A Christmas Letter...

T'was the night before Christmas and I decided to finally type up a Christmas letter. Here is the e-mail version with the benefit of a few images.

Over the past year our little California bungalow has primarily been a whir of the domestic adventures of the early parenting years: preschool art projects, potty training surprises, and the challenges of getting playdoh out of carpets. But we realize the unique joys of sleeping with a toddler's foot in one's face and snuggling with a footed-PJ clad 4-going-on-14yr old are almost over. Thea will start Kindergarten this year, and Noah has begun the 2's with the energy of a revved up Energizer bunny.

To keep sane we try to stay true to our pre-parenting vagabonding days and ensure our children are thoroughly eaten by the travel bug from an early age.

This year, our destinations were more nostalgic than exotic: we rang the new year in in Vermont, Jen finagled a trip to Victoria to speak as one of her high school's centennial speakers in Feb; March took us back to NY for Jen's annual presentation at the UN Commission on the Status of Women, followed by a sunny wedding for Brent's cousin in South Carolina (all in the company of Brent's patient folks). April I think we actually took a break (if you don't count camping along Cali's coast and welcoming visitors to San Diego) in order to gear up for May!
 

It only took seven years and a successful conference submission to get us back to Small Trees. We started with 10 glorious days in England before heading to Prague for Jen to present a paper at the fourth global conference on Storytelling.

Devon was everything I remembered - misty mornings, cream teas, cold drizzle, warm pubs. Little had changed around Yelverton's small roundabout, with the notable exception of a little café boasting free Wi-Fi. Better yet, we discovered the Rock pub had it too. Introducing Thea and Noah to places that hold some of my dearest childhood memories and long overdue reunions with friends, family and the Moors brought a commitment to make sure we head back every other year.

Prague was wonderful as well. Despite a wetter week than England, we balanced strolling along old cobblestone streets, taking in famous landmarks like the St. Charles Bridge, the Astronomical clock, and Prague Castle with periods of sheltered respite watching life go by from the covered patios of numerous cafes. Thea and Noah seemed at home amidst the culture and ancient landmarks of both countries, and didn't let a little rain get in the way of sampling traditional European delicacies, like ice cream.

 

Jen and Brent's work have both been drama-filled. June - Oct. Jen was consumed with the Women PeaceMakers residency, and Brent was consumed with keeping the house running and the kids (and himself) alive and well amidst her long absences. Along with the usual hecticness of the residency, this year additional intrigue swirled as Jen worked behind the scenes to try to find a new home for the program. By the time the PeaceMakers left and our little family flew to Vermont for two weeks of RnR and to welcome our new niece, Lucia Freeman, things were starting to fall into place. There are too many moving parts still shifting to announce anything yet, but we're hopeful that the coming year will offer new opportunities and locations for the program, and maybe for our little family too.

 

For now, our focus is on slowing down. Sitting in my parent's light-drenched kitchen typing this over breakfast, we are looking forward to three luxurious weeks to surround ourselves with friends and family here, enjoy the cold, celebrate the holidays and breathe the cool moist air of the west coast as we contemplate the year to come. Something tells me its not going to be any less eventful. 

Wishing all of you light and joy for the season, and laughter and hope in the year to come. May our world and its interconnected lives be filled with kindness, gratitude and peace.

There were three in the bed and the little one said...

TWO-TWO MILKS!!!!!

Likely bellowed from bed (his mood pre-milk is much like mine pre-coffee) or at the start of a long car ride once everyone is strapped in, most people who have met N soon learn his term for nursing. Some babies adopt adorable terms like "Mo-mo", "Nummies" or even the simple, Hooters-approved, "Booooobies!" N is more practical. "There are two of them, they make milk. It's not rocket science," I imagine him explaining, exasperated. 

I'm vaguely aware that a sizeable portion of the U.S. has some sort of opinion about nursing a nearly two year old. Some passionately support the health and psychological benefits for mother and child; others see it as socially unacceptable to provide nourishment to a child who's old enough to ask to be fed from a body part that society would rather resexualize. 

For me, it's simply a continuation of the mixture of feelings, challenges and benefits of feeding a newborn. It's often a pain in the boob. The physical discomfort has graduated from the cracked, raw nipples of learning to latch, to the exquisite pain of having soft, delicate flesh treated like the extendable rubber of a taught elastic band. The clawing scratches of infant fingernails made way for heel-to-the-boob kicks when suddenly, "toesies want two-two milks!" And now I am almost nostalgic for the awkward fumbling of public latch-ons with a squalling babe, when strangers and friends alike are often treated to N confidently locating and removing all coverings to his beloved Two-Two Milks at a moment's notice. 

I hear there are a few mothers out there who are able to marry modesty and breastfeeding for longer than a few months. That's wonderful. After 18 hrs of labor, birth, bleeding nipples and a screaming, hungry T, Modesty was simply reprioritized to somewhere between color-coordinating my linen closet and gnawing off my big toe.

But for a mama who spends 40-50+ hrs a week away from her two little ones, telling stories to a nursing N--bown eyes wide and attentive--when I get home from work; stroking his hair while he nurses to sleep at night; and when he wakes up, snuggling his body in a ball that I can tuck against my belly, are three of my favorite times of the day. Sure, he could get all his daily nutrition from food alone; but maybe not with breastmilk's antibodies and extra je-ne-sais-quoi. Sure, we would still cuddle if he weaned. But my arms would compete more often with the thrill of bed jumping, the curiosity of whatever his sister is up to, and the indefatigable draw of glowing screens. 

So I'll put up with my not-so-tiny bed-hog and the midnight roundhouse kicks to the face (see footnote on bed-sharing); the umpteenth assertion that I do NOT have Go-Go-Gadget nipples; and the occasional flash of boob to the unsuspecting public. We'll save pennies and patience for the excessive and expensive travel plans to keep him, and a familiar caregiver, with me on work trips. And if anyone is looking with eyes that judge me or him for being two and "still" nursing, let them look. I'm too busy feeding my son and trying to keep my clothes and sensitive parts in tact as I do so, to notice or care. 

Because he is my last baby, and once this particular connection is gone, it doesn't come back. Because I believe the clearest path to independence is the one children choose to pursue themselves. Because right now I can't give him everything, but this is a gift--of nutrition and connection--that I can. 

Photo on exhibit in the Nursing is Normal project, VT, by Studio Ten13

*We started co-sleeping in large part because as sleep-deprived new parents, the idea of getting up 5x a night to nurse a baby for 20-60 min, then finagle her into a crib, (start again if she wakes!) and then repeat it all 30 min later seemed ludicrous. We also had a newborn that refused to sleep for longer than 10 min unless she was nestled against another warm body. So out of desperation, and then choice, we co-sleep... but that story is for another post!

Jen's Top 5 Weightloss Tips

Over the last few months I started hearing a disconcerting refrain. Naturally, it started with my mom.

"Jen, you're too skinny!"

Next it was coworkers.

"Jen, you're not looking well. Have you lost weight?"

"Jen, you're looking a little gaunt. Are you eating?" At which my office mate who witnesses my steady 8 hrs of food inhalation would snort. 

For the record, the scale hadn't made a significant downward plunge, and the comments were getting annoying.

So, I thought to put my health in a bit of comic relief with Jen's Top 5 Weightloss Tips!

First though, you need the back story. Growing up I probably would have ransomed my favorite candybar for the future promise of hearing anyone describe me as skinny, let alone "too skinny." Teased by a gang of classmates, I spent grades 1 - 7 identifying as the chubby girl, with all the shame and self-loathing that society helpfully facilitates even a 5 - 12 yr old feeling. Now "fat" is a descriptor that my self-confident, logical, scale-reading 34 year old brain can recognize is no longer true, but it remains an aspect of my identity which I don't think I will ever fully lose. That's not to say I have a poor body image any more (thank you sports and feminist theory). But those formative years have stuck with me, luckily for the most part, in ways I feel has made me a stronger, more compassionate human being, and one who can find beauty and strength in more than one shape and size.

Sooo, for those of you who wanna "lose weight" like me:

1) Max out on workplace stress!
May I suggest a toxic working environment with an incredibly unsupportive, out-of-touch boss; losing funding for your program; and putting a promised promotion on hold for 1.5yrs may help.

2) Buy a workout ball.
Not to workout on! Just to sit on at work and nervously bounce all day. *Warning: may severely annoy office mates*  When not bouncing, I seemed to miss the potential for an "excellent core workout" by modifying the correct upright posture to a limp 15-degree slouch on my desk.

3) Eat. LOTS.
I don't really know why this one works for me. I just know I do a lot of it. Ask anyone who lives in the same house or works in the same office with me for verification. I. Eat. Constantly. I think it has something to do with #5.

4) Avoid Sleep Like the Plague. If you do find yourself falling asleep, be sure to wake up frequently.
I can recommend having small children as a great aid to #4. Also, #1 helps a lot.

5) Breastfeed. For like 4-5 years.
Of course this would likely involve having kids (which would help with #4). (N.B. just in case anyone reading this doesn't know me, I'll spell out that I am in no way shape or form advocating for anyone to get pregnant, undertake the physical and emotional repercussions of a 9-10 month pregnancy, birth, losing the 20 - 40 lbs you gained during pregnancy, and bring a new human being into this world so that you can breastfeed and lose weight. Sheesh, that'd be almost as dumb as having a baby to try to keep a relationship together)

*Brilliant* as these 5 tips are, I'm afraid I am no longer the weight-loss guru! At the end of October I spent two weeks in Vermont. Relaxing. Sleeping. Thousands of miles away from a toxic office (that boss, at the end of my trip, graciously resigned). Not bouncing nervously on my ball. Instead, snuggling my new baby nieceeating the state's signature cheese drowned in maple syrup. And even though the scale never budged, the comments when I returned were markedly different.

"Wow Jen, you look so much healthier!"

"Jen, you look great. Did you put on weight?"

No my friends, I didn't. I'm just happier :)

The littlest bookworm

The other morning, eyes still shut, tossing and turning lightly in his final throws of dreamland my sweet boy suddenly throws his arm in the air and bellows, "BOOK!" Shocked, I figure it must be a vivid dream until he repeats it. Over and over. Slowly opening his eyes to the glare of sunlight still imploring the universe (and me) for the ceaseless delights of his favorite "BOOK!"

Half an hour later Brent returned from his morning run to find both of us, still PJ clad, sitting in the middle of the bed surrounded by close to a dozen of his favorite titles: Haiku Baby, How Kind, The Little Blue Truck, Farm Animals...but the most worn, most frequent request is still for "Moon."

I have a nighttime video I managed to capture of this fabled tale, but can't seem to get it to post (yet). It is of N on reading number 4 or 5, at least half an hour past bedtime. Groggy with sleep, we go through the Great Green Room with the telephone and the red balloon and the picture of a cow jumping over the moon, one last time. My favorite is N's faithful addition of the Old Lady Whispering... "Hussssssssh" :)

Baths, bubbles and bad decisions

Last night was not my finest parenting moment.

I'm sure there's been a few but last night is still smarting, so that's what I'll mull over now.

It began with two overtired kids in the bath before bed (the equivalent of eerie music in a horror film - you know it won't end well). To complete the fairly gross process of soaking T's head in oil and combing out the cradle cap that I only recently realized was still present 3+ YEARS later we were embarking on the infrequent task of lathering her head in (tear-free all natural) shampoo... Soap going in = easy. It's the rinse that's the kicker.

Tried and true options were given ("you can lay down in the bath like a starfish and do it yourself!""We can hold a towel over your eyes!" "You can tip your head up and look at the light so no water will get in your eyes!"), each of which was met with a resounding "No!"

After repeated requests (and a long work week) Mommy's patience was on a smoldering fuse, but N's hit the punch first. T started splashing, he started to wail. I asked T to please stop splashing, it was upsetting N. T looking from N to me, and splashed harder. Fuse done.

I took the bucket I'd been gently holding, dumped it on her head and in her moment of spluttering shock, picked up crying N, wrapped him in a blanket and handed him to Papa. T, red eyes HUGE, realizing she could still breathe, let out her most terrified wail. I made a couple more attempts to 1) reassure her she was fine; 2) review the options to get the bubbles out of her hair so we could get out of the bath. But meeting reticence to both ideas, grabbed two more bucketfuls, dumped them on her spluttering, terrified head in quick succession, threw a towel around her and lifted her to the safety of dry land, screaming.

The whole experience lasted less than 10 minutes, no animals were harmed in the making, and her only physical blemish was some very red eyes. I was only rinsing her hair! But I had hurt her; a depth which was glimpsed in the choked-sob question I had to endure repeatedly as I put her to bed "Why did you do that Mommy?"

It may seem like an overreaction on my part, and perhaps it is, but B and I have tried hard to nurture trust in our relationships with T & N, and last night my frustrated, knee-jerk actions broke that. Hopefully not completely, hopefully not permanently, but I put a little crack that was not there before. I wielded my power as a bigger, stronger, (meaner), adult, to get my way, on my timeline, even though it meant scaring my child.

So while I've said I was sorry for scaring her, and explained slowly and gently why I chose both actions, I know I now have some work to do healing that crack. Because yes, T should know that we must rinse the soap out of her hair, and yes, she should not upset her little brother intentionally, but equally, I know that fear is not the way I want to teach her these lessons.