Opposites Attract

“Vee cole, vee cole,” Claire said repeatedly.

Translation: "Feet cold".

My poor little baby had cold feet for the first time in her life. Actually, I think it was her first experience with cold, in general. It isn't hyperbole to say that it took me an hour to warm up those little piggies. I rubbed and rubbed each tiny, icy foot over and over again -- like I thought a genie would come out of one of them, if I kept at it long enough.

I don't know who was more traumatized, her or me. Actually, I take that back. It was me. You see my husband, George, had taken her for an impromptu THREE hour trip to the zoo in FORTY degree weather wearing ONLY canvas sneakers!

Really, I was mortified.

I considered being mad along with mortified. But I’m trying to be more philosophical since having a kid. I can definitely cut him some slack this time too. First of all, how great is it that Claire and her papa went to the zoo together? Second, George doesn't mean to be reckless. He’s barely used to being married, let alone having a child. There's a learning curve to fatherhood, just like anything else.

Same goes for motherhood. While I'm a stickler for schedules and routines, George would probably say I'm an old stick in the mud. He puts up with my neurotic need to make sure she eats on time, always has a nap at the appointed hour and that she's never, ever cold.

In other words, that Claire has a boring mommy, who doesn't know the meaning of the word "spontaneous" and never does anything fun with her daughter.

I'm the yin to George's yang, the traditional to his non-traditional. We compliment each other nicely. So Claire can go on adventures and explore with her papa, and, then, come home to the warmth and security of her mama.

(In the future, I will just have to be more careful that I supervise my husband's sartorial choices for our daughter more closely. In truth, I could learn to lighten up a bit too. But don't let my husband in on this confession, please.)

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Reblog from Claire's baby days for Finish The Sentence Friday, "We can either be traditional or non-traditional..."

Babes in Toyland

Christmas has a way of reverberating into the New Year and beyond. Much to my dismay, I will surely be confronting pine needles in the nooks and crannies of my home long after the red, red robin comes bob, bob, bobbing along. Much to my dismay, I will continue to relive the moment during this holiday season when a beloved childhood memory of mine was crushed.

It all began as innocently as childhood itself. George and Claire were ripping the paper off a Christmas gift with great anticipation. My daughter excitedly pulls a box from its wrapping and George says, “Oh, cool! Candy Land!”

I’m flooded -- not with distinct memories, but with the intense but inchoate images and feelings of a young child. I don’t remember the game’s specifics or its characters. I feel happiness about winding along a path of friendly colors through a swirling world of sweet fancy.

I lean in to look at the box with Claire…

Candy Land's gotten a sexy makeover.

I'm flooded again. This time with rage, helplessness and disappointment along with a barrage of thoughts:

“Ah, not my Candy Land! Is nothing sacred? My Candy Land didn't have creepy bimbettes posing around the board! This game’s supposed to be for little kids! Can’t we just wait a few years?... Oh, shit, get over yourself, Rachel. You are such a control freak. You can’t shield Claire from everything in this world. There are so many other things to worry about than the sexualization of a dumb board game. She can still enjoy the game… Maybe, I’m just pissed I can't recreate my own past through my daughter. Or, maybe, I’m becoming one of those ‘things aren’t the way they used to be’ kind of cliches.”

As the wheels in my head spin, Claire and George open the box and look at the pieces. Another newly-opened game sits on the table next to Candy Land. Claire points to Chutes and Ladders, the green and blue board filled with children of diverse racial backgrounds playing actively, absorbed and engaged -- how I would like Claire to imagine herself in her world. She looks at Candyland…

“Mama, Candy Land is for girls and Chutes and Ladders is for boys,” she says.

The screaming in my head comes to a screeching halt. Claire cuts through my bullshit every time. Out of the mouths of babes is how the saying goes.


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Welcome to The Sunday Parenting Party, hosted by Dirt and Boogers, Play Activities, Crayon Freckles, Taming the Goblin, The Golden Gleam, Prickly Mom, and The Tao of Poop. The SPP is place for readers to find ideas on nurturing, educating, and caring for children, as well as honest posts about the stresses of being a parent or caregiver. Links to reviews and giveaways are welcome as long as they are relevant to the topic. All parenting philosophies are welcome with one exception: please do not link to posts promoting physical discipline, as this is something we would feel uncomfortable having on our blogs. (P.S. By linking up you agree that your post and photos are Pinterest, Sulia, G+ and FB friendly. We will be showcasing ideas on The Sunday Parenting Party Pinterest board.)

CHECK OUT THIS WEEK'S FAB FEATURES: 

MY SKEWED VIEW, HE SAID WHAT?

DIRT AND BOOGERS, MY SON SAID HE DOESN'T LOVE ME

 

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Act Your Age?

"Growing Old is Mandatory; Growing Up is Optional"...This phrase caught my eye on a man's t-shirt today. I'd never seen it before. Have you?

I thought it was funny, because Claire can wear me out and make me feel ancient beyond my years sometimes. But she can also make me feel like a kid again too. In some ways, I seem to be enjoying childhood even more the second time around. I will even go so far as to say that there are times I like playing kid things more than Claire:

1) Playdough has similar soothing properties to a glass of wine or Prozac. Squish it through your fingers, let its shape slowly morph into a snake or a flower, braid it and wear it as a necklace or crown. See, I’m relaxed just thinking about the Zen of it.

2) Blocks are the opposite of Playdough. They satisfy my Type A impulses. Build the tallest tower, and beat your personal best. Experiment with the physics of where each block is placed. Watch the aerodynamics of how the tower falls. The world fades away, as I become completely absorbed in the task at hand. Claire gets bored and gives up before me every time.

3) Somewhere along the way, dancing stopped being a regular actvity in my life and was relegated to The Macerana a few times a year at the random, cheesy wedding. Enter The Hokey Pokey. It’s not quite the same as clubbing ‘til the wee hours of the morning, but my daily dose of Shake My Sillies Out does remind me of the days I used to shake it like a Polaroid picture. Plus, there are bonuses to The Hokey Pokey. It can be done in a nightgown without the need for showering or putting on makeup. When I do The Hokey Pokey, I don't have to deal with a hangover the next morning or the walk home in high heels either.

4) Reading If You Give a Mouse a Cookie over and over again is sure to be the death of me. On the other hand, Mother Goose provides me with endless fascination. Of course, the rhythm and rhyme is fabulous, but the real sweet spot is contemplating how perverse the words are and, by extension, wondering what is up with those Brits anyway. The most priceless piece of political incorrectness: “I went to London to BUY me a wife”. Of course, when I read this one to Claire, this purportedly feminist mama changes “buy” to “find”, which is perhaps marginally better. But, seriously, “buy”? No matter, I continue to read… marveling about the fact that these tales were read to children in the first place, as well as the great mystery of why I’m sharing them with my daughter with such delight now.

5) I could wax on and on about the magic of those shakable, musical eggs. Whoever invented them deserves a medal for the giant step forward in children’s toy design. I love shaking those eggs. They are the perfect ergonomic shape to fit in your palm. The sound they make is the definition of satisfaction. The weird part is that they only work when you are the one shaking them. When other people shake them, they are just, plain loud.

So many good excuses not to act my age. I'll take any opportunity I can get to let go of adult preoccupations and responsibilities, and just be. I'm grateful that Claire is showing me that I can keep growing old without growing up.

How do you like to play with your kids? What makes you feel young again?


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Eat, Mess, Learn

Mashed avocado hangs precariously from the bottom of Claire's plastic spoon, as she inches it to her mouth like a drunkard.

I want to intervene, badly. I know the odds. In the race between speed and gravity, gravity usually prevails with a baby learning to eat from a spoon.

"Oh, no!" Claire says, rubbing the glob of green that has hit her shirt further into the weave of the fabric. In the process, she elbows the sippy cup off the table and onto the floor.

”Yup. I was right. I win,” I think.

If my baby could talk better, she would respond with something like, "But who needs to win, mom?" Why you spoiling all the fun?"

Each meal is new adventure for Claire, an opportunity to investigate properties, try new things, practice hard-won skills. She's part explorer, part scientist, part conqueror of the world -- planting her flag gloriously atop a mountain of guacamole. When I look at it from a baby's perspective, I'm happy to serve as her guide, to be the Sacagawea to her Lewis or Clark.

The problem is that I don't always see things the way Claire does. Instead, I see the big, giant mess she leaves in her wake. And the chaos that I am left to clean up.

The funny part is that I'm not considered the Donna Reed of housekeeping anyway (my husband would concur). I often wonder how moms with greater perfectionist tendency than my own deal with the amount of daily mess that toddlers make (and I'm clearly not talking only about disarray in the eating arena here). It must be a challenge.

I'm able to temper my own inertia about the Groundhog's Day phenomenon of toddler chaos by putting on my teacher's hat.  I find inspiration in the beliefs of the 19^th Century father of American education, John Dewey:

To 'learn from experience' is to make a backward and forward connection between what we do to things and what we enjoy or suffer from things in consequence. Under such conditions, doing becomes a trying; an experiment with the world to find out what it is like; the undergoing becomes instruction -- discovery of the connection of things. 

-Democracy and Education

I'm reminded to value the time that Claire gets to experiment, explore and play. It's the best way for her to learn about herself and her world, to gain confidence in her abilities and to grow more independent.

The part that Dewey leaves out in his philosophy is that the process of learning can be extremely messy, particularly when the learner in question is of the baby or toddler variety. Still, I’m a believer. His ideas embrace exuberant curiosity about everything around us; a quality I desire to instill in my daughter, even when I’m wearing my mom hat (or cleaning gloves, as it were).

Yes, being a mom is filled with daily banalities like rubbing Spray & Wash on green stains. Thinking about some of our great philosophers makes these routine things about motherhood feel a bit more heroic!

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Photo Source, Molly, Moom in Molly, Flickr. This photo has been adapted and does not suggest that the licenser endorses me, this blog or its use. License.