tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-46349465832444538412024-03-05T00:37:03.412-05:00Saisquoi?A reluctant homemaker navigating the at-home landscape with her three kids, her knitting, and her thoughts.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06407370254691153441noreply@blogger.comBlogger193125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4634946583244453841.post-48393513288266777592013-05-13T08:57:00.001-04:002013-05-13T08:57:39.459-04:00I adore being a girl<div style="margin: 0 0 10px 0; padding: 0; font-size: 0.8em; line-height: 1.6em;"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/7330191@N02/8734277323/" title="I adore being a girl"><img src="http://farm8.staticflickr.com/7286/8734277323_c2f7eb1aff.jpg" alt="I adore being a girl by saisquoi" /></a><br/><span style="margin: 0;"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/7330191@N02/8734277323/">I adore being a girl</a>, a photo by <a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/7330191@N02/">saisquoi</a> on Flickr.</span></div><p></p>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06407370254691153441noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4634946583244453841.post-72921335943311794942013-05-12T19:45:00.001-04:002013-05-12T19:45:41.702-04:00NH sheep and wool 2013<div style="margin: 0 0 10px 0; padding: 0; font-size: 0.8em; line-height: 1.6em;"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/7330191@N02/8732662313/" title="NH sheep and wool 2013"><img src="http://farm8.staticflickr.com/7311/8732662313_7f76cdc453.jpg" alt="NH sheep and wool 2013 by saisquoi" /></a><br/><span style="margin: 0;"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/7330191@N02/8732662313/">NH sheep and wool 2013</a>, a photo by <a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/7330191@N02/">saisquoi</a> on Flickr.</span></div><p></p>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06407370254691153441noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4634946583244453841.post-269926733347243042013-05-12T19:44:00.003-04:002013-05-12T19:44:50.492-04:00llamas<div style="margin: 0 0 10px 0; padding: 0; font-size: 0.8em; line-height: 1.6em;"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/7330191@N02/8732660129/" title="llamas"><img src="http://farm8.staticflickr.com/7297/8732660129_3cc8531cfe.jpg" alt="llamas by saisquoi" /></a><br/><span style="margin: 0;"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/7330191@N02/8732660129/">llamas</a>, a photo by <a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/7330191@N02/">saisquoi</a> on Flickr.</span></div><p></p>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06407370254691153441noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4634946583244453841.post-46846264120877160052013-05-12T19:44:00.001-04:002013-05-12T19:44:17.909-04:00baaaa<div style="margin: 0 0 10px 0; padding: 0; font-size: 0.8em; line-height: 1.6em;"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/7330191@N02/8732658703/" title="baaaa"><img src="http://farm8.staticflickr.com/7289/8732658703_2f24ddfa8d.jpg" alt="baaaa by saisquoi" /></a><br/><span style="margin: 0;"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/7330191@N02/8732658703/">baaaa</a>, a photo by <a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/7330191@N02/">saisquoi</a> on Flickr.</span></div><p></p>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06407370254691153441noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4634946583244453841.post-50610385251104091742013-05-12T19:43:00.001-04:002013-05-12T19:43:37.785-04:00more sheep<div style="margin: 0 0 10px 0; padding: 0; font-size: 0.8em; line-height: 1.6em;"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/7330191@N02/8732656863/" title="more sheep"><img src="http://farm8.staticflickr.com/7289/8732656863_7c135d599b.jpg" alt="more sheep by saisquoi" /></a><br/><span style="margin: 0;"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/7330191@N02/8732656863/">more sheep</a>, a photo by <a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/7330191@N02/">saisquoi</a> on Flickr.</span></div><p></p>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06407370254691153441noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4634946583244453841.post-3344765264006210122013-05-12T19:42:00.001-04:002013-05-12T19:42:39.683-04:00alpacas<div style="margin: 0 0 10px 0; padding: 0; font-size: 0.8em; line-height: 1.6em;"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/7330191@N02/8732653689/" title="alpacas"><img src="http://farm8.staticflickr.com/7295/8732653689_186e79d78e.jpg" alt="alpacas by saisquoi" /></a><br/><span style="margin: 0;"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/7330191@N02/8732653689/">alpacas</a>, a photo by <a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/7330191@N02/">saisquoi</a> on Flickr.</span></div><p></p>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06407370254691153441noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4634946583244453841.post-34049168611424216132012-07-04T10:06:00.000-04:002012-07-04T10:06:14.400-04:00Breaking Up Is Hard To DoBefore anyone freaks out, the Beloved and I are fine. It's not that kind of a breakup. But...it still sucks.<br />
<br />
I have been a pretty regular church-goer for most of my life. My Mother is a church organist, so church was simply part of our lives growing up. My sister and I were expected to sing. My father was expected to play trumpet on special occasions. We went to Sunday School (though not always at the church where Mom worked), we had our first communions, we were confirmed.<br />
<br />
When I went to college, I pretty much ditched church. I didn't like the place where Mom was working--it was just way more conservative than I was...or am ever likely to be. At the end of my freshman year, she took a new job with a different church in town--one of the Episcopal churches--and she asked if I would go, just once, to see her new place. Just once, I promised. And so I went one late spring or early summer morning in 1995...and I kept going. As long as I was in town, I went to church. And I became involved on an adult level. I sang in the choir. I gave a pledge. I was a lector. When things got hard financially, I stepped up and learned about Mutual Ministry. I developed a church school program heavily based on Godly Play. I became a representative to convocation and convention and attended the convention that elected Gene Robinson the 9th Episcopal Bishop of NH.<br />
<br />
I loved that community--I was married in that church. My daughter was baptized there. I honestly expected that I would die there and my ashes would be buried in the Columbarium. But, as the song says, nothing lasts forever but the earth and sky. Everything changes. Even communities. And sometimes the change leaves you behind.<br />
<br />
Things had not been great for a while. My Mom had had some problems and seriously considered quitting. Apparently, mean kids still exist when you're in your 50s, and they still suck. I had some angst about what I would do if she left--would I stay? Would I go? But things got...better...tolerable anyway. So she stayed. And then they got worse for me.<br />
<br />
I should start out by explaining that C has grown up in the church and therefore has no fear of it. She would gleefully run around and play. She'd chatter with her friends. Also, she's three, so voice modulation is something we have not mastered. I really did try to keep her quiet--I brought snacks and water and quiet toys--but none of these things compare to OMGplaymates. So, we had started to get comments regarding her...vivacity.<br />
<br />
Then came a new priest. And with the new priest came new complaints--not directly from the priest, but from a small group of parishioners. C is loud. C is distracting. You need to keep her quiet. As far as I can tell, the parents of other children (who you can bet were not sitting all quiet and angelic-like) were not approached and chastised. I'm not sure why I was singled out, but there you have it.<br />
<br />
Next came the decision to move the Sunday School classroom to a location known as "The Bride's Room," a small room off of the Narthex (entryway), where, traditionally, the bride would put on finishing touches and wait to make her big entrance. The dimensions of the room are 15' x 7.5'...giving a grand total of 112.5 square feet to hold two adults and a class of children. I had some serious concerns about safety issues in a room of that size, and I was irritated that the decision was made without ever notifying parents. So, I asked the Safe Church Minister if changes would be made to allow the room to meet Safe Church standards. I e-mailed the priest and the senior warden with my concerns. And I got a phone call back from the priest in which I was told that she never wanted to receive a letter like that again and that any concerns I had needed to be brought up in person. None of my actual concerns were addressed, except to say that the current head of the Sunday School program approved it, so it must be fine.<br />
<br />
This about made my head explode. But, I thought, she's really busy right now. There's a big service coming up. This was probably a bad time to raise these concerns. I will give it another few weeks. And in those few weeks I was told that again, it was not my problem, because, actually, the teachers (the head teacher anyway) did not want C in Sunday School--3 is too young; they only want children 5 and older. Also, if they leave the door to the classroom open, everything should be fine, right?<br />
<br />
Finally, on Palm Sunday, I got yelled at because C and the other children were swordfighting with palms during the sermon and didn't I know my child was really loud and distracting?<br />
<br />
And that was it for me. I told my Mother that I wasn't going to ditch her during Holy Week and that I would sing all of the services, but I would no longer bring C, because apparently my ideas of open and welcoming to all no longer meshed with those held by the church, and I didn't particularly want my child learning the lessons they were offering. A lesson that says we will put children into a glorified storage closet in order to make way for a church cafe. A lesson that says the needs of adults will always be greater than your needs. A lesson that says berating your mother for allowing you to act like a 3 year old is what church leadership should do.<br />
<br />
I had moments where I wondered if I was being hasty and then on Good Friday I found out I was pregnant again and I knew I couldn't go back. I need to be in a place that's going to help me teach my child--not a place that's just going to tell me all the ways I'm doing it wrong.<br />
<br />
Since then, I've had a couple of e-mails or phone calls from people asking if I'll consider coming back, asking what happened, apologizing for whatever pissed me off so much. It's hard, because there are a lot--perhaps most of the people there--who I really do miss. Leaving this church feels like leaving part of myself behind. It feels like being estranged from family. It has been one of the hardest things I've done in my adult life.<br />
<br />
In the meantime, C and I have been to a couple of different churches. We basically switch off between the Lutheran Church in town where I had my first communion and was confirmed a hundred thousand years ago, and an Episcopal Church a couple of towns over. Neither feels like home yet. But neither has ever said anything other than We're so happy to see you and your daughter, or, on a particularly...busy...morning with C at the Episcopal Church, Wow! You sure had your hands full this morning!<br />
<br />
I hope it will get better. Just like any breakup, I'm sure it will just take a lot of time. And, in the long run, I hope that by doing this I'm teaching C about the importance not only of community, but of finding the right community and knowing when it's best to move on, even if it's hard and it hurts.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06407370254691153441noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4634946583244453841.post-57651947497550047432012-04-15T18:37:00.000-04:002012-04-15T18:37:41.537-04:00Easter MiraclesHappy Greek Easter!<br />
<br />
We've been so busy. Three is busy.<br />
<br />
Check it out:<br />
<br />
<br />
<center><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/7330191@N02/7057005883/" title="012 by saisquoi, on Flickr"><img alt="012" height="500" src="http://farm8.staticflickr.com/7075/7057005883_a44076e026.jpg" width="480" /></a></center><br />
<br />
Someone got a fancy dress. She wore it to church.<br />
<br />
<br />
<center><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/7330191@N02/6910924872/" title="016 by saisquoi, on Flickr"><img alt="016" height="375" src="http://farm8.staticflickr.com/7177/6910924872_56b8715105.jpg" width="500" /></a></center><br />
<br />
And egg hunting.<br />
<br />
<br />
<center><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/7330191@N02/6910929448/" title="022 by saisquoi, on Flickr"><img alt="022" height="375" src="http://farm6.staticflickr.com/5454/6910929448_0825dc6c39.jpg" width="500" /></a></center><br />
<br />
I'm not sure this dress has enough skirt. C thinks it is perfect and she was a pretty pink princess.<br />
<br />
Now is when I switch things up and give you a hint of TMI. Sorry.<br />
<br />
Four years ago, I had a positive pregnancy test the Saturday before Palm Sunday. And on Palm Sunday I started to bleed. It was a chemical pregnancy. It was so early, I hadn't told anyone other than my husband. It had taken us five years of trying to see those two lines, and then they were gone. It was devastating. For me, Easter didn't come that year. I never felt the joy. I never felt the Resurrection. It was like being stuck on Good Friday. Being stuck in the Passion narrative.<br />
<br />
Because it was so early, I had a hard time feeling justified in my grief. I mean, it was <i>so </i>early. But, I did grieve. And, honestly, I still sort of do, which is silly, because we were able to get pregnant a few cycles later and that pregnancy gave us C. If that other pregnancy had gone through, I wouldn't have C, and I don't even want to imagine what my life would be like without her. Still, every year, Holy Week comes and I remember that other...that brief moment...and the grief that I felt and I hid and I never shared with anyone except my husband who maybe didn't understand but tried so hard to make me happy again.<br />
<br />
This year on Good Friday I took a pregnancy test. I don't really know why...it was the day my period was slated to start but it hadn't. And there were two lines. The second one was faint, but it was there. And when I tested a few days later, it was still there. And I had a truly joyful Easter. A sort of resurrection. A partial healing, or at least a balm on some old wounds.<br />
<br />
I know you're not supposed to announce a pregnancy so early. I'm five weeks. Things could go south. Or not. No one knows right now. And no one will know. But what I learned four years ago was that if I couldn't share my joys, I couldn't share my sorrows. I had to hold them all to myself. And it's hard--it's hard to do both. So, I share my joy with you today. In mid-December we should be a family of four. It's taken us two years of trying to get here. I had pretty much given up hope that it would happen. But this year we were granted an Easter Miracle. Something that has brought our family as much joy as that poofy pink dress brought my three year old on Easter morning.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06407370254691153441noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4634946583244453841.post-76750760467095955822012-02-26T16:52:00.001-05:002012-02-26T16:52:15.589-05:00Shinkan-zen<div style="margin: 0 0 10px 0; padding: 0; font-size: 0.8em; line-height: 1.6em;"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/7330191@N02/6932758347/" title="DSCF1198"><img src="http://farm8.staticflickr.com/7204/6932758347_6678c01527.jpg" alt="DSCF1198 by saisquoi" /></a><br/><span style="margin: 0;"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/7330191@N02/6932758347/">DSCF1198</a>, a photo by <a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/7330191@N02/">saisquoi</a> on Flickr.</span></div><p>I knit something! This is a Shinkan-zen shawlette. It knit up really fast--in two weeks of occasional knitting. <br /><br />Yarn Pirate merino/tencel Ceres colorway on size 4 addis. I had my doubts when it was knitting up because it sort of stripes and pools. But I'm very happy with the end results.<br /><br />Next up for traveling knitting is a TGV, also in Yarn Pirate--this time the Zephyr colorway on the merino/bamboo base.<br /><br />I also have a sweater for C I should finish before she outgrows it--but I've had a devil of a time picking up the stitches for the sleeves. I've also got yarn for probably two other cardigans for her. And yarn for some BIG SHAWLS for me.<br /><br />But the single skein shawlettes are working really well for me and my attention span right now.</p>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06407370254691153441noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4634946583244453841.post-66448630378550981452012-01-25T10:06:00.000-05:002012-01-25T10:06:28.771-05:00ThreeLookit what I have:<br />
<br />
<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/7330191@N02/6735866241/" title="C and Dolly by saisquoi, on Flickr"><img alt="C and Dolly" height="500" src="http://farm8.staticflickr.com/7005/6735866241_92d32a8c65.jpg" width="375" /></a><br />
<br />
Yes, it's blurry. Yes, it's a bad picture. But that? My friends? Is what three looks like. Three is perpetual motion. Three is smiles and screams, hugs and tantrums, all rolled up into a whirling dervish of blue eyes and curly hair.<br />
<br />
Two seemed so much more...pensive.<br />
<br />
<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/7330191@N02/6690724217/" title="Untitled by saisquoi, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm8.staticflickr.com/7164/6690724217_4c383e2f77.jpg" width="375" height="500" alt=""></a><br />
<br />
But I have a good feeling about three. Three brings us to the start of early preschool next week. Three brings us some sight reading. Three brings us tons of imagination and a love of princess dresses, crowns, dollies, doggies, and lollipops.<br />
<br />
Three is going to be fun.<br />
<br />
Note: The doll in the first picture is a 10-inch jointed Waldorf Style Doll from <a href="http://www.etsy.com/shop/makingfriends">Making Friends on Etsy</a>. If you're in the market for this type of doll, I highly recommend them.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06407370254691153441noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4634946583244453841.post-38346102530676812722011-12-15T15:21:00.002-05:002011-12-15T15:28:38.683-05:00C @ STREET<div style="font-size: 0.8em; line-height: 1.6em; margin: 0 0 10px 0; padding: 0;"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/7330191@N02/6460950469/" title="C @ STREET"><img alt="C @ STREET by saisquoi" src="http://farm8.staticflickr.com/7155/6460950469_ffffa11dd6.jpg" /></a><br />
<span style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/7330191@N02/6460950469/">C @ STREET</a>, a photo by <a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/7330191@N02/">saisquoi</a> on Flickr.</span></div>I forgot to post this last week when we went out for "Big Girl Lunch."<br />
<br />
C and I are frequently Ladies Who Lunch. She is actually very good company and generally well-behaved. We were both suffering from a cold on this particular Big Girl Lunch outing, and I wanted to try the Pho at <a href="http://streetfood360.com/" target="_blank">Street</a>, a local restaurant/hipster joint specializing in street food from around the world.<br />
<br />
C requested a hot dog, but ended up eating a fair amount of my Pho. We went back the following week for more Pho at her request.<br />
<br />
Crazy as it may be, I am incredibly proud of having produced a little foodie to keep me company.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06407370254691153441noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4634946583244453841.post-91878992790997927322011-11-23T09:01:00.000-05:002011-11-23T09:01:26.340-05:00EmmettThis post is L-O-N-G overdue, and I apologize to <a href="http://noirbettie.com/blog">Annika</a> both for the crappy quality of my cellphone pictures and for the fact that it's taken me so long to post about <a href="http://www.ravelry.com/patterns/library/emmett">Emmett</a>. I promise I will take better pictures once I can find my actual camera.<br />
<br />
<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/7330191@N02/6388625415/" title="Emmett sweater by saisquoi, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm8.staticflickr.com/7160/6388625415_a11cfd4fc1.jpg" width="375" height="500" alt="Emmett sweater"></a><br />
<br />
I loved knitting this sweater. The yarn was a <a href="http://yarnpirate.com">YarnPirate</a> teal I bought many moons ago. The pattern was straightforward and the finished product is practical. Unless you're really particular regarding the placement of buttons for boys and girls, this is one of very few items I've knit that could totally be used by a male sibling, should such a thing come to pass. Of course, this sweater doesn't actually <i>have</i> buttons, because C finds them to be offensive.<br />
<br />
Toddlers. They are weird.<br />
<br />
<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/7330191@N02/6388631889/" title="Untitled by saisquoi, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm8.staticflickr.com/7172/6388631889_24e21f1551.jpg" width="375" height="500" alt=""></a><br />
<br />
Speaking of toddlers...I'm not going to have one for much longer. Someone is coming right up on three. MY BABY! WHAT HAPPENED?! C is getting so big. She talks all. The. Time. She loves mermaids and princesses and skulls and dolls and her family and rubber chickens and OMGgiraffes. She was a giraffe for Halloween and is still talking about it.<br />
<br />
<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/7330191@N02/6298962056/" title="Giraffe with rubber chicken by saisquoi, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm7.staticflickr.com/6233/6298962056_e37afc439c.jpg" width="375" height="500" alt="Giraffe with rubber chicken"></a><br />
<br />
We have had a very difficult few months Chez Saisquoi, but things seem like they might be mending. I'm debating on how much to air via blog post because some of the stories are not entirely mine to tell. And the ones that are mine to tell are not happy and cheerful and I don't like how they present me as being, you know, human and all. But, at the same time, maybe it's helpful to post the difficult alongside the easy...the awful alongside the awesome. I don't know.<br />
<br />
What I do know is that US Thanksgiving is tomorrow, and I have a whole heck of a lot to be thankful for--starting with my big girl who makes turkey pictures with handprints and wants to sing Puff the Magic Dragon every night at bedtime, snuggled up with her Mama and Daddy.<br />
<br />
PS: I do have buttons for the sweater. But since my child won't wear the sweater if it has buttons? I'll sew them on when she outgrows it. Oy.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06407370254691153441noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4634946583244453841.post-45829653820996054502011-09-06T13:18:00.004-04:002011-09-06T13:21:45.902-04:00Mmmm. Chocolate.<div style="font-size: 0.8em; line-height: 1.6em; margin: 0 0 10px 0; padding: 0;"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/7330191@N02/6120512897/" title="c_chocolate"><img alt="c_chocolate by saisquoi" src="http://farm7.static.flickr.com/6089/6120512897_1c0579ca95.jpg" /></a><br />
<span style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">c_chocolate, a photo by <a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/7330191@N02/">saisquoi</a> on Flickr.</span></div>No, I most certainly did NOT have a snack before lunchtime, Mama. WHY DO YOU ASK?Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06407370254691153441noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4634946583244453841.post-72587052315331471672011-04-27T19:07:00.000-04:002011-04-27T19:07:33.498-04:00SupportI'm going to tell you something that may surprise, shock, or horrify you. My daughter is over two and we're still breastfeeding.<br />
<br />
Actually, if you follow me on Twitter, this shouldn't come as a surprise at all.<br />
<br />
I may have been very lucky, but I have had very few issues nursing C. She was an excellent eater from the beginning and initially, I received a lot of support. My support network started to wane after I hit the one year mark, but when I told people that the WHO recommends nursing for two years and beyond, and that our health care provider indicated that C would benefit from nursing till at least two due to her asthma, they usually backed off.<br />
<br />
Now that she's two, the gloves have started to come off. What was once the best thing I could give my daughter has now somehow become freakish, strange, and stunting--this aspect of our relationship, something she has known since birth, is now deviant and should be eliminated.<br />
<br />
A week or two ago, C and I had a really rough spell. It culminated in her ramping up her need/desire to nurse at a time when I did not want to be touched. It was hard. I felt horrible--I felt like I was failing to live up to what she needed because I needed space from her. Her reaction was to cling to me as tightly as possible. So, I asked for help in an online breastfeeding forum I've participated in since C was born. Specifically, I said that I believe in child-led weaning, that I fully intend to let C wean herself when she is ready, but that I'm having problems setting limits because she's refusing and I'm tired and frustrated. Please Help.<br />
<br />
While I did get some virtual hugs and sympathy, the lion's share of comments were, I once thought as you did and when it got too hard I weaned and we were fine, so you should wean too.<br />
<br />
Um...no.<br />
<br />
This is not to say that for all people weaning is wrong. In our situation I feel to the very depth of my soul that weaning would be the absolute wrong thing to do at this point in time. I know that the reason she clings is because she needs more; my problem was that I didn't have more to give her and I didn't know how to fix the balance.<br />
<br />
I was told that nursing is a relationship--when it's no longer working for both parties it should end. Again, while this might be true for some people, this isn't exactly what I want to teach my daughter about relationships. I want her to know that relationships can be hard, but that doesn't mean they're broken--it doesn't mean they have to end. Often, in improving communication and in making changes, the relationship can be improved and made stronger...better...than it was before. That's what I wanted and needed to hear.<br />
<br />
I did hear it...from another online friend and from my LLL leader. I learned that what I'm feeling is not uncommon among mothers who are nursing toddlers and preschoolers. Most importantly, I learned different ways of approaching the limits I needed to set with C, and when to allow those limits to relax.<br />
<br />
So, why this huge story about my deviant parenting techniques? Because I'm really starting to realize how little support mothers, and perhaps parents in general, receive from their communities--the community at large and even specific parenting communities. Why was the answer to my difficulties with C "wean now, you hippie freak?" Even hearing, "You know, sometimes toddlers are just really needy; it doesn't last forever," would have offered me more of the support I needed at a very difficult time.<br />
<br />
<br />
The experience has brought home the importance of recognizing that we don't know what's going on in other people's families and that the miracle cure in one home may not achieve the desired results in another. The breastfeeding and cosleeping that have been vital to my parenting and my relationship with C will not necessarily work the same way in other households. I need to respect that when I share my experiences or my reasons for doing the things that I do. I'm happy to hear of the experiences and reasons why other parents choose to do what they do. What I don't like, and what I don't find supportive, is the notion that this worked for me and it will work for everyone--you'll be so much happier when you wean/sleep train/etc. like we did.<br />
<br />
That old adage about the village raising the child is true. I bet it will be easier if we base our village on Sesame Street rather than Witch Trial Era Salem.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06407370254691153441noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4634946583244453841.post-9564222666806954642011-01-27T14:49:00.001-05:002011-01-27T15:17:04.592-05:00Give Thanks Mittens<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/7330191@N02/5375108415/" title="C, Mittens 004 by saisquoi, on Flickr"><img alt="C, Mittens 004" height="375" src="http://farm6.static.flickr.com/5290/5375108415_9cb4d5a039.jpg" width="500" /></a> <br />
<br />
These were a test-knit for <a href="http://pumpkin-pie-baby.blogspot.com/">Pumpkin Pie Baby</a> completed in time for C's birthday. Here she is channelling Macaulay Culkin after receiving the mitts:<br />
<br />
<br />
<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/7330191@N02/5375707360/" title="C, Mittens 001 by saisquoi, on Flickr"><img alt="C, Mittens 001" height="375" src="http://farm6.static.flickr.com/5206/5375707360_f80f8b599b.jpg" width="500" /></a><br />
<br />
I used some Peace Fleece <a href="http://saisquoi.blogspot.com/2010/08/sassy.html">left over from a pair of ruffled longies I knit for her this summer</a>, and the mittens knit up quickly. The slip-stitch pattern used for the hands yielded a thick, firm fabric that will be awesome for winter wear--especially this winter of extraordinary snowfall and bitter cold! If I were to make them again, the only change I'd make would be to lengthen the cuff--C has proven adept at removing the mittens and so, for us, longer is better.<br />
<br />
Since I've got what I've got, and these were a test knit (meaning no modifications), I'll add a cord to keep them together and threaded through her jacket. Or, we'll limit wear to car trips rather than outside play.<br />
<br />
These are actually my second finished objects of 2011. I knit myself a pair of fingerless gloves that I finished on January 2, but I've only got a crappy cell phone picture of those. They are, however, toasty warm--which is very important given this winter of lots of snow and coldness.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06407370254691153441noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4634946583244453841.post-18033665445486739382011-01-21T12:03:00.000-05:002011-01-21T12:03:50.642-05:00Now We Are TwoTwo years ago today you changed everything I thought I knew about myself.<br />
You took the person I was and turned her into a mother.<br />
My sweet, special girl--the baby I had given up hope of ever having, of ever meeting; The toddler who forces us all to see the world through your eyes.<br />
Know that you have brought your own special kind of joy into this world.<br />
And I thank God every day for the miracle of you.<br />
<br />
<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/7330191@N02/5374604270/" title="naughty girl by saisquoi, on Flickr"><img alt="naughty girl" height="375" src="http://farm6.static.flickr.com/5130/5374604270_a9ffde1a37.jpg" width="500" /></a>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06407370254691153441noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4634946583244453841.post-58561316355495255802010-12-01T22:12:00.000-05:002010-12-01T22:12:58.257-05:00Beautiful GirlsThis week, Catherine at <a href="http://www.herbadmother.com/">Her Bad Mother</a> wrote <a href="http://herbadmother.com/2010/11/through-a-glass-brightly/">a wonderful post about herself, her mother, and the unseen and unacknowledged beauty of young women.</a><br />
<br />
A few weeks ago, I was looking at my daughter who is so beautiful it sometimes hurts to look at her.<br />
<br />
<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/7330191@N02/5112238852/" title="DSCF1043.JPG by saisquoi, on Flickr"><img alt="DSCF1043.JPG" height="375" src="http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4088/5112238852_f56243a9da.jpg" width="500" /></a><br />
<br />
She doesn't have a clue. She just does her thing...and does it as fully and completely as possible, which only makes her lovelier.<br />
<br />
And as I sat gazing at my beautiful daughter, I felt my heart start to break with the knowledge that one day, probably when she hit Middle School, she was likely to come stomping into the house and tell me how ugly she was. And I would tell her, No, Baby, you're not. You're beautiful. And she would respond with an eye roll and the "You're my Mom; you <i>have</i> to say that" comment before dragging herself to her room, slamming the door, and having a sulk.<br />
<br />
How do I know she'll do it? Because I did it to my Mom.<br />
<br />
After I had this realization, I tried really hard to apologize to my Mother--like so many things she told me I'd someday understand, <i>I get it now. </i>But the words wouldn't come out--I was so horrified and upset with how I imagined I made her feel--how <i>I </i>would feel if C today decided to behave like my teenaged self--that all I could do was weep and say I'm so very sorry...I just didn't know...<br />
<br />
And my mother, being my mother, gave me a hug and said "It's OK. We all do it. It's part of being a daughter and part of being a mother. And when C does it, you'll be sad and frustrated, but you'll both be OK. And one day, she'll get it, too."<br />
<br />
I wish there was a way I could keep it from happening--a way I could help C always see what I see. So that she always knows she's beautiful and loved and smart, regardless of what she thinks the other kids are thinking. She's getting so big so fast...there are days now I can see the independence (I do it, Mama!) and I know that even if I found a way to help her bypass all that self-doubt and angst, she wouldn't let me.<br />
<br />
It's hard, isn't it? Having to trust that they'll come out OK on the other side when they refuse all offers of help? When you see all the beauty and all the potential while they focus on the scars and the failings?<br />
<br />
Maybe she'll bypass some of it. I suppose it could happen. After all, it takes a strong woman to pull off a panda suit.<br />
<br />
<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/7330191@N02/5112238324/" title="DSCF1039.JPG by saisquoi, on Flickr"><img alt="DSCF1039.JPG" height="500" src="http://farm2.static.flickr.com/1324/5112238324_ac7b42a206.jpg" width="375" /></a>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06407370254691153441noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4634946583244453841.post-59275590606910126932010-11-29T20:54:00.001-05:002010-11-29T21:14:56.168-05:00Daily Heart AttackSo, I knew today was going to have a few snags. Any morning that begins with an 8:00 AM booster shot for your toddler has the potential for...high drama. I figured I was just exceptionally lucky when we made it out of the doctor's office with no screaming and only a small meltdown when I left her at school.<br />
<br />
I went off to work and tried really hard to focus. It being the day after a very long weekend, my brain had a really hard time remembering what it is we do to make money. So that was fun. Then I got an e-mail notification that I had a new voice mail message. I checked it. It was for my husband--a woman who I didn't know left an exceptionally vague message, the gist of which was "Long time no see; call me and we'll talk more about...that thing."<br />
<br />
I did what any curious wife would do--I googled her. And I came across a listing for a DIVORCE LAWYER. Yeah. Hello, Monday!<br />
<br />
As I sat at my desk and felt myself turn into a quivering pile of nauseated self-doubt and panic, I tried really hard to listen to the Voice of Reason. The VOR said things like, I bet she does other things. Like Wills. We need to write up a will and you've been pestering him for 2 years to get it done. Or bankruptcy. Maybe this has something to do with those student loans we thought were cleared up but have perhaps never gone away. All the while, mind you, the Voice of Panic is jumping up and down, yelling DIVORCE LAWYER!! SHE SPECIALIZES IN DIVORCE, SEPARATION, AND <b>CUSTODY ISSUES!!!!</b><br />
<br />
After the VOP took a baseball bat to the VOR and I considered telling my boss I had to leave RIGHT NOW, going and picking up C, and checking us into a hotel somewhere while I found my own divorce lawyer, I decided to call my husband and ask him if he wanted to tell me anything, perhaps about why a DIVORCE LAWYER was calling our house?!<br />
<b> </b><br />
Oh--he says--I got a notice about a hearing regarding a case I worked on in 1997 and I was asking her if she thought I needed to be present, considering I'm no longer a member of the Bar. Didn't I tell you about this? Um, no. No you did not. Oh--he says--the County Court office might be calling, too, because I called them to ask as well. Awesome. Thanks for giving me the heads up on that one. <br />
<br />
I'm on my second glass of wine right now. I think I might possibly relax at some point before tomorrow. Perhaps. I may also have another glass of wine.<br />
<br />
On a completely unrelated note...I started another blog! If you want to see what I think of one of the daily office readings for the day, come visit me at <a href="http://borderlinedivine.blogspot.com/">borderlinedivine.blogspot.com</a>. If you couldn't care less what I think about the Bible, that is all good, too. I'll hopefully be blogging here a bit more regularly...as I've said many a time before.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06407370254691153441noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4634946583244453841.post-15184384834317475872010-11-21T21:06:00.001-05:002010-11-22T09:43:28.678-05:00UniformsA few weeks ago I bought an outfit. It wasn't a fancy outfit; in fact, I picked it up at Target while getting C some bubble bath. I desperately needed a pair of pants that fit and, well, I was there. <br />
<br />
I picked up a pair of army drab cargo pants, a lightweight, beige, crewneck sweater, and a long gray cardigan/shrug...thing.<br />
<br />
It is my new favorite outfit. I'm seriously considering picking up another pair of pants and another crewneck sweater. I'd wear it every day if I could. Maybe I should. When one talks about simplification, clothes are a great place to start. My life needs simplifying, and if I didn't have to think about clothes, it might be a great start.<br />
<br />
The funny thing is...I've had this outfit before. In fact, I've worn this outfit in various forms since high school when I lifted a pair of my Dad's fatigue pants, cinched the waist, and proclaimed them mine. Sexy? No. Comfortable? Yes. And somehow, very, very, me.<br />
<br />
My senior year of high school or freshman year of college, I bought a gray v-necked cardigan from Express. My best friend got one, too. I still have mine. And wear it, often. <br />
<br />
In college, I permanently borrowed an old, ratty, beige sweater from a boy with whom I had one of those nebulous relationships (he's not my boyfriend--he's my best friend--but we fool around and I'm not dating anyone because I'm totally hung up on him...you know--nebulous). When I took the sweater, I think I told him I wasn't giving it back. And I never did. I hauled that sweater around for <i>years </i>before I finally binned it.<br />
<br />
Somehow, I managed to find working versions of all of these pieces, and when I put them all on it's like wearing armor. Or the Iron Man suit. I feel...Safe? Secure? Me? I love that outfit and wonder why I shouldn't wear it every day.<br />
<br />
And, at the same time, I find it strange that clothes seem to have such strong sense memory for me. I'm not terribly interested in clothes (as evidenced by the fact that my new favorite outfit comes from off the rack at Target), yet I find certain things and they bring me right back to the time in my life where they belonged.<br />
<br />
A few weeks ago, I was searching the basement for a spare storage tote and came across a bunch of things from college: namely, a UNH baseball cap and a pair of mittens. All of a sudden, I was a sophomore in college again. It was after choir rehearsal and I was getting ready to leave and go to dinner with a group of friends including my not-boyfriend, who was wearing my yellow fleece jacket and those damned mittens. And I remember the girl I was, I remember those friends and how close we were, and I failed to empty and repurpose the container. It's still sitting in the basement while I ask myself why I can't toss an old ball cap and a pair of mittens now over ten years old.<br />
<br />
I don't want to go back to my sophomore year in college. I'm happy with my life, with who I am, with the people around me. But, somehow, I can't let go. I'm not ready to bin those foolish mittens yet. Perhaps they're as much a part of my personal uniform as the olive drab trousers, the beige sweater, and the gray cardigan.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06407370254691153441noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4634946583244453841.post-73648120056175591342010-10-06T09:26:00.002-04:002010-10-06T13:22:18.832-04:00Waiting for Communion<div class="mobile-photo"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgC4J8gzrV1xnBCT_Dqrq1gh34gOvAUX3p8DL17CBwq4xI4ihIZ7H0-AxoR3RXr4TRXqcjZpqH837v5z4Ap03s_rKn2v2FCrvxnV8q-Lux2GZRVJj7Lf56arnD0NEf2xLSQUqnl8Q3oua7M/s1600/=%3Futf-8%3FB%3FSU1HMDAzMjMtMjAxMDEwMDMtMTAzNi5qcGc=%3F=-727846"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5524923217738915938" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgC4J8gzrV1xnBCT_Dqrq1gh34gOvAUX3p8DL17CBwq4xI4ihIZ7H0-AxoR3RXr4TRXqcjZpqH837v5z4Ap03s_rKn2v2FCrvxnV8q-Lux2GZRVJj7Lf56arnD0NEf2xLSQUqnl8Q3oua7M/s320/=%3Futf-8%3FB%3FSU1HMDAzMjMtMjAxMDEwMDMtMTAzNi5qcGc=%3F=-727846" /></a></div>C has been going to church with me on Sunday mornings since she was 2 weeks old. We rarely miss a week. The upside of this is that I have a child who is very comfortable in church and who blows my mind on a regular basis with her grasp of what is important and what it means to live in community.<br />
<br />
The trade-off is that she is comfortable enough to run around like a maniac until it's time to "share the bread." Fortunately, our fellow parishioners are kind enough to tolerate my curious and naughty girl.<br />
<br />
On Sunday, she helped me pick up the toys before we went up for Communion. And then she put herself away while we waited our turn.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06407370254691153441noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4634946583244453841.post-64630441843370716132010-10-01T12:33:00.001-04:002010-10-01T12:35:14.241-04:00I guess this about sums me up...<a href="http://www.wordle.net/show/wrdl/2511789/Saisquoi" title="Wordle: Saisquoi"><img alt="Wordle: Saisquoi" src="http://www.wordle.net/thumb/wrdl/2511789/Saisquoi" style="border-bottom: #ddd 1px solid; border-left: #ddd 1px solid; border-right: #ddd 1px solid; border-top: #ddd 1px solid; padding-bottom: 4px; padding-left: 4px; padding-right: 4px; padding-top: 4px;" /></a><br />
<br />
(Click to embiggen)Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06407370254691153441noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4634946583244453841.post-80193218765440306192010-08-30T08:07:00.001-04:002010-08-30T08:07:21.339-04:00Sassy<div style="float: right; margin-left: 10px; margin-bottom: 10px;"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/7330191@N02/4935819290/" title="photo sharing"><img src="http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4073/4935819290_8cf013a306_m.jpg" alt="" style="border: solid 2px #000000;" /></a><br /><span style="font-size: 0.9em; margin-top: 0px;"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/7330191@N02/4935819290/">DSCF0990.JPG</a><br />Originally uploaded by <a href="http://www.flickr.com/people/7330191@N02/">saisquoi</a></span></div>Yes, my friends, this is what sassy looks like. In our house, anyway. Eat your heart out, boys.<br clear="all" />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06407370254691153441noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4634946583244453841.post-35672007152310492542010-08-03T21:13:00.002-04:002010-08-03T21:46:47.966-04:00RibbitHey, look! Cute baby in cute pants!<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<center><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/7330191@N02/4858730504/" title="DSCF0937.JPG by saisquoi, on Flickr"><img alt="DSCF0937.JPG" height="375" src="http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4116/4858730504_0596675789.jpg" width="500" /></a><br />
<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/7330191@N02/4858109759/" title="DSCF0935.JPG by saisquoi, on Flickr"><img alt="DSCF0935.JPG" height="375" src="http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4073/4858109759_cb439c3b08_b.jpg" width="500" /></a><br />
<br />
<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/7330191@N02/4858729790/" title="DSCF0928.JPG by saisquoi, on Flickr"><img alt="DSCF0928.JPG" height="375" src="http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4122/4858729790_dc89632578.jpg" width="500" /></a></center><br />
This is <a href="http://petitepurls.com/Spring10/spring2010_pleapfrog.html">Leapfrog</a> in Cascade 220, so they are multitasking pants which serve as excellent playclothes as well as a diaper cover. Oh, and did I mention the cuteness?<br />
<br />
Overall, I'm pretty pleased with them. They are a little shorter than I'd like them to be, and so I'm considering taking out the cast-off edge and just adding another cable repeat or two to make them full length pants. Not that they're awful now...just shorter than I intended. C is a bit hard to knit for--her legs are <i>very</i> short (just like her Daddy's), so everything I make is either way too long or too short as I overcompensate. The first pair of longies I made for her ended up being about 4 inches too long because I followed the pattern rather than my kid.<br />
<br />
I'm not quite sure where my error was on these because I actually tried them on her to confirm proper length before I cast off the first leg. I'm guessing she may have done something crazy like grow. Or I just can't measure to save my life. Either are possible.<br />
<br />
In other news, I wrote a guest post for <a href="http://babywearingitup.blogspot.com/">Babywearing It Up</a> last week which you can find <a href="http://babywearingitup.blogspot.com/2010/07/babywearing-stories-lessons-from-my.html">here</a>.<br />
<br />
And last weekend, we took C for her first trip to the Big City for dim sum.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<center><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/7330191@N02/4858109241/" title="DSCF0926.JPG by saisquoi, on Flickr"><img alt="DSCF0926.JPG" height="375" src="http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4078/4858109241_fd82b6df03.jpg" width="500" /></a></center><br />
A good time was had by all. She loved all the different things to try. Then we took her on the subway to go out to the North End from Chinatown so that we could get pastries at <a href="http://www.mikespastry.com/">Mike's</a>. The Beloved and I each had an espresso and we all shared a lobstertail. One of the ladies brought C a cookie and told us how beautiful she is. And we brought half a pound of raspberry bow cookies home (they didn't last the night...SO TASTY). We opted to put C in the Ergo rather than try a stroller--we always do a fair amount of walking when we go to the City and C can't quite keep up yet. But between the stairs at the restaurant (we ate on the 3rd floor), the stairs in the subway station, and being in small places like the subway and the bakery, babywearing really was the way to go. Even The Beloved was impressed with how easy it was; we're planning another trip next month for more dim sum and a visit to the aquarium.<br />
<br />
I can hardly wait.<br />
<br />
And completely unrelated to anything...I'm agonizing over the discrepancy between my Twitter ID (Lustau) and the rest of my online existence as Saisquoi. When I signed up for Twitter, Saisquoi was taken, so I gave myself a new name, but it's always bothered me that it doesn't match. I can change it, but my Twitter ID would include underscores (_) or numbers. I can't decide if I'd be happier as _Saisquoi or Saisquoi_ or even Sais_Quoi or if I should just remain Lustau on Twitter.<br />
<br />
This what they call a "First World Problem." I really need to get out more.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06407370254691153441noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4634946583244453841.post-21172475542144013532010-07-15T21:12:00.000-04:002010-07-15T21:12:07.785-04:00Storytime<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIKJL65KQHm_PGkxoxyeTJGTh8NElx5axd_LrPtnACIJY2rZw1_-zcRTc0wSZ55bSqLuWFRGVcex8_Y0d4xEu4qOi1l0N959sg2nIKPmMkE03pRrgvAkhwBiiGR2TtoriAOXzGpUVGOiME/s1600/IMG00251-20100702-0849.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIKJL65KQHm_PGkxoxyeTJGTh8NElx5axd_LrPtnACIJY2rZw1_-zcRTc0wSZ55bSqLuWFRGVcex8_Y0d4xEu4qOi1l0N959sg2nIKPmMkE03pRrgvAkhwBiiGR2TtoriAOXzGpUVGOiME/s320/IMG00251-20100702-0849.jpg" /></a></div>I love books. The feel of them, their smell, the stories contained within. I just love them. We...well I...have quite a collection. Every bookcase in our house is packed and there is at least one book resting on every flat surface. And I have so looked forward to the opportunity to share them with my children.<br />
<br />
C...well...C took a long time to come by. When I found out I was pregnant with her, I had basically given up hoping The Beloved and I would ever have a child of our own. But, lo and behold, I was wrong. And so now I have someone with whom to share stories old and new.<br />
<br />
We were fortunate to receive many books from friends at a baby shower prior to C's birth. And I was so excited to begin reading them with her. When we all came home and I held her in my arms and tried to read, all I could do was cry. There she was...she was so perfect...and she was ours and we were hers! And whenever I tried to share my books--our stories--I wept. I wept because she was wonderful and because she was a miracle and because I didn't believe I would ever have the opportunity that stood before me but there she was in my arms looking up at me in all of her perfection...and probably because of all the hormones, too, but that's something else.<br />
<br />
After a week or two, I gave up trying to read picture books because I couldn't possibly get through them. So, the first book we read together ended up being <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Coraline-Neil-Gaiman/dp/0380807343/ref=tmm_pap_title_0?ie=UTF8&qid=1279239316&sr=8-8"><i>Coraline</i></a> by Neil Gaiman. We then moved on to stories from <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Blue-Fairy-Book-Andrew-Lang/dp/1450526837/ref=sr_1_2?ie=UTF8&s=books&qid=1279239550&sr=1-2"><i>The Blue Fairy Book</i></a>...which I had actually started reading aloud to my belly during the latter part of my pregnancy.<br />
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Eventually, I could read picture books and board books with her. She loves her stories and will frequently bring people books to share...Sometimes she wants <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Very-Hungry-Caterpillar-Eric-Carle/dp/0399226907/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&s=books&qid=1279239651&sr=1-1"><i>The Very Hungry Caterpiller</i></a>, and sometimes she favors <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Essential-Gandhi-Anthology-Writings-Ideas/dp/1400030501/ref=sr_1_3?ie=UTF8&s=books&qid=1279239732&sr=1-3"><i>The Essential Gandhi</i></a>. She's a strange one.<br />
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This morning before school, she brought me a board book I had purposefully hidden: <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Velveteen-Rabbit-Margery-Williams/dp/0794409482/ref=sr_1_7?ie=UTF8&s=books&qid=1279239911&sr=1-7"><i>The Velveteen Rabbit</i></a>.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjy9Aovqs758XFv5XMDZBQkUvruiSdwimLTj6k1vsg26ksY4948DXGjxK1JToqapwAOGwB4p9P0jA2j0lICcjLkGK-hBPmhjjqY1MZ9T2Flqpr5II_4qJpSwHLWI3ksqPrvH-x9Ngqyrah3/s1600/velveteenrabbit.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjy9Aovqs758XFv5XMDZBQkUvruiSdwimLTj6k1vsg26ksY4948DXGjxK1JToqapwAOGwB4p9P0jA2j0lICcjLkGK-hBPmhjjqY1MZ9T2Flqpr5II_4qJpSwHLWI3ksqPrvH-x9Ngqyrah3/s200/velveteenrabbit.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>The pages have a fair amount of text on them, considering it's a board book, so I just talked about the pictures thinking that by avoiding the actual text of the story, I'd be OK. And...so close...but no. When I got to the picture of the rabbit in the bag of discarded toys and the Nursery Fairy, I could feel my throat close and my eyes well up and somehow I made it to the end and only cried a little. We repeated the process this afternoon.<br />
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At bedtime, she wanted it <i>again</i>, but this time she wanted the whole story. She wanted me to read it to her, not just point out the pictures. So I did. And I cried a little when the old rocking horse talks about being Real. And I cried some more when the boy pronounces the rabbit Real. And I sobbed when the Fairy talks about how she can make the rabbit Real because he has been loved by a child. All the while, my poor child is looking at me in utter confusion: <i>Why do bunnies make Mama so sad?</i><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6UH2kve-T-m-QgmBlyvkphyphenhyphenTq8w_05KVeHApQF_r8vt2hyN6aR9GNxS8mZ-K3Lu_9V_nj6Mj24dLRw3UwcVKstCiM82icBmJ9ES4JoXK5qWECR3ajCyjl4S3qdrTIOejIJA4D-h4hg2RT/s1600/IMG00261-20100703-0924.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6UH2kve-T-m-QgmBlyvkphyphenhyphenTq8w_05KVeHApQF_r8vt2hyN6aR9GNxS8mZ-K3Lu_9V_nj6Mj24dLRw3UwcVKstCiM82icBmJ9ES4JoXK5qWECR3ajCyjl4S3qdrTIOejIJA4D-h4hg2RT/s200/IMG00261-20100703-0924.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>The story has always made me teary, but it's somehow different...truer...when I tell it to my own dear girl than it was the last time I read it. I can't help but wonder if it's because C has made me Real by loving and needing me as much as I love and need her.<i> </i>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06407370254691153441noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4634946583244453841.post-27692958037596992112010-07-01T20:27:00.000-04:002010-07-01T20:27:48.325-04:00A Bit of a DilemmaI am an avid babywearer. Seriously--I can pretty well count on my fingers the number of times C has ridden in a stroller. My carrier stash looks something like this:<br />
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1 <a href="http://www.hotslings.com/La_Vie_en_Rose_p/sc-623.htm">Hotslings</a> pouch<br />
2 <a href="http://www.slingsandbabythings.com/about.php">Slings & Baby Things</a> pouch slings<br />
1 <a href="http://meitaibaby.com/index.html">Mei Tai Baby</a> Mei Tai<br />
1 <a href="http://www.scootababy.com/products.php">Scootababy</a> hip carrier<br />
1 <a href="http://www.nurturedfamily.com/original-maya-wrap-baby-sling-with-dvd.aspx">Maya Wrap</a> ring sling (unpadded)<br />
1 <a href="http://www.naturalmomgear.com/catalog/572/Beco-Baby-Carrier-Butterfly-II-Carnival-20.html">Beco Butterfly 2</a> soft structured carrier (SSC)<br />
1 <a href="http://www.gypsymama.com/shop/proddetail.php?prod=javed&cat=10">Wrapsody Bali Breeze</a> gauze wrap<br />
1 <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Ergo-Organic-Carrier-Black-embroidery/dp/B00380LVZ2">Ergo</a> SSC<br />
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Yikes. Granted, I did not buy all of these myself, and those that I did purchase were all bought on sale. But still, I probably could have purchased one of those insanely expensive strollers I roll my eyes at when people suggest I invest in one.<br />
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I have used all of these slings and carriers and loved most of them for something or another. The pouch slings were my first and they allowed me to do things like eat when C was tiny. She was one who would wail when I had to put her down to go to the bathroom. So I learned to use the sling instead. I was given the Hotsling and one of the Slings & Baby Things pouches as baby shower gifts, so that's what I turned to first. Pouches are sized, so when I lost 30 pounds in the month following C's birth, the Slings & Baby Things pouch no longer fit. Which is why I bought the second one in the skinnier-me size.<br />
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During the summer, I wanted to garden. To do that, I needed to get C onto my back--hence, the Mei Tai. It's a beautiful carrier, and it worked OK, but it was tricky learning to get the baby on my back and the straps always dragged and got tangled up while I was trying to get her affixed to me. Because of this, it wasn't very practical for outings.<br />
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As C got bigger, she got more daring and adventurous. She liked (and still likes) riding on my hip in a sling, but she started trying to flip herself out over the back. Enter the Scootababy, which is a soft structured carrier used only for hip carries. I felt guilty spending the money on what is essentially a one trick pony...but C only liked the one trick! It's a great carrier--supportive and comfortable with the bonus of it being incredibly difficult for the little imp to try and flip herself out of.<br />
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Gradually, C outgrew the pouch slings. I know they are supposed to be sized to the mother and theoretically carry 4-year-olds, but mine didn't. Part of this was perhaps due to C being a pretty fat baby (she has slimmed down considerably since becoming mobile; her rolls used to have rolls). Anyway, I used my pouch slings a lot because they were easy and portable, so I decided to try a ring sling thinking it would have a little more flexibility. Lo and behold--it did! And so the ring sling now lives in my car where it is my go-to for any and all outings.<br />
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For Christmas this year, the Beloved asked what I wanted and I decided the time had come for a soft structured carrier which I could use for back carries. The hip carries are wonderful and still my favorite for when we are out and about so that C and I can chat about what's going on, but they are not good for things like cooking and cleaning. Once C became mobile, I really needed to have her up and out of danger when I was making dinner or doing laundry. I decided on the Beco because it's got a high back and theoretically it would be harder for the monkey child to flip herself out. Also, it is a much more attractive carrier than the Ergo, which is the other one I was looking at. It worked exceptionally well in that I got very comfortable with back carries (there's an excellent insert that serves as training wheels for the faint of heart like myself) and that C would actually tolerate to ride on my chest even when she wasn't sick (unlike in the Mei Tai, which was only acceptable to her when she didn't feel well).<br />
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A few months ago I ordered the wrap because it was on sale, it was a skull print, and I wanted to try wrapping without breaking the bank. It was a winner on all counts. When I get C wrapped properly, we're both very comfortable, and because it's gauze it's really cool when the weather is hot. Unfortunately, gauze takes a bit more attention to detail--it can really dig in to your shoulders if you're not careful how you wrap--and C is a wiggly monkey.<br />
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In the last month, I've worn her a lot. But I've also developed back pain. So much so that I actually started looking at strollers, thinking our heavy duty babywearing days might be over. I ended up buying the Ergo on markdown from <a href="http://www.babysteals.com/">Babysteals</a> last week as a last-ditch effort. I wore it today and was pleasantly surprised--no pain! Unfortunately, it's much lower in the back than the Beco, so C tried to flip herself out of it. Fortunately, she stayed put...but it makes me a bit nervous.<br />
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Anyway. Now that we've taken the long way to my problem, here it is:<br />
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I'm cleaning house. I don't need this many carriers and am planning on selling the ones that no longer work for us, so I'll list the pouch slings and the mei tai and hang on to the rest for the time being. The one carrier that's up in the air is the Beco. I love it. It's beautiful. My husband bought it for me--not because he understands babywearing at all, but he understands that it's important to me to be able to carry C as much as possible...and also because I think he recognizes how stroller-unfriendly our downtown area is. But it doesn't seem to be a good fit for me with a bigger baby. It was fine until she passed 20 pounds, but now...not so much.<br />
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So, what should I do? Should I hang on to it so that I have it for the mythical, hoped for, but not yet created baby #2? Should I sell it? Should I fiddle with it some more to see if I can make it not so hurty on me (after all, I actually feel safer about C riding in it)? What do you thinkAnonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06407370254691153441noreply@blogger.com3