Fish food for thought

For a family of River Badgers, fish usually means food.  But, perhaps unfortunately, our clan is less vicious than most, and we recently added two goldfish as pets.  Their original names were "Alex" and "Alex", but then one became "Cow".  I think this is because of its colorful, calico scales.  These fish represent the Boy Badgers' first experience with being responsible for a pet.  We have a cat, but she's mostly mine, as I've had her for over thirteen years.  With these new pets, the Boy Badgers would have to take the lead with regard to feedings and tank cleanings, and being watchful for signs of trouble.  Or, at least that's what we told them.  So far, as we pretty much expected, it's I and Daddy River Badger who remind the boys about feeding the fish, and I'm almost certain we will eventually have to point out that the tank needs cleaning.

Besides the lack of enthusiasm for the more tedious aspects of pet ownership, the boys have been very excited about the fish actually being there, in the tank, on their dresser, in their room.  The fish are watched all through the day, with boys running up and down the hall to tell me that "Cow is being lazy!" and "Alex ate poop!"  The tank light is left on at night as the boys fall asleep, and our usual Boy Badger bedtime story has been temporarily replaced by a fish-related question and answer session.

The fish are inspiring to the Little Badgers.  The other day, I found Big Brother Badger flipping through an encyclopedia of fish.  I've heard Little Brother Badger pulling the step-stool through the house early in the morning to be the first one to peer into the tank.  Even Baby Badger has gotten into the fun, trying to say "fish", and pointing when they swim by.  So, I have to admit that, even if I'm the one who's going to be cleaning the tank, getting a couple fish seems to be going over pretty well.

But here's where my glowing, selfless, mother-of-the-year expression wears off.  Here are two more scaly responsibilities.  I don't take this lightly, you see.  I've already had nightmares about the poor fish struggling to breathe in a filthy tank that I have forgotten to clean!  Yes, my dreams do tend to be slight exaggerations.  Ahem.

I know families that have kids and pets and houses and manage to survive.  My own Mom took in animal after animal while I was growing up.  We had dogs and cats, horses and birds.  Mom cared for rescued blue jays, braved traffic for turtles crossing the road (even snapping turtles!), and saved hopeless case after hopeless case.  My Dad laughs about this (now), with a sing-song, "Where can a turtle/dog/cat/miniature horse/emu find a home?  Under a rock? Under a stone?  Why, at our house, of course!"  I think the only animals not welcome at my parents' house were ticks.

But, when DRB and I had kids, and then bought a house, I started to face the situation for myself.  Cat hair and cat boxes on top of kid messes and normal wear-and-tear on the house started to drive me a bit nuts.  I appreciate the love and companionship that pets can bring to the house, and the wonderful influence they can have on children, but after three kids in almost that many years, I worried that anything extra will disturb the fragile equilibrium we have tentatively established.

And that is the crux of it, I think.  With children, the unknown, the what if, is always somewhat scary.  I find comfort in creating and sticking to a schedule, to minimize the number of unknowns.  I want to manage risks as well as I can, and even though I know that crises are inevitable, I want to keep my equation with a manageable set of variables.  I don't want to feel out of control each night before I go to bed.  I don't want to feel out of control.

So, here we are, with two fish.  They are, at present, very obliging pets.  They eat, they swim, and they seem to get along.  The tank will need to be cleaned, but I have enough of a heads-up to work it into the schedule.  I've figured out that the fish are not the problem.  I think I need to re-evaluate my expectations for "control" over the house.  One of the things that I loved about growing up in my parents' house was the fun and spontaneity brought by having an assortment of creatures roaming the halls and romping in the yard.  I know it's not realistic for our family now to do that, but perhaps I can work on my own spontaneous nature.  Relinquishing control is a different thing than losing it, and may, in the end, be the responsible parenting thing to do.

SAHM...Go!

When I was a little girl, I wanted to be a truck driver.  I acted out my dream job on my bicycle, riding up and down my parents' driveway, pretending that I was driving a fantastic silver big rig across the country.  As I got older, I wanted to be a concert harpist, and then, after taking a geology class in college, decided to study rocks for a living.  Geology took me through college and graduate school, and on into an academic job.  But, as before in my life, my ambitions changed as my experience expanded.  In this case, the particular catalyst was motherhood.  My head and my heart dictated this career change.

So, here I am, a new SAHM (stay-at-home-Mom).  I'm not completely green; I had the privilege of taking a few months off with the birth of each of the Little Badgers.  But this time, I do not have an "outside-the-home" job to go back to.  I've taken a leap of hope.

I hope that I'm making the right decision for my family.  I hope that I'll do a good job.  I hope that I'll be able to appreciate this experience for the once-in-a-lifetime opportunity it is.  Daddy River Badger is on board, but is, for the moment, staying close to the lifeboats.  It is hard to go from a two-income arrangement to being a sole breadwinner family.  There are changing responsibilities, and adjustments to be made in all aspects of life.

Before last week, DRB and I had very equivalent positions in the family.  We each had a job outside the home, we each took parenting very seriously, and we each contributed to the day-to-day: cleaning, cooking, budgeting, diapering, and putting gas in the car.  Instead of the more traditional spheres of tending the home or earning the money, we essentially did both, together.  Now, we have to navigate a new path.  Do we steer towards tradition, towards the security of knowing that each of us have our own domain?  This might be seen by some as being a step backwards for me, a defeat of sorts.  But, I see it having a very significant positive facet.  Part of the problem of being "equivalent" in every way is that each person is equally empowered to express criticism of the other.  No area is safe.  Cooking dinner, discussing a work project, picking out a snack for the kids; I felt equally able to inform DRB that he was screwing up, and vice versa.  Perhaps a step towards tradition will yield enough separation that we will each be considered an authority figure for the other, and the constant threat of spousal criticism and the frustrating search for approval will end.

And I am enough of a traditionalist to appreciate the warmth and lure of planning and cooking dinners for my family, of being a consistent presence in my children's day, of treating my husband like a conquering hero when he comes home at night, of the comfort of keeping an organized house, and the security of having firm control of my realm.  I hope that I've earned the street cred to be able to say that openly, and without fear of judgment.

So, I am going forward into this new phase of my life.  I will be a mother and wife, and a damn good one.  I will make this count.

Wish I May, Wish I Might...

Christmastime has always been, for me, a season of wishes.  Wishes to be made, wishes to be realized.  When I was a little child, still believing in Santa Claus, I would wish for presents and for snow.  As I got older, I wished for different things: health and happiness for my family, to be together with our relatives, to see my children smile as they open their presents.

Here are some wishes, large and small, from the past few days:

I wish for perspective.

We traveled a little early this year so that we could visit with my grandmother, who is in a nursing home, and is ailing.  She cannot really see or hear anymore, but I wanted my children to visit her, their great-grandmother.  When we walked in, Nana was lying in bed, awake, but non-responsive.  My mother talked quietly to her and stroked her hair.  The Little Badgers helped me open Nana's presents and we sang Christmas carols to her.  Little Brother Badger did not hesitate to give her a kiss, and Baby patted her hand.  As we drove home, Big Brother Badger asked his grandmother about Nana.  Why was she sick?  Why didn't she smile?  We tried to answer his questions honestly, and my Mom told stories about when her mother was young.  Time takes on a new meaning when four generations are in the same room.

I wish for tradition.

Traditions can be new, such as gathering the family to watch "A Christmas Story", or many years in the making, such as my sister and I putting the angel on the tree.  One tradition that we've followed since I was a child is pizza on Christmas Eve.  This year, a soft snow fell as the evening approached.  The Boy Badgers and their Daddy came in for dinner from playing in the snow, their eyes bright and their cheeks flushed.  We had music on the radio, a bottle of wine, and pizza and subs for dinner.  Bliss!

I wish for memories.

Three years ago on Christmas Day, my husband and I welcomed Little Brother Badger into our lives.  He is the gentle soul of our family, and we love him so, the best Christmas present we've ever gotten.  I took a moment to remember laboring with him, and when he appeared, happily observing, "You have beautiful brown eyes!"

I wish to let this all sink in.

After opening presents at my parents' house, we drove to Daddy River Badger's parents' house.  There, the Little Badgers got to see their other grandparents, aunts, uncles, and cousins.  We got to open more presents, and to eat and eat and eat.  I remember standing in the driveway looking up at my in-laws' home thinking that I needed to pause, and appreciate this morning, as it will go so fast.  And it did.  Fast as a wink.

I wish for joy.

Daddy River Badger's brother gives the best kid gifts in the history of the world.  This year, he did not disappoint.  Big Brother Badger opened his present from Uncle and the expression on his face radiated pure joy!  What was it that could make a 4-year-old jump up and down, screaming with happiness?  A six-foot-long stuffed crocodile, of course!

I wish for family.

I feel so lucky that I got to have a real conversation with every member of my family, on both sides.  I got to laugh with my sisters, talk with Dad #1 and Dad #2, cry with DRB's Mom, and reminisce with my own.  I got to rain hugs and kisses on my nieces and nephew, and chat with my brothers-in-law.  Where else can one enjoy chocolate milk at breakfast, unlimited homemade cookies, and a hot turkey sandwich before bed?  Big Brother Badger proclaimed, "I am being spoiled, but it's okay!"

I wish for us.

We drove back today, the traffic difficult, and the weather nasty.  We arrived home, though, to a Christmas just our own, the River Badger family, all five of us.  We got to revel in our own company, our own stories, our own particular brand of humor and tradition.

I wished for a memorable, wonderful holiday, and was so lucky to enjoy it with the ones I love.  Happy holidays from the River Badgers!

I totally forgot to ___________ !

Back in the day, I prided myself on never needing to write stuff down.  Even in college, I could generally remember what my assignments were and when they were due.  Basically, this was my talent, as opposed to karaoke.  Well, something happened between then and now.  Now, I need to write everything down, and usually in at least two places.  Why two places, you ask?  Well, I'll forget where I wrote down the thing the first time.

This struck me the other night.  The whole River Badger family was downstairs playing and watching TV between baths and bedtime, and I was chatting to my Mom about something or other.  She mentioned coming down to visit on Friday just as Baby Badger suddenly fell off the sofa chasing her brothers.  I caught Baby, and literally, for about 5 seconds, could hear the brain gears chunking away before returning to my conversation.  I felt more than a little awkward; I should be able to multi-task, even mentally, as a Mommy.  You know, catch baby, access mental calendar, engage!

Then I realized what actually happened inside my head was more like, catch baby, when is Friday?, what else is going on Friday?, when is the washing machine repairman supposed to come again?, oh, crap, I forgot to get a present for my sister's fiancé, what day do the secret Santa gifts have to show up at school?, have to buy wrapping paper, oh, right, school play, what is traffic like that morning?, what time should I ask my Mom to leave her house to avoid traffic so I'm not pacing around worried that she's been in an accident because she might not have her phone...Whew!  If that's not mental multi-tasking, I don't know what is!

So, I think I may have identified the problem.  It's not just items on a calendar anymore.  For a parent, it's more like cloud computing.

We, as parents, wake up, and, not only have all of tasks of the day to contend with, we also have logistics, and preparation for the next day's events, and last-minute changes to the schedule.  We have to remember antibiotics, and to bring in diapers for daycare, and to make sure to give the Christmas tree water.  We need to remember e-mails, phone calls, stuff for church, work, school, and going to Grammy's house.  We have to remember to shower, get groceries, clean the cat box, and make sure the trash cans get put out on the right day.  And then there's the worry.  We worry about our mother's tone of voice during her last call, we worry about our kids being bullied (or worse), and that they will actually wear their hats today because it's cold.  We worry about the nail-looking thing that we just drove over because a flat tire will really f**k our day up.

And then, by the time the day is almost over, and the kids are in bed, and the TV is on, we have to remember to actually pay attention to our significant other.  Nothing says sexy time like a pile of laundry and two exhausted parents.

But, for me, perhaps my biggest problem is myself.  I don't cut myself a break because I see engaged parents all around me doing the exact same thing, maybe even more, and maybe even better.  If I feel tired and overwhelmed, and my mind skips a trick, I blame myself for not working hard enough to be more efficient and organized.  For parents, I think crazy becomes a new normal.

So, what's the answer?  Letting go?  Simplify, simplify?  Maybe it's as easy as acknowledging the day-to-day challenges as being significant, and difficult, and exhausting.  The challenges may be the new normal, but they are not the new easy.

Armageddon or reflection?

Well, folks, December 21, 2012 is almost upon us.  Some have interpreted the ancient Mayan calendar as indicating that this day would signal the end of the world, where fire would rain from the skies, floods would swallow the earth, and humanity would vanish.  Others shake their heads and continue with their holiday shopping.  A few more put forward a different take.  Joshua Berman at Huffington Post presents a quote from Dr. Jaime Awe, the director of the Institute of Archaeology in Belize, that this date "represents the ending of one cosmological cycle, and the beginning of another. It's very much the way most people would look at the end of one year and the beginning of another, but over a very, very long period of time. It is a time for reflection, and for considering future direction."

After the events of the past few weeks, when floods did swallow people's worlds, and fire did rain, tragically, on others, even skeptics might give a slight bit of credence to the notion of end times.  It feels like something is out of control and unexplainable.  It feels like we might turn to a higher power as a cause, or to define a consequence.  But, the end of days?  I don't think we're going to get out that easy.
  
Considering the end of this week as a cosmic "new year" sounds like a good idea to me.  For our country, teetering on the brink of a "fiscal cliff", where the hurt and suffering of our neighbors strained by the bad economy echoes on front pages daily, where we are still fighting wars overseas, and where I was forced to try to explain to my four-year-old why someone would want to kill little children just like him, perhaps a time of "reflection and...considering future direction" is appropriate.  We've got to fix this.

The new year, for many in this country, brings a sense of getting to start over, for resolutions to live a better life and to make better choices.  But, we can never really start over completely.  The place where we start from is always defined by the choices and circumstances of the past.  We resolve to lose weight, as we stand up from our unhealthy position on the couch.  We resolve to get along with our families better, as we rise from the usual holiday conflicts.  We resolve to be better parents, as we contemplate our past inadequacies.  Our starting place may be one of hurt, anger, sloth, pride, or jealousy, but we will do better.  Our past failures provide the context for renewal, and also the motivation.

So, instead of the world ending by extra-terrestrials, comets, or giant solar flares, let's consider the possibility that the turn of an ancient calendar might mean just another chance for change.  A new mindset, an improved vision of the future.  Despite the darkness of recent events, people all around us have taken up the call to do random acts of kindness, to advocate for changes in the country, to help heal someone else's pain.  Each of us fighting a daily battle for good, so that we may all add up to a better and brighter tomorrow.  I find that comforting.  Let's turn the tide.  

Fear and Hope

The events three days ago in Newtown, Connecticut were shocking, horrifying, terrible.  When I heard, I felt like I had been punched in the stomach, with no air to breathe.  As a parent, I watch and read the news and see things that I would not wish on a worst enemy.  Things that could happen to my children.  I have to acknowledge that along with the joy, wonder, and amazement that comes with having babies, there is fear, too.  Fear crept into my life the moment I held my oldest, the moment I realized how much I had to lose, and has made a nice little nest for itself.  I would not say that my life is defined by fear, but it is there nonetheless.  It hovers in the background as I watch my babies sleep, as I sharply eye them as they eat, as I hold their hands walking into school.  Being a parent involves fear.

I cannot banish fear completely, and I do not think I would want to.  It makes me take every reasonable safety precaution and prompts me to ask myself "What if...?" so that I can feel more prepared.  It encourages me to appreciate every second I enjoy with my children, and to tell them how much I love them every day.  However, even if I try to assign fear to this helpful, rational context, it will not limit itself to those terms.  Events like last Friday, events that are completely unpredictable and, as yet, unexplained, do occur.  And that's where hope comes in.  We, as parents, helped our children onto the bus today, or into class, because of hope.  We are hopeful that something might come out of this tragedy that will save lives in the future.  We are hopeful that our children will be okay, today.  We are hopeful that, while we feel fear, and acknowledge its presence in our lives, we will not let it have the upper hand.

My oldest son (he is four) heard an announcer talking about guns on the radio this morning, and asked me why.  I told him that a bad person had used a gun to hurt some people last week.  He did not say anything else about it, but I am hopeful that I will be able to tell him the right things when he does ask again.  I am hopeful that I will be able to reassure him, and make him feel safe.  I am hopeful that I will be able to keep fear in its place.    

You've got homework. Again.

Big Brother Badger is four.  Okay, if you were to ask him, he would say four-and-a-half.  He attends a preschool program at his daycare.  Now, I reckon back in my day (shakes old lady fist), preschool was called nursery school and it mostly consisted of playing, eating a snack, taking a nap, and more playing.  We had a Christmas show, but we were the angels (cherubs?) and just had to kind of stand there.  Back in my day kids apparently were tremendous slackers.

Today, Big Brother Badger learns his numbers, his colors, his letters.  He learns to spell.  He learns math.  His Christmas show involves memorizing several songs, complete with dance moves.  He brings home elaborate art projects that involve glitter and glue and those plastic rolly eyes.  He also brings home work.  Now, I've taught college undergraduates.  If I were to assign the amount of work that BBB brings home, the kvetching would be endless.  Each day he brings home a worksheet where he practices his writing or math skills.  He has a spelling test each month and practice tests in between.

My response to this is two-fold.  First, because laziness runs strong in Bad Mommy, I get annoyed.  With three Little Badgers running around, it is difficult to make time to get the worksheets finished, plus BBB is usually not in the mood anyway after an already full day.  He gets tired and cranky and has trouble concentrating.  Yes, I do realize that this response is short-sighted and reflects badly on my parenting ability.  Secondly, I am proud.  I am proud of his teachers, for putting in the effort, and of him, for trying so hard.  I know that this response is more in-line with being a Good Mommy.

But, he is four!  What to expect when he is five and officially in kindergarten?  I imagine future worksheets detailing the periodic table and the electromagnetic spectrum.  Which is great (squeaks Good Mommy frantically)!  But, really (yawns Bad Mommy)?  I remember kindergarten being a little more stringent than nursery school.  We had our own little desks.  We had rulers and pencils and a very structured day.  But I don't remember this much homework.  I can see that with our hyper-competitive society, any advantage might be desirable.  An extra hour every day, from preschool, might mean the difference for getting into Harvard.  Or, that extra hour spent after preschool could be utilized engaging with family and imaginative play.  In my humble experience, academic achievement is linked to desire, and enjoyment.  If you really enjoy your subject, or you really desire that degree, you will do better than if not.  Burning out your preschooler is probably not a good idea in the long-term.  And I do worry about burnout in him.  I see a slight fear of going to school, a casual mention of worrying about all the rules, an intense focus on an activity that will devolve into tears of frustration if he doesn't succeed.

So, I am left to be confused.  Confused between my childhood experience, viewed through the foggy rose-colored lens of time, and the present experience of my oldest child, viewed through the sharper, but subjective lens of Mommy.  Confused between my initial response (Bad Mommy) and the "correct" response (Good Mommy).  I have a kid who is bright, curious, and enjoys his imagination.  I don't want to screw that up.  So, I compromise.  Good Mommy tries really hard to motivate her son, coaching him when he's confused, and praising him when he does his best.  But, if he's simply had enough, and he would rather chase a butterfly or play with an ankylosaurus, Bad Mommy steps in surely and swiftly, and makes sure that old-school learning is still not out of style.

How do I explain childhood?

How do I explain unexplainable things?  One morning on the way to school, Big Brother Badger could not stop talking about growing up.  He wanted to be big.  He was tired of school and definitely did not want to have naps anymore; he did not like being told what to do.  I told him, "Baby, appreciate being a child.  Childhood is such a wonderful time!"  Those words went in one ear and out the other.  I understand that there is the problem of context for a youngster.  There are some concepts, like gratitude, like the passage of time, like depth of love, like the freedom of being a child, that are realized through life experience and, perhaps, some hardship.  But I also feel as though I needed to attempt an explanation, even if he doesn't realize what I mean until much later.

My Mom has a saying, "Don't wish your life away."  She says it whenever I'm waiting excitedly for a holiday or party, and also whenever I'm trying to get past a difficult experience.  Don't wish time to move any faster.  Don't take any second for granted, even if it's hard.  She would say this, and I would roll my eyes, but, as I got older, I know what she meant.  The understanding came after the words had sunk in.
 
How do I explain childhood?  At least, the relatively easy childhood of the Little Badgers?  How do I tell them how wonderful it is to be able to have a nap in the middle of the day, to have snacks and toys, to have a loving family, and the freedom to play and imagine, to not have burdensome responsibilities and expectations?  Now that I write this, I worry that I am projecting my subtle jealousy; my awareness of some of the limitations of being an adult, and how good I had it as a child.  I recognize that to truly understand concepts such as gratitude, and love, you must also understand the opposite sides of the coin: ungratefulness, willful dispassion, anger, fear, feeling alone, feeling trapped.

I think that the answer is simply, I can't explain childhood.  Even if I were a gifted orator, or a clever teacher and could use words as a paintbrush, there are some things that simply cannot be understood if the context is lacking.  Nevertheless, I think I'll keep repeating, "Appreciate being a child", "Don't wish your life away", "I love you as much as a mommy can love", so that the words are there for him when he can understand.  And he'll know that I understand, too.



Note: "I love you as much as a mommy can love" is from "I Love You As Much..." by Laura Krauss Melmed, a beautiful book that is one of my favorites to read to my children, but makes me cry every time.

Mommy learned everything from watching TV

Last night I had a difficult time with Big Brother Badger.  Under-statement.  He woke up from his nap still tired and cranky, and refused to eat anything.  Low blood sugar added fuel to the fire, and by bath time, he was in full-fledged tantrum mode.  Disrespectful, yelling, running around, refusing to get undressed, the works.  Daddy River Badger was busy with the two youngest, and I was attempting to administer a well-deserved time-out.

Have you ever watched Jo, the British Super-nanny on TV?  We see stories of parents pushed to the brink, all fifteen children running around like they're possessed, food on the walls, toys in the sink, pushing and biting and kicking.  The parents throw their hands up and finally sink to the floor in a stupor of helplessness as chaos reigns around them.  Then Jo shows up and demands respect and obedience, throws a few solid time-outs around, and trains the parents up until order is returned to the home and everyone cries from happiness.  The staple of her arsenal is the time-out.  Not just a "go sit over there for a couple minutes" time-out, but a clearly defined system.  A set place, a set time, giving the child advance notice of what offenses necessitate a time-out, explaining to the child why what they did was wrong and requiring an apology.  The children usually start off thinking they can railroad their shell-shocked parents by scampering away after the time-out begins, but Jo stays right with the parent while he or she, time and time again, brings the child back to the naughty chair.  Sometimes this goes on for an hour or more.  The bottom line is that the parent must, and does, outlast the child.

Anyway, I rarely watch Super-nanny alone.  Usually Daddy River Badger is there, and more often than not, the Little Badgers are there, too.  They'll be playing at the other end of the room, but sometimes will wander over and ask about the "kids being bad" on TV.  My first thought is that watching children behaving badly will give them a sense of perspective.  They would see the disrespect and immaturity, and realize why Mommy and Daddy don't want that kind of behavior in the house.  My second thought is, of course, "Oh no!  They have access to state secrets!"  They've seen that Mommy and Daddy aren't naturally genius parents, that we haven't invented the time-out.  Maybe we're not the top of the family food chain anymore.  They do love shark documentaries.

In any case, time-outs in our home generally follow the Super-nanny process, and 98% of the time, seem to work.  Even Baby will sit quietly in her one minute time-out, and say "Sorry, Mama!" when she's done.  Then there are the times like last night, when I am having to drag the misbehaving child back into time-out again and again and again.  And I think back to when Big Brother Badger has watched the show with me and observed the on-screen parents doing this process, over and over.  Does he remember the parents' frustration and exhaustion?  Does he have the feeling he can wait me out, and that I will give up eventually?  Does he know that this particular parenting method came from someone else, making me somehow less effective?  I take a chance and hiss, "I can keep this up longer than you can.  You've watched Super-nanny."  I won't say it sunk it immediately, but very shortly thereafter he calmed down enough to stay seated criss-cross applesauce, facing the wall.  He did his time-out.  Hooray for me, right?  Well, I got this Mommy-win from a TV show.

My Girl

I was pretty much in a Pampers commercial this morning.  The Boy Badgers were with Daddy on their way to a karate lesson and the store, and Baby Badger and I needed to get dressed and look beautiful for our day.  I should mention that Baby looked beautiful anyway.  Even with oatmeal in her hair, and some snot in her nose; even with a fading bite bruise on her cheek, and a full diaper, she looked luminous.  I knew this, of course, being completely objective, but was so struck by it as we looked at each other in the mirror as I was brushing her teeth.  She made me feel so humble to be holding her.

After brushing her teeth and cleaning her face, hair, and nose, I took care of her diaper and dressed her in pink overalls with a white long-sleeved onesie.  This, after liberally applying baby lotion.  I left her little feet bare, as she's been wearing shoes and socks everyday and I love baby feet more than pretty much anything.  She's dressed and ready, and now it's my turn.  Getting dressed while a solo 15-month-old is loose in the house can be problematic.  When her brothers are here, I can get up to three minutes by myself to throw some water on my face and put some clothes on as they distract each other.  But by herself, she's in acquisition-mode.  Acquire and destroy.  So, I didn't have much hope as I walked into my bedroom, ready to throw on the first pair of jeans I saw and to try, try to do a pass over my face with a baby wipe.  But, to my astonishment, she followed me happily, gazing up at me and smiling.

I washed my face.  I brushed my teeth.  She watched and smiled, and even pretended to spit when I did.  She did not try to dive into the toilet, or pull all the trash out of the wastebasket, or apply my makeup to the toilet brush.  I was surprised, but pleasantly so.  She stood and looked up at me as I put my lotion on my face, so I put some on her rosy cheeks.  She giggled when I put on some cologne, so I rubbed the tiniest bit on her little wrist.  She pursed her lips when I put on my lip gloss, so I added just a touch on her lower lip.  It was the fun, tasty kind, so she, of course, licked it right off.  She pointed at my earrings as I put them on, and, unless I imagined it, nodded her approval of my outfit.  She grinned at me and me at her.

If we were in a Lifetime movie or a Pampers commercial, you would be crying your eyes out as soft music played in the background.  My little daughter and I had our first, kinda grown-up, mommy-girl moment.  After my shoes were on, the spell was broken.  She ran into the living room and chased the cat with a Christmas bell.  She demanded milk, and then her nap.  And I, still in the daze of being a big ol' softie Mommy, had to run right downstairs and write about it.  About my precious little girl, and how significant 15 minutes on a Saturday morning can be.

I Can't Sing

I can't sing.  No, really, I can't.  I have a terrible sense of pitch, and absolutely no confidence.  Recently, I was told by a well-meaning lady that I was being silly; that everyone can sing if they try hard enough.  "Happy Feet" popped immediately into my head.  You know, where the baby penguin in the land of musical theater opens his mouth during a lesson and a rough screech comes out.  The baby penguin was alright in the end, though, as he found another talent that served him well.  The interesting thing is that I know that I can't sing.  I recognize it, so I'll never find myself berated on American Idol.  You may be shaking your head right now and thinking it can't be that bad.  Well, it is.  I used to play the harp, and during the audition process for a conservatory, I had to sing "Happy Birthday" to test my sense of pitch.  The bored grad student giving me the test laughed at me.  That didn't matter too much for my audition, because, as it turned out, harpists are notoriously bad at "hearing" proper pitches.  Something about having to individually tune each of the 47 strings, which results in the harp always being just slightly out of tune.  But, even my own mother looks shocked sometimes at what comes out of my mouth.  The other day I was singing "Five Little Skunks" to Big Brother Badger.  I looked over, and Grandma looked horrified.  She's a huge fan of musicals, and I think my voice had just pummeled both the Jets AND the Sharks.  Snap.

In everyday life, I usually don't think about this too much.  I'll sort of hum along to the radio, I'll fake my way through "Row, Row, Row Your Boat" and "You are my Sunshine" for Baby River Badger, and I'll put so much enthusiasm into a round of "Happy Birthday" that no one will fault me for it.  However, this time of year, at the holidays, my lack of singing talent stings me a little.

The holidays are a time for singing.  Christmas tunes on the radio, family carols around the tree.  Even the Little River Badgers will participate in a school concert.  My favorite Christmas song is "O Holy Night".  This is not a song for a poor singer; it is a powerhouse ballad that can showcase a fabulous voice.  But it is so beautiful, I almost can't help myself.  I'll turn it up really loudly on the radio to hide my following along.  In high school, I had several harp gigs where I would accompany a talented soprano singing this song.  I threw my heart into playing, because I sure as heck wasn't ever going to be able to sing it.  And it hurt a little, each time.

If you were to put me on the spot and ask me what I'm jealous of, I would say my little sister's hair and the fact that I can't sing.  I can't put a name on the last one because it feels like everyone else can at least carry a tune.  I worry about what this means for the Little Badgers.  Even if they have some singing talent, am I ruining their nascent pitch with my bad voice?  Will they avoid singing because they perceive my lack of comfort with it?

So far, they seem to be happy to sing.  I'll hear the Boy Badgers singing together at bedtime, while watching Thomas, and in the bath.  My Baby smiles and signs along when she hears her favorite tune, "Itsy Bitsy Spider".  Big Brother Badger can do a fair interpretation of Alicia Keys' "Girl on Fire" (except he says "Boy").  Maybe my lack of ability has prevented any overt pressure on them to have talent at singing, so they just associate it with fun.  And my own struggle with singing may end up providing a teachable moment for them later on.  In eighth grade, it was my dream to play Dorothy in our middle school's production of 'The Wizard of Oz".  I lost the part because, as Sister John Marie put it, "Dear, you can't sing.".  So I channeled my energies in a different direction and played the best darn Wicked Witch ever seen.  I got a standing ovation.  "Happy Feet", indeed.

Our Christmas Tree

I grew up on a Christmas tree farm.  My Dad planted baby trees on an acre of land and built a successful business, bringing evergreen happiness into the front rooms of our neighbors and friends.  Pictures from my early childhood showed my sister and I growing year by year, with the trees alongside for comparison.  Little, then tall, then towering over us.  I spent hours amongst the green branches, hiding, playing, and even working.  One of my first jobs was to help my Dad as he hand-trimmed each tree; I would walk behind him and pick up the trimmings.  I learned the value of hard work and dedication from watching my father work throughout the year, and on cold weekend mornings, painstakingly tending, and then proudly selling his trees.  I saw him happily help people late on Christmas Eve, frantically looking for a tree for their family.  I took note when my parents brought in a tree that had been sold, and then returned because a lady had seen a bug in its branches, for our own tree that year.  The trees were a source of family pride, of tradition, of symbolism, and of precious simplicity.

Christmas represents a time for faith, family, and fun.  And as I got older, I became aware of the passage of years more acutely through the lens of Christmas.  A child waiting for Santa, a teenager reluctantly singing carols with the family, an adult enjoying a glass of wine while decorating the tree, a Mommy, seeing the bright lights of the tree reflected in the wide eyes of her baby.  The tree is ever-present during the holiday memories of our home.  As a child, I remember decorating the tree with ornaments and lights taken year after year from familiar boxes .  I remember hearing the story of my Baby's First Christmas ornament over and over, and the feeling of pride as I placed it on the tree.  Traditions arose naturally, such as who (my sister or I) got to run to tell Mom that Dad had said some bad words while putting on the lights and who (again, my sister or I) got to put the angel at the top of the tree that year.  Our tree always had multi-colored lights, and those lights were one of my fondest Christmas memories.  I would (and still do) stand in the darkened room, with the lights glowing and reflecting off the ornaments, looking, and willing the image to stay in my memory.  I always feel the urge to cry in cold, early January, when the tree is taken down.

Now, with a family of my own, I still decorate our tree with multi-colored lights.  The importance of our three Baby's First Christmas ornaments is such that I spent many hours searching for just the right one for each child.  I have ornaments from my childhood on our present tree, as well as some purchased during grad school when I was on my own, and from (the one) Christmas spent with just my husband before our oldest was born.  And then I have all the children's ornaments.  Maybe because of the feelings of significance held in my earliest memories of Christmas trees, I've always been fiercely loyal to each tree selected each year.  No matter its flaws, no matter how many brown needles, or bugs, or twists in its trunk, once the tree is ours, I will call it beautiful.  It is an important part of our tradition, and has a revered place in our family story.  It is the centerpiece of our holiday decorations, a source of wonderment and excitement for my children, a place of calm where our family can gather, and a piece of the great outdoors for our cat.

So, this year, I will stand again in the darkened room, with the lights of the tree softly illuminating shiny ornaments and glittery tinsel.  I will try to capture this tree in my memory.  I will look at each ornament and remember its significance in my family's journey.  I will smell the soft comforting evergreen scent.  I will enjoy this symbol of the season, the symbol of hope and renewal, and how much it has meant for my family through the years.

Little Adventures

Have you noticed that no matter how organized you are, no matter how far you plan ahead, no matter how perfect your day planner is, or how set your family routine, there are always little unexpected adventures that end up defining your day?

The littlest parts of the day, such as waking up, brushing teeth, getting dressed, driving, getting ready for bed, or hearing a story are all individual adventures, quickly forgotten in the rush of the day, but, in the moment, all-consuming.  There are precious little moments that I long to capture and hold in my heart forever.  Waking up with the Boy Badgers jumping into my bed, laughing and playing.  Sighing at Baby as she bathes herself in yogurt in her high chair.  Little Brother Badger putting on his clothes backwards, and being so adamant about fixing it himself.  Big Brother Badger pretending to swim like a shark in the bathtub.  And there are other moments that I don't mind letting go.  Such as the Boy Badgers' endless complaining over their dinner not being pizza.  Trying to stuff Baby into her car seat wearing her puffy winter coat.  Little Brother Badger whining over having to use a big boy cup at the table.

It's the adventure that makes me so tired.  It's the adventure that makes me so happy!  It's the little adventures that are so hard to remember a year later, or even that night.  Big-ticket items such as birthdays, holidays, vacations, first steps, first words: they are obvious.  But they are not the whole story.  They are not life.  Life is the boo-boo and the band-aid.  Life is the blown-out diaper.  It is the way my child's hair falls across his forehead.  It is the important bill that was cut up by a boy with a pair of scissors.  That snort that my son makes when he's being funny.  A cupboard emptied out all over the kitchen.  My husband walking through the house with all three kids hanging onto his legs while everyone squeals with laughter.  A trash can that always seems to be full.  The song on the radio that works so perfectly for a spontaneous family dance party.

Who could remember every little thing?  Who could document every little adventure in a day?  I feel a sense of sadness that not a journal, nor a camera, can truly capture these moments as they pass, spontaneous and unscripted.  They are sweeter because they are so transient.  They are meant to be lived, not caught and held.  They are like the wind between your fingers.

The Pink Poodle

Baby Badger's ultimate favorite toy is a stuffed pink poodle.  She carries it around everywhere; in the car, up and down the hall at home, and even to dinner.  If she forgets and leaves it somewhere, woe be to the family member who picks it up.  She's chased her older brothers, teeth bared, until, backs against a wall, they've handed it over resignedly.  It's more than a little funny to see Little Brother Badger quickly fetch the poodle for her from the basement as she sits imperiously on the sofa in the living room.  Once reclaimed, she'll clutch the poodle to her chest and say "MINE!".  Daddy River Badger once made the mistake of trying to take the poodle away after putting her in her high chair.  Hysterics ensued, and the poodle shared some yogurt.

The poodle made a rather dramatic entrance into our family.  The whole Badger clan (DRB's side, anyway) was out "camping"at one of those fun family parks where you can enjoy cabins with hot water and beds, catch fish in a small pond, and drink beer next to a fire as late as you want.  On the second day, when everyone else was on a hayride, Grammy Badger, Baby, and I went to the camp store.  At the back there was a rack of stuffed animals, and the poodle was among them.  This poodle was very pink.  It had permed fur and ribbons on its ears.  It was expensive.  It was kind of cute, but nothing I would ever have picked out.  Baby did, though.  She practically leaped out of my arms grabbing for it.  I attempted to say "no", I really did!  I tried to surreptitiously exchange the poodle for something a little less pricey, but the shrieks of my quite spoiled daughter brought all sorts of convenient excuses to mind.  It was a vacation.  The Boy Badgers had gotten sleeping bags but she hadn't (still being in her crib).  Look how much she seems to like it!  Getting it will make her happy and get her to be quiet and keep all the other parents in the store from shaking their heads at me.  Um, yeah, and it was vacation!  So, the poodle was ours.  It looked more than a little triumphant as Baby carried it out of the store.

Now it sits, mocking me with its little beady eyes.  "You spoil your children," it smirks, "You do not have a backbone and will become one of those parents hovering uncomfortably behind their diva-princess daughter as she stars on reality TV."  "Mind your own business, poodle, you'd never had it so good before I showed up," I reply.  "You have kid snot all over your coat," it retorts.

The poodle is a loudly pink reminder that I have a tendency to indulge my kids, to the eternal dismay of Daddy River Badger.  I tend to run out to Target and get them stuff they don't need.  I tend to buy them chocolate milk at McDonald's right before lunch.  I tend to be the one who goes a little over the top at the party store for birthdays.  I'll always go for the concession stand pretzel at basketball games.  The poodle knows all this and smiles knowingly; I think it believes DRB will eventually throw me out.  But the poodle does have one weakness: it is not machine-washable.  I'm going to run out and buy finger paints at Target.

When is it okay to tattle?

The Boy Badgers are of an age that they love to tattle.  They tattle on each other, "Mommy, he HIT me!"; they tattle on Mommy, "Daddy, Mommy's STILL not out of bed!"; they tattle on inanimate objects, "Mommy, the toilet is dirty, AGAIN!".  And all of it is done in a sing-song voice and punctuated with earnestness.  They are our family's new morality police.  I remember from my own childhood, and from watching Goodfellas, that tattling is wrong.  One shouldn't rat out one's friends.  And so I consistently preached, "Don't tattle!  Telling on someone isn't nice!".  I believed this is what I was supposed to do, and, honestly, it was easier than the alternative.  I didn't have to get up off the couch and thoroughly investigate situations if I could just write them off with a quick, "Don't tell on him!".  Short-cut parenting always works out, right?

Hah.  One day Little Brother Badger caught Baby Badger standing on a chair in the kitchen and called for me to come and get her, "Mommy, baby is being BAD!".  I got there just in time to catch her before she fell on her head.  So, telling worked here.  I gave LBB an M&M and thanked him for helping keep his sister safe.  Then, Big Brother Badger told on his little brother when LBB was attempting to climb the shelves in the basement.  Another trip to the ER averted, good job!  M&M's for everyone except LBB...and me.  I felt like I was giving conflicting messages.  Sometimes it's okay to tell, sometimes not.  To an adult, it seems relatively cut and dry.  When someone is in danger, or is endangering others, it is correct behavior to tell Mommy.  Alternatively, when someone has just grabbed a train toy because someone else stepped on his foot because the first someone threw a sippy cup, then Mommy probably doesn't want to hear about it.  Cut.  And.  Dry.  However, the Little Badgers are young.  I think that they can infer, in certain situations, that there might be danger involved, but I can't count on their judgment, and I shouldn't.  I also know that, try as I might, I can't be everywhere at all times, so an extra pair of eyes is helpful.  In both of the "danger-averted" moments above I was helping a boy on the potty or changing a diaper in another room.  I need to somehow let the Little Badgers know that it is okay to tell, but not to tattle.  Good luck to me in getting that subtlety across.

A potential solution is for me to altogether stop yelling at them to not tell on each other.  I would accept the 98% tattling, 2% telling proportion in order to keep the 2%.  But, I don't think this solution works at school, or on playdates.  I don't want my kid to be the one running to the teacher every five minutes tattling on so-and-so for this-and-that.  I recently talked to a Mommy friend of mine who expressed having the same problem.  Her daughter had told on Big Brother Badger as he was running with a stick at the park.  My friend's first response was to tell her daughter not to be a tattle-tale, but then she paused.  BBB could have hurt himself or someone else.  So, we had a conversation about what we should do in these situations, and, to be honest, we came up empty.  Consistency was not the answer, and subtlety seemed presently out of reach, given the children's ages.

So, I feel as though I am winging it.  Parenting on the fly.  I hate this feeling; I am one for a clear set of rules and consistency and routine.  So far, I've been trying to augment the "Don't tattle!" with a discussion about working things out, and adjust the "Thank you for telling me!" to a discussion of why it is good to look out for one's family.  This strategy is resulting in a lot of discussing, and even my eyes start to glaze over sometimes.  Welcome to gray-scale parenting.  Can't wait for the birds and the bees.

Giving Thanks with Little Badgers

The River Badger clan traveled for Thanksgiving this year.  Not too far, but still a significant trek for three small children.  We have the one-night travel packing routine down pat: we've got one large suitcase that's filled with kids' clothes, diapers, lotion, jammies, toys, a couple of books, blankets, and (in the bit of room that's left) maybe an outfit for Mommy and Daddy and some deodorant.  The kids got into the car with one toy each (a truck, a lizard, and the pink poodle), and Baby got a bottle of milk.  We're lucky and all three fell asleep pretty quickly so Mommy could run into the Wawa and get the super-jumbo diet coke.  Then it's to Grandmother's house we go!

I love going to Daddy River Badger's parents' house for holidays.  It is always warm, inviting, smells good, and is well-stocked with wine.  When we arrived this year, the kids ran to greet their cousins.  Big Brother Badger hugged his cousin tightly for a whole minute-they've been best friends since birth.  Family is so important.  I tell the Little Badgers that it is most important-something to be grateful for.  One thing about being a Mommy is that I am grateful every day.  I have moments where I practically fall on my knees from gratitude.  I have other moments where gratitude is something I think about quickly, as the day flies past.  On Thanksgiving, I want my children to think about being grateful for all the good things they have in their lives.  Their loving family, their toys, their cat.  Going to karate class and swim lessons and play dates.  On this day especially, I want them to learn about being thankful.  But, this is easier said than done.

The family sat down to dinner, and what a dinner it was!  Grammy Badger outdid herself with a beautiful turkey and six pies.  But even saying the blessing had to be done quickly with small kids under five.  Any contemplation of gratitude had to be done in between passing the gravy and cleaning up where Baby had flung her mashed potatoes.  After dinner, kids were running, laughing, watching movies, playing outside, going to the playground.  Was I grateful?  Yes.  Were they grateful?  Well, they were for the cookies and the pie.  I know that it is a stretch to think that I can force a lesson on them.  It's enough on a daily basis for them to say "thank you" for a cup of milk.  And they are so young.  Heck, I didn't even think much about gratitude myself until I had kids.  I guess I didn't know what I had to lose until I had kids.  To list everything I am thankful for would go on for a while.  Every Mommy's list would.  Every day we learn and love and say a thank you to the powers that be.  We hope that our kids appreciate what they have.

Well, Thanksgiving night wrapped up with three happy Little Badgers tucked into bed, cuddling toys and sleeping peacefully.  They said "thank you" for their milk, and to their Grammy for their dinner.  They said the words, at least, and I think that is enough.

The following morning we headed home.  We packed up the kids, the milk, the truck, the lizard, and the poodle, and picked up the super-sized diet coke.  On the road, before falling asleep, the Boy Badgers talked about the day before, and how much fun they had.  They remembered the cookies, the pie, and the DVDs, but also playing with their cousins, hugging their Grammy, being together.  Even if they didn't know to say it, thank you.

Hey, who wants to sell me some class?

I am not a yummy mummy.  I am a fleece-wearing, sneaker-sporting, jeans-rocking, hair-in-a-ponytail, maybe-some-mascara Mama.  I still practice what my mother told me when I was eighteen, that I don't need to wear foundation every day because I'm young.  Yeah, that was a loooong time ago, but presently convenient.  It's not that I don't enjoy using products, dressing up and blow-drying my hair, it's that I think I'm too lazy for a regimen.  There, I'll admit it!  But, I occasionally do get bored, or my little ones have dumped my make-up in the toilet, so every few months I'll revamp my beauty routine (translation: skip out to Target after the kids go to bed and buy a bunch of stuff) and experiment a little.  Here's how my last trip went... .

I walk in with a list of things that I'm convinced will make me gorgeous.  Make-up, moisturizer, eye cream, nail polish, night cream.  They have to catch my eye quickly, as I've only got 45 minutes to browse.  I won't buy products advertised by celebrities I don't like.  I do like Jennifer Garner!  She is pretty!  And relatable!  Foundation, check!  I'll choose eye shadow based on the instructions given on the back.  Does it tell me how to apply it?  Yes!  Check!  Moisturizer is based on sun protection and lack of chemicals.  If the ingredients list is pretty straightforward, check!  Now, eye cream and night cream are a little harder.  I think I might need the chemicals here.  After all, these products are essential non-essentials.  They promise a lot, and if I remember to apply them, I might see a difference!  Nail polish is the most fun.  My hands are weird-they look very strange with dark-colored polish.  Also, dark colors show chips.  Okay, so pale shades....and without formaldehyde (!)...and, ooh, this one will help my nails grow faster!  Check!  I am now decked out.  I'm sure this is how Jennifer Garner shops, too.  10 minutes to spare!  Let's look at lipstick!  Somehow, this Target does not have security guards patrolling the make-up section because it is very hard to find a lipstick that has not been opened and "tested".  Maybe I'll skip the lipstick.

Okay, I'm home.  Little Badgers are asleep and husband is watching TV, so I sneak upstairs and put on products.  I do my nails.  I am pretty much Jennifer Garner, except that I cannot pull off the bangs.  I sashay downstairs and bat my eyelashes at Daddy River Badger.  He's mildly interested and says something very nice and sweet.  So I ask, "Hey, honey, don't you like it when I get all dolled up?".  And he replies, "Babe, if it makes you feel good about yourself, and you smile and are happy, then that's what I like.".  Hmmm, maybe I won't tell him how much I spent.

So this was news to me.  Do I look my best when I'm happy?  No products or regimen needed?  This makes me feel a little better about my (lack of) everyday personal style.  But, then, why the impulse to buy "stuff" every now and then?  I suppose there's a deep-down feeling that I need to be trying harder.  There's a romantic notion I have that a put-together lady has a consistent beauty regimen honed over years of practice, faithful and true to a selection of products.  My mother is such a lady.  But, you know, maybe if being happy is what makes my eyes sparkle, and happiness partly comes from an impromptu trip to the make-up section where I can browse and play and escape...well, then I guess I should just go with what works for me.  After all, my better half thinks I'm pretty cute with just a smile, and I should have confidence in that.  With a touch of mascara thrown in, of course.  It's usually on sale.

Popularity

It occurred to me the other day that I am popular.  Finally, after years of associating myself with fringe groups, I am now with the in-crowd.  I'm so popular that I cannot even pee in private.  I'm like an older, more masculine version of Justin Bieber.  The fact that my new clique is all under five-years-old doesn't bother me.  The fact that my popularity has been bought by packages of fruit snacks, bottles of milk, and hours of cartoons doesn't phase me either.  I am a Little Badger icon.

From the moment I wake up, I am in demand.  Like I said, I can't even sneak off to the bathroom without the paparazzi following me.  Putting on make-up?  Very difficult when my mascara is grabbed and run off with as a souvenir.  I'll probably be able to find it again on e-Bay (or the trash can).  Getting dressed is even trickier.  My followers debate if I've had work done, "Mommy, why is your belly squishy?".  There are fights over who will sit next to me at breakfast.  And, when my clique gets to school, my name gets dropped over and over, "MY Mommy, NOT yours!".  My talents are so much in demand that I am begged for story after story at bedtime, and all the stories have to involve a loving Mommy T-rex, or bat, or moose, etc.

Now, all this could go to my head, so it's a good thing I have my husband to bring me back down to earth.  If I'm a version of Justin Bieber, he's like Bruce Springsteen.  Daddy River Badger can lift kids clear over his head so they can touch the ceiling.  He can burp really loudly.  He can make the best grilled cheese sandwiches.  He definitely can't get any privacy in the bathroom, "Whatcha reading, Daddy?".

In high school I was not one of the popular kids.  I wasn't at the bottom of the social world, either-just kind of in the middle, doing my own thing.  I didn't really think about being popular, aside from some wistful dreaming about how when you are popular your hair is never frizzy and your really short skirt was never caught by the nuns.  Of course, once college and grad school rolled around, the notion of popularity kind of faded in the face of real deadlines and pressures.  So the present unabashed adoration of three small kids has me grappling with what popularity means now, for a parent.

I love that the Little Badgers look up to me and want to be near me.  But, I am faced with the pressures of being their role model.  Not just with things like not saying swear words, or chewing with your mouth closed, or not hitting, but also with things like how I treat my spouse, how I speak to my own parents, how I treat the lady at the cash register.  I should make sure to exercise and eat right, so that they see me do it.  I should apologize when I am wrong, so that they see the good example.  I should always offer someone else the last piece of dessert, so that they know to avoid selfishness.  All these "shoulds" result in my desperate longing to stuff my face with a cheeseburger while flipping the bird to my husband and hoarding the whole stinkin' pie.  I'm afraid that popularity means not being me.

As a parent, I have to try to be "on" all the time, at least when the kids are around.  And the "on" isn't like a regular celebrity, where one just has to make sure one is wearing underwear when climbing out of cars.  It is much tougher, and more unrelenting.  It is a series of uncomfortable realizations that I'm not as kind, or as generous, or as forgiving as I thought I was.  But, I try, try again.  Because I don't want any more gleeful shouts of "a%#hole driver!" coming from the back seat.

The Picture on my Wall

I am experiencing a creative re-birth.  At least, that's what it feels like.  I was a classical musician for many years, even pursuing it at a conservatory before quitting cold-turkey for a more technical field.  Years of schooling and a career made me less likely to write, or play music, or draw for creativity's sake.  You know that line in "Jurassic Park" when Jeff Goldblum says, "Nature found a way."?  Well, my oft-suppressed self is finding its way.  I've written about my children's profound impact on my life, but there is also something else.

My parents are two different, yet complementary people.  To simplify it tremendously, my Mom is sensitive and artistic, and my Dad is more analytical and technically-inclined.  Somehow, I've managed to be lucky enough to get some of both of them.  Lately, though, the technical side was at the forefront, as a consequence of my job.  I think my creative side was being repressed, and, as creative-types sometimes are, was not too happy to remain in the shadows.  As I've turned to writing, and also to drawing (paints are way out of my league), tears and feelings of frustration seem to be calmed.  I'm embracing that I am the sum of both parts of me.  Right and left-brain.  This realization is good for my relationship with my kids, too.  I love thinking up art projects, and talking to them about colors, and encouraging their imaginations.  I also throw in a bit of science, but I don't hit them over the head with it.

So, getting to this picture.  I am inspired by pictures in magazines, translating dark and light into lines and shading.  I don't really advertise my work, as it mostly sits in a folder, or hangs on the walls of my bedroom.  I think I gave one to my Mom.  This particular picture was adapted from a photograph in National Geographic.  I don't remember the story behind the photo, but in the way I drew it, I can sometimes convince myself the woman was feeling extreme joy, and other times extreme grief.  I chose to hang it on my wall instead of some "happier" drawings.  Why did this one capture my attention so?  I think because of the ambiguity; it is emotion without context.  The reason behind the woman's strong feelings is not apparent, but the presence of raw emotion is.  It is the feeling that is important, not the analysis of the situation.  I look at this picture as a reminder that one's creative, emotional side is valid and powerful, too.  Even if it doesn't bring in a paycheck.  

Don't put Baby in a corner (she'll bite you)

My Mom has a great story from when she was little about how she was the most famous Biter-baby on her block.  Depending on how tall the tale gets, she bit everyone from her mother to the mailman to the dog next door.  The Boy Badgers stare wide-eyed at Grandma while this story is told but Baby Badger looks strangely smug.  Lately, she's been living up to this family legacy.

When those first two teeth broke through, I ran for the camera and rained praise on her.  I oohed and ahhed over every new addition.  Maybe that's what started it, because now she is all about the chompers.  She rips at pieces of meat at dinner, she flashes her pearly whites whenever she hears the word "cheese", she races her brothers to the sink to be the first to brush her teeth, and, lately, she'll take a bite out of you if you let your guard down.

The worst thus far came last night.  When Baby heads upstairs for bed, her routine is to walk around the playroom and give kisses and hugs.  She gave Daddy River Badger a hug and a kiss, "mmmmwah!", and then Little Brother Badger.  I turned my head for a second and then I heard it: "AAAGH!  Mommy, she BIT me!".  Poor Big Brother Badger had been ambushed.  Baby looked delighted by his reaction.  And here's where I have some trouble.  She loves the reaction!  The sharp intake of breath and the yelp when her little teeth find your skin?  She loves it!  The look of confusion?  Yup, loves it!  The scolding and the time-out?  She's unfazed.

I think I'm going to start calling her Fang.

Anyway, the only thing that seems to have an effect is for me to put her down immediately and not give her attention for a few minutes.  She pouts, and clings to my leg, and eventually cries.  My big show of indifference appears to dent the armor, but it hasn't solved the problem.  Biter-baby always returns, teeth at the ready.  So far, I haven't heard anything from her teachers at school.  Maybe they're afraid of her, too.

I LOVE her smile; especially "with teeth".  It is precious and endearing and joyful.  It is representative of her personality, her spirit.  My intuition rationally tells me that this biting phase will pass, as both Boy Badgers went through it, albeit with less enthusiasm.  Of course, my intuition also chokes up and gets emotional, thinking of the passage of time, to the day when "Biter-baby" will be a story she'll tell to her kids or grandkids.  So, for the moment, I'll just keep holding my girl close, despite the danger.  Maybe I'll just wear more layers.

My little Biter-Baby!

Riding In Cars With Boys

Ah, the ride to and from daycare.  It's hardest on a Monday morning, when the Little Badgers have just had a whole weekend away from a strict schedule.  It's also "hardest" on a Friday afternoon, when they are burned out and tired.  Since Baby Badger is very young, she can usually be placated with a bottle of milk or her famous pink poodle.  The Boy Badgers were a little harder to figure out.

I started by stocking the back seat of the van with toys and books, but fights would break out over those.  I figured they were hungry, especially in the afternoon, and was sure to have snacks on hand.  But heaven forbid the fruit snacks had different wrappers!  And my rule about no juice in the backseat didn't go over very well.

The fights were getting louder, and the tensions were rising.  Not good for a Mommy trying to pay attention to the road.  My strategy thus far had been to bribe, threaten, or, finally, yell.  This did not help the tension one bit.  At one point, during an afternoon drive, a squabble started in the back over which Boy Badger had seen a certain truck and which one was a liar.  They were yelling over each other, calling each other names.  I felt a headache coming on.  Traffic stretched in front of me.  I took a deep breath to yell, and then...had a thought.  Maybe they were frustrated because they didn't know how to have a real conversation in that situation.  In the van, they are strapped into their carseats.  They can't use their body language, or really gesture, or be physical at all.  They had to use their voices alone to get a point across.  And apparently they had to learn some rules that go with that.  Turns out my yelling wasn't helping very much.  Okay, time to step up.

So I said, as calmly as possible, "Hey, boys, where do you think clouds come from?".  There was a brief silence.  Then they started talking at the same time.  I stopped them with the suggestion the Big Brother Badger talk first, and then Little Brother Badger have his turn.  It worked pretty well.  On that drive home, they learned that interrupting was not nice, that having turns gave everyone a chance to speak (even Baby Badger), and that screaming that someone was lying was not helpful to the discussion.  Having the opportunity to express themselves, with the security of knowing it was their turn, was relished.  Little Brother Badger started off most of his turns that day with, "Whyyyy......whyyyyy....ummmmm...".  He had a big smile the whole time-he was driving the conversation and he didn't know where to begin!

We now start off our drive home with a snack, the stuffed poodle, and a bottle of milk, but also a question, "What would you boys like to talk about?".  Their answers fascinate me.  They ask questions..."How do dolphins breathe when they sleep?", "Do spiders make expressions on their faces?".  They make observations..."Woody is taller than Buzz, and Buzz is fatter than Woody!", "There are a bunch of birds in that field!".  They talk about rain, or traffic lights, or bugs, or deer.  I've tried to answer questions about the homeless man asking passing drivers for money, or why ambulances drive so fast.  I've enjoyed a breathtaking rainbow with them, and waxed poetic about white light being split into its component wavelengths.  I've had to explain many times about why we couldn't just drive to Grandma's.  Even Baby chimes in, and of course, is given the same respect as the rest of the family. You can see the joy on her face as she is acknowledged in the same way as her older brothers.

Riding in the car presents its own challenges, different from interactions at home, but also its own opportunities.  I love the perspective I get from the kids.  The kinetic energy they're usually spending racing in circles, pushing, or jumping up and down is replaced by thinking and talking energy.  And I learn something new every trip.

Teamwork or just working each other over?

There are three Little River Badgers.  Two boys and a girl.  A 4-year-old, a 2-year-old, and a 14-month-old.  The time they spend together is usually complete bliss, or complete chaos; there really is no middle ground.

There are flashes of incredible sweetness, such as when Big Brother Badger sits between his two siblings, "reading" them a story.  There are moments of calm joy, when all three kids play together in the yard, the sun shining on their hair.  There are instances of energetic revelry, when the Little Badgers chase each other in circles through the house, giggling and squealing.  With all these, I am torn between wanting to run for the camera and standing absolutely still, appreciating.  In these moments, I believe that they will grow up as a team, working together, defending each other, having each other's back.

Then, there is the rest of the time.  This morning, after getting the Little Badgers dressed for school, there was a fight over a toy, followed by Little Brother Badger dragging his older brother out of the room by his sweatshirt.  Last night, Baby and LBB got into it over one thing or another, and she ended up being tackled after slapping LBB in the face.  Pretty much every day I hear Big Brother Badger screaming in a "stranger, danger" sort of way because his toys have been snatched.  In these moments, I am convinced that we will end up as a family thrown to the winds, with infighting and drinking characterizing our every holiday.

Most of the conflicts end with me yelling at someone or everyone.  A lot of yelling.  At the end of a bad day, I'm really sick of my own voice.  And, to be honest, I feel a little inadequate as a referee.  I usually do not see the first salvo-who really hit first?  And there is the issue of the differences in the children themselves.  Besides their ages, they have different personalities.  Each one is fighting his or her own battle, feeling wronged in different ways.  Do you punish equally across the board or take a more nuanced approach?  When there is a brawl, and everyone seems to be involved, does everyone go to time-out?  Or just one?

Big Brother Badger gets very upset when his toys are messed with.  He always has a grand story being played out, with each dinosaur or car acting an integral role.  Lose one, and the world is at an end.  Plus, since he is the biggest, he tries hard not to hit his younger siblings, and so usually gets smacked first.  He loses his temper from a feeling of powerlessness.  On the other hand, Little Brother Badger acts out not so much from toy-taking, but when he feels no one is listening to him.  He wants to do things on his terms, which is hard when he is in the middle.  He loses his temper from a feeling of frustration.  Baby Badger will walk up to her brothers and brazenly slap them.  They know not to hit her back (usually), so she plays the baby-card.  I want her to stand up for herself, but I refuse to raise a bully.

Which offense or counter-offense is worthy of a time-out, or just an apology, or a hard line go-to-bed-early is difficult to judge, especially when the offenses seem to happen all together and everyone is very upset.  I'd like to try to maintain consistent discipline, but also to address each child's situation.  So I ask questions.  Who hit first?  What did you do to make him/her hit you?  Why were you both in the kitchen in the first place?  I don't want to encourage them to start lying to me, either.

I worry about the fine line between letting them work things out and keeping them from working each other over.  I want them to be a team.  Maybe it's a work in progress.

There's a Ladder in my Bathroom!

A somewhat lighter contribution after 24 hours of a stomach bug.  Turns out my kids' immunity-boosting methods of digging in trash cans and scoping out food on the floor were actually the way to go.

There is a ladder in my bathroom.
I could move it, but it would return.

There is a pile in my bedroom.
Why it remains there, I'll never learn.

There are tomatoes on my countertop.
An empty bowl for them is near.

But I'd never trade your faults for other's
and I'll hold you forever, my dear.

Daddy River Badger is as close to a perfect Daddy as can be.  From attending 10 weeks of Bradley Method childbirth courses with me all the way to (claiming to) finding me sexy as hell even after three kids in just over four years.  He is thoughtful, kind, sensitive, and responsible.  My friends love him, my colleagues respect him, my parents ADORE him.

So how can I complain about him?

Well, I am a wife.  I live with the guy 24-7, and there are little things that build up.  Steam to blow off over some wine and a heart-to-heart with a girlfriend or sister.  It is bad, though, when I've spent my 15 minutes complaining about the mess in his car, or the tools he used to fix the bathroom still sitting there eight days later, and my counterpart rolls her eyes.  Not in the "what a jerk!" way, but in the "WTF are you complaining about?" sort of way.  *sigh*

Most of the time, what annoys me about him is that fact that he is always right.  He has fantastic intuition about people, and can stick to a budget, and can usually read a situation perfectly.  Whereas I typically cannot do any of those things.  So, I end up being annoyed that I married a good, smart, competent guy.  I know, eye roll, right?  And, with the kids, because of his good traits, he usually ends up playing the bad cop role.  I buy McDonald's and spend money on toys at Target, and give them milk in the middle of the night, and he doesn't, because he holds the line.

No wonder he sometimes feels he can't win.

So, on the occasion of his birthday, I want to tell Daddy River Badger that I love him and that I see his many strengths, both as a partner and as a father.  He is amazing.  I will pledge to hold the line more, so that he can sometimes give the kids ice cream in the afternoon.  I will pledge to greet him with a smile and a hug, because I know he worries about me when I'm feeling down about myself.  And I will pledge to ignore that ladder lingering in my bathroom because it was put there by a man who is working hard for his family.

Little Stings

I remember going to the doctor for my checkup a couple months ago and getting my flu shot.  The nurse always says, "It's just a little sting!".  It is, really, just a prick.  I've gone through some physically uncomfortable things in my life so far (running a marathon, natural childbirth, a full-on Brazilian bikini wax), so I feel pretty dumb for the rush of anxiety I felt as I watched the nurse prep the needle.  But even little stings can hurt.

Stings aren't restricted to needles, either.  Emotional stings can hurt, too.  Especially if a bunch of them show up all one after another.  Like today, for example.  You may have read about my ongoing battle with Little Brother Badger.  Well, this morning it continued with him refusing to give me a hug or a kiss until Daddy River Badger loudly insisted on it.  Ouch.  Then, I caved and got a really unhealthy fast food breakfast on the way to work.  While walking to my office, someone noticed and commented, "You really eat a lot of fast food.".  Ouch.  Later, I overheard someone happily describing an interview she had gotten the day before.  It was with a company to which I had sent a resume a while back.  Ouch, again.  This combined with some lingering little stings.  My Mom has been asking me a lot if I'm okay.  What's worse is that my sister, who is brilliantly handling newborn twins, also concernedly asks if I'm okay.  What?  Should be situation reversed, right?  She's got two brand new babies on her hands whereas I do not.  Bah.

So, I know that a lot of this has to do with my own self-perception.  All these things separately are not game-changers.  LBB is a two-year-old testing his boundaries.  I do eat too much fast food.  I knew I may not have the kind of specialized experience that particular company (or a bunch of others) is looking for.  I haven't been trying very hard to look nice lately, and I know it's showing.  But it is still hard to hear from others, even indirectly, and little stings can add up to one big hurt pretty quickly when you're feeling down about yourself.  I am wallowing, but I have enough fight left in me to recognize that the buck stops here when it comes to making changes.

I think that I better start dealing with this hurt.  Wallowing is never good, and especially when I've got three pairs of little eyes watching me.  I am an example, and I don't want the example to be how I am right now.  I think I need to counter the little stings with little steps.  Like, stop eating the f*%king fast food!  Re-tool the resume and work it.  Appreciate that I've got a loving and concerned mother and sister.  Give kisses, hugs, and steady loving discipline to Little Brother Badger.  Choices all through the day, adding up to a surplus, instead of a deficit.  Let's git'er done!  

I Heart Thomas the Train

Thomas the Tank Engine is huge in the Badger den.  When Big Brother Badger was about a year old, he received a Thomas train and a small wooden track set, and adored it.  He mysteriously called Thomas, "Bat-shlah!".  I fondly remember, when I was pregnant with Little Brother Badger, a Thomas Christmas DVD playing over and over in the month leading up to the holiday.  After LBB was born, we upgraded to a larger track set and table, adding more of the characters.  Little Brother Badger's name for Thomas was, "Dee-dee!".  We introduced Percy, and Henry, and James.  A little while later, we went on our first Day Out with Thomas as a family.  You should have seen the amazement of the Boy Badgers when they saw Thomas coming down the track, whistle blowing, and smoke curling into the sky.  We added Hiro and Toby and Salty the Diesel.  Now, Baby Badger is just as entranced as her brothers.  Of course, right now she mostly knocks over the track and bites the train wheels, but she always runs to the TV whenever hearing the Thomas theme song.  So far, she seems to be on track to actually come close to saying, "Thomas!".  Thomas is still the go-to show, the inspiration for hours spent at train museums, and the source of everyone's excitement when we see a train go by on the railroad tracks.

In my opinion, Thomas is good, clean fun.  Each story has a moral.  There are no frenetic flashes of light, or scary monsters or weapons.  I've heard Sir Topham Hatt referred to as a petty dictator by haters, but I like the ideas of respect and responsibility that I see promoted.  Team-work is emphasized, and all the engines love to have their bath.

But another reason I heart Thomas is because I secretly empathize with Thomas.  Thomas is excited, loyal, and eager to have fun, but makes lots of mistakes.  He usually goes into situations with the best of intentions, but always ends up screwing up.  There are people who have gotten up and left the room during a Thomas episode because they are so fed up with Thomas doing dumb things.  I usually smile and duck my head sheepishly.  I hope those people won't be so hard on me.

I tend to overspend my budget sometimes for no good reason, or forget that my husband really doesn't like marinara sauce, or end up making a bunch of family members irritated because I was trying too hard to make everyone happy.  I go into things with the best of intentions, and usually end up messing something up.  And it seems that the harder I try to avoid screwing up, the more screwing up I tend to accomplish.  I feel you Thomas.    

But, as we know, the stories end with Thomas showing his best effort and good heart and getting everything back on track again.  He makes it through thanks to his friends, his persistence, and his ability to avoid having his spirit damaged by criticism, both outwardly and inwardly inflicted.  Serious turn there, folks.  I'll let you know when I've made it through.    

Does being average mean you've failed?

Have you gotten the feeling that the term "average" is equated to failing in the Mommy-verse?  If you're not covered in superlatives, you're dismissed as average.  Kind of a smugly derisive way of letting you know that you're not up to snuff.  But with all the complexity of life, how do we even know what average means?  Who gets to judge?  Does it mean that doing your best is not good enough, if it doesn't result in some tangible measure of excellence, some demonstrable example of how you are better than your peers?

I think that all too often, the tangible measure ends up being created for the sole purpose of shaming other Mommies.  We all know these vocal strivers of the Mommy world.  They may stay home with their kids, or work 80-hour weeks, but they will make sure you know that whatever they do is better than what you do.  They may homeschool, or eat all organic, or have a fancy nanny who speaks 3 languages.  They may put their kids in front of educational programming on TV for hours a day, or shun peanut butter, or let discipline go wild, or force their kid to practice the piano for hours at a time.  But they will let you know about it.  And they will insist that their particular view of excellence is indeed the correct one.  You see, the metrics of parenting can be a little vague.  How does one know that one's kid is better than his or her peers?  More likely than not it's because one is (loudly) insisting on it.

So, if you aren't busy out-shouting and one-upping the other parents in the room, you may be viewed as just being average.  The other parents, arguing over the right kind of diaper, may take a quick break to glance at you and shake their heads.  Obviously, she's one of those average parents.  Her kid's going to end up at a state university.

I've been there, in that room, waiting for my kid to finish swimming class or whatever, and listening to a group of Mommies heatedly talk back and forth.  I won't call it conversing, because they really weren't listening to each other.  And they also weren't too interested in watching their kid participate in his or her activity.

I suppose I would be considered an average parent when it comes down to things like food choices, use of hand sanitizer, early language classes, or other potential bragging categories.  But what about the intangible measures of excellence as a parent.  The ones you can't brag about.  Like listening to your child and letting him or her see the pride on your face.  Like being there for your child and being a good example.  Like trying your very best every day as a parent and enjoying the experience.  Like actually having fun watching your child's swim class instead of getting into it with some other mothers over who made the best work-life choices.

So, there you go.  I don't know if being judged as average really means anything at all, or if it's just a reflection of different priorities and measures of success.  Or, if I'm being less generous, just a way for some insecure folks to get through the day.

Empathy

Have you noticed that young children have a great capacity for recognizing when others are upset, or sad, or scared?  They recognize strong emotion and are deeply affected by it.  Even when that emotion is on TV or in a movie.  I felt terrible when, during a movie (G-rated, folks!), I turned around and saw Big Brother Badger in tears because of something happening on screen.  He was watching a scene where a daddy lion is chasing after his baby son, who has just been snatched up by some humans.  As adults, most people would be saying, "oh, sure, he'll find him again before the movie's over".  As a child, my son was feeling the daddy lion's anguish as he saw his baby being taken away. Oh, my!  I stopped the movie and had a talk with my Little Badger.  I tried to explain things like the plot line, and how it's just a story, etc., etc.  But the simple fact was that he felt that character's pain and that was it.

So what happens to us as adults?  Do we lose the ability to empathize, or does it just get buried under layers and layers of defense mechanisms?  Why do we tend to see impassivity as a strength and empathy as a weakness?  I'll tell you, I used to be as jaded as they come.  I almost aspired to it.  I watched Sophie's Choice and Jaws and didn't blink.  I took pride in rolling my eyes at tear-jerker scenes in movies.  I cracked sarcastic jokes.  I refused to cry.  Ever.

Then I had kids.

Now, I can't watch anything.  I bawl my eyes out at TV advertisements for St. Jude donations as well as Hallmark commercials and that Pampers ad with the violin last year?  Bah!

I think my children saved me.  Empathy for others is something that is so important.  It affects everything from how you deal with other drivers on the road to how you tip your waitress to how you vote.  I feel strongly, and I think it has helped make me a better person.  I'm more gentle, more patient.  I try to put myself in another's shoes.

The flip side of this is not just feeling when others are hurting, but also excitement and joy and wonder.  Most of the time it takes very little to make a child smile or laugh.  It takes very little to make a child's eyes widen with amazement.  After I've spent time around my children I find myself watching clouds, and getting excited when a train rolls by, and enjoying a silly joke.  I am relaxed.  I'm not worrying about appearing weak for displaying the tears and the laughter or showing concern for another.

It's not just learning from my children's example, it's also recognizing the depth of love I have for them.  While voting today, I thought about how mothers see the world a little differently.  We see a bit more clearly the joy and the pain.  The potential and the damage.  We feel, and with that feeling comes fear, but also hope.

Thanks for the save, kids, I won't let you down.

We may be saving daylight, but what about my sanity?

So, yesterday was daylight saving time.  We "fell back" one hour in the dark of night, giving us all a chance to relax in bed for an extra hour on Sunday morning, enjoying the paper and breakfast in bed.

Riiiiight.

I remember back in the spring when we turned our clocks forward.  Daddy River Badger actually gave me a fist bump right after dinner when he realized that the "new time" put us nearly at Badger bedtime!  Now we're making up for that.  With small children, an extra hour sounds lovely in the abstract.  An extra hour of playing!  And on the weekend, too!  An extra hour of fun together!  In reality, not so much.  Reality involves children waking up just as early as ever even though parents had snuck in that extra hour of TV the night before.  Kids get cranky when naps are pushed back, and meals slightly postponed.  Kids that were used to a routine (because that's what good parents do, right?) now see the disruption of the routine as a good reason to throw it out the window completely.  If you were inclined to chart disobedience and disrespectful behavior, I think daylight saving time might mark the peak of the curve.

And then throw in a Little Badger getting sick and all bets are off!

Yesterday was a bit chaotic (she wrote in her best genteel tone).  I guess you can't use clusterf&*k in a family blog.  It was almost a parallel universe where dirty dishes and laundry spontaneously appeared from thin air, previously well-behaved pets started doing very naughty things, and babies decided that applesauce and yogurt would make excellent facial and hair products for the entire family.

Not to say that there weren't fun moments.  Big Brother Badger had an amazing imaginary story going about dinosaurs living in an apartment waiting for trick-or-treaters.  I think the dinosaurs planned on eating the trick-or-treaters, but knew they were out of luck when they realized that they'd have to wait a few million years.  Little Brother Badger got in two hours of Thomas the Tank Engine!  Baby Badger enjoyed playing with her tea set and feeding us all delicious cakes and appetizers.  And Mommy River Badger had a very nice nap with a very tired LBB after answering his many questions about jet planes, extinction events, and Daddy climbing up on the roof.  Everyone ate his or her dinner, and mostly played nicely.  BBB taught an impromptu karate class for his little brother and sister, which ended with Mommy (a bad guy) getting pummeled.

Despite the mayhem from earlier, all three Little Badgers were happy to stretch into their new bedtimes by day's end.  The Boy Badgers enjoyed a story about a family of dolphins, and fell asleep talking to each other, as usual.  Today actually started pretty smoothly, as I learned to appreciate the extra hour that appeared in the morning.  So, we made it.  No fist bumps this time, though.