World, big and small

I must ask, rhetorically, Who the heck calls us at 4:20 a.m. and let's it get to the answering machine but doesn't leave a message?! Grumble. At least there's coffee.

On a brighter note, we're planning Lola's 4th birthday, figuring out what to do and make. This is such a fun part of parenting, finding the things she loves. I checked out a 4 disc CD from the library called "101 Toddler Favorites" or some such title and did she ever love that! Watching her face as she heard songs she already knew was so affirming and poignant. It's as if she is discovering that the world is both big and small -- large enough that her experience is duplicated, but small enough that she can know it. As difficult as 3 and 4 are, philosophically and emotionally, I looooove being the mama of someone learning these things. And being the one providing her with this experience is priceless. It feels as if I am doing right, finding the things she loves and helping her into them.

And in Menomonie, it snowed! And we're planning our garden. I'm always looking for non-genetically modified seeds for our garden. If you have some and would like to trade them for squash or sunflower seeds (heirloom), please let me know. Lola and I are also looking for decorative stuff for the corners of the house, maybe something bushy that smells nice, and a red thing for a pot by the front door. Ideas? Must be hardy, and tolerate the Wisconsin climate (zone 4). Perennials and herbs preferred.

Self-checkout

You've seen them, perhaps even complained or shouted "Hooray!" for them at your big ol' super grocery stores.
You've seen them at the library.
You've heard about them, at least. No?

Well, Menomonie has joined the age of doodads and gadgets and installed a self-checkout system in our library. No longer do I have to wait in line to have my books and CDs and DVDs carefully and cheerfully handled and scanned by the interesting ladies at the front desk. No longer do I have to worry about hearing positive comments about my 3 year old's book choices or interest in the patch on my bag. No longer do I have to worry about actually talking to someone, at the library. My book searches are online. My account is online. My check-out is on line. Why talk at all?

The thing is, if it made the life of the small-town librarian any easier, I might grudgingly support this recent innovation. But it doesn't! They don't look happy, and they miss talking to us as much as we miss talking to them. And talk is very affirming to a young mind checking out new books.

For example: Lola checked out a book about the Day of the Dead festivities as practiced in Mexico. I was so happy to find this book (Pablo Remembers - The Day of the Dead) and even hopeful she would like it. When we approached the counter, our favorite librarian, Nan, checked out our media. "Oh, the Day of the Dead. You know, that's my favorite time of the year." Lola just felt so cool for checking out that book, and I knew then she'd actually read it. Nan also comments on other books we check out. In our small conservative town, finding a kind of hip, left-leaning, multicultural appreciating librarian is a joy. All discovered through talking.

Information acquisition is not only about the information. It is about how it is shared and encouraged and recommended and questioned. How can we learn just from books? How much richer can our life be when the librarian can say "If you like that, then you might like..."? Damn I hate the information age. I think I prefer the communication age.

Or was that the age of aquarius? The stone age? The iron age? A gilded cage? Ach.

The deep well

Yesterday was a terribly cranky day for everyone not at work. No matter what we did, the energy just got worse and worse. Baby was fussy, needy; Mama was tired, intolerant; and Lola was, well, tired and demanding.

After a morning full of power struggles, nap attempts, feeding attempts, sitting attempts, computer attempts, play time attempts, reading attempts, quiet time attempts, I just gave up. Around 1:00 I decided that since baby was going to cry and fuss no matter what we did, I would shower. I brought the bouncy seat up after laying Pearl on the mat in the office, listening to her cry. Hurried up the stairs, put down bouncy seat, picked up baby. Got my clothes ready. Waited a half hour until Pearl was in a slightly better mood. Changed Lola's diaper. Went in the bathroom and put baby in the seat, started the water, and handed her toys to grab and chew. Ignored her initial fussing. Started showering, realized it was a no hair washing day, washing quickly. Then, after feeling like I needed to visually connect with the baby because she would not stop fussing, I pop my wet head out to talk to her. This startled and terrified Pearl, and she began crying hard. The scared cry. So.... I stop the shower, since she's not calming herself, and try to dry off but she's too scared. Still dripping, I pick her up, and she stops crying immediately.

We stand like that for about 30 seconds. The water is evaporating quickly, and I'm starting to get chilly. In the midst of my cold naked wetness, Lola comes in and tells me, "I pooped!". And I'm thinking, Right. The only time all day I really can't put down the cranky baby and you need your poopy diaper changed. Obviously Lola's needs aren't being met elsewhere, I observe.

Somehow I got dressed enough, and got Lola's diaper change supplies together. Since she's a big kid she's got big poops. It's not like a baby's poopy diaper change, where you can just be anywhere. I'm cranky, wondering how I'll be able to put Pearl down again soon. I did change her diaper, and Pearl was entertained for a little while. Like always, I just tried to accomodate everyone's needs as much as possible as often as possible.

But days like yesterday just wear me out. Today I will try to recharge, replenish the deep well.

Maybe it will work this time...

Not for the parenting advice alone

I need a t-shirt that says "I didn't come here for parenting advice" in big black letters, right in front, on my big ol' nursing boobs.

It would be appropriate everywhere I go - the store, the doctor, the chiropractor, the homeschool group, the library, the copy shop, my family's house, etc. I just get so annoyed at the unsolicited advice.

Anyone else?

And on a lighter note, Pearl has started being quite the 6 month old.

And Lola has started being a cranky 4 year old. Gotta go...

Chatty Mama

Since our fall, I've been going through lots of adjustments with Pearl - at the chiropractor and at home. Physically, Pearl is healing well. All that's left is a big bump on her forehead that has gotten smaller but is still there. It must hurt still. She is cranky now, going through some developmental thing, too - needing me to hold her ALL the time, not sleeping until 11:00 - or later, trying out new toys and activities, and crying *hard* out of frustration. I've never seen a baby get so frustrated when something isn't JUST SO. It was a bit unnerving the first time I witnessed her outburst. Oh man, what are we going to see next?

On a positive note, I can now eat moderate amounts of cruciferous vegetables!! Broccoli! Cabbage! And chocolate. Woo hoo! So if you were waiting to gift me with truffles from Legacy Chocolates here in town, well, you can get right on that.

Lola will be four in a month or so. Where has the time gone?

What I never expected

How does a mama recuperate from a serious, almost tragic accident with her baby?

Slowly, and with gratitude.

On New Year's Day, right before Chris was going over to friends' house to deliver some homeopathic remedies for their sick babe, I fell down our wooden stairs while carrying the baby. The worst possible thing I've feared since having the baby was this very event; it seems impossible it even happened, now, just a few days later.

The basic version of this story is this: Walking slowly down the stairs, barefoot, carrying the baby as I do many times every day, I somehow tripped on my toe and lost footing. I wasn't holding the railing because the bannister is on the left and that's where I was carrying Pearl. Immediately as I tripped, my reflex to catch myself made me let go of the baby. She flew from my hands onto the uncarpeted wooden stairs, like a rocket (ah, gravity). Her head hit the first step, bounced down one, hit the next step again with her head, and slid face-forward down the other two or three. The sound of her head hitting the wood still makes my stomach turn horribly. I watched her tiny body bump down the stairs and it was the worst thing I've *ever* witnessed and felt. She looked like a doll, it was so unreal. I could not believe my own child was being flung so fast and so far down hard stairs. It was really like a movie, like someone else's terrifying movie.

Chris was on the phone, Lola was in the living room and saw Pearl skid to a halt after the fall. I shouted, freaked out a second, noticed she wasn't bleeding and rushed to pick her up. We went to sit on the couch where I held and comforted her, both of us crying. Lola was very scared and upset, as were we all. I told Chris to give us all Arnica and Rescue Remedy, which we took. It calmed us all down enough to think clearly about our next steps. My toe was really sore, but Pearl was obviously injured and terrified. We considered seeing our really awesome chiropractor first, as we really hate emergency medicine. Chris called her at her home, and as he was talking I decided we needed to be in the ER instead. So, we packed up for our adventure into hospital land.

It wasn't so bad, being in the ER. Pearl was crying or whimpering all the time, I could comfort her but not console her. She had a few bruises on her forehead, but nothing else I noticed right away. We got her admitted, and the nurse told us our chiro had already called ahead the told them to expect us. We hung out in the ER, the nurse did what I felt was not a terribly thorough check of Pearl's body, and waited for the dr. There was a PA on duty, and she was nice. She respected our desire to know everything, and I know that can be a pain in the butt if you're trying to administer emergency care. We decided to consent to a CT scan for Pearl, and a dose of tylenol. We waited for the medicine, we waited for the CT scan technician, we waited for the test results, we waited for the analysis of those results. So much waiting! But, as we already knew intuitively, there was nothing seriously wrong with Pearl's head. No fractures, concussion, bleeding, nothing. She was just sore and scared and a little bruised.

No real injury. [insert resumed easy breathing here]

Amazing to me, having seen her fall. Having dropped her. A miracle.

I knew then that it was all easy after that. All we had to do was get home, take good care of ourselves. Watch for those signs of head trauma. And go to the chiropractor every day this week to help our whole bodies heal. All she has to show for her adventure is a big bump on her forehead, which we slather with arnica gel twice a day.

I have no lingering fear of the stairs now, believe it or not. I religiously hold the railing going up or down, though. And of course there is the fun watching my bruises turn darker, purple and blue and all the pretty colors of old blood.

Pearl had a few days of cranky, achy, clingy needs but today she is a new baby. A person who has been though something really traumatic and thrived. She knows the world can be scary, but also that we are her comfort. And I tell you, if that's not the thing about parenting most easily forgotten, I'm not sure what is. Tonight, after Lola went to bed, Pearl's delicious, happy laugh while I chewed her belly and tickled her chest with my chin was a gift. Her grabbing my hair and snuggling me as we walk around the house is a gift. She's laughing freely again. Signs and symbols of love, of feeling secure, of feeling loved.
What I never expect, and hold dear when given.