1. I religiously follow quilting blogs even though I know nothing of quilting needles and fat quarters. But I see these quilts, made by the hands of so many talented women, and I am inspired. The colours, the textures, the way I imagine it feels to tuck a child into bed at night under the weight of a homemade quilt, I love it all. I might even qualify as a quilting-stalker. I blame my childhood obsession appreciation of How to Make an Amerian Quilt. Also, I don't even own a quilt. I need help.
If you want to begin your own stalking, you can start here, here or here. Any other suggestions?
2. When I was eight I begged my mum to legally change my name to Priscilla. With respect to all the wonderful people in the world named Priscilla, I'm grateful that my mum denied my frequent requests.
3. I am Canadian and I hate hockey. I also prefer NPR over the CBC, detest Tim Horton's coffee, and I probably can't name more than four Canadian Prime Ministers. That being said, I do love Margaret Atwood, Canadian National Parks (and even spent some of my honeymoon in one of them), and saying sorry even when someone else bumps into to me at the grocery store.
4. Life is chaotic, my husband and I are both unemployed, but I still wish that we could have five or six children. Call me crazy, because clearly I am, but it's still what I want. Even on a day like today when Shira spent most of her energy trying to climb back in my womb, making it impossible to get anything done. Even still. Also, I secretly wish that I could homeschool my kids.
5. Last night I escaped Matt and The Children and spent the night drinking wine, eating salmon and bok choy, and devouring chocolate cake. I also devoured the company of two of my best girl friends and it was something else. Isn't it amazing how certain people restore you, nudging you to remember the things you love about yourself and the people who surround you?
Care to share your own five secrets? Or maybe just one?
It's been a week or two since my last photo of sleeping Shira, and I thought you might be worried.
Rest assured, she is still sleeping, and as much as I've clearly stated my preference that she sleep in until six in the morning, I'll take her sleeping through the night any day of the week, no matter how much my brain hurts when I swing my legs out of bed at five. The photo above was taken yesterday while I was being spoiled by my mum, who not only gave me the gift of a hair cut at my favourite salon in Toronto, but looked after Shira while my hairdresser worked his magic. Shira grew bored of the whole thing and promptly fell asleep.
Now excuse me while I stare at those lips. Delicious.
Speaking of being spoiled my mum, she took me to see the Marc Chagall exhibit at the Art Gallery of Ontario. We made a date of it, just the two of us, only to readjust later when it became clear that Shira was not having any of our plans. So the three of us stood before some of my favourite paintings, with even Shira appreciating the vibrant blues, purples, and reds. Fortunately for her, Chagall includes a goat in almost every painting, and since she's recently learned the word goat, it was a big day for her.
Also, she appreciated Chagall's work from the cozy pocket of my sling, nursing the entire time we wandered through the exhibit. Who says you can't breastfeed and simultaneously point out the goats? Not Shira!
It was a good day, and I have my mum to thank for the entire thing. It's hard not to feel down in the middle of all this reality lately. We're heading into month eight of the job search and the world feels awfully hard some days. Every single day I'm grateful that we have been welcomed in my mum's house while we continue to try and shape this new life of ours, but that doesn't mean that it's easy--for any of us. But yesterday felt easy and I always feel so motivated after visiting a gallery. I have less than zero artistic talent, but I'm convinced that being close to such works of art rubs off on me, even if it's just to see my own world a little differently.
Where was Alyce during this day in the city? Home with her Papa, who sent me text me the following text midway through the day: "One kid is easy!!!" Amen to that.
What good is a list of ten things that only includes nine? I do hope it's still worth something, but in the end I'd rather a complete list as much as the next girl. So in order to amend my list of ten things you ought to know about breastfeeding a toddler, here is the missing number nine:
9. Toddlers are crazy, tiny human beings who often have trouble communicating with the rest of the world. For instance, Shira spent approximately twenty-three hours of the previous twenty-four yelling, screaming, whining, and all the while seemed incredibly annoyed with my inability to figure out what she wanted. Some toddlers are verbal from a young age, while others, Shira included, are a bit late to talking. Shira knows many words, yet she struggles getting her messages across. How does this relate to breastfeeding? Be patient. I'm getting there, you see, because one way to help Shira cope with this frustration is to offer her some milk. Does it help her communicate more clearly? Of course not. Does it temporarily trick her into forgetting that she's annoyed with me and offer me a few moments of quiet? You bet it does. Nursing=Superpower.
I hope this more complete list makes you sleep a bit better tonight. You and I both know that list-making is a serious business. Let's not stand in the way.
UPDATE: This list of ten things is missing a number nine! Find it here.
1. Let's just get this out of the way first. Some people are uncomfortable when mothers breastfeed their toddler. I can't tell you how many times I've had someone tell me, "If they can ask for it, they should be drinking out of a cup," and then they laugh uncomfortably. Shira and I have one thing to say to those people: we disagree. Shira most certainly knows how to ask for it, and you might even hear her request for milk if you are anywhere in the Greater Toronto Area, since she declares her request for mee--eelk in much the same way (though in a much louder voice) that a donkey might yelp in pain. There is no chance that after such an eloquent request that I am going to turn her down.
2. Shira would also like me to tell you that she can absolutely drink from a cup, whether it be water, a little juice, or more recently, chocolate soy milk. All of these things are delicious in a cup. However, breastmilk, she reminds us, comes from the breast, and in the breast it shall remain. But let's not get down on her mad cup skills. Breastfeeding for a toddler is about many, many things, so let's not get overwhelmed by issues of cup competency, shall we?
3. In the beginning, there was a sweet and soft little baby in my arms as we nursed. Once we got past all of the initial challenges of feeding a tiny new human, we developed a wonderfully sweet and soft little ritual of breastfeeding every twenty minutes or so. Things have changed. Fortunately for everyone involved, toddlers do not breastfeed every twenty minutes. And fortunately or unfortunately, depending on who you ask, it's rarely sweet or soft. Ok, it's still mostly sweet, but soft? I guess you could describe the headstand she performed yesterday while nursing, nipple still in mouth, as graceful, but soft it was not. I kid you not, she turned herself upside down.
4. Oh, and that part I just wrote about toddlers not nursing often? I lied. Sometimes they ask to nurse a lot, all the time, all over town. And sometimes you acquiesce. But one of the nice things about breastfeeding older babies is the absence of guilt. Seriously, you know how much you worry about feeding infants, worrying about whether or not they are getting enough milk, or enough of the right milk, at the right times of day, from opposite boobs (did I nurse on the right or left last time)? Nursing a toddler is so freeing! As long as they are eating regular food alongside breastfeeding, it doesn't really matter how often or not they nurse. And since feeding toddlers food is never stressful, you're laughing!
5. I love, love, love breastfeeding Shira, and I loved breastfeeding Alyce, and I'll get that the reasons I love it soon, but there are some things you should know, and they aren't always pretty. At least once a week Shira pulls my shirt down in public with hopes a quick snack, and I'm almost always trying to pay for my groceries at the time. And on account of her sometimes acrobatic approach to a snack, I sometimes incur injuries not just to my breasts, but to my face or arms. Just last week I sported not a tiny scratch along my chin, the nastiest toddler toenail scratch I've ever had.
6. Yes, sharp teeth are a hazard in any toddler breastfeeding relationship. But Shira's only bitten me a few times, and frankly, I find her recent mastery of screeching every time I turn my attention away from her much more painful than the rare bite. Maybe I have nipples of steel, or maybe her screeching is just really annoying.
7. Breastfeeding mothers often shy away from discussing what they get
from nursing a child, infant or toddler, but I wish that would change.
Snuggling up with Shira first thing in the morning or after a nap, under
the covers, feels wonderful. Breastfeeding a child is food and
nutrition and comfort, but it is also intimate, and as the girls grow
older I don't think I'll ever forget how lovely it felt to snuggle close
with them as they breastfed.
(8. I am lazy, and sometimes I don't feel like walking all the way into the kitchen to pour her a cup of something else. Boobs are always close by and at the ready. Ease of accessibility is not just a perk of breastfeeding an infant.)
10. If you've ever met a toddler you'll know that they won't do anything they don't like. You cannot make a toddler breastfeed if it isn't the exact thing they want at that exact moment. Try nursing an uninterested breastfeeder and you'll see, just make sure you wear protective gear. So if your toddler wants to nurse, and you're still up for it, I hope you'll do it. There are no rules about how long you have to breastfeed, and no rules about when to wean. Just remember that mothers make some pretty amazing milk and it's a shame for it to go to waste if there are takers around looking for some good food and good company. There are many good reasons to stop breastfeeding and by all means, do what is best for you, but I just hope you won't let your child's ability to badly pronounce the word "milk" (or some other variation) stand in your way!
See here for a post of actual helpful suggestions for breastfeeding a toddler, over at PhD in Parenting.
We've had five wonderful nights of Hanukkah, although a little too eventful if you ask me. Things started off swimmingly, with school presentations, candles, a Cinderella doll, lego. The usual good stuff. This was the first year that Alyce understood the story of Hanukkah and has more than once gone on about that mean king who didn't Jews read their special books. There have been crafts done at school and at home, now hanging all over the house. But as soon as Hanukkah really got rolling, things got a bit messy around here. Alyce was sent home from school on Wednesday morning having complained of sore ears, and it wasn't long before she was on fire with a ridiculous fever. She'd been sick for a week or so, but since The Children are sick with colds about 98 percent of winter, we hadn't paid much attention. But this fever told us to snap out of our germ complacency and we found ourselves begging the doctor to see us, which she did on Wednesday night. Just as Alyce's antibiotics were kicking in, Shira started to look as though she were possessed by a cranky zombie, which led Matt to spending Friday morning at the emergency room (all the doctor's offices were closed for the holidays). Shira, too, is now slowly on the mend and less zombie-like. Let's hope the next few nights aren't quite so eventful.
For those of you lighting your candles each night, happy fifth night of Hanukkah! Do you have any parties left to attend? Have you made your latkes? And for those of you waiting around for Santa, I hope your Christmas day finds you with good family, good food, and a much needed day off from the rest of the world. Merry Christmas to you!
You know when you just need to go upstairs and apologize for a stupid argument, but you're too headstrong and you just end up making it worse, and so you stay downstairs, steaming, even though you know it is not only the wrong thing to do, but that it is exactly what's stopping you from being there for the love of your life? All that's being asked from me is to be warm and kind and understanding, and all I'm doing is shutting down. Do you know what happens when you shut down? Nothing. You don't move forward, you don't feel better. So now, rather than write anymore here, I am going to go upstairs and apologize. Because both kids are asleep, the work of the day is done, and I will not let this lovely night go to waste.
This night will certainly get better. And to you, good night.
I am happy to introduce you to my husband, Matt, who has kindly agreed to write a guest post here at Most Days I Win. I've been asking him for ten months a little while if he could share some of his own perspective as a stay at home parent, and I'm so happy that he's agreed to join me here! I mentioned earlier that Matt was heading into Alyce's kindergarten class this week to introduce them to our Hanukkah traditions, and I'm delighted to report that he made it out alive and can share with us his adventures. Fortunately for us, he can go on forever. Thanks, Matt! Come back anytime. Also, thanks to Alyce's teacher for taking the video of Matt and Shira below.
Look, this is a difficult time. We will, each and every one of us, miss his winning smile, infectious laughter, love of impossibly twee indie rock, and the way his nose would wrinkle when he would condemn millions to starvation. Today, we mourn Kim Jong Il (here he is interviewing Renée Zellweger). To borrow the title of Mr. Burns’ autobiography, “Will There Ever be A Rainbow?”
How will we go on? We may rend our clothes, don sackcloth and ashes, or build a funeral pyre, but we must soldier on, for him. How, then, shall we find light to dispel the darkness? How ‘bout a barely literate former professor talking to a bunch of 4 and 5 year olds about Hanukkah? That’s the ticket.
First, enjoy Shira dancing to the Canadian National Anthem, which is not, contrary to popular opinion, “SK8TR BOI” (a song with lyrics almost as stupid as “Hey, Soul Sister”):
Alyce’s teacher kindly allowed me to speak to her class about Hanukkah. Alyce’s school is quite old-fashioned in its unbuttoned celebration of Christmas, despite the fact that there is a growing non-Christian, especially Muslim, student body. It’s harmless enough, but I doubt this situation would pass muster in a larger, more diverse city. Anyhoo, here’s what happened:
With Shira packed in the stroller and Alyce strollin’ at my side--and by strollin’ I mean her foot speed might be a negative number--we padded down to the school. I had to wait out in the hall for about 20 minutes after class started so that the teacher could calm the usual madness and tears that accompany the beginning of any school day. This is when Shira took the opportunity to dance interpretatively to “Oh Canada!,” warbled out over WWII-era speakers by hundreds of grade schoolers. It sounded like they were singing underwater, but don’t think for a minute that sound quality stopped Shira from getting her groove on.
Called in, Shira and I encountered several dozen of Alyce’s classmates, all of whom were very intrigued by the trespass of a toddler, especially one wearing snow boots roughly the size of engine blocks. I started by asking if anyone knew something about Hanukkah. I received two answers: that Alyce celebrated it (as the class said in unison) and, from one rather intrepid student, that it was the time when Jews wrote on their hand, confusing the Hindu/Jain “festival of lights” (Diwali) with the Jewish holiday. Wrong, but fortune favors the bold, my friend. Clearly the teacher has made an active attempt to incorporate an idea that there are those who celebrate differently, and this is all Jews can ask in a great land of malchut shel hesed. Alyce’s teacher mentioned that a lot of Christmas specials she has seen this year have brought in Hanukkah, remarking in particular about this year’s Caillou movie.
(Side note: Caillou--what a putz. Here’s some dialogue from a typical episode:
Caillou’s Dad: Hey Caillou, want to learn to roller skate?
Caillou: I do, daddy!
Caillou’s Dad: Great! Watch this 15 minute dubbed Dutch roller skating safety film, and then will talk about it and all the bulky padding that you get to wear that will impair your balance and ruin any chance that you might enjoy it.
Caillou: Great! I’m gonna have a nap.)
So, we talked about the Hanukkah story, the students especially enjoying the wicked King Antiochus. Alyce piped in with, “Is there a pretty princess in this story?,” and, my favorite non sequitur, “Did you bring my Princess book?” We discussed the hanukkiyah (menorah), candles, foods, and games. They learned that Hanukkah lasts eight crazy nights. I asked them how many days Christmas lasts, and the eager responses ranged from six days to two weeks. Good times, good times.
The students, a really nice group, were especially enthusiastic about Hanukkah treats. Danielle and I prepared sufganiyot (powdered doughnuts, often filled with jelly) for the class. When I asked them if they would like me to sit there and eat all of the doughnuts by myself in front of them, I nearly caused a riot. Lesson: Don’t mess with people’s doughnuts. Check. We also purchased some lovely colored, translucent dreidels for the students. I explained to them the rules of dreidel, which will prepare them for a life of gambling, a safer bet, to be fair, than a BA in the humanities.
When it was time to ask questions, students came up with these gems: “It was my birthday yesterday,” “Can I go to the bathroom?,” and “Is Alyce’s sister allowed to eat markers?” The answer to the last question, if you are curious, is “no.”
Lastly, no class-wide Hanukkah discussion is complete without a screeching 19 month old who treated the classroom like Godzilla treated Toyko. Although barely mobile in her engine block shoes, Shira terrorized Alyce’s classmates, sitting on their laps, yelling in their ears, pilfering their dreidels, and just generally wreckin’ up the place.
All in all, though, a rousing success. I look forward to talking to the class in September 2012 about the Fast of Gedaliah.
