In Kiernan's Eyes

Sometimes I think the world must seem a very cruel place, through my baby's eyes.

As a newborn, his world was full of discomfort - colic, milk and soy protein intolerances we hadn't quite figured out, and reflux. If someone wasn't holding him, he just couldn't handle any of it.

Then things got a bit better. We got the diet under control, we got the medication under control, and teething started. And he got sick with colds. Or a diet error occurs. It seems to never end. The nights of crying, of not wanting to be put down. Of misery!

And yet, my baby doesn't see the world as a cruel place most of the time! He is happy, he is social, he wants to PLAY. He wants to be with you, he wants to learn, he wants to explore, he wants to see. He wants to talk and laugh and run - even though he isn't quite able to do all of those things yet. And although I am sometimes happy he will never remember these early months, because he's been uncomfortable for so much of it, his joy at most waking moments lights your heart. If only he could remember the excitement of all the discoveries he's making. Imagine remembering sheer joy at the taste of a fisher price metal cymbal, or at waving to grammie, and grandpa, and mommy, and daddy, and the kitty, and the mirror, and the lights, and the wall, and the flowers, and the cars, and the wall, and his feet!!!

I worry a lot that through my baby's eyes, life is a misery because he's had so many 'hiccups', but I don't think I really need to worry when I see how happy he is most of the time. I guess the trade off is me accepting that he isn't a good sleeper ;)

I had a hard time figuring out how to write a post with this topic and enlisted my husband for help. I'm including his suggestion because I'm not sure it isn't the better post :)

"In my eyes, by Kiernan

In my eyes I like to put fingers, and food and RUB IT IN, and sometimes my daddy pours water over my hair in the bath and he's protecting my eyes but I PUSH HIM AWAY and he gets water in my eyes and I HATE IT! But ooh, look, a ducky to hug... HEY WHY IS HE POKING MY EYES?!""

Lara is a 30 year old first-time mom from Ottawa, Ontario. Her blog is called Mommyhood for Lara, but a name change is imminent :) This post is part of the blog exchange and you can find Nancy's post for today here.

Sanctuary

Some time in the early 1980's El Salvador was in the midst of a civil war. People were fleeing the death squads for safety and the chance at a better life in the United States. Our Unitarian Universalist congregation symbolically provided sanctuary to a family. While the family didn't technically live in the church itself, our congregation sponsored them.

I'm not sure how it all worked out but I recall that the family had very few options to travel about and anyone aiding them could risk arrest. One afternoon my dad drove the father to a medical appointment.

This caused much concern in my little brother. He was of the age where police were always right and people shouldn't break laws. He was upset that my dad would risk making the police angry.

While I didn't fully understand the dynamics I knew this man needed medical care. I was also proud that my dad was taking a risk to help someone.

What I also didn't understand was how this deed ran counter to my dad's upbringing. He was born on a dairy farm in Virginia in 1940. He grew up in the segregationist south, where the white kids went to one school and the blacks to another (of course that happens today - while it was by law in the 1950's, it is through economics today). He earned his undergraduate degree at a public university that did not formally admit women until 1972. It would be understandable if he carried the privilege of a white man.

And yet, he has always worked to make the world, both in his neighborhood and much farther away, a better place. He has been a town meeting member and active player in local politics for decades. He has been on the board for an elder housing organization, a domestic violence shelter and an organization that advocates for severely developmentally disabled adults. I wish I had a recording of him describing volunteering at a food bank for the residents of the Chinatown neighborhood. He talks about the pride of the elderly men and women who entered the church as they walked in to receive their food.

He had a heart attack last year the day before he was to lead two church services about the genocide in Darfur. He was very worried about how the services would go even though he was told he needed triple bypass heart surgery. So while he couldn't get himself discharged from the hospital - he promised to return -he spent the days in the hospital trying to get the nurses to read his pamphlets about Darfur. To this day he still wears his green Not on Our Watch bracelet.

I've gone on to a career in social justice - first through public policy to expand health care coverage and now working on economic justice.

My father is the reason why I think I can make a difference.

Because he drove a man to a doctor's appointment.


This post is part of a blog exchange. Thirty-eight year old Allison can be found proudly wearing a pink "daddy's little girl" shirt. She is the mother of three children- twin 6 1/2 year old boys and a three year old girl and works outside the home as an advocate for economic justice. She found the the quotes at Nancy's place Just Thinking inspiring. Today the thoughtful Nancy is over at Allison's place - Soccer Mom in Denial. You can find more exchanges at The Blog Exchange.

One Day in the Life of a Stay-at-Home Mom

By some fluke of nature, we have acquired some new married friends that have no children yet. We are ecstatic for many reasons. A. They have a pool, B. bedtime for them depends on how early they have to get up the next morning and C. Everything my 2-year-old does is "soooooo cute" (including tantrums, large messes and weird eating habits). This couple just moved in 2 weeks ago and today is his first day working at the same company the hubby works at and she doesn't start her job for another 2 weeks.

Last night, we had dinner with them and went swimming for Memorial Day. I was semi-confused when she kept asking me, "So what do you and your son do all day?" I was confused because none of my other mommy friends ask that question. I guess it's just understood what a stay-at-home mom does. I couldn't really answer her question on the spot because I was so taken back (not to be confused with offended) that she was actually asking me this. But after much thought, I think I have come up with an answer that would suffice.

I think that what happens when you have a toddler is that everyday processes like getting dresses and eating breakfast take 5 times the amount of time that they normally would take. For example, taking a bath. We (meaning me and the babe who is usually working towards the opposite goal) have to first clean a path large enough through the rubble to get into the bathroom, then I carry the toddler, who is screaming over and over again "I don't wanna take a bath!" into the bathroom, I somehow manage to get all his clothing off and pry his legs from the sides of the tub so that he is semi-submerged in the water when he remembers that he quite enjoys the bathtub! So he plays while I take a break pausing to look into the mirror (I would not recommend this step very often, it's quite shocking). We wash the babe off and let the water out which is celebrated with more screams, "I don't wanna get out of the bathtub!" After all the water is drained and my son has laid spread-eagle in the tub until he can no longer take the cold anymore, I force him to get out and get into his towel. This is the end of the bathtub experience. He is not dressed yet because that is a whole other process that takes much more time and bribing.

I am convinced that if I only had to get myself up, dressed and fed I would return to being a normal person who could get more accomplished in one day than laundry, eating 3 meals and the dishes.

This post was written as part of this month's Blog Exchange where the prompt was to pick one of your best previously written posts. This entry comes from Kendra over at Dramatized Reality. She has a 3-year-old son and a 6-month-old daughter. When she’s not keeping busy with her children, she likes to play the piano, scrapbook, read and sew.

Nancy’s "Best of" post can be found today over at Dramatized Reality. Click here to check out the other posts this month, and to get more info on the blog exchange.

Changes

At a stoplight

It's my 16th birthday party. We girls have left the lame scene (my house) to cruise around in my friend Mary's car because she's the only one who can drive and has a car. The stereo is loud -- I think it's something by Whitney Houston. We stop at a red light where a woman is selling flowers. Mary calls the woman over. She comes running, smiling. Then the light turns green, and Mary hits the pedal. All the girls laugh.

- - -

I'm 26. I'm driving home from work in rush-hour traffic. I have the windows down because it's a nice day. My stereo is playing something loud -- maybe Red Hot Chili Peppers? At a red light, a guy in the next lane calls to me. "Hey! Hey!" Is my tire flat? Is my shirt stuck in my door? Reluctantly, I look over. He's actually kind of cute. He has a nice smile. He's just flirting. But what kind of guy tries to meet women at a stoplight? I start to roll up my windows. "Can't a guy talk to a pretty woman?!" he says.

- - -

I'm running an errand on business -- my own business, at 36. A car pulls up next to me at a red light. The stereo bass is booming so hard that my car is shaking and my bones are vibrating. It's a small car, but it's full of teenagers. I hear them laughing. I turn up my own stereo -- some John Mayer or Norah Jones -- to try to drown out their sound. I can't wait until the light turns green so they can speed off and take their bass with them.

- - -

Last night on the way home from dinner out with Star, Lancelot and her dear husband, I had to stop at a light. Flybaby was in his car seat, crying. I reached back to touch him to comfort him (I can only reach the top of his head) and tell him we'd be home soon. But his crying even drowned out strains of Baby Beethoven. Then the light turned green and I put both hands back on the steering wheel, thinking of putting him in his pajamas, nursing him and putting him to bed for the night.


Hope you enjoy this month's blog exchange. This post is by Damselfly, who started blogging about her pregnancy -- and now blogs about life with a newborn -- at Growing a Life. The theme for this month's exchange is "Changes," and you can find Nancy's thoughts on the topic here.

The Greening of Christmas

Commerce is of trivial import; love, faith, truth of character, the aspiration of man, these are sacred.
-Ralph Waldo Emerson

When I was a lass, I used to associate the color green with the Christmas tree, happiness, and carefully drinking from a Christmas mug with a green tree painted on it that was filled with crème de menthe. (Ok I really prefer hot chocolate, particularly when I was underage, but that throws off the color scheme). Within the last two years, however, I have begun to associate green with money, American Express, the LL Bean credit card, and the Grinch. Funny how they all happen to be the same color, and funny how they come together in the same thought. When you combine Christmas, money, credit cards, and hot chocolate, you get… commercialization.

Apparently the commercialization of Christmas started in the year 2005. Let’s see…that year I thought there were commercials for cars, clothes and video games. I think that there were even ads in magazines. It’s kind of hard for me to remember because for some really strange reason, it must be fatigue from traveling for Thanksgiving, it seems like it was just like the Christmas before it. However, I know for a fact that it was not like Christmas 2004. How do I know that? Because I distinctly remember hearing in our church in 2005 that Christmas had now become commercialized. I gripped my pew bench in shock from this announcement. How could this be? I shrank down below the pew to hide from the scary Christmas ghost of Commercialization Present (who Dickens would have included in A Christmas Carol if he were alive today). Although I couldn’t see him, I felt sure he was there with his greedy eyes and brand-new, green Gap sweater that was advertised on TV. Would he know that I had given to charity that year? That I actually took the time to carefully choose charities so as to try to make a difference? Or would he judge me because I…gasp…actually enjoy the holidays. Or that…bigger gasp… I look forward to the holidays?

And then it dawned on me: I was part of the commercialization conspiracy. I felt faint at this realization. I love it when the mall is decorated and the Christmas lights are lighted. Wait! Maybe I was not just part of the conspiracy. I quickly checked my wallet for a membership card. To my horror, there was my green Master Card, surely the commercialization of Christmas ID. I must be ..gulp...a leader in the commercialization conspiracy. Yes, I look forward to Christmas all year long. I take pleasure in choosing the perfect gift for my family and friends and I really love receiving gifts.

I also thought I celebrated Christmas as a season of love and peace and placed that above gifts, but clearly I was wrong. Hey, I was unknowingly a leader in the commercialization of Christmas after all. Obviously this was a crisis. I mean not only did I not realize that Christmas had become commercialized since the year before, but clearly I was losing my memory. I could have sworn that in years past people gave each other gifts and that there were tons of advertisements on TV. In fact I thought…I probably shouldn’t even admit this embarrassingly false recollection…there was some sort of hysteria to get cabbage patch kid dolls back during the holiday season of 1983 involving fights in the aisles of toy stores. Obviously, this is a false memory. I also have another questionable memory. Actually why even say questionable when it is clearly wrong: it seems like every year I hear that Christmas has become commercialized. As I have stated before here, clearly my memory is unreliable.

This post is part of a blog exchange. My name is Alex Elliot. I am a professional Mom of two cats, a dog, an ant farm, and oh yeah...two boys: a toddler and an infant. While I am visiting Just Thinking, Nancy is sharing her thoughts on my blog at Formula Fed and Flexible Parenting, which is written for those of us who didn't get an instruction manual with our babies and for whom parenting hasn't always gone as planned. On a more serious note the blog is about supporting a woman's ability to make her own choices about parenting including the choice, for whatever reason, not to breastfeed.
Click here to check out the other open letters this month, and to get more info on the blog exchange.