Prideful Prejudice

How's that for a blog post title? And after so many months of abandoning you!

So, about that, sorry. It's been busy and I am trying to sort out how to fit all the stuff I need and want to do. Writing is definitely in the 'keep' box, but it's also something that requires me to have a chunk of quiet brain space and I just haven't been carving that out very well lately.

But I'm back and I'm going to talk a little bit about judgment. Not judgment of me (knock yourselves out if you want). No - these are the judgey pants I wear out in the world and I am afraid I have order in a size 6X, pink.

We were driving down a major road recently and Isabelle spotted a young boy who was sitting in the front driver side of a parked car.

"He's in the driving seat and not even in a car seat! He has BAD PARENTS, huh Mom?" Her first instinct is a spiteful 'j'accuse' of "BAD PARENTS". Spiteful. And confident that she is right and they are wrong. I recognize the anger and confidence - 'cause I have felt it many a time, about car seat safety, about feeding choices, about discipline, about, well, pretty much anything that another person might chose that I get to know about.

Six year olds are so much about rules and categories of right and wrong - Isabelle doesn't see a lot of gray in the world. I get that: it's a stage of development, not a character flaw. I like to think I'm more subtle than that (being well past 6 and all), but my first instinct was the same. Yes, yes, he does have bad parents - leaving him sitting in the driver seat while they were on the sidewalk.

In the next breath, I know there are a million reasons why a good parent might have allowed that. Heck, that I might allow it. So we talk about those reasons and why it's not safe most of the time, but it might be the right choice for a mommy or daddy to make. At six, she can already raise a skeptical eyebrow at me like a pro, but we decide that we can't really say that they are or not. And also, we will not be playing in the front seat in our family.

So, we kind of settle that one. Yet...

Peggy O'Mara has famously been quoted as saying that "Judgment is not always wrong" - I believe that. Human nature is imperfect and humans are vulnerable: we have a duty to protect each other. But there are so many times in my life that I feel that "j'accuse" and then the uncertain retreat and then.... do I settle on the right place before I open my mouth? For the "accused"? For my values? Does it even matter what I say when my visceral reaction is to condemn? Do my eyes speak louder than the carefully chosen words?

And which one tells the truth?

Backseat Conversations

I: “Mama, I noticed that I don’t have earrings in my jewellery box.” (Yup, she’s sly.)
Me: “Well, yes, that’s true – you don’t have your ears pierced, so you can’t wear earrings.”
I: “Hmmm… I think it would be nice to wear earrings.”
Me: “Would you like to have your ears pierced?”
I: “Pierced??” as she checks her mental thesarus for what other possible meaning ‘pierce’ might have and comes up empty. “How do they do that?”
Me: “Well, they have to push a needle through your ear to make a hole. So they take a gun and press into your earlobe and shoot it through.” (Yes, I know I could have used a word other than gun, but that's what it's called.)
Silence. Clearly, the road noise must have caused a miscommunication, she thinks.
I: “They shoot it near your ear?” Hopefully.
Me: “No, through your ear – to make the hole.”
I: “NEAR your ear?” Nothing if not persistent, she is.
Me: “No, through your ear so the earring can go through – that’s how they stay in.”
I: “Does it hurt?” Ever hopeful.
Me: “Well, yes – though not for very long. But you have to put alcohol on it and turn them often so your ears heal without sticking to the earrings.”
Silence. Dejection.
I: “I think I will not have earrings, ok?”
Me: “Ok.”

Friday Five: Cute Things

I need a little light and happiness this weekend - there's been a lot of dreary, bad news of late. So this week's friday five are things that I find so cute, they make me smile every time.

Little Boys with Big Backpacks

Babies Sneezing

Kids Napping Together

Babywearing Daddies with girly Carriers

Nursing Puppies

Enjoy your weekend!

Kids aren't grimy, their schools are

It seems like the swine flu (A.K.A. H1N1, aporkalypse, snoutbreak and hamdemic) has lost the collective interest of the media - or perhaps I've just stopped listening because there was nothing interesting being printed about it anymore. Like most big crises, the first wave of hysteria passed quickly and time will tell whether it was warranted or not.
In the lull, it does end up that something very interesting has come to light that matters whether the swine flu is the next 1918 virus or not. Since SARS, we've done a fairly good job of impressing the importance of handwashing - which controls the spread not only of potentially serious illnesses like influenza (of all kinds), but also common colds, stomach bugs and all manner of annoying and time-consuming illnesses. I'm consistently disappointed to see the flu vaccine touted as the primary step in public health campaigns, but simple public hygiene has made inroads. The fact that there's currently no vaccine for the swine flu leaves only hygiene to prevent the spread and I think that's a good thing no matter what - it doesn't matter whether you have a vaccine that works if you prevent the spread to begin with, after all.
I worked in a large office building in Toronto during the SARS outbreak - it was an eye opener for many workers to realize how much simple hygiene could be improved. Suddenly, cleaners wiped down door handles and bathrooms several times a day - and it made you think about why that wasn't done before. Standards rose and stayed that way (at least in our building) because businesses and the workers they employed realized how simple steps could help contain all kinds of grossness.
This time around I work out of my safe little home cocoon, so I'm not worried about grimy elevator buttons. However, Isabelle is in junior kindergarten (society's largest Petri dish) and the outbreak has brought to light serious deficiencies in hygiene within the school. In an informal poll of my mommy circle, it appears that few of us know how often schools are thoroughly cleaned or bathrooms disinfected. While handwashing is a key, in many schools, bathrooms are poorly stocked or kept in a state of disrepair. Children may avoid using them entirely, meaning that they go an entire day without rinsing the building eco-system of germs off their hands. A good discussion of this was on the parentcentral.ca section of the Toronto Star today: http://ow.ly/6gnd
In other cases, teachers and students end up relying primarily on hand sanitizer because of a lack of facilities - alcohol based hand sanitizers are not the same as hand washing and while they may be safe for an occasional use, try licking your hand after using some and see if that's what you'd want on your preschooler 6 times a day.
Parents of children in their first years of school have learned to expect a year or two of next constant illness running through their house - because, we assume, kids have bad hygiene habits and there's no way around it. Well, having seen enough snotty, drippy noses on the playground and sneezes into the communal cookie plate, I can concede that kids are definitely at a disadvantage over office workers. So, why then, do we freak out about elevator buttons and copy machines, but few of us know how often the counters in the boys' room get disinfected or the tissues are replaced? The very few who have any idea wouldn't be too happy with the answer.

PJ solution revealed

I have a thing about natural fibres, especially for the kids and especially for nightwear. It turns out for us that this is a good instinct, because Isabelle gets awful, itchy rashes when she overheats at night. It only took us a whole winter to figure out that fleece footed pjs weren't good for her - we're a little slow on the uptake sometimes (I suspected shrimp).

I used to love a company called Hanna Andersson - still do for lots of things. Their playdresses are a staple around here. But since they were bought out a couple years ago, they've changed the fit on their famous "zippers" and long johns so that they're tighter than a wet suit on a whale.

Yes, before you start emailing me, I know it's a safety standard designed to protect kids from catching fire near open flames. I also know that instead of wrestling my little ones into skin tight cotton pjs, I could instead buy pjs made of polyester (but see above) or buy cotton ones coated in toxic chemicals many of which are known carcinogens.

So you can see why Isabelle is wearing pjs that are so small we had to cut the feet off and Tom prances around in his sister's pink nighties and old-style 'zippers' (in addition to his dad-inherited dandiness). My mom has also been called into duty to sew some pjs, but other than nightie, each one is a lot of work.

My dad came over today with 100% cotton pjs, not treated and I couldn't figure it out. They were called "loungewear" and were European brands (Petit Lem)! ah-ha! So that's the secret - I'm stocking up before the pj police figure it out!

The sound of music

I'm sitting outside Isabelle's music class - behind the door, I can hear the cheerful pixie piano going and the trample of little feet across the wooden floor. Stay at home motherhood is funny - this weekly hour as I sit and wait for her class is a quiet break when I can write and think or just play brickbreaker on my cellphone. Or it would be if this week was not also music exams at the conservatory. As I type, a poor examiner is witnessing a crime against violins being comitted in the next room. I don't know how bad it must sound in there, but I'm about ready to go in there with a pair of scissors and snip every hair on that bow, so the examiner may be hard of hearing if he's let it go on this long.
Dan and I were talking about this the other day. Growing up, I didn't have much interest in music and it wasn't particularly encouraged: the result being that I can't dance and my sister gently suggested that it might be kinder to the kids if I played CDs for them instead of singing. Dan grew up in a very musical household - and he has the piano skills to prove it. Yet, he doesn't have all warm fuzzies about those early experiences either.
Honestly, I'm not sure if I can handle the years of noise that it takes to be a competent player. I don't know if I want to be trucking the kids around to all the different lessons or monitor the praticing on top of homework. I worry that their time is already so structured and there are other things (like sports) that are important to their development too. And what if they've taken the wrong combination, inheriting none of their father's talent, all of my tone deafness and yet his confidence to play blythely in front of crowd. An American Idol disaster in the making.

Kids do say the darndest things

Like the jargon of any organized group, families all seem to have their own secret language that only the members share – and it’s the children who bring the unqiue words to us.

The funny little expressions they use as they are learning ways to express themselves are often fleeting, but sometimes they stick. Just ask my uncle, Carlo, who is still called “Caco” as my sister reaches her late twenties. It could have been worse, though I’m not sure that Coco would be much better than Caca.

Since these are so fleeting, I thought I’d take the chance now to share a few of Isabelle’s particularly cute or funny ones:

- greffast: as in “Daddy made me pancakes for greffast”

- dewey: not the decimal system, but rather “dirty”, now largely outgrown, but we heard it a lot during the fastidiously clean phase that preceded her current ‘devil may care’ hygiene rules

- eye-spy down: as in “pineapple eye-spy down cake”

- eye-spy up: the reverse of eye-spy down

- mamote control: oddly, Isabelle could say “télé-commande” in French well before she could say it in English and just recently dropped mamote term

So, readers, share your favourite cute ones with me…

Green Stuff

While the jury is still out on the effect of eating certain foods in pregnancy, it’s well-known that foods that mom eats during breastfeeding affect the taste of her milk. From the very first nursing, a breastfed baby is learning about the unique diet her family follows and receives a gentle introduction to the world of tastes. Researchers believe that this is part of the reason that breastfed babies typically accept a more varied diet and are less likely to be picky eaters.

Despite everything parents do to ensure their children eat a healthy, varied diet, pickiness often occurs in the preschool years. Isabelle ate every vegetable we offered her from asparagus to zucchini in her early years, but developed a real suspicion of anything new and “green stuff” as she approached her third birthday. This is quite a natural phase as children begin to make choices and define their own preferences.

Parents should continue to model good eating habits and offer healthy choices from which their toddlers can pick. If everything on the table is healthy, it will no harm if they only eat one dish. If all else fails, sneaking some ‘green’ into a tomato sauce is as easy as buying a hand-blender and making sure that they aren't in the kitchen while you're making the sauce. (Just don't tell Isabelle about this one - she's already a bit suspicious!)

On the road again...

Add about 1/3 to the normal time it takes to complete a trip. For example, we drove to Boston to visit friends when Isabelle was 5 months old. The trip normally took us a leisurely 8 hours pre-baby; with baby, it was a solid 12 hours. If possible, try to have one parent sitting in the back seat with the kid(s). Try to plan your departure for a time when baby isn’t asleep – that way you get some “play” time, then (hopefully) a nap before you stop for the first time.

Travelling with a breastfed baby is infinitely easier – all she needs is mama. Never be tempted to take baby out of his car seat when driving – much as his cries may be heart-wrenching. Pull off at the next safe spot and have a nurse while dad stretches his legs. If your child is older, bringing along some special snacks that they really enjoy can buy you a little more driving time.

If your trip is longer than 3 hours or so, try planning your route so that there is an attraction somewhere along the way – it will give you something to look forward to that isn’t as far as the final destination. Bringing along an extra pair of hands can be a great help during the drive and at your destination – whether it’s grandma or teenage cousin. Just be sure your “helper” is someone you want to spend your vacation with or it could be no help at all.

My only plug is that we carry a great little toddler travel pillow that’s ideal for road trips.

And baby makes four...

With Thomas' recent birthday, I've been reflecting a bit on the transition to little ones and looking back on it with a bit more space (and sanity).

Older siblings will often regress in their behavior, wanting to nurse or drink from a bottle if they had previously given it up or being less reliable in their potty training. In addition, older siblings will often become clingier, to one or both parents or even adopt a transitional object, like a blanket or stuffed toy, when they had never shown interest before. Isabelle definitely did all of these - adopting "Bear" as her nighttime companion.

Parents can make the transition more difficult on everyone when they do not recognize what an enormous change the older child has undergone. Understanding and compassion, along with time, will restore household peace and help forge the lifetime bond that siblings will share.

A tried-and-true tip is to have an extra-special gift for the older sibling that the new baby “brought” for them. Make believe play is very powerful to young children: older siblings should have their own “baby” and gear to mimic mom and dad. This “baby” also gives them an outlet to play out their frustrations safely. Finally, everyone will benefit if mom has a good comfortable baby carrier so that she can meet baby’s need for closeness while having her hands-free for play. There are even great matching slings for both mom and siblings. These make a wonderful shower gift - older siblings will be very proud.

In human development, there are no absolutes and very little is inevitable: parents can expect their children to react to the addition of a new sibling as they would to any major event. A happy, go-lucky kid is likely to adjust pretty quickly, irrespective of their age or gender. Conversely, a child who is resistant to changes in routine or highly sensitive to noise is likely to have more difficulty. Go easy on yourselves and each other – it’s a joyful journey once all your little travelers get along.

I hate Wanana

And Chorka and Juwie and Gayson too. This is made worse by the fact that they are small children and even more so by the fact that they don’t even exist. The inner world of a preschooler is an amazing place and apparently, Isabelle’s inner world is populated with a large number of friends that only she can see.
Very normal developmentally and we really don’t have any concerns about her “outer world” socialization, so this should be one of those live and let live parenting moments. Except that Wanana is a pain in the butt and constantly wants to sleep over: when she doesn’t arrive at bedtime, Isabelle is inconsolable.
We’ve tried reasoning through this: “imaginary friends are lots of fun and they can do things that real people don’t, but remember only you can see them…”. No dice.
I’ve learned interesting things about Isabelle’s imagination: Wanana lives in Chin(not China) and is a small pixie-like creature with dark hair and eyes. Chorka is short, but not tiny with gold hair and brown eyes… It’s kind of cool.
We’ve tried playing along to the story: Dan circled the neighbourhood last night to find Juwie’s house. Where does Juwie live? Isabelle says, “Left” and that’s her only direction. They do not find Juwie’s house and Isabelle is unhappy.
I remember watching Isabelle pass a ball from one had to the other and being completely enthralled that she could do it. It amazes me that my little baby has this amazing mind that’s so rich and layered that she can create whole worlds within it. But, man, oh, man, can you kids go home to your own mothers once in a while?

Croup

I realize that I am out of bed when my hand is already on her door knob – even though I don’t know what I heard, I know something is wrong. When I open the door, Isabelle is sitting on the bed, gasping for breath. Her eyes are wide and she is reaching for me.
My head knows what this is: the croup – a common childhood virus of sudden onset (she was fine when she went to bed) characterized by a seal-like barking cough. It is not serious usually, as it is easily treated with steam/cool air and rest.
But my heart breaks… I gather her up in my arms and rock her while the shower runs. When the steam doesn’t help in a few minutes, I find myself in my pyjamas, sitting on our wet front porch with her wrapped in a blanket in my arms.
She calms, but is still having difficulty breathing, so I send her to the ER with her dad (and mine for good measure…). The men are ill-prepared – several times the intake staff suggests that perhaps it would be best to call her mother.
The triage nurse barely needs to look at her – “it’s the croup”. This strengthens my husband’s unwavering, if entirely unfounded belief, that I know everything about children. He is proud of me and I am thankful for his faith. And we are all grateful when a chipper Isabelle returns with a tired Daddy and a deep sleep fall over us all.
p.s. Yay to the great staff at Sick Kids - we are so fortunate to have them.