Celebratory pie

Wishing so much happiness to Andrew and Megan--a perfect autumn day to get married. Congratulations!

Changes

Timothy has been a tummy sleeper since he was about 2 1/2 months old. It allows him to sleep for longer than 15 minutes at a time during the day, and he manages to get to sleep without much trouble. However, now that he has started to roll over, he gets frustrated when he ends up on his back and can't get back over. The look on his face when he is looking up all of a sudden is priceless, though. It looks like it is a big shock, his arms flail out to the side, and he looks all around as though to say "Whoa, what was that???" Pretty cute.



We've also introduced food for the first time, and he seemed pretty taken with it. Whenever we've eaten for the last week or so, out goes his tongue and he is just fascinated by watching us. He reached for my water bottle yesterday, and even successfully drank a little water! Last night we introduced rice cereal, and he seemed quite pleased with himself. It is sure hard to believe how quickly he is changing and that we are already giving him food. It also amazes me that just as he is beginning to need more nutrients, nature works out to make him interested and want more. I find the whole process and his growth truly remarkable.

crooked.

That is the adjective I will now forever use to describe my left big toe.

Thought it would be great to get out of the house and go to a yoga class last night. Shawn was set to put Timothy to bed; I was excited to have a relaxing break in routine. Knowing how tired I was should have been enough to send a message to my brain that a handstand was not in the cards, but it seemed so doable. When I tipped over to the left and tumbled down, I thought I had just bumped my head, but looking down at my tingling foot, my big toe was bent at an awkward angle and I knew something wasn't right.

After some exchanging of cars, we got our hands on an automatic that I could drive to the hospital alone so we wouldn't have to drag Timothy from his happy slumber. Although they had told us by phone I needed to come in so they could straighten it out, the doctor explained once I was there that there was nothing he could do with a broken toe--it'll just heal like this.

I need to start thinking more positive thoughts--I think I am somehow doing this to myself.

nervous

We are having Timothy baptised on Sunday. Both Shawn and I grew up with religious traditions, but my early experience was vastly different from the direction we are going now. I feel good about our choice of churches--the people are so welcoming and loving, and the message delivered is in that same vein, a reminder to love our earth and her inhabitants rather than dictating what kind of person you're supposed to be. Last week we met with the woman who is going to perform the service, and her view is that this is an opportunity to welcome our little one into a bigger family. I really like that.

So, I'm not nervous about our decision. However, I am unquestionably anxious about the festivities surrounding this ritual, a ritual that is very different from what I grew up with. We're having the family over to our house afterwards, which means a divorced family on Shawn's side and my brother and his family and my mother for my side.

I'm nervous on many fronts. One, because I have no idea how the two sides of Shawn's family are going to interact, as all previous get-togethers have included more people as buffers. My family tends to be on the quiet side and I always have an irrational worry about whether or not they are enjoying themselves. I also worry about everyone else's expectations--are the food choices going to be the right ones? Should I do more? Less? Present are a number of people who can't imagine a meal without meat as well as others who are dedicated vegetarians--how to please everybody?

Shawn watches me with ten cookbooks open as I cross-reference and hope for some inspiration. When, in my fathomless insecurity, I ask him what he thinks, he says "Don't worry about it. Keep it simple." I wish I could take that to heart.

I need to trust that our family will be here because they love us and are here to help us celebrate this first rite of passage with our son. I need to let go of my control problem and realize that I can't help people get along, but they'll manage on their own just fine.

And I know EVERYONE will eat cake!

Four legged friends

We have two dogs, each of us bringing one to the relationship. Tucker is the yellow, long-haired one and Bella is the black lab. Each of them has some wonderful qualities--they are both so loving and sweet. Tucker, even though he is almost twelve, still chases Bella around and wants to play just like a puppy. He hates thunderstorms and is the ultimate protector of the house, even though some of his protective personality is a result of fear. Bella is so playful and has a tail that'll knock over anything in its way. She is so happy to see anyone who will pet her--there is not an aggressive bone in her body. And while both shed a ton of hair all year long, you'll never find a sticky spot on my kitchen floor!

Both of them have faults, too. Tucker is neurotic and his aggression can cause problems at times; he barks a lot--a real lot--and he likes to dig big holes in the yard. Bella licks ad nauseum and she can be rather willful. A habit we just can't seem to break is her love of rolling in yucky things. Manure or any other animal skat and dead things are her favorites. Yesterday, on a family walk, Bella threw herself to the ground and happily was rolling around in the dewy grass. It wasn't until she got up that we discovered that she had found a dead mole and the smell emanating from that dog the rest of the day was terrible.

She's had three baths since. And she still stinks.

The worst part is, she doesn't understand what she did wrong or why she has been relegated to the basement. When she's been outside, she looks in the window woefully, completely wounded in what seems to be neglect in her eyes. It makes me really sad to see her like that, and it makes me wonder about when Timothy is going to look at me, not understanding why he is feeling some way. Like next Monday when he's going to get a second round of immunizations and he's going to look in my eyes and wonder I can't protect him from this pain.

How many more times in his life am I going to feel that way? I think once is too many.

Camera shy

So our little Timothy rolled over for the first time yesterday! He was having some tummy-time on his play mat, and I was in the kitchen. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw him rolling, and then all of a sudden, over he went! I was so excited, I think my squeals might have startled him, but he quickly got a very satisfied look on his face.

In the course of the afternoon, he rolled over twice more--I emailed Shawn to tell him the news, and couldn't wait until he got home so he could see this little feat for himself. Shawn got home just as Timothy was getting up from a nap, so the timing was just perfect for a fresh, energetic baby.

I don't know if any other expectant mothers have experienced the phenomenon of having a very active baby until that moment when someone else puts their hand on your belly. When I was pregnant with Timothy, he would be doing somersaults inside until I'd tell Shawn. It was like he was caught doing something naughty and just stopped--it was almost a joke, except I felt so bad that he didn't get to share in that with me. Well, this trick didn't end with birth. Three times, he had rolled over with me. Then Shawn gets home and all rolling stops. Go figure.

I have to say, I'm psyched I got to see it. And so lucky to be able to be home with him so I can experience these firsts with him.

Too much

What do you get when you have a pie and pumpkin seeds in the oven, pumpkin from the garden cooking on the stove, and in the midst of cleaning the kitchen, peeling the rest of the pumpkin, and running downstairs for the jars you need to put the lovely orange puree, you think you have enough time to hang the laundry while it is still nice out?

A scorched pan and inedible pumpkin.

Maybe I am trying to squeeze too much in during nap time.

Communication

Timothy is becoming more and more interactive--it is so much fun to talk to him and watch him react to my silly faces and voices. He is really starting to play with the toys we put in front of him and respond to all kinds of stimuli.

There have been a couple things that really astound me about how he (and other babies, for that matter) has responded. One is that he can show empathy. I first realized this happens when visiting my brother and his family. My nephew Oskar was facing Timothy and when Tim started crying, Oskar started to join in! Last Friday at the hospital, Timothy and I met another mother and her two children. The little boy was so sick and unhappy and was crying. Tim, who had been so happy in my lap, turned his little lip out, his eyes started to water, and I headed off another sad baby by walking around the waiting room.

I talk to Timothy a ton--just telling him what we're doing or what we see and hear. I think I talk so much that it is just part of his background noise! Since one of Shawn's brothers is deaf, we've also been trying to use sign language with him which has been really interesting because he is actually paying attention to me. Now, my knowledge of signs is seriously limited, but I am trying to learn the words that are particularly useful for a babies life. You know, "Where is your moose?" (his favorite toy is a Lamaze moose that his Aunt Megan gave him). "Do you like your moose?" "Are you hungry?" "Are you tired?" Things like that. The whole time I'm signing to him, he stares at my hands and face, following along, with this quiet smile on his face. It's like he actually gets it and knows that this is another way to talk. Isn't that cool?

Babies are amazing.

Simple Pleasures

Having fresh bread in the house makes me feel so good. Secure somehow, like no matter what we have in the house, at least I can make myself a sandwich.
Other things that make me feel a similar contentedness and satisfaction:

• having fabric or yarn for a new project


• a mowed lawn


• a clean house


• a stocked refridgerator


• a weeded garden


• a fire going in our hearth with plenty more wood to keep us warm all winter

There is an element of being prepared in all of these things--prepared to start something new, whether culinary or craft project; prepared for guests with a clean house and plenty of food; prepared for the long Vermont winter that isn't far away.

They all require constant upkeep, too. But it feels good to have this constantly renewed sense of satisfaction!

Right and Wrong

So, I have many faults. One of my least favorite is that I hate to be wrong. Actually, worse even than that is that I feel like I am always right. I don't like this about myself, but it is incredibly hard to change.

Three days ago, I went to the walk-in clinic at our local hospital because my symptoms made me think (underscored by a call to my PCP) that I had strep throat. The quick test proved me wrong, but did I believe the test? Not I. The following day, when I felt even worse, I thought myself vindicated and was sure that the 48 hour test would prove me right.

It didn't.

Maybe I'll learn something from this. I hope it sticks.

Outdoor Friends

We live in the country. Given our rural location, we also have a number of non-human visitors which provides us great pleasure if we happen to catch sight of them. A few days ago, I saw a beautiful doe just as she was crossing the creek over our old stone bridge. The picture of the two moose was captured just in time after our dog Bella barked and scared them off. We have lots of turkey and other birds, including a red-tailed hawk who visits often.

We recently have discovered another guest that is not as welcome. As you can also see, we managed to put in a garden this year and we've been really pleased with the first year outcome, particularly with the spotty care I've put into it during Timothy's sporadic nap times. I was really excited with the corn and have been dreaming of freezing a bunch to eat during the coming year. I knew there was the possibility of losing some to animals, but figured we'd still have some to eat ourselves. Last week, we knew they were closer to being pickable, but Timothy came down with something and we were rather distracted from the garden. The racoons took this to their great advantage, however, and last Friday morning, we awoke to a ravaged garden--stalks on the ground, dozens of ears of corn on the ground and half eaten.

I was so disappointed, and we vowed to keep an eye on the few remaining ears to pick them before the little theives could get any more. That is until I got whatever our son had. This happened to be our saving grace, however! A couple nights ago, as I lay miserably in bed unable to sleep, I heard a noise outside and ran to the window to investigate. Sure enough, a coon was on our back deck, trying to nose his way into our compost bucket. When he proved unsuccessful, off he scurried to the garden. I didn't want to lose any more corn, so I woke up Shawn and out he went with a broom and ran screaming at that fat racoon who guiltily fled the scene.

All told, we didn't end up with much corn. The six ears Shawn picked after scaring off our furry friend gave up about a cup and a half of kernals. But there was so much satisfaction watching it grow and thinking about eating something we had planted and tended. It has been so nice to pull up a few carrots or pick some peas for supper. To be able to make a salad with only vegetables that we grew. To pickle a bunch of beans and cucumbers to last throughout the year. And it really didn't take that much effort to do. I hope in the coming years we'll be better attuned to when veggies are ready to harvest as well as know what will be happiest in our soil so that we can rely less and less on food imported from half-way across the world. It just feels good.

Changes

This is the first September in my life that I have not been gearing up for the return of school in one form another. For the last seven years I have identified myself as a French teacher, but always knew that once children entered my life I would put my career on hold and devote myself to raising them.

While I don't regret this decision for a second, the transition has been harder than I thought it would be. I have identified myself as an educator for all of my adult life and a large part of who I am as a productive member of society. In my heart, I fully believe that being a parent is of far greater significance and importance than what I was doing previously and a great deal of the ills in our society are the fault of parents who fail to take that job seriously. And yet, I have not been able to proudly say that I am a stay-at-home mom without adding all of the additional things I am filling my life with. Many people I encounter seem to think that staying at home means taking things easy. While I (and the other people that matter) know that is not true, it strikes me that my security in my identity hinges on what other people think.

I think part of this insecurity stems from the fact that staying at home with children is a topic everyone has an opinion about--often very strong opinions--and they have no qualms about vociferiously voicing it. This might be because it is a choice that forces you to give something up, whether a career or the ability to be there for your child full time. When someone chooses differently than someone else, it makes you revisit what led you to your choice to begin with. Sometimes the choice isn't yours to make, although more often than not, I believe living simply can make it more possible. In the big scheme of things, it is not things which will make us happy.

So, the next time that someone asks me what I do, I will proudly say that I am a full-time mother and know that it is the best decision I have ever made.