What do you even say? If I was the type of person to even attempt a serious holiday letter, 2009 would have been a pathetic list of GM job fear, two miscarriages, a freak flood that destroyed parts of my hometown (including most of my mom's house), an even freakier sudden heart attack and brain anoxia that has changed my sister-in-law's husband, and then- a third pregnancy. That started out tenuously- for 14 solid weeks, my body acted as though I would be losing this baby again.
This baby is still here. An ultrasound a couple of weeks ago showed a whole, healthy, perfect baby. Active, squirrelly, and as of right now, still wiggling and bumping around occasionally. That's not to say that I've been able to relax. Who knows when I will relax, but I'm hoping I can take a deep breath sometime before early April, when this little one will, by God's grace, enter the world and take a deep breath of his or her own.
My brother has returned from Iraq, whole and safe and sound. My mom's house is slowly being reconstructed. My brother-in-law (in-law?) is going through therapy, and is working his way back to a new normal. And I cannot wait for 2010. Whatever it brings.
Monday, December 07, 2009
Thursday, October 22, 2009
Heavy Heart
Mary Anaya's story has completed. Here is a link to an article written in the Omaha World-Herald.
http://www.omaha.com/article/20091022/NEWS01/710229910
About two years ago, when I first heard of her story and did some digging, I blogged about the atrocity of the removal of her youngest son Joel, from her home. With my own tiny one at home, the thought that someone could remove, at gunpoint, a newborn from his mother's arms, and it all was ordered by a judge, sickened me. Mary's crime was that she did not allow a state official to lance little Joel's heel and take five circles of blood from him, to test him for the state's mandated metabolic screen test. For that, many armed police officers burst through her door one morning, and in front of her frightened small children, grabbed baby Joel from her. The battle for her tiny baby went on for quite some time, while sympathetic social workers and the foster mother allowed her to (unlawfully) sneak visits five times a day to drop off pumped milk, and to nurse him. Joel eventually was returned, and this year, a higher court ruled that while Mary did indeed break Nebraska's (useless, stupid, liberty-killing) law, the lower court overreached their bounds by ordering his removal. I like to think my (and thousands of others) letter writing campaign played at least a small part! Surprisingly, that series of blog posts that I did was published in a Human Right's Advocacy project on the part of a group of lawyers that were collecting such violations.
Mary's tenacity and strength of character was truly something to behold. I never had the pleasure of meeting this wonderful woman, but countless people in many counties of Nebraska and Iowa benefitted from this woman's very giving nature.
Mary leaves behind a husband, Josue, and ten children, and a legacy that will be hard to fill. She joins her extremely tiny, far too premature little one, who died only hours before she did. God rest her peaceful, admirable soul.
http://www.omaha.com/article/20091022/NEWS01/710229910
About two years ago, when I first heard of her story and did some digging, I blogged about the atrocity of the removal of her youngest son Joel, from her home. With my own tiny one at home, the thought that someone could remove, at gunpoint, a newborn from his mother's arms, and it all was ordered by a judge, sickened me. Mary's crime was that she did not allow a state official to lance little Joel's heel and take five circles of blood from him, to test him for the state's mandated metabolic screen test. For that, many armed police officers burst through her door one morning, and in front of her frightened small children, grabbed baby Joel from her. The battle for her tiny baby went on for quite some time, while sympathetic social workers and the foster mother allowed her to (unlawfully) sneak visits five times a day to drop off pumped milk, and to nurse him. Joel eventually was returned, and this year, a higher court ruled that while Mary did indeed break Nebraska's (useless, stupid, liberty-killing) law, the lower court overreached their bounds by ordering his removal. I like to think my (and thousands of others) letter writing campaign played at least a small part! Surprisingly, that series of blog posts that I did was published in a Human Right's Advocacy project on the part of a group of lawyers that were collecting such violations.
Mary's tenacity and strength of character was truly something to behold. I never had the pleasure of meeting this wonderful woman, but countless people in many counties of Nebraska and Iowa benefitted from this woman's very giving nature.
Mary leaves behind a husband, Josue, and ten children, and a legacy that will be hard to fill. She joins her extremely tiny, far too premature little one, who died only hours before she did. God rest her peaceful, admirable soul.
Monday, October 12, 2009
Now I'm Dying to Know...
Seen today on a small, hand-lettered sign near the gas station:
"Free Foot Exam. Call 248-XXX-XXXX."
Um, hmm...
"Free Foot Exam. Call 248-XXX-XXXX."
Um, hmm...
Sunday, October 11, 2009
Re-visiting an old cause
Remember, many blogs ago, the online battle I helped wage against Nebraska's horrible invasion of privacy of a family who chose to homebirth, and to decline mandatory genetic testing of their little boy?
I have been, up until now, respecting the Anaya family's request for privacy involving something new that has cropped up. However, things have taken a drastic turn.
Mary Anaya, mama to 10, is right now fighting for her life. She was diagnosed only a couple of months ago with a rapidly growing lung cancer. Around the same time, she discovered that she is pregnant with her 11th child.
Recently, an ultrasound showed a beautiful little babe, kicking and growing, and as healthy as can be. Mary is currently being kept alive for the seven weeks or so that it will take for her baby to reach 25 weeks, and thus be able to live outside of her womb. Mary and her husband have desired this ever since they learned of the potential outcome of her diagnosis.
I'm going to re-post some info grabbed from a blog connected to her church.
The following is from Michael Ross, the Anayas' ministry partner from Christ for the City International in Omaha, Nebraska:
"The immediate prayer need is for the Lord to guide the doctors and nurses in the next steps they should take and that the antibiotics would combat the pneumonia. …Would you encourage your pastor to lead your church in prayer this Sunday morning? Would you add Mary Anaya to your church prayer list?"
Some of us have signed up for Mary's 24-hour prayer vigil here.
Some of us have given financially. Donations for medical costs can be sent to:
CFCI, PO Box 390395, Omaha, NE 68139.
(Checks payable to Mary Anaya)
Any questions about Mary's needs? Contact Michael at 402-592-8332 or mross@cfci.org .
***************************************************************************
This tiny, tiny baby will be taken very dangerously early. To give a good account of how early- Mary and I are actually due around the same time. My child is due to arrive around mid-April (and so far, a heartbeat has been seen AND heard!) My child will be born sometime around Easter, and hers was also supposed to be born around this time. Now, if this baby can make it until almost Christmas, it will be a miracle.
I have been, up until now, respecting the Anaya family's request for privacy involving something new that has cropped up. However, things have taken a drastic turn.
Mary Anaya, mama to 10, is right now fighting for her life. She was diagnosed only a couple of months ago with a rapidly growing lung cancer. Around the same time, she discovered that she is pregnant with her 11th child.
Recently, an ultrasound showed a beautiful little babe, kicking and growing, and as healthy as can be. Mary is currently being kept alive for the seven weeks or so that it will take for her baby to reach 25 weeks, and thus be able to live outside of her womb. Mary and her husband have desired this ever since they learned of the potential outcome of her diagnosis.
I'm going to re-post some info grabbed from a blog connected to her church.
The following is from Michael Ross, the Anayas' ministry partner from Christ for the City International in Omaha, Nebraska:
"The immediate prayer need is for the Lord to guide the doctors and nurses in the next steps they should take and that the antibiotics would combat the pneumonia. …Would you encourage your pastor to lead your church in prayer this Sunday morning? Would you add Mary Anaya to your church prayer list?"
Some of us have signed up for Mary's 24-hour prayer vigil here.
Some of us have given financially. Donations for medical costs can be sent to:
CFCI, PO Box 390395, Omaha, NE 68139.
(Checks payable to Mary Anaya)
Any questions about Mary's needs? Contact Michael at 402-592-8332 or mross@cfci.org .
***************************************************************************
This tiny, tiny baby will be taken very dangerously early. To give a good account of how early- Mary and I are actually due around the same time. My child is due to arrive around mid-April (and so far, a heartbeat has been seen AND heard!) My child will be born sometime around Easter, and hers was also supposed to be born around this time. Now, if this baby can make it until almost Christmas, it will be a miracle.
Monday, August 03, 2009
Strange Child's Mom
Gianna, being a social creature, has been cheerfully engaging other children in conversation in the grocery store and any other place where children happen to be. I decided that it might be a good idea to bring Gianna to places where there are other children, as she usually spends time with other adults. This isn't necessarily a "bad" thing, but having other kids to play with would be fun for her.
So, off we go. Swimming in the community pool, playing in the community playground, and just as soon as they start toddler programs up again, listening to stories at the community library. Gianna is a very happy girl when she sees kids. Her first reaction is to yell, "HI, kids! Hi litt-uh girl! Hi litt-uh boy!"
If the kids are young enough, they are equally happy to see her. If they are a bit older, say 8 or 9, they seem kind of sullen. In fact, one little girl at the Northville Trader Joes snapped, "I'm not talking to YOU," and flounced away. She, alas, matched the rest of the shoppers in that store. Northville, trust me, you are not *that* posh that you can justifiably be that snobby!
So, they're usually happy to see her as well. A pattern I'm noticing is that we will enter a community interaction site, Gianna and Strange Child/ Children spot each other, and instantly, Strange Child's mother goes into super fussy disciplinarian mode. Especially if they were there first- it almost seems like Strange Child's mother is trying to verbalize "her" unwritten rules of the playground by talking her child to death.
Enter playground. Gianna and Strange Child spot each other, and each squeal, "A litt-uh GIRL!!!" Strange Child's Mom (SCM) and I give each other the "Hi, I am way too busy with my child to converse, but hello just the same" smile and nod. Gianna instantly runs to the stairs to the playground, with Strange Child in hot pursuit. Strange Child overtakes Gianna, and stands on the stairs, instantly uncertain. Gianna starts to climb the stairs, and stands on the same step. Both children regard one another. Instantly, the moms start coaching from the sidelines.
SCM: "Strange, move out of the way! The little girl wants to slide!"
Me: "It's okay- Gianna, let the little girl go up the stairs!"
Both kids stare at each other, fascinated. One or the other of us moms goes and helps their child move more quickly up the stairs (or down the stairs) and the process repeats until one of the kids spots the plastic climbing dinosaur. We all troop over to the dinosaur, SCM fretting the whole way, "Don't run! Be careful! Mulch is slippery! Watch out!" Gianna usually trips and falls flat onto the mulch, as she gets her sporting ability from me. The mulch does its job, though, and she bounces right back up with no trouble at all. "She's okay," I assure the SCM, who is restraining herself from hovering over Gianna and picking her up.
We reach the dinosaur. Gianna picks up some mulch and offers it to the dinosaur. "Eat mutch!" she bellows, and Strange Child laughs. Strange Child does the same. SCM frets in the background, "Don't throw the mulch! Be careful! Put it down, it's icky..." At the suggestion of actually throwing the mulch, both girls instantly begin to toss mulch on the dinosaur. "Dinosaur take a bath!" Gianna yells. As it doesn't seem to be hurting anyone except the dinosaur (I see a tiny, plastic tear fall from his eye, which has been scratched out by years of use) I say nothing.
SCM, however, is irate. Didn't she just say NOT to throw mulch? And now here they are, throwing mulch. And I'm not doing ANYTHING about it! She glances between me and the kids, and finally starts chanting, "Strange, stop throwing. STOP throwing. Don't you pick that up... don't you throw- didn't you hear me? Stop! Don't throw it again. I said, 'Don't throw it again!' Put that DOWN..." while standing perfectly still.
I walk over to Gianna, which mobilizes SCM. She springs to her child, grabs their little mulch-y fists and wrings out every last bit of mulch. Gianna gives one last toss and I recommend the swings. She agrees, and we head over to the swings. SCM finishes lecturing Strange, who has already joined us in our trek to the swings. Gianna climbs on, and I start pushing her. Strange decides to lay belly first on the swing, and kick instead of being pushed. SCM wants to match- "Strange, want me to push you? Push you like the little girl? Let's swing on our bottoms. Get off and I will help you-"
Strange wants nothing to do with what we are doing. She screeches, and SCM backs off with, "Okay, let me know if you want help. I'm right here. Want help? Do you want me to push you?" The next five minutes, she reminds Strange about 45 times that she's standing right there, and can push her if she wants. Shortly, Strange gets a bit tired of this, and heads away. SCM decides it's time to leave, and grabs a now kicking and screaming Strange and heads for the gate. We watch them go.
Then, head back to the dinosaur to give it another mulch bath.
So, off we go. Swimming in the community pool, playing in the community playground, and just as soon as they start toddler programs up again, listening to stories at the community library. Gianna is a very happy girl when she sees kids. Her first reaction is to yell, "HI, kids! Hi litt-uh girl! Hi litt-uh boy!"
If the kids are young enough, they are equally happy to see her. If they are a bit older, say 8 or 9, they seem kind of sullen. In fact, one little girl at the Northville Trader Joes snapped, "I'm not talking to YOU," and flounced away. She, alas, matched the rest of the shoppers in that store. Northville, trust me, you are not *that* posh that you can justifiably be that snobby!
So, they're usually happy to see her as well. A pattern I'm noticing is that we will enter a community interaction site, Gianna and Strange Child/ Children spot each other, and instantly, Strange Child's mother goes into super fussy disciplinarian mode. Especially if they were there first- it almost seems like Strange Child's mother is trying to verbalize "her" unwritten rules of the playground by talking her child to death.
Enter playground. Gianna and Strange Child spot each other, and each squeal, "A litt-uh GIRL!!!" Strange Child's Mom (SCM) and I give each other the "Hi, I am way too busy with my child to converse, but hello just the same" smile and nod. Gianna instantly runs to the stairs to the playground, with Strange Child in hot pursuit. Strange Child overtakes Gianna, and stands on the stairs, instantly uncertain. Gianna starts to climb the stairs, and stands on the same step. Both children regard one another. Instantly, the moms start coaching from the sidelines.
SCM: "Strange, move out of the way! The little girl wants to slide!"
Me: "It's okay- Gianna, let the little girl go up the stairs!"
Both kids stare at each other, fascinated. One or the other of us moms goes and helps their child move more quickly up the stairs (or down the stairs) and the process repeats until one of the kids spots the plastic climbing dinosaur. We all troop over to the dinosaur, SCM fretting the whole way, "Don't run! Be careful! Mulch is slippery! Watch out!" Gianna usually trips and falls flat onto the mulch, as she gets her sporting ability from me. The mulch does its job, though, and she bounces right back up with no trouble at all. "She's okay," I assure the SCM, who is restraining herself from hovering over Gianna and picking her up.
We reach the dinosaur. Gianna picks up some mulch and offers it to the dinosaur. "Eat mutch!" she bellows, and Strange Child laughs. Strange Child does the same. SCM frets in the background, "Don't throw the mulch! Be careful! Put it down, it's icky..." At the suggestion of actually throwing the mulch, both girls instantly begin to toss mulch on the dinosaur. "Dinosaur take a bath!" Gianna yells. As it doesn't seem to be hurting anyone except the dinosaur (I see a tiny, plastic tear fall from his eye, which has been scratched out by years of use) I say nothing.
SCM, however, is irate. Didn't she just say NOT to throw mulch? And now here they are, throwing mulch. And I'm not doing ANYTHING about it! She glances between me and the kids, and finally starts chanting, "Strange, stop throwing. STOP throwing. Don't you pick that up... don't you throw- didn't you hear me? Stop! Don't throw it again. I said, 'Don't throw it again!' Put that DOWN..." while standing perfectly still.
I walk over to Gianna, which mobilizes SCM. She springs to her child, grabs their little mulch-y fists and wrings out every last bit of mulch. Gianna gives one last toss and I recommend the swings. She agrees, and we head over to the swings. SCM finishes lecturing Strange, who has already joined us in our trek to the swings. Gianna climbs on, and I start pushing her. Strange decides to lay belly first on the swing, and kick instead of being pushed. SCM wants to match- "Strange, want me to push you? Push you like the little girl? Let's swing on our bottoms. Get off and I will help you-"
Strange wants nothing to do with what we are doing. She screeches, and SCM backs off with, "Okay, let me know if you want help. I'm right here. Want help? Do you want me to push you?" The next five minutes, she reminds Strange about 45 times that she's standing right there, and can push her if she wants. Shortly, Strange gets a bit tired of this, and heads away. SCM decides it's time to leave, and grabs a now kicking and screaming Strange and heads for the gate. We watch them go.
Then, head back to the dinosaur to give it another mulch bath.
Saturday, July 25, 2009
"If You Want Convenience, Get a Doll..."
Wow- someone read my mind! Then, traveled back through time, and wrote it down. That's my stance, and I'm sticking to it.
I stumbled across this article, originally written in 1994 and updated later, by Katherine Dettwyler. It describes exactly why scheduling the habits of a baby is detrimental to the baby (and perhaps mom as well).
She describes the phenomenon of scheduled feeding, which a lot of "mainstream" parenting "experts" like to champion. These "experts" (many of whom, oddly enough, are men and thus will never actually give birth, deal with the swirling, twirling and whirling hormones involved, and will probably never lactate. Unless they're dedicated enough to induce lactation. We won't go there.)
Dettwyler only focuses on breastfeeding (and touches briefly on co-sleeping, as it relates to nursing on a natural schedule) but one thing I have found with the "Baby Trainers" is that every function of a baby's body is somehow related to discipline. And by "discipline," they don't necessarily mean a practice or a form of guiding, but they mean a way to shape and mold a baby onto an adult's personal time table.
Let's define "Baby Trainer," first. Not everyone who writes a parenting book is a "Baby Trainer." Only those who guarantee that a baby will be compliant, complacent, and will fit neatly into the current 9 to 5 work week schedule, by ANY means, is a Baby Trainer. Someone who recommends particular foods or recipes, then, is not a Baby Trainer. Someone who states that if a parent does X, Y, and Z and that they WILL get the results of an infant sleeping all the way through the night, is a Baby Trainer.
The first three months of a baby's life are currently referred to as the "Fourth Trimester." Human babies, it seems, are born prematurely. Even if they come at 41 or 42 or (gasp- "How did your doctor ALLOW this???") 43 weeks, they are still about three months behind other primates at birth- they are very fetal in nature, prefer to be curled like a little bug, and still require the closeness, warmth, heartbeat, and constant nutrition of the womb. Only, mom gets to do this from the outside, now.
Gianna, at age 2 years and 1 week, is now doing the following:
- Sleeping through many nights, often in her own bed.
- Eating meals with us, and snacking sporadically throughout the day, depending on her hunger level. She is NOT a picky eater- she eats everything from marinated eggplant and pickles, to kale (white bean, carrot and kale soup is her favorite meal ever) to raw zucchini.
- Working on the potty. Two steps forward, one step back.
- Exploring the backyard while I hang out in the distance and let her do her thing, playing independently with many different types of toys, speaking to other adults and children, and showing empathy when other kids are sad, or get hurt, or are happy.
None of this was trained into her. God knows, we had some nights where I just wanted to poke my eyes out and run screaming for the hills- parenting is NOT easy. Nothing worthwhile is easy- every single thing in life that is worth having requires work. A successful career, a happy marriage, one's own health and well-being, etc. It doesn't just "happen," and it also can't be forced into place. All the time that I was nursing on demand (and at three weeks and then at three months, "on demand" meant, "May as well not even wear a shirt today," thanks to appropriate developmental leaps)... all the nights where she woke up every 45 minutes... every time she kicked me square in the eyeball in the middle of the night... she did not turn into a selfish monster, demanding constantly that I succumb to each and every whim. There are many parts of the day I don't have to entertain her- she does really well on her own. All of the "What if's?" and questions that the "Baby Trainers" bring up just did not come to pass.
Snake-oil salesmen. Professors of lies. Heretics, some of them, if they are writing that God intends for all children to follow a clock. Really, they're cheats. They grab the attention of parents desperate to do the right thing by their child, by using all the right words, and promising the moon. Parents who buy into this are by no means stupid or even necessarily abusive (to begin with), but want the very best for their child. These crooks are selling just the right magic beans.
I stumbled across this article, originally written in 1994 and updated later, by Katherine Dettwyler. It describes exactly why scheduling the habits of a baby is detrimental to the baby (and perhaps mom as well).
She describes the phenomenon of scheduled feeding, which a lot of "mainstream" parenting "experts" like to champion. These "experts" (many of whom, oddly enough, are men and thus will never actually give birth, deal with the swirling, twirling and whirling hormones involved, and will probably never lactate. Unless they're dedicated enough to induce lactation. We won't go there.)
Dettwyler only focuses on breastfeeding (and touches briefly on co-sleeping, as it relates to nursing on a natural schedule) but one thing I have found with the "Baby Trainers" is that every function of a baby's body is somehow related to discipline. And by "discipline," they don't necessarily mean a practice or a form of guiding, but they mean a way to shape and mold a baby onto an adult's personal time table.
Let's define "Baby Trainer," first. Not everyone who writes a parenting book is a "Baby Trainer." Only those who guarantee that a baby will be compliant, complacent, and will fit neatly into the current 9 to 5 work week schedule, by ANY means, is a Baby Trainer. Someone who recommends particular foods or recipes, then, is not a Baby Trainer. Someone who states that if a parent does X, Y, and Z and that they WILL get the results of an infant sleeping all the way through the night, is a Baby Trainer.
The first three months of a baby's life are currently referred to as the "Fourth Trimester." Human babies, it seems, are born prematurely. Even if they come at 41 or 42 or (gasp- "How did your doctor ALLOW this???") 43 weeks, they are still about three months behind other primates at birth- they are very fetal in nature, prefer to be curled like a little bug, and still require the closeness, warmth, heartbeat, and constant nutrition of the womb. Only, mom gets to do this from the outside, now.
Gianna, at age 2 years and 1 week, is now doing the following:
- Sleeping through many nights, often in her own bed.
- Eating meals with us, and snacking sporadically throughout the day, depending on her hunger level. She is NOT a picky eater- she eats everything from marinated eggplant and pickles, to kale (white bean, carrot and kale soup is her favorite meal ever) to raw zucchini.
- Working on the potty. Two steps forward, one step back.
- Exploring the backyard while I hang out in the distance and let her do her thing, playing independently with many different types of toys, speaking to other adults and children, and showing empathy when other kids are sad, or get hurt, or are happy.
None of this was trained into her. God knows, we had some nights where I just wanted to poke my eyes out and run screaming for the hills- parenting is NOT easy. Nothing worthwhile is easy- every single thing in life that is worth having requires work. A successful career, a happy marriage, one's own health and well-being, etc. It doesn't just "happen," and it also can't be forced into place. All the time that I was nursing on demand (and at three weeks and then at three months, "on demand" meant, "May as well not even wear a shirt today," thanks to appropriate developmental leaps)... all the nights where she woke up every 45 minutes... every time she kicked me square in the eyeball in the middle of the night... she did not turn into a selfish monster, demanding constantly that I succumb to each and every whim. There are many parts of the day I don't have to entertain her- she does really well on her own. All of the "What if's?" and questions that the "Baby Trainers" bring up just did not come to pass.
Snake-oil salesmen. Professors of lies. Heretics, some of them, if they are writing that God intends for all children to follow a clock. Really, they're cheats. They grab the attention of parents desperate to do the right thing by their child, by using all the right words, and promising the moon. Parents who buy into this are by no means stupid or even necessarily abusive (to begin with), but want the very best for their child. These crooks are selling just the right magic beans.
Tuesday, July 21, 2009
Canine Rivalry
I'm going to hold off talking about another piece of attachment parenting- avoiding "baby trainers-" until I can muster a few more constructive things to say. Something about all of the swirling, crashing and looping hormones following a miscarriage leaves little but vitriol when discussing people who try to convince parents to do harmful and bizarre things to their infants all for the sake of "scheduling" or "convenience." Who has children for convenience? People who want accessories and are allergic to dogs?
So, yes. We shall save the shysters and con-men (Gary Ezzo, Michael and Debi Pearl, the loony tunes who wrote the "What to Expect... series, et cetera) for another day.
Today, speaking of dogs, we will carefully examine the relationship between a two year old and her loyal pooch. To do so, we need to first analyze the two year old. Contrary to popular belief, "Two's" (as we will call two-year-olds) are not "terrible." Tumultuous, yes. Tantrum-y, of course. As tempestuous as the sea, and as tormented as the most sensitive artist, Two's are also very energetic, loving, and are adorably learning compassion and empathy. Or, at least mine is.
For example, she just tripped and fell over Lola. At 75 lbs, and black with white markings, Lola is very hard to miss. However, my two year old has taken to trying to walk without looking. I think she's developing her sixth sense. At any rate, she fell right on top of the dog, who barked and jumped up. After tears and cuddles and reminders that our eyes need to watch where we are walking, she flopped back onto the floor with Lola, who went back to the same spot on the floor and resumed her lounge. "I'm sowwy, Lola, sowwy bumped. Bumped Lola," Gianna explained to Lola, from a distance of approximately three millimeters.
(Note: Dear Baby Trainers- I have never asked my child to apologize, nor have I expositorily taught her to apologize. Having modeled apologies myself to and around her since birth, though, she somehow is miraculously managing to pick it up! No switches or spankings involved! Imagine that! What a strange phenomenon- I actually treated my child the way I like to be treated, totally neglected to cram "apologies" down her throat, and hot diggity damn, she's doing it herself! In the appropriate context, even! Love and mush, Clara. P.S.- Let's all hope we never meet in a dark ally. Mr. Clarateaches would love to spend my potential bail money on something different. Insert hearts here, Clara.)
Things are not always so fuzzy and warm. Lola vacillates between fear and loathing, and curiosity and nosiness. I do not leave Gianna and Lola alone together, especially since we leave markers and chalk here and there. Over time, these art materials have managed to procreate, and rogue bands of markers turn up everywhere. Using the powers of "slight of hand," Gianna can fashion an impromptu tattoo right on Lola's fluffy white chest within moments of my eyes aiming in another direction.
Recently, Gianna has decided that Lola needs another collar. My tape measure is just the right thing to make that new collar, and she follows Lola throughout the day, trying to attach it. Lola skitters through the house, ears back, eyes horrified at the thought of strangulation by standard measurement. However, when I re-direct Gianna's attention to something else she finds entertaining (some differential equations, perhaps, or some Greek translations. It depends on the day), in approximately thirty seconds, Lola is peeking around the corner, looking for her strange little girl. An ice cube tray crammed full of play dough was vigorously offered to the Dogasus yesterday. Lola declined. Repeatedly. Then she walked away, while staring back at Gianna. As soon as she flopped down into her new observation spot, Gianna followed with more delicious play dough cubes. I redirected Gianna to the center of the floor, enticing her with more plastic utensils with which to mangle the dough. As soon as Gianna was occupied, Lola lifted her head and stared at me. And at Gianna. And back at me. Before long, she was walking back to Gianna, sniffing and poking her head into Gianna's business. And the dance continued.
On Gianna's end, she lives with concern that the dog will get her things or food. On the way to the kitchen for a "Grow-Lola-bar," (granola bar) Lola will typically follow us and at some point pass us and run for the kitchen door. She knows that following Gianna means following the action. Gianna, seeing this, yells frantically, "Lola's grow-lola-bar, NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!! NO LOLA'S GROW-LOLA-BAR!!!!!!!!"
"Does Lola eat granola bars?" I ask her. "Nooo..." Gianna says uncertainly, and by the time we get to the granola bars, Lola is circling like a shark and Gianna is screeching to Lola. I put Lola outside, and retrieve a bar for the girl. Lola peers through the window while Gianna starts to eat the bar, and then Gianna squishes her bar into the window, screeching, "EAT! EAT GROW-LOLA-BAR!!!" This scene repeats multiple times a day, with various edible and inedible items.
So, yes. We shall save the shysters and con-men (Gary Ezzo, Michael and Debi Pearl, the loony tunes who wrote the "What to Expect... series, et cetera) for another day.
Today, speaking of dogs, we will carefully examine the relationship between a two year old and her loyal pooch. To do so, we need to first analyze the two year old. Contrary to popular belief, "Two's" (as we will call two-year-olds) are not "terrible." Tumultuous, yes. Tantrum-y, of course. As tempestuous as the sea, and as tormented as the most sensitive artist, Two's are also very energetic, loving, and are adorably learning compassion and empathy. Or, at least mine is.
For example, she just tripped and fell over Lola. At 75 lbs, and black with white markings, Lola is very hard to miss. However, my two year old has taken to trying to walk without looking. I think she's developing her sixth sense. At any rate, she fell right on top of the dog, who barked and jumped up. After tears and cuddles and reminders that our eyes need to watch where we are walking, she flopped back onto the floor with Lola, who went back to the same spot on the floor and resumed her lounge. "I'm sowwy, Lola, sowwy bumped. Bumped Lola," Gianna explained to Lola, from a distance of approximately three millimeters.
(Note: Dear Baby Trainers- I have never asked my child to apologize, nor have I expositorily taught her to apologize. Having modeled apologies myself to and around her since birth, though, she somehow is miraculously managing to pick it up! No switches or spankings involved! Imagine that! What a strange phenomenon- I actually treated my child the way I like to be treated, totally neglected to cram "apologies" down her throat, and hot diggity damn, she's doing it herself! In the appropriate context, even! Love and mush, Clara. P.S.- Let's all hope we never meet in a dark ally. Mr. Clarateaches would love to spend my potential bail money on something different. Insert hearts here, Clara.)
Things are not always so fuzzy and warm. Lola vacillates between fear and loathing, and curiosity and nosiness. I do not leave Gianna and Lola alone together, especially since we leave markers and chalk here and there. Over time, these art materials have managed to procreate, and rogue bands of markers turn up everywhere. Using the powers of "slight of hand," Gianna can fashion an impromptu tattoo right on Lola's fluffy white chest within moments of my eyes aiming in another direction.
Recently, Gianna has decided that Lola needs another collar. My tape measure is just the right thing to make that new collar, and she follows Lola throughout the day, trying to attach it. Lola skitters through the house, ears back, eyes horrified at the thought of strangulation by standard measurement. However, when I re-direct Gianna's attention to something else she finds entertaining (some differential equations, perhaps, or some Greek translations. It depends on the day), in approximately thirty seconds, Lola is peeking around the corner, looking for her strange little girl. An ice cube tray crammed full of play dough was vigorously offered to the Dogasus yesterday. Lola declined. Repeatedly. Then she walked away, while staring back at Gianna. As soon as she flopped down into her new observation spot, Gianna followed with more delicious play dough cubes. I redirected Gianna to the center of the floor, enticing her with more plastic utensils with which to mangle the dough. As soon as Gianna was occupied, Lola lifted her head and stared at me. And at Gianna. And back at me. Before long, she was walking back to Gianna, sniffing and poking her head into Gianna's business. And the dance continued.
On Gianna's end, she lives with concern that the dog will get her things or food. On the way to the kitchen for a "Grow-Lola-bar," (granola bar) Lola will typically follow us and at some point pass us and run for the kitchen door. She knows that following Gianna means following the action. Gianna, seeing this, yells frantically, "Lola's grow-lola-bar, NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!! NO LOLA'S GROW-LOLA-BAR!!!!!!!!"
"Does Lola eat granola bars?" I ask her. "Nooo..." Gianna says uncertainly, and by the time we get to the granola bars, Lola is circling like a shark and Gianna is screeching to Lola. I put Lola outside, and retrieve a bar for the girl. Lola peers through the window while Gianna starts to eat the bar, and then Gianna squishes her bar into the window, screeching, "EAT! EAT GROW-LOLA-BAR!!!" This scene repeats multiple times a day, with various edible and inedible items.
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