This, a gorgeous fall day, was my last full day visiting family. A few weeks ago, a local mom I barely know let me stay in her apartment so that I could start work in earnest on my novel. Whenever I get out of my comfort zone, I always find that I breathe differently, appreciate things in a new way, and enjoy the quotidien at least a little more, at least for a little while. And sometimes being removed from routine results in a totally new one upon return.

I’d love to hear other folks’ reflections on how travel this holiday season — or any time — gives you new perspective.

Baggage

It doesn’t much matter

where you go

to escape your own chaos

whether into a hotel room

feigning uniqueness

or into another’s home

filled with clutter

that asks nothing of you

Any walk

that is not yours daily,

past tall apartment buildings

with too many people

you will never know,

or in a neighborhood of

bungalows that squat

like a limber toddler

or stone homes

sporting peaks

like a family of

perky witches,

any walk can be

away from everything you know

and toward anything

you forgot you wanted

to discover.

————

After casting aside my poetry hat for far too long, my NaBloPoMo plan is to write a poem — and to take and post a photo — every day in November, spending less than half an hour on both. The hope is to drill down, to focus, to look for and create beauty.

Previous Posts:

Day 1: Eleven One

Day 2: Shoreline

Day 3: Damage

Day 4: On Parenting and Sunrises

Day 5: When will we?

Day 6: Voting Line

Day 7: What I want my children to learn from me

Day 8: Haiku

Day 9: Reminders

Day 10: Routine

Day 11: Lux Esto, in moderation

Day 12: Family Photo Shoot at (nearly) 4o

Day 13: Siblings

Day 14: Point of View

Day 15: Background

Day 15: Greener Grass

Day 16: Journey

Day 17: From two to twelve

Welcome to the January Carnival of Natural Parenting: Learning from children

This post was written for inclusion in the monthly Carnival of Natural Parenting hosted by Hobo Mama and Code Name: Mama. This month our participants have shared the many lessons their children have taught them. Please read to the end to find a list of links to the other carnival participants.

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It almost goes without saying that my son has taught me about living joyfully, living in the moment, and living as though every detail in the world were worth exclaiming over, lessons I forget and re-learn daily.

But what he’s really taught me is about me.

It’s not that I was new to introspection before he came along. I’ve written plenty about the various roads I went down pre-child to deal with my issues and get healthy in my head and heart: talk therapy, craniosacral therapy, emotional freedom technique, flower essences. I always considered myself a pretty self-aware gal, almost annoyingly so.

But. Then I had a child. Plenty of books talk about needing to get in touch with yourself in order to be a good parent. And plenty of people probably find ways other than parenting to really explore their own complexity. Still, there is something special about having a being that is a product both of your nature and your nurture, something that screams: “So that’s who I am!”

Some of the things I’ve realized about myself have been surprises, but most have been frightening confirmations.

I talk a lot. This I knew. But hearing the never-ending stream of narration from my toddler then preschooler’s mouth. It’s not just a phase. He’s using my words.  My gestures.  My inflection. I even titled my first blog “Mama’s Mouth” because he had a replica of mine, both in shape and in spirit.

I am messy. I do not live a ritualized, orderly life. My son has inherited and/or learned to copy my hoarding tendencies and my failure to put things away in a logical place when we are done with them. Yes, this is the opposite of a Waldorf approach, and yes, we’re working on it.

I am judgmental. Not in a scary way. But when I hear him — with a finger-wag in his voice — spouting about how someone biking without a helmet is not safe or that someone shouldn’t eat a certain food because it has chemicals, I cringe. He’s been learning a bad/good dichotomy from me that I don’t want to be a part of our lives. Safety is cool, and good nutrition is great. But telling people what they should and shouldn’t do? Not so much. The more bossy his four-year-old self gets, the more I remember being that obnoxious girl in preschool who told her classmate, “There’s no such word as ‘buyed.’ It’s ‘bought!’” Notice I said classmate, not friend. My haughty ‘tude never made me all that popular.

I am sensitive. The more I write, the more it sounds like I’ve been stunted at the developmental level of a four-year-old. But when my son stomps his foot, or says he wants something NOW, or falls into sobs on the sofa, I know just how he feels. I can remember doing the same thing at his age, and I’ve spent the intervening 33+ years trying to figure out more appropriate ways to channel the same frustration, sometimes more successfully than others. My heart broke like a Christmas ornament when he came home bleeding from a sledding accident, telling me his friend’s parent said “it would be the most fun run” and that the third parent on the scene was supposed to keep them safe but didn’t. I’m not sure when or how I’m going to get over watching his faith in adults drip out of his mouth.

I am a singer. Never a soloist, I’ve still always been someone who likes to say it with a song. I remember lyrics like nobody’s business, and making up new ones is a specialty. I’d forgotten this until Junior came along, and it was like I rediscovered an old friend in my new and returned singalong self. Now that he’s doing the same (all. the. time), I’m reminded to call on that self with his baby sister, who tends to get me more often distracted than channeling my inner Ani DiFranco.

I am loving. The sincerity with which my son tells me he loves me at least once a day gives me a clue that, despite all of the above, I’m not doing so bad. He seems to get supreme joy from sharing his feelings, making his love known. That won’t always be the case, I’m sure, but I don’t think he’d say it if he didn’t hear it, really hear it, from me.

I can make a positive difference. The baby is the best teacher of this right now. When I’m just muddling through, trying to get dinner made or get the boy run around while it’s still light out, I catch my five-month-old daughter just staring at me with her big blue eyes. All I have to do is smile at her, and she’ll smile back. Wiggle my hips and she’ll giggle. Clap my hands above my head and she’ll laugh.

Then, and when she’s crying in her dad’s arms but stops the instant mine take over, it’s those times I know that I’m not just a broken mom passing her bad habits and quirks onto her children. I’m someone who can create joy, soothe spirits, warm hearts.

—-

See also this post about watching parents lost their cool at the zoo; at the end, I list some books that discuss how learning about yourself helps you become a better parent. And how to deal with all those issues you carry from your own childhood so they don’t become your kids’ issues, too!

—-

What is the most profound — or the simplest — lesson you’ve learning from your child, or just from parenting?

Or a lesson from a parenting book that made the biggest difference?

***

***

Visit Hobo Mama and Code Name: Mama to find out how you can participate in the next Carnival of Natural Parenting!

Please take time to read the submissions by the other carnival participants:

(This list will be live and updated by afternoon January 11 with all the carnival links.)

• Affection — Alicia at I Found My Feet has finally become a hugger and kisser, now she has someone sweet and small to snuggle with. (@aliciafagan)
• Learning from Daniel — Amy at Anktangle hopes that she and her husband will always be open to learning from their son. (@anktangle)
• Kids Cultivate Awareness of Universal Truths — From forgiveness to joy, Amy Phoenix at Innate Wholeness has become aware of deep truths that come naturally to children. (@InnateWholeness)
• What the Apple Teaches the Tree — Becky at Future Legacy has learned about imagination, forgiveness, and strength.
• A Lesson in Slowing Time — Bethy at Bounce Me To the Moon revels in the chance to just be with her baby.
• Learning From My Children: I Am So Honored — WAHM Chante at My Natural Motherhood Journey is learning to choose tea parties over work. (@MyMotheringPath)
• P-A-T-I-E-N-C-E — Now that she’s a mother, Danielle at born.in.japan is finally learning about a personality trait she lacked. (@borninjp)
• Top 5 Homeschool Lessons My Children Taught Me — Deb Chitwood at Living Montessori Now shares what she learned from homeschooling her (now grown) children. (@DebChitwood)
• Learning to Live in the Present By Looking to the Future — Dionna at Code Name: Mama finds the patience to be a gentle parent, because she knows how fleeting childhood really is. (@CodeNameMama)
• The watchful Buddha boy — At Dreaming Aloud, they are learning to cherish their thoughtful, sensitive child in a action-driven, noisy world. (@DreamingAloudNt)
• What My Children Taught Me — Dulce de Leche’s children have taught her to value herself for the wonderful person and mother she is.
• Lessons from the First Year — Having a child made Emily at Crunchy(ish) Mama realize that her decisions affect more than just herself. (@CrunchyishMama)
• Lessons from Loss — Erica at ChildOrganics learned so much from the love — and loss — of her sweet Bella, five years ago. (@ChildOrganics)
• The Socratic Baby — Erin at Multiple Musings has so-called “identical” twins to serve as a daily lesson in nature vs. nurture. (@ErinLittle)
• Learning to be a Mother — Farmer’s Daughter learned the type of patience that enabled her to calmly eat one-handed for months and change clothes seven times a day, before noon. (@FarmDaughter)
• A Few Things Being a Mom Has Taught Me — Heather at Musing Mommy shares the curious, hilarious, and sometimes Murphy’s Law-like tidbits we learn from our children. (@xakana)
• I Feel You — Motherhood has taught Jamey from At the Bee Hive empathy, and it extends beyond just her child. (@JameyBly)
• Lessons From My Child… — Jenny at I’m a full-time mummy shares the inspiring ways she’s learned to expect the unexpected — and have a camera ready! (@imaftmummy)
• My child is my mirror — Jessica Claire at Crunchy-Chewy Mama has seen herself in her children – and it’s not bad. (@crunchychewy)
• There is enough to go around… — Kellie at Our Mindful Life learned that love doesn’t diminish when it’s shared.
• Learning From Our Children, Every Day — Kimberly at Homeschooling in Nova Scotia, Canada is continually inspired by her children. (@UsborneBooksCB)
• Life Lessons From My Children — Kristen at Adventures in Mommyhood has learned that every slug is fascinating, doing the dishes is fun, and sharing a banana is a delight. (@crunchymamato2)
• Things I’ve Learned From My Children — Kristin at Intrepid Murmurings uses pictures to share what she has learned from her children. (@sunfrog)
• Beyond the questions lies the answer — Lauren at Hobo Mama stopped wondering and started knowing — loving and liking our children comes naturally. (@Hobo_Mama)
• Learning from Children — Lily, aka Witch Mom, finds out just how enchanting balloons can be. (@LilyShahar)
• Lifelong Learning — Lindsay at Living in Harmony has learned that what works for one kid might not work for another. (@AttachedMama)
• Walking alongside my daughter — Lindsey at Mama Cum Laude is learning to give the clock less power over her family’s life.
• Things my baby taught me about me — Luschka at Diary of a First Child is proud of how she has grown as a mother. (@lvano)
• From my children, I have learned — Mama Mo at Attached at the Nip has a litany of beautiful lessons, from selflessness to sleeplessness.
• The Little Things in Life — In a simple and lovely prose poem, Mandy at Living Peacefully with Children shows how adults worry about the wrong things and forget the little, important ones: watching ladybugs, jumping in leaves, cherishing each moment as it comes.
• The Virtues of Motherhood — Melissa at The New Mommy Files has had opportunities to learn from children as both a teacher and a mother. (@NewMommyFiles)
• My Kids Have Taught Me That It’s Time To Stop Blogging — Melodie at Breastfeeding Moms Unite! has learned that childhoods fly by too fast to blog. We’ll miss your wonderful online presence, Melodie, and we wish you much peace and happiness. (@bfmom)
• Having Kids Has Taught me a Thing or Two — Michelle at The Parent Vortex learns all day long — from fun facts about hedgehogs to tying a complicated wrap with a screaming child and an audience. (@TheParentVortex)
• We Could All Learn from the Children — Momma Jorje takes time to get on the floor and play so that she can see the world through her child’s eyes.
• Teaching Forgiveness — Mrs Green at Little Green Blog has a daughter who’s taught her unconditional love — even when she feels like she does’t deserve it. (@littlegreenblog)
• Parenting as a joint venture — Olivia at Write About Birth appreciates watching the astonishing way her children learn. (@writeaboutbirth)
• Beginner’s Mind — Rachael at The Variegated Life learns from a child who builds bridges to nowhere, calls letter magnets his numbers, and insists dinnertime is truck time. (@RachaelNevins)
• A baby’s present — RS at A Haircut and a Shave presents a short poem on the differences between a baby’s mindfulness and ours.
• Self-Confidence Was Born With My Daughter — Sara at Halfway Crunchy learned to trust her instincts by responding to her child’s needs — and saw her self-confidence bloom.
• The Importance of Being Less Earnest — Seonaid at The Practical Dilettante has one list of earnest and one list of silly things she has learned as a parent. (@seonaid_lee)
• Lessons my children have taught me — Sheryl at Little Snowflakes learned that attachment parenting was the best way to meet the needs of her child and herself. (@Sheryljesin)
• Till the water is clear — Stacy at Mama-Om learns that being present is the best present. (@mama_om)
• I Hold It — Stefanie at Very, Very Fine has learned that the ability to communicate is much more important than the number of words a child knows.
• What My Children Taught Me About Letting Go — Summer at Finding Summer is learning from her kids to laugh in the face of heartache. (@summerminor)
• Finding My Tools — The Artsymama has applied some of what she’s learned as a mama in the classroom, with great results!

Bless me, Earth Mother, for I have sinned.

To cut to the chase, I drove a full 22 minutes on a perfectly gorgeous sunny autumn day to buy a bucket of plastic toys. Virgin plastic. $29.99. Lots of petroleum. Bad precedent. I know, it’s not pretty.

So why did I fall so hard? It’s complicated. It starts with the grunts of a baby that had me more actively parenting in the night than I’d like, such that I then ended up sleeping until 9 a.m. Wow, that is late. By the time baby girl and I emerged, waffles had been made, and when it was time for my husband to take our son to a birthday party 90 minutes later, it became clear that the poor child had had essentially no protein in the three and a half hours he‘d been awake. No wonder he was copping an adolescent-sized whinefest about riding in his baby sister’s stroller instead of biking, walking or scootering the 3 and a half blocks to the party. We stuffed him full of nuts and goat cheese, but I claim the damage had already been done. Like mother, like son: a day that starts with carbs is not one with a storybook ending. Unless your storybook has the name Grimm on the spine.

Hubby left the party shortly after we arrived (boy on bike, baby in sling) so that he could do his one fun/sporting activity of the week. So I was left solo with the two kids. Usually the mom who brings an entire meal to a party for her gluten-free son, this time all I had prepped was a trio of Enjoy Life allergen-free snickerdoodle cookies that I bought on sale hoping I would get a chance to bake and wouldn’t need them. Fat chance.

What a surprise when I heard the host say something about lunch. Did I even read the Evite, I wondered? I had assumed we’d be back home for lunch after just some snacks and cake. Wrong! Lunch was sandwiches and pasta salad. The host kindly gave me access to some lunchmeat (not Applegate or Wellshire, so I gave him just one slice) and a big chunk of cheese off of which I cut several slices then and again when he asked for more. What a great guest I am. He also ate a lot of grapes and some veggie chips (which I hoped were not the kind that contains wheat flour) and even handed me a stray goldfish that made its way onto his plate, bless his heart. And he ate it all without complaint from a rocking chair on the floor because the big table was full.

Then came the cake — an impeccable purple castle. My son knows other people’s cakes are not his destiny, so it was no surprise or disappointment that he’d be denied a turret or graham cracker-covered door. But I still wondered how he’d react to the unfamiliar cookies. He ate one and half of the three I’d placed in a plastic container with a prune. Please do note: he ate the prune first. So clearly, all hope is not lost on us. (Oh, and he specifically asked after the cookies for water, not for more of the watered down juice I’d given him with lunch.)

But when he started to lose it when some toddlers toddled over his duplo block creation, I knew we had to make a hasty exit. He was fully in tears, and no suggestions would appease him. Someone asked if I wanted her to hold the baby. At first, I balked, and then I handed her over to scoop up my son from the puddle he’d become. My shoulder had been getting tired from the sling, but let me tell you, 40 pounds feels different than nine. “I can hold her while you get him out to the car,” the helpful arms offered. “Oh, there’s no car,” I said, basking in self-pity.

The prospect of getting my tired, not-well-fed kiddo to ride his trike or even walk all the way home while I had a baby dangling off my front and black diaper bag on my back was, well daunting. So I approached the situation first with empathy, and then with what some might crassly call a bribe. Whatever the name, it worked. “I know you’re upset. We can get you some Legos of your own sometime maybe later this weekend. I need you to come home with me now. The party is over anyway.”

We have no toys like this, and he loves them, so I was willing to make good on my promise if he forced the issue. I would have rather lasted until I could get to a consignment sale or put something out on a mom’s list as an ISO item. But then the rest of the day happened. The baby woke up as soon as we got home. And she wasn’t the only one who needed to eat; I was hungry, too. A late breakfast will only get a nursing mom so far.

After the girls had a few rounds of eating and nursing, the preschooler started to get restless and the baby was tired and too pissed to poop out. A request to “watch something” was made as were several comments about Legos. We had to do something if I was to avoid screen time and a serious strike to my sanity. It was time to hit the road.

I rejected the notion of letting him know that there was such a thing as Toys R Us (even though it’s only a mile away), and I decided against seeing what TJ Maxx might have in its toy section. In truth, a drive didn’t sound like a bad use of time. I was pretty sure the baby would fall asleep (she did) and that the boy would chill (he did. Didn’t even ask for a CD). Lakeshore didn’t have exactly what I was looking for — I’d called but since I don’t really know these toys, I probably didn’t describe correctly — but the bucket of building lego-like thingies they had seemed to fit the bill. I also picked up some tracing cards to have one other trick up my sleeve for quiet-time activities.

He made a little craft while I paid (bonus for coming on a Saturday!), and, despite my getting a little lost in the Mixing Bowl on my way to find 395, we got home just over an hour after we’d left. The purchase even inspired my son to clean up his train set and, by extension, his whole toy area to leave room for building with off-brand legos. So my gas-guzzling consumer trip ended up with an unexpected reward of the impetus to sort stuff and clear the clutter, something I’ve been wanting to do forever. Sitting on the floor pregnant, or with a sore perineum, or with a baby in a sling is not very comfortable, and this time Daddy was back home to hold the girl, so I was thrilled to have the chance to tackle this project.

Let’s hope I don’t take too much from this positive reinforcement, which was topped off by the kiddo later happily going up to bed early and falling asleep before 7:15. But this is not justice, and I had to confess. I know Mother Earth knows anyway, but sometimes you have to tell the tale to stop secretly hoping you’ll get away with doing it again.

This post originally appeared on DC Metro Moms on June 11, 2009

The thrill is gone — from messy to neat and back again

Yes, I love making my own chicken stock and buying so many veggies at the farmer’s market that I can hardly close my tiny fridge (can’t wait until we get into that new kitchen with a full-size fridge!). But being healthy the way I do it means there’s always something to put away, either in the kitchen or elsewhere because I’ve been so busy I let my three-year-old ransack the living room (which just two weeks ago contained zero toys). The little boy and I are cut from the same mess-making cloth, and without the threat of two mortgages hanging over our heads inspiring me to keep up a good show, I am reminded what a pain in my own ass (and my husband’s ass) I am. You can’t even follow the trail of crap to find me; there are too many trails. I was a TV-free mom until this move, but you can bet some You Tube has kept the three-year-old tornado from whipping up of messes.

Last month, worried that the slightest thing would turn off a potential buyer, I was constantly wiping up tiny drops of spills. Now the counters are permanently home to entire projects in progress, and we’ve learned just how much lower my husband’s threshold for clutter is than mine. The idea is that the other house is bigger and offers a better use of space that should help address some of these problems in the future. But honestly, at this rate, we’ll be lucky if the paint dries in our new guest bedroom before our signatures dry on divorce papers.

While showing the house, I was constantly holding my breath and trying to just pretend it didn’t matter that I couldn’t find any underwear because I’d hastily stuffed it in a random drawer rather than leave a basket of laundry out. I had to hope that it would all work out and be over someday. Now I’m holding my breath on an the marriage/family front, hoping that maybe once the move is over (in a month), maybe we can all feel like we actually can find a way to live under one roof happily together.

Nothing is for sure yet, but we are moving in the direction of buying a larger home not far from our house. There are a lot of reasons I’m excited about this and crossing my fingers that it happens without us losing our shirts on two mortgages or unexpected repairs/upgrades (“might as well before we move in” type things).

But the biggest thing is that: I. Would. Get. An. Office. There would be room for home office stuff in the basement, and I could have a sunny bedroom on the main level. It would not be a sacrifice or a compromise. It would just be possible and sensible, given how much space I seem to need for my stuff.

And it would be mine from day one. As we discussed tonight the things we’d need to do to sell our home and the things we’d address in the new one, my husband said, “It would be cool to get sliding doors for the closet in your office.”

Not only did he just imply that I get to have a whole lot of storage space, he called the whole place mine. It wasn’t the office. It was, dear JC, “your office.” How damn fucking cool would that be?

This post originally appeared on DC Metro Moms on December 27, 2008

Train them young to be stay-at-home dads

Couldn’t we just have two weeks? “I’ll be off for 18 days,” he reminded me of this December break. I challenged his math, reminding him that two of those would be spent driving, six would be away from home (thus not allowing me that freedom to come and go, clean or write, make an appointment or go to the gym), four would be weekend days we’d have had anyway, and one of the remaining six at home would be a federal holiday. This is not the easy life of a homebound family of three I was going for.

But then I heard him negotiating salary on the phone and felt the excitement of starting something new. I saw him as the professional he is and remembered that I really don’t want to work 40 hours a week or be away from my son all that much. I just was hoping to be able to be away from him a little more in these challenging, tantrum-filled almost-three days without feeling guilty about leaving him with a sitter – and without having to do the legwork to arrange for a sitter. I have just four hours of consistent weekly childcare and lately have been fantasizing about using the afternoon program of next year’s three-day Waldorf preschool. If the boy spends a few weeks with his dad this winter, I imagined, all will be well!

But he’ll annoy his dad, too. And seriously, though my husband is a fabulous father and feminist, he would probably annoy the hell out of me if he were home all the time, not doing everything to my exact specifications. I keep thinking that if he just had to take over everything – for a few full 9-6 days or even – gasp – maybe for an overnight, things would change and he’d get it. Except that he already gets it. He appreciates all that I do for our son and tells me so. I just can’t always hear that for all the whining, and my husband is just never going to be the boy’s mom. That’s always me. I’m the only one who bore him and who will nurse him, and, in an attachment parenting family that is still nursing well beyond age two, that physical connection means a lot. It quells tantrums and calms anxiety. My husband can never play that card.

Besides, my fantasies are unrealistic. People are people. I talked just today with two other women whose husbands have been SAHDs at one time or another, and they’ve both loved it and been surprised at disappointments. If I want to feel like all is right with my marriage, this doesn’t have to be the way we get there.

My latest idea as we near year’s end is to just get serious about what I want my reality to look like and live from that place. I don’t need a full-time at-home partner to kick my yoga practice back into gear. I just need commitment. This doesn’t mean changes will magically happen; rather, it means I need to stand firm with what I want and decide what it will require to make it a reality.

So maybe we go to bed by 10:00 and I get up at 5:00. Or something. With my son, I follow through with things I really care about, like nutrition and the extended breastfeeding. If I really care about my own health and well-being – and I ought to because it took a lot of effort in those arenas to even get pregnant – then I just have to stand in a place of believing in those areas. It won’t do a lot of good instead to act like a victim of my husband’s work (which of course feeds us and pays for all that alternative medicine, yoga, etc.).

I’m sure we can make something work, or by the time we decide to give up, things will be at a new development phase with the boy, so maybe it won’t matter. Still, I do hope that by the time my son grows up, if he decides to partner in a heterosexual relationship, there will be an easy recipe for him and his baby’s mama to follow.

My son finally has a room with a bed, no longer a double futon on the floor that takes up half the room. I am finally feeling like a grown-up parent. Here is his room now moving clockwise. All that’s left is perhaps some work on the walls — art or shelving — and curtains (to darken his room so he might actually sleep during the day — what a concept. Maybe no naps are part of growing up, too). I think I will hold back on the rainbow silk I thought I might drape as a canopy. I like how airy the room is, even if it is only 8′x9′ with no closet.

After months of slow transition from clutter upon clutter to relative calm, I finally feel like I can breathe upstairs. With more space in our bedroom once little E moved across the hall, we brought back in a dresser. Now all my clothes are in one place. Getting underwear in one room and socks in another was a little ridiculous. Moving the dresser then created a space in the guest room (read: where my husband irons his clothes) that might actually be used for some yoga! These home improvements mean I’m finally clearing some space in my head. I was about to start issuing citations for overcrowding up there.

Apparently Oprah has a campaign right now to clear clutter, and I’m told the FlyLady is THE resource for tips and encouragement. We actually hired an organizing consultant to get us on our way (and cut through the marital crap that was keeping us paralyzed). Judy from Gently Organized helped us make a priority list, and she gave us a binder with helpful tips all in one place and with notes about our plan of attack. She also came back and actually did some of the work with us!

Thanks also to my MIL for watching our kid while we executed some of this most recent “progress.”

And thanks to our Waldorf school teacher for her coaching on this process.

This post originally appeared on DC Metro Moms on November 13, 2008

People who live in houses with smudged glass doors should do some cleaning

When I brought out a spray bottle of Parsley Plus to wipe off our patio table during playgroup, my son nearly outed me as having a housecleaner. “That’s for Selma,” he told my friend, who nodded a standard motherly ‘mm-hmm.’ On one hand, my proud side wanted to translate his two-year-old brilliance for her by explaining that Selma came over to clean our house every Wednesday (and always to dote on him). But another part of me was embarrassed that he associated housework only with someone other than his parents, especially since this friend wasn’t very complimentary of overprivileged mothers who threw money to other people to take care of things like cleaning – and like their children.

But there was a health factor for me on both hiring childcare and cleaning help. A few months after my son was born, I knew I needed to create some time to attend to doctor’s appointments and the other stuff that had helped me get healthy and pregnant in the first place, including acupuncture. As a baby, my son wouldn’t sleep or spend any quality time happily away from a human body, so it wasn’t as though he’d have happily watched me get stuck with needles from the safety of his SnugRide.

One experience scrubbing the toilet with my infant son dangling from the Hotslings pouch was enough for me.

And even if it weren’t, I’d started to develop postpartum eczema on my elbows and knees that eventually got so bad I would end up scratching my knees until they bled if I spent more than 30 seconds kneeling. Mama needed some support.

So I looked for some. After many false starts, we found a sitter we loved, and that time helped me get my groove back. It wasn’t any simpler to find a happy housekeeping arrangement. Toward the end of my pregnancy, I’d hired a local woman who ran an environmentally-friendly cleaning service. I left the house all ready for her and was dismayed when I returned and nothing had changed. It turned out she’d written down the wrong address and just left when there was no key under the mat. I gave her a second chance. The house sure smelled sweet and natural, but it just didn’t seem that clean. If even I notice something that’s been missed, it’s not a great job. Her rate didn’t seem like a bargain, either, and the last straw was that she put into the recycling bin an obviously vintage beer bottle that had sentimental significance for my husband. It had been sitting on our bedroom dresser, not strewn among a house full of empties.

So I didn’t want to call her again. Instead I tried bigger company with an eco-friendly name. They came about three hours late – around 4:00 p.m. – and spent the bulk of the time upstairs in our bedrooms while I kept my infant son away from the noise in the basement.

Then a friend told me about her housecleaner; she would charge a much lower price than the bigger companies and would use whatever non-toxic products I would leave for her. Count me in! Soon after, we met “Selma,” and she gave us a biweekly slot on her Wednesday afternoon schedule.

At first, it was bliss. I felt so calm after Selma had been here. The place had never looked better. And she always fawned over my son as we headed out the door, pushing all the right motherlove buttons for me.

But then things got busier. For us and for her. My son got more active and messy around the house and more demanding with clearer nap needs. It took longer to prep the house for Selma to come; if she had to deal with all our toys and paper clutter, she ended up staying long after we needed to start our dinner and bedtime routine. And if I wanted to see the day’s newspaper again or find other papers, I needed to stuff them away before she got here. But then I was just creating unwieldy piles of stuff in the storage cube where bills and magazines went to die. Not helpful.

It got to be that I stressed out over giving over my house almost as much as I delighted in having it clean once Selma left. What accentuated the negative was the fact that Selma was getting less and less predictable. Sometimes she’d arrive at 4:00, sometimes at 1:00. For a mom with a baby who slept 1:00-4:00, that’s a big difference. I requested a switch to the mornings, and that worked for a while. We’d be leaving for a class just as she arrived; we’d stay out until she was done. But then the 9:00 a.m. arrival became noon some weeks, so she was just getting started when we got home and were ready for a quiet house.

And then there was quality. When Selma’s helpers came instead of her, it suffered. And they used a million paper towels. The house wasn’t very clean. My checkbook register was getting thin while my garbage can was puffed full with paper. And my schedule was all thrown off every two weeks.

Then my son closed the deal when his comment to my friend showed me what he’d learned about domestic work: that we pay someone else to do it. A recent Washington Post article “The ABCs of C-H-O-R-E-S: How to Get Kids to Help Around the House” quoted a full-time-working-outside-the-home mom who chose not to hire a housekeeper for this same modeling concern.

When my son made the revealing comment, he was certainly old enough to start pitching in (or even well beyond ready, according to the article’s age-categorized “To-Do List for Parents “ which was adapted from information by Zero to Three). As for me, my health had improved such that there was no reason I couldn’t do the cleaning myself. I posted around on some mom email lists for advice on “firing” a housekeeper and settled on simply telling her when she arrived that this would be our last week, and could she please leave the key on the kitchen table on her way out?

In Waldorf education, there is a great emphasis on ritual and also on intentionally doing the work of living. When I began our parent-child Waldorf class this fall, I came to like the idea of establishing some kind of a routine at home: “If it’s Monday, it must be time to vacuum. If it’s Tuesday, we clean the kitchen.” If the crafty mom at Momformation’s Week of Wonders can ensure that every Tuesday has a “yummy in my tummy” cooking project, can’t I clean my bathroom once a week?

It may not come as a surprise that my inspirational cleaning schedule has not (yet) come to pass. But I have made a conscious attempt to make most of my efforts happen when my son is around, even if he gets underfoot and creates as much of a mess as I’m trying to remove. If I do the real work of making a home – cooking, cleaning, laundry, yardwork and repairs – when he’s not here to see it, how is he going to develop his own motivation to take care of his things?

We’re still working on the rhythm piece of our lives, and I can tell that, after several months of only haphazard efforts to make Toddler Central shine like the Chrysler Building, it would make sense to get help with a deeper cleaning a few times a year, if I can find someone I like to do it.

At least my son is excited now about using his own dust pan and brush set, and he’s gotten very good at hanging the diapers up to dry. Like anything else, our housework is a work in progress.

This photo is artistically rendered to obscure both my son’s face and my husband’s thinning hair. (btw, the masthead on this blog is a similarly altered-in-Picasa chunk of a photo of my son’s mouth and nose. Can you tell from the hyperpink in this bedroom rendering?)

The heartwarming scene depicted here is of a father and son putting together the little boy’s first real bed (after his parents’ and then a futon on the floor). I think it helped that a friend gave us a subscription to Babybug magazine because it featured a story about recurring character (of questionable gender) “Kim” getting a new bed for him/her and his/her stuffed bunny, “Carrots.” It’s kind of like watching a bunch of movies with scenes of the prom gets you geeked for the real thing. But can it ever really be as good? I sure hope our little dude enjoys sleeping in his bed (yes his, though I know the curls are getting long again. I like ‘em) as much as Kim does in Kim’s. (Note for the development journal: Lately I’ve noticed E referring to Kim as a “he.” We’ll have to see if that sticks).

We’re currently lacking a mattress (see my post at Crunchy-Chewy Mama for more on that), so little E can’t exactly jump on his new bed yet. Or sleep on it. But he can jump gleefully on his parents’ bed with packages of some screws or something in his hand.

Around here, we are finally feeling ready for a big purge and reorganization. There is too much stuff, and we’re ready to simplify. In some cases, the stuff we will toss (or recycle, or Freecycle, or sell) just doesn’t reflect how we live anymore. I keep thinking that once I get rid of all the clutter associated with shortcuts we no longer take, I’ll finally have the space and time to invest in more involved ways of living with respect to food, health and medicine, housekeeping. And work — writing, editing, tutoring. I spent way too much energy trying to clear a space — literally and figuratively.

I wanted to create a list of goals for the next year but thought I should first celebrate the changes I have made in this past year.

Things I’ve started doing since last summer:

-Made chicken stock from scratch regularly and used it to cook vegetables and rice. (I’d made stock before occasionally before but didn’t know about getting it to gel, and I didn’t use it for cooking everything like I do now)

-Gotten on a coop to get a good price on coconut oil, so I never run out

-Gotten in a coop to get pastured eggs, grassfed meat and real milk for my husband

-Learned a little bit about flower essences and started using them

-Learned a little bit about essential oils and started using them. Also set up an auto ship account with Young Living Oils so that I build up my collection through monthly shipments

-Started using Miessence skin products

-Researched skin product safety for sunscreen and replaced what I had (which I thought was safe) with less toxic kinds (and other skin products)

-Started drinking kombucha regularly and eating cultured veggies more often

-Started soaking nuts and drying them and sometimes sprouting them

-Started making waffles from gluten-free flours and nut flour or from coconut flour and then freezing them (instead of buying Van’s)

-Did a cleanse that succeeded in helping me feel better and clearing up my psoriasis

-Recovered from a sprained ankle; trained for and ran a half-marathon

Things I’ve stopped or greatly cut back on doing that seemed detrimental to my health

-Eating tons of nut butter addictively

-Eating rice pasta, rice tortillas, rice crackers as often

-Eating goat milk cheese — even the raw seemed to affect me negatively

-Using plastic containers to store food

Things I hope to do in the coming year, in addition to purging the house of what we don’t need and creating workable spaces on all three levels — office and basement storage and play area, kitchen, living room and play area, well-organized and clean (tiny bathroom), bedroom for my son, parent bedroom without two mattresses next to each other on the floor

-Establish a sense of rhythm and routine with respect to home life, exercise and wellness practices (like meditation and yoga), and work. This will include regular bedtimes (before 11:30 p.m.) and waking times (not sure yet)

-Focus on possibilities rather than shoulds and take action to get past emotional blockages when I feel thwarted in my attempts to follow through on the more mundane goals outlined below

-Eliminate paper towel use in our home

-Establish a cleaning schedule and make cleaners I feel good about

-Become knowledgeable about herbs for healing, some basic Ayurveda, and homeopathy and delve deeper into essences and essential oils

-Replace current herbs, salt and pepper with new, mineral-rich, fresh

-Make my own ketchup regularly

-Culture my own veggies regularly

-Try making water kefir and possibly other fermented drinks. Research fermented beverages in general

-Tend the compost consistentely

-Tend the garden and yard such that weeds don’t get out of control and plants don’t die. This includes figuring out a good hose and/or sprinkler system.

-Get rid of all plastic dishes and containers and replace with items I’ve researched and feel good about

-Make chicken stock weekly

-Make beef stock occasionally and roast grassfed meat regularly

-Soak rice when time allows

-Soak and sprout beans

-Make ghee

-Learn about GF baking

-Get refined sugar back out of diet, possibly including another carb-free, fruit-free (possibly legume-free) cleanse

-Learn about the best source for chocolate if I’m going to eat it

-Learn more about non-supplement forms of calcium and other vitamins and minerals and EFAs

-Possibly do a cleanse if my son weans before we decide we are ready to try to have another child. If I have this time, I would also use my infrared sauna and chi machine, which are of questionable safety while breastfeeding

I actually started this post over a month ago and found it helpful to return to it again before publishing. I look forward to having this info accessible whenever I need a reminder!