petit appetit

I make no secret of my bambini's selective food inclinations.  They get it from their mother. 

The creations by Saxton Freymann and Joost Elffers featuring food carved into all kinds of things like animals, cars, trucks, and houses grace the pages of several stories for children (and foodies), including simple books like Baby Food and Dog Food, short stories in verse like Fast Food, and longer imaginative stories like One Lonely Seahorse, Gus and Button, and Dr. Pompo's Nose.  In this day and age where some children don't know what a tomato is, the "Play with Your Food" phenomenon this duo has begun is an able -- and fun -- antidote to that ignorance.  How Are You Peeling? is a valuable tool for helping children develop emotional intelligence -- knowledge of both their own emotions and the vital skill of empathy for others.  Simple text labels the incredible range of expressions on the fruits and vegetables.  Food for Thought is another great teaching tool for basic concepts. 

The ageless struggle between parents and children to get children to eat what's given to them is given a new spin in Sugar Would Not Eat It, written by Emily Jenkins and illustrated by Giselle Potter.  Leo adopts a stray kitten on the day after his birthday.  He names her Sugar and decides she must be hungry, so he offers her the last slice of his birthday cake.  But Sugar would not eat it, in spite of the threats, guilt trips, nagging, and bellowing he directs her way as he's heard his friends and neighbors describe of their own similar experiences.  In the end, the last slice of cake *does* get eaten -- by whom you can probably guess.

Giselle Potter has illustrated (and written, in some cases) a few other books we've liked, including Eugene Field's poem Wynken, Blynken, and Nod; Three Cheers for Catherine The Great; The Little Piano Girl: The Story of Mary Lou Williams, Jazz Legend; and Chloe's Birthday... And Me.

Cautious as we are in our food choices, there are some tasty books out there to satisfy even our pickiest palates ...

a different kind of marathon

Some people train for and run marathons.*  I gave birth (the fourth time around) drug-free.

It was a decision I came to after much prayer, preparation, and experience with medicated births.  I am, in a way, reticent to bring it up, but compelled to do so today, the raven-haired lass's half birthday, both to preserve my memory of it and to serve as an encouragement to other mothers.

By divulging this, I'm not looking for adulation or trying to make any mother who gave birth medicated feel like she worked any less than I did to bring her child(ren) into the world.  I am not.  It's not meant to be a publicity maneuver.   I've thought about posting this story on each month-iversary since the raven-haired lass was born, but I'm still not sure I have the chutzpah to do it.   But here goes...

When I learned our fourth child was on the way, I thought long and hard about his or her birth and how I wanted it to transpire.  The fourth time around, I did *not* want an epidural with its attendant medical interventions and after-effects.  That was the jumping-off point for me reading The Birth Book by Dr. William Sears and his wife Martha, a nurse, and Dr. Robert Bradley's Husband-Coached Childbirth (he being the namesake of the Bradley Birth method), as well as reading accounts online of and conversing in real life with women who'd given birth drug-free.  I thought through the entire labor process, reconciling myself with the idea of "pain with a purpose," an idea that the pain of childbirth has a very real and noble purpose, *and* that it does have an end.   

I still hadn't decided to commit to a drug-free childbirth, however, because I just wasn't convinced I could handle it.  Of course I knew women had done so for the entire course of history, but I wasn't confident I was up to the mental and physical challenge.

As the day of my due date approached and then passed, the prospect of induction became more and more probable.  I knew I would likely not be up to the challenge of an induced labor without pain relief (as I reasoned here), so I'd already arranged to have an epidural if I needed it but could forego it as well at my discretion.

The night before I was scheduled to be induced, the contractions I'd been having for over a week finally organized into a consistent, progressive fashion.  By the time my beloved and I arrived at the hospital for our induction appointment, I was far enough along on my own to do without interventions.  I decided then to go for the drug-free birth.

I took it one contraction at a time.  During each one, I'd only allow myself to think about breathing in and out.  As the contractions each built in intensity, I focused on relaxing everything except that which was contracting, and visualized the contraction building like a wave, cresting, then dissipating.  I repeated to myself something I'd read in reference to the girl I knew undergoing treatment for a malignant brain tumor whose motto for the physical fitness classes she taught was "I can do anything for one minute." That's about the length of each contraction -- a minute or so.  Then I'd have a few minutes to regroup before the next one.  I prayed for God's mercy upon the pain I was experiencing, and tried to offer it to him for the sake of my unborn child.  My beloved was with me as I labored both at home and in the hospital.

I did reach a point, as I'd read I likely would, when I'd had enough.  I knew that meant it was nearly over, and I prayed even more fervently for mercy and a speedy (yet safe) delivery.  There were moments when I felt I was about to lose my cool, but with the help of my beloved, my obstetrician, and the nurses gathered 'round, I hung in there.

As soon as the lass made her entrance, it was just as I'd read and heard it would be.  The pain was gone.  In its place was jubilation.  I was so thrilled to meet our lass, to check her out from tip to toe.  I felt a rush of endorphins (though I was worn out!), and, more so than when I'd been medicated, I was able to soak up everything happening around me.  I bonded with the lass instantly, and my physical recovery was overall much speedier than from those births for which I'd had epidurals.  I was up and around not too long after she was born.

Every birth is a miracle -- and a tremendous accomplishment for the mother who brings to birth the child she has carried in her womb for ordinarily somewhere in the vicinity of 40 weeks.  Whatever the circumstances surrounding the birth of a child are, each child is a gift from God; each mother is given the grace of God to be that child's mother and bring it to birth; and each child is his or her own unique person to be treasured and respected as one of God's own children.

Having said all that, when an expectant mother considers the impending and inevitable birth of her child, she has a lot to think about and many choices to make as to how she wishes the miraculous event to transpire.  Babies will come on their own terms, so the plans a mother makes may very well go out the window should medical necessity warrant, but she should still make a plan for her baby's birth and prepare herself for it to both go according to plan or not.

Deciding to deliver our raven-haired lass drug-free was a long time coming for me.  I wasn't mentally prepared to undertake such a challenge until this pregnancy.  I know it was God's grace that provided the "mental toughness" (as my dad calls it) to see me through the experience.

Our darling clementine has been a jolly, peaceful little lass from the beginning, and I can't help but wonder if part of that is owing to the manner in which she made her entrance into this world.

Mothers are designed to bring their babies to birth naturally.  There are many factors influencing each delivery, and each woman is different.  I pray each expectant mother receives the attentive and skilled pre-natal care she and her unborn baby deserve.  May each pair be surrounded by the love and care of family, friends, and care givers, enabling them to bring about safe, healthy deliveries each and every time, in whatever setting and manner deemed best for that particular mother and child.

*As for running marathons -- not me, no thank you.  I could never do that.

far out

A sick day from school was no excuse for a day lolling around doing nothing (that came later in the week when Mama succumbed to the full force of The Sniffles).  On Monday the elder lad was coming off a fever he'd run over the weekend, so he stayed home from school.  He and his brother had been engrossed by the space-themed play set their aunt and uncle had given them for Christmas over the weekend, and the intergalactic fun continued on the sick day.  Thus was born the thematic approach to our unexpected stay home day.

We read Martian Rock by Carol Diggory Shields (illustrated by Scott Nash), in which a group of Martians set off in a space ship from their home planet to explore the galaxy looking for signs of life.  They refer to the planets as "orbs", and as they visit each one we learn a little something about the composition of that planet.  The last one they visit is Earth, where they land on the South Pole.  Thinking there is no life on this orb just as there hadn't been on any of the others, they are about to head home until they encounter a colony of penguins...

Since this is a multi-age classroom (ahem), we also read Helen Oxenbury's Tom and Pippo See the Moon, one of the gifts the lass received for her second birthday.  Tom asks Daddy all about the moon and considers going there himself in a rocket with Pippo (after a good night's sleep).  Considering our affinity for Tom and Pippo, and the insatiable interest children have in the potty and what transpires there (there's a drawing of Tom sitting on his gazing at the moon), this book is an instant winner here. 

To develop logic, critical thinking, and spatial-relational skills, we worked our new solar system puzzle. 

Add to this the space-themed songs from our Schoolhouse Rock playlist.  And for "glowing screen time" (I can't take credit for that term, but I love it), we watched an episode of the PBS show Word World about compound words entitled "Race to the Spaceship/Sandbox Surprise".

Not too shabby for a sick day...

not-so-fun Fridays

We've spent these past three Fridays (and a few other days too in this same time frame) in a doctor's office or urgent care setting -- not for anything especially urgent, though.  The six of us have all fallen prey to The Sniffles over the past ten days or so, with resulting ear infections for some.  Others of us have had brushes with other infections that required immediate attention so as to not develop into something more serious.  Though we are collectively improving, some of us are still rather like faucets (including Mama and the raven-haired lass).

So much sniffling and time spent in doctors' offices has worn Mama down, but considering the relatively minor ailments afflicting us, I am filled with humility and gratitude for our overall good health.  We're redoubling our hand-washing efforts and stocking up our apothecary shop with probiotics, vitamins, and natural remedies like cranberry juice in an effort to restore us to vitality and its accompanying vim and vigor (or something like that).

But for now, here's hoping to catch up on some sleep...

faulty logic

lunchtime...

me: "You know, raisins are dried out grapes."

younger lad: "What are dried out raisins?"
me: "Raisins."

him: "What are dried out chips?"
me: "Chips."

funny face falls flat

The younger lad is not one to wolf down his dinner -- or lunch, for that matter.  He's usually not in a rush.  As I sat helping him finish up the pancakes he was dipping in applesauce, I tried to get in touch with my silly side and started making funny faces at him -- not in a poking fun kind of way, but more one to get him grinning in spite of his sniffles.  I love that grin.

I furrowed my brows at him, then opened my eyes wide.  Then I pursed my lips and puffed up my cheeks.  "Not like that, Mama," he said indignantly.  "Don't look like that!"

"How do you want me to look?" I asked him, returning my expression to baseline.

"Like that."

two cute

My sweet girl,

'Twas two years ago this morning 'round seven or so

when I first met you.

Every day you grow sweeter
(and more confident in your abilities in fending off wily brothers),
with endearing expressions such as "pwease, Mommy-O," and "thank you, Daddy-O"
and much kindness to all.

Just as quick to call dibs on a purple dump truck passing by
or wield a play power tool to fix your dollhouse
as you are to don a tutu (and insist upon leggings),
you relish bubble baths, raisins (and chocolate chips), books, helping in the kitchen, and all things pink and purple.

You and your siblings are under the weather with ear infections and much coughing and sniffling,
but that hasn't kept you from reveling in the (scaled back, but still pink) birthday festivities
so lovingly planned for you (with your input, of course).

Those enchanting eyes, that delightful giggle --
what a ray of sunshine you are to us.

May the peace of Christ be with you, my sweet girl, your whole life long.
How we love you so~