11 tips for being an ordinary parent

1. Show up at home after a long day at and give in to the craziness of that witching hour commonly called "after school and dinner time." Accept that you feel frazzled after a long day at work or say, midwifery school, and that your children are only going to make you feel frazzlier. Yup, that's a word. One child will be happy to see you and the other will be panicking about a permission slip that ABSOLUTELY must be returned and where is it, Mama, where is it, where is it? Then the other child will declare that she doesn't like her dinner, while the permission slip child suddenly has no pants on. Come to terms with the crazy. Just go make yourself some food and you'll feel better soon. And tell that child who doesn't like her dinner to go and help herself to some cereal.

2. Always say yes to reading your child a book. Unless you have to go out and study, and then you have to say no. Make sure you only feel a little guilty.

3. Definitely don't serve vegetables at every meal. You know they say you should always offer healthy veggies at every meal, but if it's been a busy day and you're exhausted, just give them the damn pasta.

4. Give them a lot of kisses.

5. Sneak a chocolate bar from their Halloween candy and deny it wildly when one of your children finds the wrapper in the garbage. Then tell them it's not nice to accuse people of stealing candy. Yes, it happened.

6. More kisses.

7. Try to get your four year old dressed in a shirt and leggings. Then listen to her yelling that she wanted tights, not leggings. Just listen. Then explain that you don't have time to change clothes because you need to leave for school in five minutes. Don't tell her it's your fault for getting her dressed five minutes before you need to school, that you spent too much time packing lunches that you should have packed the night before. Don't tell her because she doesn't care. Then get her the tights.

8. Tell your daughter you will sew her new pajama pants the next day, the ones that don't fit her because nothing seems to fit her tiny body, not these pants or the three you bought her last month. Then forget to sew them because you're buried in studying for reproductive physiology. Then forget them the next day because you're buried in writing this blog post. Then maybe sew them on the weekend so your tiny child has pants that don't fall down her bum.

9. Tell your children that everyone makes mistakes. Tell them you've made at least 75 this week alone.

10. Remember that your children need to wash their hair and make a note to do it that night. Then when you forget, remember to do it the next night. Then a few days later actually put them in the shower with a bottle of shampoo.

11. Make pancakes for breakfast because you just feel like it, even though it's going to make everyone run late for school. Then bring your four year old leggings.

#22 Host a fabulous tea party

This post is part of a new series I'm excited about at Most Days I Win. I've written a list of (mostly) small and manageable resolutions that I'd like to attempt in 2013. I've included things on my list that will continue to inspire me and lead me toward the kind of joy-filled life I've always loved. I'm using this list to commit, again and again, to doing things that make me laugh, make me happy, feelings I hope rub off on other people in the process. You can see the list of my 100 Resolutions Project (in two parts) here and here.

Sometimes all it takes is for a good friend to call and ask what we're up to. That's all it took a few Sundays ago. My friend Susan, having recently heard her daughter, Tori, declare that she'd like to live next door to Alyce, asked if she could visit us in Toronto for the day. Alyce and Tori were in the same junior kindergarten class last year when we were living in Cambridge and they still make moon eyes at each other when we get together. They are smitten and I love it. 

I love watching friendships take root because I know, I know, that friends make it possible to stand in the world with your shoulders back, head held high, and laugh all day long. Without my friends I'd feel naked.

Once it was decided that of course! we'd love to Susan and her girls over for the day (she has a second daughter a little older than Shira), we got to work. It was obvious to all of us: tea party. We began setting the table at once. Alyce got to making place cards, Shira chose our tea pot, and I collected fine linens (ironing not required). Alyce had just the day before made a paper flower for Tori and it served as the perfect centrepiece. I quickly made a dish of macaroni and cheese (my superpower is the ability to make mac and cheese blindfolded while hopping on one foot) and was relieved to find the brownie cookies we had made for Shabbat the previous Friday were still available. Sometimes cookies in our house disappear.

It was an amazing tea party, nothing too fancy, but the necessary elements were there. Tea pot filled with grape juice? Check. Good food? Check. A chance to celebrate a random Sunday with a gathering of good friends and a lot of giggles? Tea parties make me think of all the things I loved about childhood: make believe, celebrations, making the ordinary feel a bit more special. My daughters have inherited what seems to be a genetic predisposition to elevate an ordinary table into a place of magic. I watch them set their own Shabbat table throughout the week, adding just the right touches (like dinosaurs) around the usual Shabbat settings such as candles, kiddish cup, and challah board. They just know that there is something special that happens when we gather around a table.

P.S. Alyce has informed me that this technically wasn't a tea party because we did not send out invitations or have fancy food, like cake. I'm not sure where she found these rules, but who am I to argue? So while there might be another tea party in our future, but I'm counting this one, too.

Monsters: My morning at kindergarten

Every Thursday morning I spend an hour or two in Alyce's kindergarten class. It is a split junior and senior mix, so the age range of this zoo classroom is three to almost six. Alyce falls into the almost-five category, as she reminds me constantly in the week leading up to her birthday next week. I volunteer in class for a few reasons: I'm nosy, I'm curious, and I'm a sucker for kindergarteners. There is one little boy who is so completely delicious that I want to wrap him up, put in my pocket, and take him home with me. (I didn't in case you were concerned.) There is also a sweet-as-pie little girl who almost knocks me over each Thursday morning to ask if she can read to me. Every week it is the same boring book about a train, but I'll take the boredom for the grin she gives me in return. Alyce is in a large class, twenty-nine monsters in total, but the teacher and assistant do what they can. They rely on parents for an extra hand, which is where I come in. It gives the kids another adult to pester with stories. No word of lie, one little one interrupted the teacher this morning with a story that went on for five minutes. He got lost in the twists and turns of his own plot and everyone in the room was glancing at their watch. We'll all cut him some slack, though, because the poor guy is only three.

Most of the kids don't like bananas. I know this because their first job of the morning, after hanging up coats and stuffing lunch bags into cubbies, is to write their name on the daily survey. Last week the question was "Do you have a sister? Yes or no." They all take turns with the marker and painstakingly print their names in the appropriate column. Today the question was "Do you like bananas? Yes or no." Like I said, most kids fell on the "no" side of this debate. I do like bananas, so this morning I sneaked my name on the "Yes" side, right next to Max's. Next the kids are instructed to find the appropriately aged book and sit down for some reading. This totally happens. Well, some of them try. One little one wanders around the whole time begging Alyce to sit next to her and rarely actually sits down with her book. I don't know what happens most days when I'm not there, but on Thursdays Alyce wants to sit with me, resulting in the other one threatening to un-invite Alyce from her sleepover (which I'm pretty sure is an imaginary sleepover, since all of these kids are too young and loony for a sleepover). A few other children spend reading time telling each other very loud stories about what happened on the way to school. About ten kids each week bring me very long books about dinosaurs to read to them. (Another dinosaur book! Again! Ok, fine.) And then that sweet-as-pie little girl asks me again if she can read that story about that bloody train. But how can I turn down that pile of sweetness in pink corduroy pants? I just can't. Can you?

The rest of the morning follows the same lines, with the teacher giving instructions on a variety of projects. Today it was drawing pictures about the last time they went to the doctor. I thought Alyce would illustrate a scene from a few days ago when she went completely over the edge screaming about a flu shot, but she went for a generic (though, lovely) smiling Alyce next to a figure in a white coat. There wasn't a scream, tear, or terror on her page. The teacher gives instructions, the kids set off running, and the rest of the time is spent on damage control. I like to keep close to the sweet little boys in the corner who try so very hard to sound out the sentence "I went to the doctor because I was sick" with their thinking tongues poking out the side of their mouths. In the end it looks more like this: "IWntTDrirCSk."I was so proud.

At snack time it's my time to escape. Alyce has usually enjoyed my time there, showing off that her mama is in the classroom, snoodling in my lap when the teacher reads them a story. Today I threw her off by bringing my own snack, pulling up a chair, and eating with a table of four year olds. I like to shake things up in kindergarten, I'm telling you. Until next week.

P.S. I forgot to tell you one thing: watching and listening to twenty-nine three to six year olds yell the Canadian national anthem is up with my ten favourite sounds. If you can only give up a few minutes of your week, I suggest you show up in Room Two around ten o'clock in the morning, just before the birthday announcements. They won't let you down.

On the depths of their emotions

We have a firm rule in our house, one that you might need in yours, too: stickers go on paper and people. Repeat with me: paper and people. Everybody: paper and people! You get the idea. If any of you have tried to scrape off a worn-in sticker from a nice stretch of hardwood floor or a freshly painted wall, you understand where I'm coming from. I have no interest in standing against the magic of stickers, but as with most things in life, boundaries are important.

For the most part the girls follow this rule but we do have missteps from time to time. I usually roll my eyes to the high heavens when I spot a misplaced sticker, but when I came across this yesterday I could only smile. I don't know where Alyce received the alphabet stickers, and I don't know when she escaped to her bedroom to stick them on her bedside table, but at some point in the past few days Alyce used rainbow letters to spell out the name of her best friend. A friend left behind at her old school in another town, but who is obviously never far away in her thoughts. 

I find myself constantly underestimating the emotional depth of children. Yes, Alyce and Shira bounce along a spectrum of emotion every day, jumping from feeling to feeling with almost a new one every minute. It would take only a short visit at our house to stand witness to the highs and lows of childhood. There is excitement over opening the paints, devastation over one sister's discovery of the other sister's hidden treasure, thoughtfulness in a moment when one recognizes the other is hurt and needs help, over-the-moon delight when I finally agree to a cup of hot chocolate. But it's the depths of these emotions that get me every time. 

I think many of my struggles as a parent to Alyce and Shira comes from not acknowledging how real these highs and lows feel to them. I grow frustrated, as I did this morning, over Alyce dragging her feet to choose a dress for school, but maybe I would be less so if I took a moment to remember how upset she was when she awoke from a nightmare this morning, how those raw feelings might still be lingering only thirty minutes later. Or maybe if I thought about how much joy she feels wearing an outfit crafted exclusively, if not quickly, by her. When Alyce feels sad about her new school, something she is feeling less and less these days, I need to remind myself that she misses her friend. Alyce is not a baby but a sensitive, loving, excited, joyful, and stubborn little girl whose feelings for her friends--or her toys or her favourite food--are as real as yours or mine. They can't be dismissed. I love my own friends deeply; so does she.

It helps me to remember these things. Parenting books are often so preoccupied with helping us through all the (very important) basics of food and sleep and safety that we're all at risk of forgetting how one of the greatest challenges and gifts of parenting your children is learning who they are, how they feel. I sometimes get so preoccupied with the details of care and how to manage these details within the organization of our larger family, that I forget that one of my most important jobs, and probably the most fun, is to watch. Just watch. 

The controlling perfectionist grown-up in me often ends up worrying about routine and habits and structure, all fine things in their place, but I hope I can remember more often that I can still parent from the background. It's such a balance, isn't it, to let our children feel these depths without trying to manage them? They need these depths, just like we do, to learn who they are in the world. They need to love their friends and feel sad about sisters colouring on the wrong paper and get angry over their mama saying, No, Alyce and Shira, we can't stay up and read anymore, it's bedtime. Just like I need to cry sometimes when my day juggling work and life is hard, or how I need to dance sometimes because I'm just so happy to be near my family.

How do you remember these things?

On not yelling at my children

It turns out that I'm not a perfect parent. I'll give you a moment while you pick your jaw up off the floor. Then you can take a second to roll your eyes. Go ahead, I'll wait.

I've been struggling with my imperfections lately. While this is sort of the story of my life, it's felt especially raw lately when it comes to my learning how to parent my almost-five year old. I'm not going to sugarcoat this for you: all of a sudden I've discovered that I'm a parent who raises her voice. No matter your own approach to parenting, this is not a strategy I wish to continue. Anger is one thing, yelling is another. Anger is an intense emotion connected to feelings of hurt, frustration, and helplessness. Yelling is an act of aggression.

I'm not a yeller by nature. I don't remember my parents yelling beyond a few arguments with each other now and then. Once I spent a week with another family where yelling was the primary mode of communication and all I wanted to do was run home and hide under the covers. Sure, I got excited from time to time and raised my voice, but yelling was not my thing. It made anger feel terrifying. Expressing feelings of anger and frustration are good things, and to be honest I wish I'd done more of that growing up. Instead I spent most of my time ensuring that other people were happy so as to avoid anger in the first place. The healthiest emotional habit? Maybe not, but this is me.

I adore these children of mine, love the family we have created. But I've learned that certain conditions lead me to feeling helpless against how I angry I feel sometimes. Did you know that a four year old can make you really angry? She's filled with rainbows and sunshine yet sometimes I find myself irritated beyond measure by her behaviour. I know, she's four. She's pushing boundaries, testing limits, learning (far too quickly, I might add) how to stand on her own in the world. Sometimes my anger comes from pure frustration (will she please FOR THE LOVE OF ALL THE THINGS just put her shoes on), other times from hurt feelings. No matter the source of these feelings, the reality is that I am the parent and she is the child learning from me. What do we learn from yelling? We learn to dominate, to use force, and to act unkindly in the face of a challenge. I'm pretty certain that these are not the messages I want to pass along to my children.

Yes, yes, of course we all have moments. Does it feel good to yell sometimes in anger? Yes. Does it feel good to yell sometimes in anger at your child? Never. In fact I never want to do it again.

Fortunately our home is a wonderful place to be, and this yelling habit of mine is new and infrequent. But I know in my heart that yelling is just not for me. I prefer my passion in the form of kisses. I have no interest in hiding my strong emotions but I want my family to see me channel these emotions for good, not evil. I want to show Alyce that we can speak to each other kindly even when we disagree. I am human, I make mistakes, but I can still work toward an ideal I hold so dearly. Alyce isn't blind, she can see me struggling, but my hope is that what she will see--what she will remember--is not that I yelled sometimes, but that I tried so hard to learn from my mistakes. And the best part is that she is learning, too.
 
How do you handle yelling in your house?

P.S. Just for the record, Shira is in a fort in that top photo, not a prison. I swear.

Kid Therapy

You know what I haven't written about much lately? Parenting. Yes, that's right, I have two children and we spend a lot of time together. You must be tired of me going on and on about myself lately, am I right (maybe don't answer that)? No matter how relieved I have been to return to Toronto, life has felt awfully heavy lately, sort of molasses-like. I'm dragging a bit, can you tell?

One of the markers of parenthood for me is how no matter what else is going on in my life, my young children don't care. Struggling with new career steps? Not their concern. Worrying about a decision you made two years ago? They'd rather paint. I should rephrase that part about caring, though, because while they don't care in that traditional "what accommodations can we make to help you through this transition" kind of way, they'll get right and dirty to help me relax and get over myself. Feeling a bit indecisive about life lately? I suggest you take your four year old to an outdoor showing of The Lorax, popcorn and cookies included. Having a rough day managing deadlines? Relax a minute and just get under the covers with your two year old already. Read that book together, you know you'll feel better. This isn't about playing the role of martyr and ignoring all those very real grown-up concerns, but taking full opportunity of the way my children know how to take care of me. Sure, Alyce can't carry on a decent conversation about savings accounts, but she did make me fourteen drawings last week, with no less than 6442 hearts. I'd be silly not to take that therapy when it's being excitedly thrown at me each day after school.

I started this blog as a way to remember the details of our chaos and lately I've had a few moments that have left me hoping that I don't forget any of it. Do you know that feeling? I'm going about my day when all of a sudden I find myself in the middle of an act or experience or sentence that I know--I just know--I'll want to keep with me. None of these moments are transformational or even original. I expect that parents the world over have felt the same way with their own children, in that universal way in which parents are made to smile that soft, knowing smile  as they watch their children be, well, children.

Like yesterday when Alyce's kindergarten teacher informed me that Alyce has been hiding her own possessions in the lost and found box, again. This time it was her lunch bag. She does this because she finds such delight in the act of solving the mystery of her missing item. She's lost and found multiple pairs of shoes, mittens, more than one jacket. Come to think of it we're currently "missing" a few items right now. Thanks, Alyce. Or how a friend noticed yesterday that Shira rolls her eyes back into her head a bit as she descends into a kiss. Ecstasy, these kisses are to Shira, she could give them all day long. Then there was that time were those times I walked in the room to find her naked as the day she entered this world. She's growing up, that Shira, and so learning the freedom that comes from declaring that clothes-free is far better than clothed.

Yes, Shira, it certainly is. And today I'll take an extra moment to remember that. 

Sometimes I forget

Sometimes I stand behind my daughters and marvel at those pigtails. Because they are just so delicious. Or the rubber boots. Those are delicious, too.

Other times I stand amazed that no matter where I go, in our home, out in the world, or in the car, I am constantly serenaded with the loud, warbly voices of not one, but two daughters. On those same days, after I've measured Alyce on our trip to the farm, I am witness to her excitement that she is eight hands tall.


Almost as tall as a pony.

 

Today I'll stand next to Alyce and Shira and remember they won't be young for much longer. I'll remind myself that one day they'll know how to put on their own clothes, make their own food, and read their own books. I will take a deep breath and give in to the crazy. Because this crazy is all mine.

What are you going to do today?

(P.S. Today I'm also having a good friend over for lunch. Can't wait.)

She knows just how awesome she is.

Life is good, but it's kicking my ass nonetheless. I don't know about you, but I could use a little more superhero in my day. Here's to just sitting with your own awesomeness.

Time for bed

I had to be out of the house for bedtime tonight, and though the girls should have been in bed fast asleep, by the time I returned, these two were still awake. Life doesn't always turn out the way of a scheduled bedtime. Matt, who had probably imagined a couple of hours of quiet, spent two hours trying to convince Shira to fall asleep (and with his lack of lactating parts he was losing the battle before it had even begun), which in turn ignited Alyce to begin her own petition for no-bedtime, since why should she sleep if the other wasn't going to (fair question)? When I walked in the door two hours past Shira's bedtime she was a bit manic, in that joyful way she has about her. She immediately brought me to the couch where I nursed her for a few minutes, Alyce sprawled on top of the both of us. It was neither comfortable nor productive (who could focus under these conditions?), but it was absolutely worth a late bedtime. I was able to sit and enjoy my children for a few minutes before sending them off for the night, an absolutely perfect thing to do even when only away for a couple of hours. They climbed on Matt's lap for a few minutes before it was really, really bedtime, and now I have these photos.

This is why it's good to relax some days. Note to self.

Night night.

And, we're off

On our way to Alyce's last day at school.

Today just felt different. Alyce seems to have loved Junior Kindergarten, and watching her develop friendships with the other kids has been my favourite part of this entire school process. But as much as she loves her friends, and most of the other kindergarten world of circle time, painting, and learning how to insert potty language at every turn, Alyce has almost every day of this school year asked to stay home with me and Shira. I think she feels left out of the party a bit, perhaps deducing from our body language and our secret handshakes that the two of us stay home all day playing princess and eating chocolate ice cream. (We'll never tell.)

Last day of school watermelon sundress courtesy of grandparents!

That is to say that Alyce is Excited for summer vacation. She's thrilled to have the entire summer ahead of all three of us, ready to dive into princesses and ice cream. I think Shira is completely game for Alyce's full time return. While I thought briefly that Shira might miss our time together, just the two of us, I'm fairly certain she's more interested in tagging along after Alyce. I have mixed feelings about the summer, I'll be honest. There's the question of how we'll fill our time for two months. But that's not quite it. I think one of the reasons this end of school year feels so momentous is that we've been waiting months to get back on our feet, out in the world, and that's happening in four days. Our move signals so many things: new jobs, new surroundings, new goals, new fears. After spending more than a year trying to get started fresh in Canada, it's finally happening. I want to jump head first into the awesomeness of all these new opportunities, but at the same time I don't want to scare it away. Some days I'm afraid that if I breathe too easily it might all disappear.

Pigtails courtesy of the softest blonde hair on the planet.

You see we're not crossing over into some fantasy land of high-paying jobs and job security. We are getting ready for a new start, but that doesn't mean it's easy. It feels so exhilarating and terrifying at the same time. What if our plans aren't enough? What if things fall out underneath of us again? What if we're unemployed in a year? Please just give me a moment to collect myself.

This summer. This summer contains the first steps of many our adventures. It marks my first real commitment to staying home with girls while I work part-time, a path I'm choosing because I want to, not because I need to (and I'm grateful to begin this new phase in the busy centre of Toronto). It marks my husband's return to academic life, and I'm fairly certain he's there to stay. It will mark the beginning of my new doula business, something I've been very quiet about while so many details are in the works (but I can't wait to share!). But when I put all of that aside for a moment, more than anything else the coming of another summer, another year, means that our little family has done it again. We're seen one member of our crazy household complete her first year at school. We've seen another one learn to talk. We've celebrated seven years together and five years married. Graduation certificates for everyone!

Bring it on, summer. Let's do this.

P.S. In honour of her last day of school, I packed jelly beans in her lunch. 

P.P.S. My mum and I are also taking her out for a celebratory pancake breakfast tomorrow.

P.P.P.S. And we're moving to Toronto in four days!

Have the greatest of weekends, everyone! 

When children make poor eating choices, and other mushroom adventures

Can I just start off by telling you that I was making wild mushroom risotto for dinner? It was going to be delicious. Alyce and Shira were playing in the backyard, as they always do around the time I'm cooking dinner for the grown-ups (Matt gets home too late for the girls to wait for their dinner, so I make two dinners. It's not my favourite thing, but it's a temporary adjustment until we move and Matt stops commuting!). Anyway, after Shira woke up from a long afternoon nap we made muffins for dinner. Yes, muffins for dinner. Chocolate chip muffins. Sure, it's out of the usual dinner realm, but these muffins contain the following ingredients: leftover steel-cut oatmeal, whole wheat flour, 4 tbsp sugar or honey, an egg, some milk and butter, a handful of raw millet seeds, and yes, some chocolate chips. I can think of a lot of meals that might appear more on par with dinnertime that aren't nearly as good as these muffins (you can find the exact measurements here, from Soule Mama). So they baked them and they ate them. Things were going well.

That is, of course, until Shira started eating mushrooms growing randomly in the backyard.

Or at least I think she was, because the combined accuracy of two and four year old children is pretty terrible. I went outside to investigate the original claim, that according to Alyce, Shira was into the mushrooms. What mushrooms? I wondered. There they were growing all over the back garden and grass. Shira had a fistful in one hand and was grabbing at more with the other. Alyce (I think) understands that we can't eat random mushrooms we find outside (and has also extended that rule to apply to any and all mushroom varieties found in the fridge), but Shira, no, Shira doesn't know this rule. So I asked Alyce and Shira, both, to fess up about whether any of these mushrooms made it inside Shira's mouth. Shira told me, yes, she ate them and they were in her belly. Alyce confirmed Shira's story.

Do you believe young children when they are smiling and prancing around in a field of mushrooms? I wasn't buying it. I even told Alyce that I didn't believe her, which of course now I regret tenfold because that's just a crumby thing to say to a kid who tries so hard to follow the rules. But in the end, I sort of had to believe them because the alternative was a two-year old maybe succumbing to mushroom poisoning, and I also wasn't having any of that. I called Poison Control (the kind woman kept calling me Dianne, but I got over it) and they told me to get that child of mine to the hospital. They couldn't tell what kind of mushrooms she ate and wouldn't take the chance. Bad mushrooms could do leagues of damage to her liver and I spent far to many months growing that liver to take the chance that one handful of bad mushrooms might destroy it. I like that liver, and Shira too, so off we went. Fortunately Matt was home with the car in five minutes and off Shira and I went to the hospital.

Alyce, of course, was devastated that she couldn't come with us to the hospital. Her eyes were big with concern for Shira (and she even offered her best Bear for the trip) and I think she was a bit frightened. Lucky for her she was able to dull the pain with not one, but two bowls of ice cream while she awaited our return. This morning when she woke up I shared with her our hospital adventures and apologized for not believing her.

But back to the mushrooms. Poison Control called ahead to the hospital and we were given a bed in the ER right away. I should have known our night was going to suck when the nurse told me this isn't going to be pretty. They were going to fill my Shira's belly with charcoal, they explained, to absorb and neutralize the potential toxins. I will spare you most of the details, but I will tell you three things:

1. Shira does not enjoy have 8 large vials of charcoal shoved down her throat.
2. Children will not believe you when you tell them that charcoal is chocolate milk.
3. The entire emergency room floor is now familiar with my daughters screams.

I'll share one more thing, too. Breastfeeding came to the rescue (can I get high five for breastfeeding toddlers?). Shira was sobbing and screaming and I was sobbing right there next to while I held her down on the bed for the procedure. But between vials the nurses would let me hold my charcoal covered baby and breastfeed her. It didn't solve all of Shira's problems but it made a difference. She found some comfort in the middle of a terribly uncomfortable situation. All in all the charcoal treatment took about 45 minutes (halfway through I texted Matt to come to the hospital because I needed moral support and a change of clothes), and the rest of our time at the hospital was a breeze. We were there until 11:30 pm, having to wait six hours since the time she ate the mushrooms to rule out any toxicity. Shira didn't sleep a wink at the hospital, but she did a lot of the following: eat french fries, drink real chocolate milk, play with face masks, entertain the nurses, breastfeed some more, watch Dora on my iphone. She's feeling better today and we have a quick follow-up with the pediatrician.

Have you or your children ever snacked on the odd poisonous plant or fungus? Shira takes after it honestly. When I was four I ate the end off the leaf of a poisonous plant and holy cow did that burn my mouth. In my defense I was trying to imitate a ballerina who was dancing on tv holding a leaf and I was just trying to get my own proportions right.  And you?

A sensitive soul

I watch Alyce draw pictures all day long. She's one of those kids (I imagine there are others) who spends most of her time creating. No matter the material, no matter the canvas, no matter if it is Mama's rather expensive Moleskin day planner in red that she splurges on once a year, Alyce will draw and colour and paint her way through any mood. If Alyce is having a particularly trying day we can usually reset ourselves with a good colouring session.

You know how some people will tell you that you marry your father? Well, you know, not actually your father (though Alyce often loudly complains that she wanted to be the one to marry Papa), but someone who shares in the same qualities, suggesting, maybe, that we're not good with change. We marry, we are told, someone who repeats those moods and emotions that we've come to know and rely on, even sometimes the ones we'd rather have left behind. It turns out, I'm realizing, that we also give birth to ourselves. That is, when I'm laughing or arguing or dancing with Alyce, I'm staring at a miniature version of myself.
 

 

I don't mean that she looks like me, though I think she does. In her first years she had Matt's features and colouring, but all that is changing now. Her eyes are changing from blue to hazel and she's growing freckles at the tops of her cheeks (I have her convinced that she's been stealing my freckles in our sleep, pulling them off my skin and relocating them on hers). What I'm talking about is watching Alyce feel things the way I did, the way I still do. Alyce is sensitive with a capital everything, intensely aware of how everyone else in a room is feeling. If she senses that I'm upset with something she'll ask me over and over again about my own mood. Why are you making that face, Mama? Why aren't you talking, Mama? Why are you saying it like that, Mama? To this day I experience the world this way (ask Matt how delightful it can be sometimes). Being so hyperaware of other people's moods makes me empathetic, a good mediator, and generally a nice person to be around. But this sensitivity also lends itself to insecurity (because I'm so concerned with how other people are feeling things, including how they are feeling me) and obsession with making people happy.

I wonder how this will develop for Alyce.  No matter what we share, fortunately for Alyce, she also shares Matt's secrets, too. Will she hold on to her sensitivity and take on the stress of the world around her? Will she use her feelings to forge the closest of friendships like I did? And most relevant to our parent-child relationship, will we continue to use this hypersensitivity to add drama to all of our interactions? You see, two sensitive souls can enjoy so much together, throwing ourselves into the most wonderful of feelings, but we can also fight hard. I forget sometimes that my Alyce is only four, and so when she does things to hurt my feelings (the way all four year olds do from time to time), I feel it deeply. And then she feels it deeply. And then, well, you can imagine where this goes.

What do you share with your children? Does it change the way you parent? I think it might be changing the way I do things, or, at least, the way I'm understanding what's going on between me and my children.

P.S. That's a portrait of me at the top. I like how she captured my eyelashes. If only they were so long.

Crush

I was all set to offer up a post on how I need to get my act together (in attempts to rediscover my lost energy), but I need to set these selfish matters aside and first share something else with you. Because today I broke my little girl's heart when I accidentally squished her pet bug.

Me and the girls were on our way to run some errands, Shira packed into the stroller and Alyce marching alongside. Alyce, who has recently become obsessed with non-flying bugs (for the love of all things please don't get her started about bees), found a bug on the sidewalk early on in our walk. It was one of these, something I have always called a Potato bug, because it rolls up in a ball when disturbed by a predator such as my daughter. Alyce was instantly smitten with her bug and declared it her pet. I think the feeling was mutual, because little Potato bug immediately uncurled himself and wandered around her tiny hand. We were already on our way to the dollar store to pick up some extra bubbles, and I excitedly told her that we could find a special bug box to make a new home for her new pet. Wasn't that nice of me?

That girl of mine carried that bug for twenty minutes without so much of a squirm or complaint.

We entered the dollar store, where she was instructed to hold on tight to that bug, lest we lose him in the middle of all that plastic and reduced priced candy. We found what we were looking for, a cheap, clear, reusable plastic container, and waited in line to pay. Just before it was our turn in line Alyce, with concern in her voice, piped up: Oops, Mama. Where did my bug go? I stepped aside to help her look for him. Do you see where this is going? Are you preparing yourself?

The bug crunched under my foot. Alyce gasped. I gasped. And then the tears began. Alyce's first words to me (because this was all going on in slow motion, it seemed like hours before she spoke up) were, Mama, why did you kill my bug? Of course she's asking me why. In her mind I would be just as careful around her pet bug as I would be if Shira were underfoot (note: I've stepped on Shira at least a dozen times). I wouldn't step willy-nilly without thinking, so then I must have done that on purpose. Right? But of course I didn't. I treasured that little Potato bug because my Alyce was treasured it so.

Her tears were big and they were real. They were not the "I didn't get what I want" tears, but the "my Mama just crushed my soul" kind. I scooped her up and apologized, reminding her that I was sad, too, that I had accidentally killed her bug. She accepted my apology, wiped her eyes, and explained that the only thing that would make her feel better was candy. Since we were right next door to a Dairy Queen, I did the next best thing: ice cream cones before lunch. All was forgiven.

That didn't stop her from asking me repeatedly on the walk home, why did you kill my bug, Mama? Fortunately, since I was getting tired of answering that question every thirty seconds (I had already grieved and moved on), she was soon preoccupied with filling her new bug box with special things for the new bug we were looking for. And did we find one? Yes we did. He was named Princess Bug.

What do you do for your children when you crush their spirits? Ice cream is my usual, go-to fix for all serious troubles.

***

(At the time of this writing, one hour later, Princess Bug escaped her clutches and is currently hiding under the deck. Alyce is taking a rest now from bug hunting, but she's promised to find another. I'll watch where I step from now on.)

Someone please create a helpful tutorial on raising siblings

I have no idea what I'm doing.

In Delaware I taught a prenatal class on how to best prepare children for the birth of a new sibling. It was delightful. I know babies. Sure, I've only had two of them, but I feel confident that I know what to do with them, for the most part. I know how to love them, smell their heads, swaddle their bodies, rub their baby skin, and breastfeed them, and I loved sharing all the wonders of new babies with excited older children. We made crafts, played with dollies, and whispered to each other about how much we loved babies. 

It turns out that I only really know a thing or two about siblings when one of those siblings is a new baby. I need some help, and I need it now. Can someone please tell me what I'm supposed to do with grown-up baby siblings, because I truly have no idea. I was an only child growing up and so I can't even rely on a distant muscle memory of living with brothers or sisters. I have memories of my friends arguing a lot with their siblings, so I've filed that under "normal" in the daily sibling behaviour category, but I need more data.

Here's what I know so far: Alyce and Shira love each other a ton. It's not even unidirectional. I expect that Shira adores her big, bright, and bouncing older sister, but the feeling, it seems, is mutual. Take our evening Snack and Show. Every night after dinner Alyce has Snack and Show, wherein she snuggles into my mum's bed with, you got it, a snack and a show. Until last week this has always been a solo event for Alyce, a great way to keep her busy while I nurse Shira before bed. But since Shira insists on growing up, it has become obvious that she's ready to join Alyce. The two of them enjoy their snacks side by side, and only sometimes argue over Toopy and Binou (Shira) and The Backyardigans (Alyce).

Snack and Show I can handle. Even my mum and stepfather put up with crumbs in their bed every night. I have this sibling event down.

But taunting each other throughout every meal, I'm not sure what to do with that. Don't get me wrong, it makes me giggle sometimes. But parents of siblings: does this ever stop? Of course it won't. I don't even know why I'm asking. They've discovered a new hobby, these two, and it's called "how much of my food can I shove back out of my mouth to gross out my sister." Other recent mealtime hobbies include, but are not limited to, sneaking food off the other sister's plate, throwing the watermelon at the dog, and, my personal favourite, the "who can yell the loudest?" game. Yes, I'll keep working on manners, but let's face it. It's going to be a losing battle.

I've also been introduced to the horror endured by the older sibling over the younger one tagging along at every turn. Alyce had settled in for some floor baking with her Nana the other day, and it took all of five minutes before Shira insisted on joining in. I have to say, Alyce took it well. But it doesn't always go down like that. Yesterday Alyce had approximately 4,864 meltdowns because Shira wanted all of her favourites. I was endlessly annoyed that Alyce wouldn't just share, but when I thought about it for a minute I realized that it must be a hard lesson for older siblings, and often a losing battle. The baby always gets the sympathy of the parent. Older siblings out there? Please send help.

I think I'm also just not used to the LOUD. That's not going to go away either, is it? I'm coming to terms with it all because, well, I like my family. But I think I just need a little encouragement, a nudge here and there to remind me how to be a parent of siblings. I don't need help loving them both, but I do need some assistance in the "is this normal" category of parenting. Is it normal that Alyce shoved Shira out of her way this morning leading to a cut lip on Shira's face? Probably, it was pretty minor and Alyce felt terrible for doing it. She sang Shira endless songs while Shira nursed the pain away. Is it normal that Shira tried to smother Alyce with a place mat during lunch today? I expect it is. Either way, I'll be waiting for your help.

One last thing: I have come to appreciate the ingenuity of an older sister trying to defend against the destruction of a younger one. Alyce spent an hour building a castle on the kitchen floor the other night, a glorious structure of which she was very proud. After suffering a few destructive blows from Shira, Alyce solved the problem by surrounding her palace with barricades (kitchen chairs). I really respect that girl.