Farther Down the Road

As a child, we went on a family vacation every summer. After 3rd grade, our car was always the same...a newer model of the Ford Taurus every 4 years or so.

My mom (who does have OCD) and my dad, who probably does as well, but prefers to be called meticulous, planned great vacations for us, always with the destination being a long, long, long way from our home to visit one relative or another.

I am probably one of the most impatient people I know (prior to becoming a knitter) and also didn't tolerate heat very well...until I moved to the East Coast and just had to embrace it. Fortunately, most of our vacations were road trips to the surface of the sun (translation; Phoenix, Arizona). On the way to our destination were always a plethora of natural wonders, such as the Coral Pink Sand Dunes, The Grand Canyon and The Petrified Forest.

The last thing that I wanted to do as a too-cool-for-school 16 year-old was get out of our air-conditioned car (which finally no longer had 6 family members crammed into it, due to my parent's creative age gap between children) and look at a bunch of chunks of wood that looked like rocks. I said as much to my mother and she, thinking she was punishing me, said "Fine, you just sit in the car and wait for us." Ooookay, I'll wait in the air conditioning while you guys traipse around this place. Man, I'm really sad about that!

One of my most memorable trips, however, was also to Arizona. Every year that we went, we would stop at my aunt's in Salt Lake City, and go to Wild Waters one day and the Zoo the next. I never tired of looking at the elephants and who could pass up a day at the water park?

We generally took three or four days to get to Arizona from our home in Oregon, because our family started out with six members (aka lots o' stops), but there were just five of us on this particular trip. We spent the first night at my aunt's and then would move on and the highlight was getting to sleep in a Motel 6 the next (which was so exciting for us, due to the whole pool and hot tub thing.) However, on this particular vacation, each motel that we went to had no vacancies. My dad just kept driving and driving, and you could sense his building panic.

At one point, he considered driving through the night, but this was back when he was the only person who drove on vacations, so that was out of the question. Finally, my parents came upon Lake Powell at about 8:00 at night, and found a resort there. The only room left was a suite, which was very nice and my sisters and I were so excited, talking about how cool it was that there were pots and pans and stuff already in the room. My parents didn't say one word about how this night at the resort must have put off their budget for the trip, because they didn't ever worry us with money. I still remember how beautiful the sunset over the lake was from the balcony of our room.

Looking back, I know that it must have been tight. I grew up in a very middle class family, with a mom who stayed home with us until my youngest sister was in first grade. Our family vacations were a really big deal, and they were planned and executed to the smallest detail. My dad always mowed the lawn the day before we left so that it wouldn't be too long by the time we got back, and we were all required to have all luggage packed and sitting by the front door before we went to bed the night before leaving.

My dad would then pack an inordinate amount of stuff with Tetris-like precision, fitting all of our "necessities" in the trunk often muttering an "Oh, Man, do you girls really need all this?" Stopping at rest stops along the way, we'd get an orange juice or a pack of gum, but all the real snacks were pre-packed and sitting at my mom's feet in the front seat. It was a treat that we all looked forward to; going shopping for our "trip treats" the day before we left.

We played games in the car, with my mom pointing things out to keep us from going out of our minds with boredom during the stretch through Utah and Nevada. This was long before portable DVD players, and we had the luxury of "walk-mans" only when we were older. Mostly, we listened to the set of tapes that came from the Shell representative; "Farther Down the Road". This was a sweet collection of country music, both classic and contemporary that got played over and over and over. Either that, or Dolly Parton, Kenny Rogers and other stars that made appearances on Hee-Haw.

Our trips were definitely about the journey. I still have never been to Disneyland, and can't say that I'm terribly sad about that. My parents made sure that we had a family vacation every summer. For better or worse, we were together for about two weeks of quality time every summer, and I can't even begin to categorize all the memories I have from them.

I can say that, had my parents had a resource such as PickPackGo, I may not have had my first "resort experience", but my mom and dad would have been saved some stress. For those of you that have read my first post, you know that my husband and I recently traveled by car from Oregon to Massachusetts with our toddler, by car. While it was a long trip, it made me nostalgic for the vacations of my childhood, and made me realize that I will definitely be treating my kids to that someday. To make the destination as fun as the journey, I'm sure that PickPackGo will be utilized, so that we don't have to keep driving farther down the road in search of accomodations.

This blog was inspired by the latest blog blast from Parent Bloggers Network, and PickPackGo. For a chance to win an 8 inch portable DVD Player, check out the PBN website for details.

Babies are better than Pasties!

When I got the email from the Parent Bloggers Network regarding a new website that had been launched in the wake of Facebook banning photos of breastfeeding mothers, I was intrigued. The League of Maternal Justice was created in order to help women empower each other, and to stop injustices against basic practices in motherhood.

I know that I am fairly late in the game in blogging on breastfeeding (or not), as friends like Alex Elliot have been blogging about it for awhile.

First, I'd like to say that I feel lucky that I was able to successfully breastfeed H exclusively for about the first 6-7 months of his life, and then only in the morning and at night when I was home for a couple more months.

Granted, I was living in a fairly liberal city (shout out to P-town, OR), where I felt very comfortable breastfeeding in public; restaurants, theatres, you name it. Yes, there were still stories about people who were talked about or gawked at, but I never personally experienced it...that I know of.

At the hospital, a lactation consultant (LC) visited us in the room, and then everyone was automatically scheduled to be seen 2 days after being released from the hospital to see how the feeding was going, and if there were any supportive measures that could be taken. The LC was programmed into my cell phone, and there were a couple of times that she returned my call as late as 9 or 10pm.

I had a very hard time breastfeeding in the beginning, and had to use nipple shields (holy crap, Alex, I know what you mean about the cost) and the whole nine yards. The last thing I would have been able to coordinate at that point (in August, mind you) was to throw a blanket over my shoulder, nearly suffocating my child in the process.

I wore a nursing tank so by the time my shirt was pulled up (with the tank down) and the baby's head was there, you literally couldn't see ANYTHING. I've seen far more just visiting a local dance club...not a strip club...a dance club. It is amazing to me that when breasts are used in a manner that is objectifying, or sensual to others, it's perfectly acceptable (in fact encouraged, hello Girls Gone Wild) but when they're put to their designed use, folks must cast their gaze aside and secretly whisper about that brazen girl who's nursing at the table....GROSS! Then, there are certainly women who don't feel comfortable breastfeeding in public, and that is also their prerogative.

I could go on and on about breastfeeding, and how difficult in can be in the beginning without the appropriate support, etc. I could also go on about a woman's right to choose how she nourishes her baby. Some women are devastated when their bodies don't produce enough milk, or their design is simply not conducive to feeding, and the last thing that they need is grief over formula feeding. Last I checked, they don't put arsenic in formula (or any other damaging chemicals.) I certainly supplemented with formula after I returned to my extremely demanding job, whose schedule sometimes did not allow multiple pumpings (although there was a very nice lactation room with a rocking chair, refrigerator and magazines galore at my work)....but I digress.

The bottom line is that women are put in the position that we can't win for losing. If we breastfeed, it seems that some would be more comfortable if we did so cloistered in the corner where nobody could see us. If we choose formula, we are made to feel that we are depriving our babies of the ability to have a healthy and successful life. We need to support one another, which starts with the basic right to feed our children, and also acknowledging that a photograph of a women in the act of nursing is NOT pornographic.

When a baby is properly latched, they are covering as much as a pastie would...are people really taking the position that a BABY is worse than a PASTIE?

The Saga Continues

So, it's been about a week since the Toddler Bed was introduced into our realm. The rocking chair was moved out of H's room, and the pack-n-play rapidly made it's debut as a permanent fixture.

Most nights H goes to sleep in his toddler bed just fine, but takes naps (and sometimes sleeps at night) in the pack-n-play. Lately, he's been waking up every night at 2am wanting milk and to sleep with us, to which I gave in a couple of times because I was just too tired to deal with it.

Well, since we reap what we sow, I decided night before last that I did not want that Toddler in my Bed every night. While I love cuddling with him, a queen bed with two not-small adults and a sideways sleeping toddler is not conducive to a good night's sleep. Lack of sleep rapidly turns me into "Mean Mommy."

The first night of my resolve to change, he awoke crying, which led to screaming...first I brought him some milk (save it, I already know I'm not supposed to). I rocked him back to sleep and gently placed him back in his bed, at which point his eyeballs popped open and he started screaming "Go nigh' nigh'!" Which translates to "I want to go to sleep in your bed. He was clinging to me like a spider monkey and screaming. I told him that he had two options; He could sleep in his bed like a big boy, or sleep in the pack-n-play. He said no to both, so I chose for him. Once settled in his light mesh cage, he was still howling like a wild animal, which I'm sure our neighbors love.

I told him that he had two more options (life's all about choices, eh?) If he would stop crying, I would sit next to him until he fell asleep. If he kept crying, I would leave the room. Well, Old H just kept on yowling, so I left the room, and sat in the living room, going over in my head all the reasons that I'm a crappy parent as my son's pathetic mewling in the other room continued.

After about 4 hours in "crying time" (translated to 10 minutes on the living room clock) he finally settled down, and there was blissful silence coming from his bedroom. I walked to our bedroom, and opened the door, which creaked painfully, and H's hyper-alert "mom's in the vicinity" spidey-senses activated, which resulted in a renewed bout of crying.

I nudged my DH and asked how long we should let him cry, to which he replied "about 10-15 minutes." Ohhhhhhkay, that was about 40minutes ago...thanks. So, it was decided that he would go get H and bring him to our bed.

Great, now he thinks that his crying is rewarded with coming to our bed...I know Ferber, wrong choice. I know, in my logical brain, what the experts may say but at this point I need sleep more than a junkie needs their next fix, so my emotional, 2 am, brain wins out. Of course he slept soundly until the next morning, once he completely took over the bed, no wait, my side of the bed forcing me into a reverse c-shape...mmmm...comfy!

Fast forward to last night, H awoke just after midnight crying for milk. I did not give in, I did not give him soothing bovine sustainence. I held him on the couch until he fell back asleep and then put him back in his bed, where he slept until 6am today.

I acknowledge that I did get him out of his bed, but he did not get milk, and he slept in his own bed the rest of the night. I'll take the small victories. While I would not have had this race to run had I not made certain choices before, those decisions are made, and I am where I am. So, I've chosen to take the most apartment-neighbor-friendly route, while still having the end goal of a child that sleeps in their own bed the whole night.

For me, slow and steady will have to win this race.

A Son's Doody

Today, a shining moment came...Little H was walking around the house saying, "Poop. Poop." I checked his diaper and found nothing. I told him as much, and continued to put his clothes away. About 10 seconds later, I saw him get into his business pose...he then said it again "Poop." I jumped up, looked in his diaper, and it was there...I cleaned up, and then let him sit on the potty (the adult toilet...YES! No cleanup!), and he pooped on the toilet for the first time!

Sorry I couldn't come up with a more clever post, but if I'm using this blog to talk about parenting, what's more momentous than this occasion?!

I felt bad that I hadn't listened to his first statement, but I think that I'd had it in my head that he wasn't going to really do anything until he was much closer to turning 3. I guess all that repetitive viewing of Elmo's Potty Time is starting to pay off after all.

Stay tuned for the continued adventures of Henry and his toilet. (click here for photo link)

Patience is a virtue according to who?

In reading over my posts to date, I realized that I have talked a whole lot about parenting, not a lot about sex, and nada about the knitty. So, hope you enjoy some of my first attempts at being a knitty.

The top Sweater is the Presto Chango , and the sweater on the bottom is based on the Presto Chango Sweater by Valerie Wallis. The only difference is that the panel on the bottom sweater did not follow the pattern, as I didn't know what ssk meant, and was doing it wrong, got frustrated, a common theme you'll see, so did it whatever way I thought would be fine.

When I put the top version of the sweater on little H (doesn't he look thrilled?), my husband and I laughed hysterically while he asked "Is he the newest member of the Von Trapp Family Singers?" It was a touch more feminine than I had hoped because of the front panel. It was then that I realized the designer had made it for her little girl...duh! I love the sweater itself, and would make it again...I'm sure my neice will love it (hee hee.)

This blanket is one of the projects that I started while I was still in Oregon, working full-time, blah, blah. It's the Big, Bad Baby Blanket which was created by Lisa Shobhana Mason and featured in Stitch-n-Bitch. I felt like I was NEVER going to finish this blanket, but once I got to Mass and really started working on it, it took no time at all, was very simple, and looks GORGEOUS.

Knitting has become a haven for me, and has forced me to grow if you will. If you ask people who know me well (or not well at all) patience has not been my virtue. Prior to being a knitster, I would never have sat in one place long enough to see this many craft projects through to the end.

Growing up, my mom could get a 5 million piece puzzle for my little sister, and she would patiently work on it until the very last piece was perfectly in place. I, on the other hand, got bored after finding the corner edge pieces and was off to call a friend or play outside.

Sitting in my boss' office one day, I was showing her a sweater that I was knitting for a friend's shower that was as stiff as if I had placed cardstock in the middle and knitted around it. The baby would have looked like Randy in his snowsuit on A Christmas Story. So, at her suggestion, I uraveled the whole back panel. Because I was knitting with two strands together, it wasn't long before it was one flaming mess of yarn.

I sat patiently in her office (What? It was the end of the day and we weren't really working anyway) and unwound that yarn. Several times I looked up and announced that I was just going to cut it and start over, but she insisted that it was a good lesson for me, so I plugged away. Eventually I got both strands wound onto their respective balls, and I must say that it was the biggest sense of accomplishment I'd felt in a long time. How often to we have the opportunity to problem solve in such a short period of time? It was amazing.

Recently, darling H (formerly called Charlie for whatever reason I chose that day) has begun to have temper tantrums that are almost always the result of frustration that a task is not getting accomplished to his liking. He will start squealing and grunting like a feral animal. When I calmly say, "Are you frustrated? Do you need help?", he stops crying and lets me help him. I see myself in him so much these days...he's dramatic, stubborn, willful...it's okay, I'm a third child, aren't we allowed to be self-deprecating? (On a sidenote, when I was in third grade I wrote a short-story for my parents entitled Middle Child Nothing...my mom kept it for a long time in the cookbooks so she could have a laugh...nice, real nice.)

Anywho, in dealing with his oh so frustrating outbursts, I think back to sitting in my boss' office that day, when I really just wanted to throw the yarn across the room and stomp out in a blaze of glory. She was calm and gently teasing, but was able to talk me down. I think we all just need to be treated like two year-olds every once in a while.