ability to teach themselves, I doubt they would be worth the trade-off.
Sometimes people talk about the virtues of developing initiative in children, but it usually seems to be defined as "doing what I think they need to do before I get around to telling them to do it." It seems to me that children are born with a huge stock of initiative. Maybe too much initiative. And perhaps that's the trouble. Perhaps parents wind up training or entertaining that drive right out of children, replacing the desire to do things, explore things, try it out with the willingness to sit still and wait for something to happen to them.
I do want my children to obey me; I do sometimes resort to "Everybody sit down with a book and DON'T MOVE." But I hope in the long run that my instructions are always an interruption or at best guidance for a full life, not a relief from the tedium of existence.
Then again, while I was pondering and writing this post, the older ducklings arranged a considerable quantity of toys, blankets, and small items of furniture in my closet, and when I pointed out that it would need to be removed protested that it was their house and they finally had it exactly how they wanted it. So perhaps there's something to say for passivity.
Maybe that was just a temporary measure in response to running too wild. But I was still struck dumb at the thought. I'd probably survive about five minutes of that much decision-making. More than that, though, I don't want my children to have every choice they make subject to my scrutiny. I try to set things up so they have a wide range of things they can do without even consulting me (although if it involves poison, fire, or considerable heights I hope they'll check in first). Maybe it's just for my own sanity. But maybe there's something more to it.
Another thing that would bother me, that doesn't seem to bother (in the sense of thinking it ought to be otherwise) many mothers, is children who have trouble finding things to do. Most parents of schooled children complain about the difficulties of summer and the need to plan for it, and many parents of homeschooled children complain (or boast?) that their children soon find life dull without lessons and are eager to start up again. I do plan to start lessons one of these days, but if it comes at the cost of my children losing their astounding ability to teach themselves, I doubt they would be worth the trade-off.
Sometimes people talk about the virtues of developing initiative in children, but it usually seems to be defined as "doing what I think they need to do before I get around to telling them to do it." It seems to me that children are born with a huge stock of initiative. Maybe too much initiative. And perhaps that's the trouble. Perhaps parents wind up training or entertaining that drive right out of children, replacing the desire to do things, explore things, try it out with the willingness to sit still and wait for something to happen to them.
I do want my children to obey me; I do sometimes resort to "Everybody sit down with a book and DON'T MOVE." But I hope in the long run that my instructions are always an interruption or at best guidance for a full life, not a relief from the tedium of existence.
Then again, while I was pondering and writing this post, the older ducklings arranged a considerable quantity of toys, blankets, and small items of furniture in my closet, and when I pointed out that it would need to be removed protested that it was their house and they finally had it exactly how they wanted it. So perhaps there's something to say for passivity.
Monday, March 09, 2009
Tuesday, March 03, 2009
Moving Colors
Posts have been infrequent owing to the frequent lack of one or both hands and the challenge of coming up with something that doesn't relate to bodily fluids, screaming, or cabin fever.
We're all doing amazingly well, considering. This is the worst time of year for me. I need out. Need out need out need out. And it's still terribly cold, although warmer weather is promised soon. (Sixties this weekend! I will be dancing in the street!) But I haven't completely lost my head yet, nor have I taken off anyone else's.
Last week we decided it was time to move the babies out of our bed, owing to D4's new-found fascination with climbing on our pillows at 3 a.m. in order to peer out the window. Co-sleeping is lovely and cozy while it lasts, but when all the grownups must leave for the couch it is time to call an end to it. The transition has been a bit rocky, but we're down to one meal for D4 in the early morning and I am starting to learn to sleep again. D3 seems relieved to no longer be kicked in the head and sleeps like a log. The big kids are sleeping in the living room until the babies have settled down.
In the shifting kaleidoscope of family life, this change means the big kids must be ready for bed before the babies go down, and the babies are taking fewer daytime naps and ready to go to bed sooner, and DOB gets home later, so it makes sense to put the babies to bed first, then have supper. This, in turn, has made supper a far more relaxing meal, makes it much easier for me to do the dishes since I can start immediately after supper instead of an hour later, and gives some time with already-jammied kids to play or read stories before bed. It works for this week, anyway.
We bravely ventured out to the downtown library on Saturday afternoon, viewing a visiting Lincoln exhibit and a marionette display but mostly visiting the elevators, staircases, and pedestrian bridge.
We're all doing amazingly well, considering. This is the worst time of year for me. I need out. Need out need out need out. And it's still terribly cold, although warmer weather is promised soon. (Sixties this weekend! I will be dancing in the street!) But I haven't completely lost my head yet, nor have I taken off anyone else's.
Last week we decided it was time to move the babies out of our bed, owing to D4's new-found fascination with climbing on our pillows at 3 a.m. in order to peer out the window. Co-sleeping is lovely and cozy while it lasts, but when all the grownups must leave for the couch it is time to call an end to it. The transition has been a bit rocky, but we're down to one meal for D4 in the early morning and I am starting to learn to sleep again. D3 seems relieved to no longer be kicked in the head and sleeps like a log. The big kids are sleeping in the living room until the babies have settled down.
In the shifting kaleidoscope of family life, this change means the big kids must be ready for bed before the babies go down, and the babies are taking fewer daytime naps and ready to go to bed sooner, and DOB gets home later, so it makes sense to put the babies to bed first, then have supper. This, in turn, has made supper a far more relaxing meal, makes it much easier for me to do the dishes since I can start immediately after supper instead of an hour later, and gives some time with already-jammied kids to play or read stories before bed. It works for this week, anyway.
We bravely ventured out to the downtown library on Saturday afternoon, viewing a visiting Lincoln exhibit and a marionette display but mostly visiting the elevators, staircases, and pedestrian bridge.
Friday, February 27, 2009
At this moment . . .
D4 is covered with flour from crawling through the kitchen and picking up the mess I didn't get cleaned up after the cookies (because the babies woke up right then and I had to feed/change/serve lunch).
D3 is eating a tea bag. I don't know why.
D2 is changing his jeans because he went wading in the basement after the rain storm.
I don't know what D1 is doing and I don't think I want to as it probably involves completely rearranging the furniture somewhere. She'll be eating coleslaw for the rest of the day, apparently, as she served herself and D2 a cup of it while my back was turned and then decided she was full.
I keep thinking I want to make a one-day-in-the-life post to look back on in later years, but then I think, "Nah."
D3 is eating a tea bag. I don't know why.
D2 is changing his jeans because he went wading in the basement after the rain storm.
I don't know what D1 is doing and I don't think I want to as it probably involves completely rearranging the furniture somewhere. She'll be eating coleslaw for the rest of the day, apparently, as she served herself and D2 a cup of it while my back was turned and then decided she was full.
I keep thinking I want to make a one-day-in-the-life post to look back on in later years, but then I think, "Nah."
Thursday, February 26, 2009
An Anniversary of Sorts
Thanks to the blog, I realize that today is Twin Day--one year since the ultrasound technician's offhand remark, "You have two babies."I still feel about as dazed as I did a year ago. And although they are about 1700% bigger than they were a year ago, we still have two babies.
Subconsciously that surprises me. It's as if I expected to give birth to twins but then at some point they would split up in age and perhaps we'd be back to the more familiar territory of a toddler and a baby. But although they differ drastically in personality, development, and preferences (not to mention gender), they're still two babies.
They've turned a corner in the past month or so. Suddenly nursing is more a drive-by means for nourishment than the major waking activity. There's a world out there to explore, and they mean to explore it, each in their own way. D3 is the meticulous one, examining a single toy or variation in the floor--even her own fingers--for long quiet minutes, during which time D4 has covered three rooms and tried to pull up at least twice.
I have learned a few things about having twins:
The best garments for mobile twins are denim overalls with very sturdy fasteners, to allow for one-handed grabs.
The people who think you shouldn't try to carry both babies at once don't have twins. Or if they do, they don't have tornado warnings.
The reason twins on average have language delays is that their parents are too tired to speak.
The best entertainment for twin babies is older siblings.
(And a note on this picture. This was on our trip and I spotted them running around upstairs like this instead of in bed. I asked what was going on. D1 said, "We're waiting for Papa to take our picture in sunglasses!" D2 added, "AND pajamas." Glad he clarified that.)
Tuesday, February 24, 2009
Good News
This week I put chili in the crockpot and cornbread in the breadmachine, and this time I pushed all the right buttons and everything was done when we got home from the chiropractor.
The crocuses are starting to show.
The crocuses are starting to show.
Friday, February 20, 2009
Seven Quick Takes Friday
I just realized that D3 is allergic to egg yolk. I wish I had realized it on Tuesday, when she spent all day throwing up, but I thought it might be a bug. Now I'm sure about the eggs. Very, very sure.
Bummer.
Also, putting a baby in a backpack carrier is a really good way to get them to vomit. If they're waiting to vomit.
******************************
DOB has dubbed our mid-winter vacation last weekend the "Little Girl with a Curl" trip. Two days were very, very good. We visited friends, napped, played at the park with the kids, and read.
And the last day was horrid, because I woke up too sick (or tired, it comes to the same thing) to get out of bed, leaving him to deal with everything, leaving both of us utterly exhausted by the time we made it home.
******************************
A duckling hymn: "Amazing grace, how sweet the sound, that saved a wrench like me."
I don't know whether screwdrivers can be saved or not.
*****************************
This recipe is from The Tightwad Gazette. It's really easy, and really good. Faster than the bread machine or most "quick" breads.
Cuban Bread
5-6 cups all purpose flour (I use nearly all whole wheat)
2 T dry yeast
2 T sugar
1 T salt
2 cups hot weater
1 T sesame or poppy seeds (opt.)
Mix 4 cups of flour with yeast, sugar and salt. Pour in hot water and beat 100 strokes, or 3 minutes with a mixer. Stir in the remaining flour until the dough is no longer sticky. Knead 8 minutes. Place the dough in a greased bowl, and cover with a damp towel. Let rise 15 minutes. Punch down. Divide into two pieces. Shape into two round loaves, and place on a baking sheet. Cut an X ½ inch deep on top with a sharp knife. Brush with water, and sprinkle with seeds. Place on the middle shelf of a cold oven. Place a cake pan of hot water on the lowest shelf. Heat the oven to 400 degrees. Bake 40-50 minutes until deep golden brown.
*******************************
D4 is now crawling on all fours. He's still kind of stiff, though, so he looks like Frakenbaby. D3 gets up on her knees and rocks, and seems pretty pleased with herself about it.
******************************
And as a follow up to the first quick take: D3 has finished throwing up, taken a long nap, and is now back to normal. Exactly like on Tuesday. I'm going to have to think of something besides soft-boiled egg yolks to serve her for breakfast.
*******************************
The Christmas chocolate is nearly gone.
More Quick takes at Conversion Diary.
Bummer.
Also, putting a baby in a backpack carrier is a really good way to get them to vomit. If they're waiting to vomit.
******************************
DOB has dubbed our mid-winter vacation last weekend the "Little Girl with a Curl" trip. Two days were very, very good. We visited friends, napped, played at the park with the kids, and read.
And the last day was horrid, because I woke up too sick (or tired, it comes to the same thing) to get out of bed, leaving him to deal with everything, leaving both of us utterly exhausted by the time we made it home.
******************************
A duckling hymn: "Amazing grace, how sweet the sound, that saved a wrench like me."
I don't know whether screwdrivers can be saved or not.
*****************************
This recipe is from The Tightwad Gazette. It's really easy, and really good. Faster than the bread machine or most "quick" breads.
Cuban Bread
5-6 cups all purpose flour (I use nearly all whole wheat)
2 T dry yeast
2 T sugar
1 T salt
2 cups hot weater
1 T sesame or poppy seeds (opt.)
Mix 4 cups of flour with yeast, sugar and salt. Pour in hot water and beat 100 strokes, or 3 minutes with a mixer. Stir in the remaining flour until the dough is no longer sticky. Knead 8 minutes. Place the dough in a greased bowl, and cover with a damp towel. Let rise 15 minutes. Punch down. Divide into two pieces. Shape into two round loaves, and place on a baking sheet. Cut an X ½ inch deep on top with a sharp knife. Brush with water, and sprinkle with seeds. Place on the middle shelf of a cold oven. Place a cake pan of hot water on the lowest shelf. Heat the oven to 400 degrees. Bake 40-50 minutes until deep golden brown.
*******************************
D4 is now crawling on all fours. He's still kind of stiff, though, so he looks like Frakenbaby. D3 gets up on her knees and rocks, and seems pretty pleased with herself about it.
******************************
And as a follow up to the first quick take: D3 has finished throwing up, taken a long nap, and is now back to normal. Exactly like on Tuesday. I'm going to have to think of something besides soft-boiled egg yolks to serve her for breakfast.
*******************************
The Christmas chocolate is nearly gone.
More Quick takes at Conversion Diary.
Wednesday, February 18, 2009
The Power of Repetitive Thinking
I seem to remember hearing somewhere that thinking about something X number of times (I forget how many) wrote the same mental pathways as having done it once. This was used to caution one against contemplating evil, and encourage the results of contemplating good.
What I don't recall ever hearing is the danger this poses to housework. By that logic, it only takes X number of times thinking about, say, washing the dishes, before you feel as if you have already done them.
And what could be more depressing than washing dishes that have already been washed?
Clearly the only solution is to stop thinking about washing dishes, so that one is not deceived into believing them already washed.
What I don't recall ever hearing is the danger this poses to housework. By that logic, it only takes X number of times thinking about, say, washing the dishes, before you feel as if you have already done them.
And what could be more depressing than washing dishes that have already been washed?
Clearly the only solution is to stop thinking about washing dishes, so that one is not deceived into believing them already washed.
Tuesday, February 10, 2009
Miscellaneous
There is no better cure for the winter blues than sixty degrees and sunshine.
On the other hand, there's no worse inducer of the winter blues than a houseful of runny noses.
So I guess we're at least breaking even.
*********************************
One of D2's birthday gifts last year came with a free subscription to a parenting magazine. So I signed up for it, figuring it would at least be good for the picture file. It also gives me a monthly chance to be astonished at the world outside my bubble.
For instance: Did you know that they now have a juice that comes with extra water already added? So you can give your kids less sugary diluted juice without the trouble of pouring water in yourself.
First I'm horrified and think that if anyone does not have time to pour water into juice they really need to reevaluate their life. Then I think, "You know, that probably sounds wonderful to someone who has to have it diluted exactly right and they'll think I'm really mean for mocking it."
But then, if you're mean like me you can never give your kids juice at all.
****************************************
I hate those hyper-real dreams where you dream you're in a park during an earthquake and there's a chilly breeze blowing and then you wake up and find the covers have all come off and someone is shaking the bed.
****************************************
The babies slept beautifully last night, which would lend credence to my theory that it's church that messes up their sleep cycles every week and it takes us all week to get them back on track, except that even though we stayed home from church on Sunday they still wouldn't take their proper naps on time. But I will still take what I can get.
****************************************
What do you do with a child who loves to play in the mud and freaks out whenever he gets mud on him?
On the other hand, there's no worse inducer of the winter blues than a houseful of runny noses.
So I guess we're at least breaking even.
*********************************
One of D2's birthday gifts last year came with a free subscription to a parenting magazine. So I signed up for it, figuring it would at least be good for the picture file. It also gives me a monthly chance to be astonished at the world outside my bubble.
For instance: Did you know that they now have a juice that comes with extra water already added? So you can give your kids less sugary diluted juice without the trouble of pouring water in yourself.
First I'm horrified and think that if anyone does not have time to pour water into juice they really need to reevaluate their life. Then I think, "You know, that probably sounds wonderful to someone who has to have it diluted exactly right and they'll think I'm really mean for mocking it."
But then, if you're mean like me you can never give your kids juice at all.
****************************************
I hate those hyper-real dreams where you dream you're in a park during an earthquake and there's a chilly breeze blowing and then you wake up and find the covers have all come off and someone is shaking the bed.
****************************************
The babies slept beautifully last night, which would lend credence to my theory that it's church that messes up their sleep cycles every week and it takes us all week to get them back on track, except that even though we stayed home from church on Sunday they still wouldn't take their proper naps on time. But I will still take what I can get.
****************************************
What do you do with a child who loves to play in the mud and freaks out whenever he gets mud on him?
Thursday, February 05, 2009
How To Do It All . . . Wrong
Yesterday afternoon we had to go to the chiropractor to meet the older two kids, who had been visiting Grandma. D2 had come down with a bad cold while he was there. We would arrive home right at dinner time.
No problem. I handle this kind of situation all the time. I put chili in the crockpot and cornbread in the bread machine. Then the babies needed some more vegetables, so I cooked a bag of broccoli and whipped it up in the blender right before DOB came to pick up me and the babies. Also I didn't want to waste money on disposables, so I kept them both in cloth, figuring that they'd already had their stinky diapers for the day.
I should have negotiated a better stinky diaper clause. (No more than one per child per day; only between the hours of 8 a.m. and 1 p.m. or 4 p.m. to 8 p.m., except for during meals or when out.) Anyway, no sooner did I pull D4 out of the carseat at the chiropractor than I realized he was stinky. But since the last time I tried to change a cloth diaper away from home I found the old one left in the diaper bag a week later, I decided to leave him in it. D1 and D2 were happy to see us, but very overtired and D2 had a horrible cough. D3 also had a stinky diaper, but we had not had the chance to notice it yet.
So we arrived home with four kids all suffering some combination of hungry, tired, stinky, and sick. We had an altercation just trying to get in the front door, a place where painful backlogs occur rather often when you have two spacey preschoolers, two very heavy carseats, a spring-loaded storm door, and a whole lot of snow. When we had all made it through the door, I realized I was smelling none of the smells that should have heralded hot, fresh cornbread and chili.
Turns out instead of setting the bread machine to bake quick breads, I had set it to make dough. So I had twice-kneaded and risen cornbread batter. (For you non-bakers, that's the exact opposite of what should be done with cornbread, which should be just barely mixed and baked immediately.) I also had forgotten that using the blender disrupts the crockpot's power supply enough to turn it off.
By the time the "cornbread" was baking and the chili was really heating, we had all four children screaming, something that fortunately doesn't happen very often. When it does, there's nothing to do but grit your teeth, quote the first stanza of "If" to yourself, and apply triage.
We did all survive. I'm even trying to use the crockpot and bread machine again.
No problem. I handle this kind of situation all the time. I put chili in the crockpot and cornbread in the bread machine. Then the babies needed some more vegetables, so I cooked a bag of broccoli and whipped it up in the blender right before DOB came to pick up me and the babies. Also I didn't want to waste money on disposables, so I kept them both in cloth, figuring that they'd already had their stinky diapers for the day.
I should have negotiated a better stinky diaper clause. (No more than one per child per day; only between the hours of 8 a.m. and 1 p.m. or 4 p.m. to 8 p.m., except for during meals or when out.) Anyway, no sooner did I pull D4 out of the carseat at the chiropractor than I realized he was stinky. But since the last time I tried to change a cloth diaper away from home I found the old one left in the diaper bag a week later, I decided to leave him in it. D1 and D2 were happy to see us, but very overtired and D2 had a horrible cough. D3 also had a stinky diaper, but we had not had the chance to notice it yet.
So we arrived home with four kids all suffering some combination of hungry, tired, stinky, and sick. We had an altercation just trying to get in the front door, a place where painful backlogs occur rather often when you have two spacey preschoolers, two very heavy carseats, a spring-loaded storm door, and a whole lot of snow. When we had all made it through the door, I realized I was smelling none of the smells that should have heralded hot, fresh cornbread and chili.
Turns out instead of setting the bread machine to bake quick breads, I had set it to make dough. So I had twice-kneaded and risen cornbread batter. (For you non-bakers, that's the exact opposite of what should be done with cornbread, which should be just barely mixed and baked immediately.) I also had forgotten that using the blender disrupts the crockpot's power supply enough to turn it off.
By the time the "cornbread" was baking and the chili was really heating, we had all four children screaming, something that fortunately doesn't happen very often. When it does, there's nothing to do but grit your teeth, quote the first stanza of "If" to yourself, and apply triage.
We did all survive. I'm even trying to use the crockpot and bread machine again.
Monday, February 02, 2009
Fun, fun, fun!
Dear Fellow Parent,
If you could peek inside your child's imagination, what would you see? Silly animals . . . castles and princesses . . . wishing stars and rainbows . . . towering birthday cakes and giant ice cream cones? Whatever might be hidden in there, no doubt it would be colorful, creative and fun, fun, FUN!
No, the blog didn't get hijacked, I'm just quoting from a current piece of junk mail.
Have these people ever been children? Have they ever had a child? This is not how I thought as a child; if the occasional random comments of the ducklings go by, it is not how my children think either. Left unassisted, the child's imagination is a mix of the curious, macabre ("You're dead so we have to eat by ourselves."), and mundane ("Let's play the place we drop off stuff we don't want anymore.") with a distinct lack of cutesy oversized animals in primary colors.
Children's imagination is not primarily a way to escape from the world; it's the way they make sense of the world. Mostly it looks like the real world combined in peculiar ways as they try to understand it without all the data yet.
This book is promoting how a certain kind of adult thinks children ought to imagine things. And if my recollection of being a child is anything to go on, children HATE that kind of adult, though most of them are too polite to say so.
I think we'll pass. The ducklings will have to survive without someone else's idea of fun, fun, FUN!
Sunday, February 01, 2009
Seven Quick Takes Sunday
Because I'm perpetually behind.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
As expected, the bet over whether D4 would be crawling by the end of January wound up in a debate over technicalities (like most Duchy discussions). Is an army crawl a crawl? He's getting up on all fours, but still seems uncertain as to whether to use this power for mere crawling or as a platform for rocket-launching.
D3, meanwhile, has finally figured out rolling both ways but is most impressed with her ability to say, "Mama," although she's still not quite sure what it means.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Today is the annual holiday known as I'm Glad We Don't Have a TV day. I know the internet can be just as bad in some ways, but at least the internet is QUIET. I hate background noise. And in another hour or two, the Superbowl will be over and peace (punctuated by screams) will return.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
A quotation from the Duckling Revised Standard: "And the Lord God commanded them to duke it out."
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Around here we have these sandwich storms: several inches of snow, then an inch or two of ice, then several more inches of snow, then some more ice. Then a few thaw/freeze cycles. It makes for interesting walking. Which makes for a lot of staying inside if everyone has short legs.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Tomorrow is Groundhog Day, aka Candlemas, aka as the midway point of winter. I made a paper chain countdown to the first day of spring and immediately got depressed by how many days there were left. But at least now we have something to do on each of them.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Chicken-Broccoli Curry Soup. Yum. (Except I left out the rice and used potatoes and carrots and didn't have cream so I made thick powdered milk. Still just right, especially for a cold and sniffly day.)
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
As expected, the bet over whether D4 would be crawling by the end of January wound up in a debate over technicalities (like most Duchy discussions). Is an army crawl a crawl? He's getting up on all fours, but still seems uncertain as to whether to use this power for mere crawling or as a platform for rocket-launching.
D3, meanwhile, has finally figured out rolling both ways but is most impressed with her ability to say, "Mama," although she's still not quite sure what it means.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Today is the annual holiday known as I'm Glad We Don't Have a TV day. I know the internet can be just as bad in some ways, but at least the internet is QUIET. I hate background noise. And in another hour or two, the Superbowl will be over and peace (punctuated by screams) will return.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
A quotation from the Duckling Revised Standard: "And the Lord God commanded them to duke it out."
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Around here we have these sandwich storms: several inches of snow, then an inch or two of ice, then several more inches of snow, then some more ice. Then a few thaw/freeze cycles. It makes for interesting walking. Which makes for a lot of staying inside if everyone has short legs.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Tomorrow is Groundhog Day, aka Candlemas, aka as the midway point of winter. I made a paper chain countdown to the first day of spring and immediately got depressed by how many days there were left. But at least now we have something to do on each of them.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Chicken-Broccoli Curry Soup. Yum. (Except I left out the rice and used potatoes and carrots and didn't have cream so I made thick powdered milk. Still just right, especially for a cold and sniffly day.)
Tuesday, January 27, 2009
And While We're At It
Believe it or not, I got roughly 0 hours of sleep last night, since D3 and D4 carefully choreographed alternating screams of hunger. However, pondering random thoughts is easy for me when I have had little sleep. It's kissing owies that I don't have any capacity for when I'm tired. Fortunately no one is screaming at the moment.
Which relates, somewhat tangentially, to another idea I'd like to discuss: parenting time investment. Here's an article arguing that 1) parents actually spend more time interacting with their children now than in years past; and 2) it doesn't really matter how you parent, as kids turn out according to their natural bent in the long run, even though parenting style may make some difference in the short run. (Ruling out extremes of abuse and neglect, of course.)
There are a couple of things left out of this discussion; one is opinions rather than just personality traits. Whether you are devout or not might be more a matter of personality, but I'm pretty sure whether you're a Baptist or a Hindu is very strongly correlated with what your parents believed. Also even if your child turns out all right, most of us would like to still be on speaking terms with them and have them remember our time together fondly. So don't throw parenting out the window entirely.
That said, I do suspect that the modern standard of "good parenting" pushes us way past the point of diminishing returns (at least for most people). At least if I am interpreting other people correctly (and the time diaries cited in the article are correct) many mothers try to spend all or most of their children's waking minutes interacting with them. Some make this a conscious goal; others seem to just fall into it and then wonder if they should institute some time for them to play alone.
Which, if you like it, is great. But is it the gold standard of good motherhood?
I sure hope not, because it's always seemed so hopeless to me that I've never even tried. I'm not really a people person and I'm not at all a reality person.
And as I consider my own childhood, which was quite happy, I think: Did my parents spend every waking moment with me? Certainly not. Did I want them to? Definitely not. It was nice to have them handy in case of emergencies, but they were parents, not buddies. A good portion of my time was devoted to evading their notice, secure in the knowledge that parental notice would shortly be followed by chores. Having them try to enter into our games would have spoiled the fun. Adults just don't get some things; worse, they know too much.
There is, no doubt, an age differential here: I am remembering elementary age, while most of the mothers I've read talking like this have preschoolers or younger. I have read, for instance, that up to about age two children prefer to play with adults even over a slightly-older sibling; by three the preference switches. And I cannot speak at all to the situation of an only child.
But even at 3 and 4 D1 and D2 are quite happy playing by themselves for hours each day, with only occasionally including me or appealing to me to settle arguments. And D3 and D4 spend a good portion of the day just rolling around on the floor and watching. Maybe if I chattered with D3 and D4 I could nudge them ahead a bit in language development, but what would be the point? They'd use the same number of words as adults. And with daily focused activities I could probably have at least D1 reading, but why bother? She'll learn to read on her own soon enough, or if not, all the faster for waiting a few more years, and she'll be reading the exact same books at twelve either way.
This sounds like an excuse for laziness. It's not exactly (although I do feel like I fritter away a lot of time these days, but sleep-deprivation is not a good state to engage in any elaborate endeavors). You can spend as much time doing stuff together as is fun for all of you, and then you can not feel guilty about doing all the other interesting things that can be done with the children within earshot.
Which relates, somewhat tangentially, to another idea I'd like to discuss: parenting time investment. Here's an article arguing that 1) parents actually spend more time interacting with their children now than in years past; and 2) it doesn't really matter how you parent, as kids turn out according to their natural bent in the long run, even though parenting style may make some difference in the short run. (Ruling out extremes of abuse and neglect, of course.)
There are a couple of things left out of this discussion; one is opinions rather than just personality traits. Whether you are devout or not might be more a matter of personality, but I'm pretty sure whether you're a Baptist or a Hindu is very strongly correlated with what your parents believed. Also even if your child turns out all right, most of us would like to still be on speaking terms with them and have them remember our time together fondly. So don't throw parenting out the window entirely.
That said, I do suspect that the modern standard of "good parenting" pushes us way past the point of diminishing returns (at least for most people). At least if I am interpreting other people correctly (and the time diaries cited in the article are correct) many mothers try to spend all or most of their children's waking minutes interacting with them. Some make this a conscious goal; others seem to just fall into it and then wonder if they should institute some time for them to play alone.
Which, if you like it, is great. But is it the gold standard of good motherhood?
I sure hope not, because it's always seemed so hopeless to me that I've never even tried. I'm not really a people person and I'm not at all a reality person.
And as I consider my own childhood, which was quite happy, I think: Did my parents spend every waking moment with me? Certainly not. Did I want them to? Definitely not. It was nice to have them handy in case of emergencies, but they were parents, not buddies. A good portion of my time was devoted to evading their notice, secure in the knowledge that parental notice would shortly be followed by chores. Having them try to enter into our games would have spoiled the fun. Adults just don't get some things; worse, they know too much.
There is, no doubt, an age differential here: I am remembering elementary age, while most of the mothers I've read talking like this have preschoolers or younger. I have read, for instance, that up to about age two children prefer to play with adults even over a slightly-older sibling; by three the preference switches. And I cannot speak at all to the situation of an only child.
But even at 3 and 4 D1 and D2 are quite happy playing by themselves for hours each day, with only occasionally including me or appealing to me to settle arguments. And D3 and D4 spend a good portion of the day just rolling around on the floor and watching. Maybe if I chattered with D3 and D4 I could nudge them ahead a bit in language development, but what would be the point? They'd use the same number of words as adults. And with daily focused activities I could probably have at least D1 reading, but why bother? She'll learn to read on her own soon enough, or if not, all the faster for waiting a few more years, and she'll be reading the exact same books at twelve either way.
This sounds like an excuse for laziness. It's not exactly (although I do feel like I fritter away a lot of time these days, but sleep-deprivation is not a good state to engage in any elaborate endeavors). You can spend as much time doing stuff together as is fun for all of you, and then you can not feel guilty about doing all the other interesting things that can be done with the children within earshot.
To Be and To Do
What if the whole debate over biblical gender roles is asking the wrong question?
A role is something all-encompassing, drawn out on every side. If you're playing a role, you must get inside that persona, forgetting yourself to become them down to the smallest detail. You must follow the script--and so must everyone around you. If you've studied for Portia and it turns out everyone else is playing Twelfth Night, confusion will reign.
But real life has an irritating way of not following a script. And the Bible doesn't hand out roles--individual character parts we must become. It gives examples and it gives commands.
Compared to a role, a command is both narrower and broader. Narrower in that it doesn't begin to try to define every aspect of your life. Broader in that it applies in every situation, not just a particular script. "Thou shalt not covet" applies to your neighbor's donkey and your neighbor's SUV. More than that, the fact that a command is given to some does not necessarily mean everyone else is exempt. (Although small children hold firmly to this theory as long as possible.)
Is it just a semantic distinction? I don't think so. If we go to the Bible looking for commands, they're pretty easy to see. We have freedom to apply them to the different situations of our lives; we also have freedom not to worry about the areas that aren't covered. We can give other people the freedom to apply them in their situations.
Also if we look at the specific commands to men and women, we can see they are all applications of broader commands that apply to everyone (we all are to love one another; we all are to be subject to one another and clothed in humility). We don't suddenly become exempt from a general command because we are following a specific application of another one. We can't turn up our nose and say, "Well, that's not my role" when something ought to be done.
On the other hand, if we are looking for a role, the commands alone will not give us nearly enough information. We must rip the book apart looking for every clue that might help us flesh out every aspect of our "role": taking analogies long past the point where they break down; trying to deduce duties from descriptive statements; following examples as if they were paint-by-number pages; torturing every obscure allusion out so that we can fully develop our role. And then when life doesn't follow the script we are expecting, we're at a loss; or when other people's situations don't fit the role we've developed, we're unreasonably critical.
Family life is not a play, and there are no roles and no script. Do what's right. Be the children of God.
A role is something all-encompassing, drawn out on every side. If you're playing a role, you must get inside that persona, forgetting yourself to become them down to the smallest detail. You must follow the script--and so must everyone around you. If you've studied for Portia and it turns out everyone else is playing Twelfth Night, confusion will reign.
But real life has an irritating way of not following a script. And the Bible doesn't hand out roles--individual character parts we must become. It gives examples and it gives commands.
Compared to a role, a command is both narrower and broader. Narrower in that it doesn't begin to try to define every aspect of your life. Broader in that it applies in every situation, not just a particular script. "Thou shalt not covet" applies to your neighbor's donkey and your neighbor's SUV. More than that, the fact that a command is given to some does not necessarily mean everyone else is exempt. (Although small children hold firmly to this theory as long as possible.)
Is it just a semantic distinction? I don't think so. If we go to the Bible looking for commands, they're pretty easy to see. We have freedom to apply them to the different situations of our lives; we also have freedom not to worry about the areas that aren't covered. We can give other people the freedom to apply them in their situations.
Also if we look at the specific commands to men and women, we can see they are all applications of broader commands that apply to everyone (we all are to love one another; we all are to be subject to one another and clothed in humility). We don't suddenly become exempt from a general command because we are following a specific application of another one. We can't turn up our nose and say, "Well, that's not my role" when something ought to be done.
On the other hand, if we are looking for a role, the commands alone will not give us nearly enough information. We must rip the book apart looking for every clue that might help us flesh out every aspect of our "role": taking analogies long past the point where they break down; trying to deduce duties from descriptive statements; following examples as if they were paint-by-number pages; torturing every obscure allusion out so that we can fully develop our role. And then when life doesn't follow the script we are expecting, we're at a loss; or when other people's situations don't fit the role we've developed, we're unreasonably critical.
Family life is not a play, and there are no roles and no script. Do what's right. Be the children of God.
Tuesday, January 20, 2009
Happily Ever After
One should perhaps not ask too much of fluffy, popcorn movies, except that they be suitably light and fluffy and everything turn out all right in the end. But there's one thing that annoys me about the modern version of these movies, perhaps because--to my mind--they no longer come out all right in the end.
In an older movie of this type, if you were to encounter an estranged couple, especially with children, you knew they would be back together by the end of the movie. If there was a single parent, and some adult of the opposite gender became good friends with the child, you knew that a romance with Mom or Dad was next on the agenda.
Now it seems the rule is quite opposite. If there's an estranged couple, the apparently less-cool parent will have a cool new romantic interest by the end of the movie (curiously, this is true even if the other parent seems to have realized their mistake).
And as for the single-parent movies--well, last weekend we watched The Pacifier. Watching a Navy SEAL get some discipline into some spoiled suburban kids while getting in touch with his softer side and foiling some international spies is fun. (Do the SEALs rent these guys out?) Watching the basically fatherless lieutenant learn to father the kids he's guarding is heartwarming.
So why can't he just marry their widowed mom? Why bring a totally different (and not particularly interesting) romantic interest into it?
Do not talk to me about what is realistic. This is a movie. The bad guys always lose, kids can take on international spies successfully, and people can drive like maniacs through the city and only attract police attention when it is needed. It's not about the way things are, it's about the way we want things to be.
Do we no longer want children to grow up in the same house with a mother and a father? Is it happily ever after enough to have someone promise they won't forget you?
(But I made up my own ending. He sticks around town, dates the principal for awhile, it doesn't work out, he keeps visiting the kids and falls for the mom later on. So there.)
In an older movie of this type, if you were to encounter an estranged couple, especially with children, you knew they would be back together by the end of the movie. If there was a single parent, and some adult of the opposite gender became good friends with the child, you knew that a romance with Mom or Dad was next on the agenda.
Now it seems the rule is quite opposite. If there's an estranged couple, the apparently less-cool parent will have a cool new romantic interest by the end of the movie (curiously, this is true even if the other parent seems to have realized their mistake).
And as for the single-parent movies--well, last weekend we watched The Pacifier. Watching a Navy SEAL get some discipline into some spoiled suburban kids while getting in touch with his softer side and foiling some international spies is fun. (Do the SEALs rent these guys out?) Watching the basically fatherless lieutenant learn to father the kids he's guarding is heartwarming.
So why can't he just marry their widowed mom? Why bring a totally different (and not particularly interesting) romantic interest into it?
Do not talk to me about what is realistic. This is a movie. The bad guys always lose, kids can take on international spies successfully, and people can drive like maniacs through the city and only attract police attention when it is needed. It's not about the way things are, it's about the way we want things to be.
Do we no longer want children to grow up in the same house with a mother and a father? Is it happily ever after enough to have someone promise they won't forget you?
(But I made up my own ending. He sticks around town, dates the principal for awhile, it doesn't work out, he keeps visiting the kids and falls for the mom later on. So there.)
Thursday, January 15, 2009
D1 the Personal Trainer
(D1 and D2 have just finished cleaning their room and are running in circles on the newly-clear floor. QOC enters.)
QOC: What are you guys doing?
D1: We're running in circles! You should try it! It would get rid of your tummy!
QOC: What are you guys doing?
D1: We're running in circles! You should try it! It would get rid of your tummy!
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