Conversations with my wife: Interpreting motherhood

Because my mate does not blog (or engage on any social media for that matter) and would totally agree that this represents his perspective, I have to share this bit of hilarity from Snoozing On the SofaConversations with my wife: Interpreting motherhood!

magic + madness of mud

Give a boy a garden hose…

and he’ll surely make, fling, smear, and eat mud!

I finally prepared my garden over the stretch of a week—turning the earth over (Shhh! I surprised my semi-bug-phobic self by apologizing to the displaced insect life and asking for their help in growing our garden), watering the plot, contemplating the layout and selection of plants, and interplanting flowers and herbs for the first time.  All the while, my dirt-loving-Earth-Day-born 2-year-old was giddily digging right alongside me.

By the end of the day, K was a pro with the garden hose and everything was a fair target.  Including me, of course!  I even had to negotiate time with it.  He’d reluctantly hand it over, whimpering “my hose” and half-heartedly picking up the hand shovel or cultivator until he could get the hose back in his grip.

So now he’s the official hose boy!

Days later, K waters the garden.

Tending the Earth

While at the park one afternoon, he played with two little girls who were trying to make an airplane out of candy wrappers strewn about the playground. I pointed out other scraps they could use, remarking how cool and clever it was that they were recycling garbage into art.  Suddenly, K starts hunting down trash and throwing it away!

I have no doubt that our time together in the garden cleaning up debris, tilling, weeding, planting, watering and admiring our efforts have planted in him the seeds to be a steward of this earth.

First blooms of the Snapdragons

Yesterday, I was so excited to see the first of the snapdragons flowering!

The gift of the whole universe:

the earth, the sky, the rain, and the sun…*

 …A hose, a toddler’s enthusiasm and wonder,

Our hands, our breath, our laughter, our smiles.

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tits + titillation II: the magic of mammaries + the madness of media hype over breastfeeding

I’m recycling my commentary to the Q&A with Jamie Lynne Grumet that I reblogged a few days ago along with related articles addressing the issue, including Dr. Sears’ respond to the hype.

As a mother who has instinctively practiced “natural”, “attachment,” or “connected” parenting, I applaud Jamie Lynne Grumet’s courage to appear on the cover of Time.

The image is undeniably and deliberately provocative.  And, in some ways, problematic.

Though not for the reasons that most folks will immediately think.

Along with the caption “Are You Mom Enough?” this cover adds fuel to thetyranny of comparison (to borrow the phrase that continues to resonate with me long after hearing it in Buddhist teacher Martin Aylward’s dharma talk Work, Sex, Money, Dharma.) between working and at-home mothers.

As well, it excludes from the picture the vital presence of fathers who are equally committed to this way of parenting.

Understandably, Time’s editorial choice was guided by sales as much as shining the light on the legacy of Dr. William Sears and attachment parenting.

I appreciate Jamie’s awareness of the unfortunate negativity (guilt, resentment, judgement, etc.) this will spark and can only hope that the full article will present a more complete and balanced view than its cover.

May all parents be released from suffering
the tyranny of comparison.
May all parents be inspired to be
the best nurturers, educators, and providers 
they can be
and make skillful choices that serve the well-being of their families.

Related articles:

tits + titillation: the magic of breastfeeding + the madness of TIME’s provocative cover

As a mother who has instinctively practiced “natural”, “attachment,” or “connected” parenting, I applaud Jamie’s courage to appear on the cover of Time.

The image is undeniably and deliberately provocative.

And, in some ways, problematic. Though not for the reasons that most folks will immediately think.

Along with the caption “Are You Mom Enough?” this cover adds fuel to the “tyranny of comparison” (to borrow the phrase that continues to resonate with me long after hearing it in Buddhist teacher Martin Aylward’s dharma talk Work, Sex, Money, Dharma.) between working and at-home mothers. As well, it excludes from the picture the vital presence of fathers who are equally committed to this way of parenting.

Understandably, Time’s editorial choice was guided by sales as much as shining the light on the legacy of Dr. William Sears and attachment parenting.

I appreciate Jamie’s awareness of the unfortunate negativity (guilt, resentment, judgement, etc.) this will spark and can only hope that the full article will present a more complete and balanced view than its cover.
May all parents be released from suffering the tyranny of comparison.

May all parents be inspired to be the best nurturers, educators, and providers they can be and make skillful choices that serve the well-being of their families.

magic of moon wisdom

There’s something magical about waking up with my lovey-boy before dawn on the days that surround the full and change of the moon.

Sometimes for K, it’s a tossing-and-turning to find the right nook to snuggle into, a fluttering of eyes, a murmuring of dreamy words, a giggle- and-yawny stretch. Hands reaching out, knees nudging, toes burrowing—the reassuring warmth of skin. And, once in a while, he’s wired for sound! Popping up to play with cars or to read books as if the sun were streaming brightly through his window.

When I alone am awake, I rest in contemplation or sit in meditation. These witching hours are made for listening deeply and seeing clearly by the twinkle of stars that light the path.

Insight is a gift not the goal. Some things are illuminated, others released. Often, nothing at all appears to be happening. Yet it’s more than enough to abide in the hush, to simply feel and hear my breath subtle and distinct. Quietly, steadily just being me.

Attuned to this spirit time, I feel energized rather than depleted. I am awake—moving easily through the day on merely a few hours of sleep, sustained by the magnetic wisdom of the moon.

tandem napping: magic + madness in the family bed

sharing the sweetness of breath, warmth, quiet, and rest

until the snoring begins
and blankets become tangled and hot
or hogged and coveted
and stray limbs wander into sensitive territories

leaving me the “wakeful flea” to balance hip-heavy on the inches near the edge

crowded, I roll over and out
while the two bears cuddling in the bed sigh deeply and spread wider

elsewhere,
sweatered and socked
or wrapped in a cozy,
I snuggle up in solitude and free space

holy mood swings: my toddler the teenager!

Let me first state that I do not subscribe to the common expectation that a toddler’s transition to the age of two will be terrible!

Even at the height of my son’s spontaneous emotional swirl-nados, I steadfastly refuse to be trapped by what I see is a trite label and myopic view in child development that doesn’t foster deep, compassionate understanding.  Yes, there will be tantrums! Frequent and at times seemingly relentless. But there are far too many magical moments (and, in general, enough madness) in parenthood to flat-out condemn this developmental phase as a requisite breath-holding, loin-girding battle of the wills.

What these natural growing pains require are deep breaths, gentle words, easy smiles, open arms, sympathetic hearts and creative minds. The magic is revealed when we greet the madness with such mindfulness and, whenever possible, humor.

Hiding out!
No, I not doing that, Mommy!

“No” and its variants are running neck-and-neck with “Mommy” as the utterance we hear most frequently.  Be it emphatic and loud, soft and sweet, plaintive or matter-of-fact, our growing list of the ways in which K expresses his resistance—er, preference—currently includes:

      • No, thank you.
      • Nope.
      • Not doing/Not going…
      • Not yet.
      • Uh-uh.
      • And, once: No way, José!  (for which I take total responsibility)

Not all of these “no” moments are cause for alarm.  Many, I must admit, are hysterical to me—and I get so tickled that I can hardly suppress my laughter!  In those laughable cases, my mate and I typically find it easy to redirect K’s attention and energy.  If his persistence cannot be ignored, we are not above negotiating with Altoids (our newest useful tool) to allay potential meltdowns and encourage cooperation from our mint-crazed kid.

But I mindfully gauge my response to each situation (namely, turning away if I’m particularly giggly) so as not to invalidate K’s feelings. When I notice that he’s beginning to struggle with his emotions, I ask whether he needs help, a hug or both.  Any of those are effective in the easiest scenarios.

Of course, we parents wouldn’t stretch and grow into our wise and skillful selves if we only had the easy.  In the toughest moments K’s alter, The No-Bot, emerges to unequivocally and inconsolably refuse all aid!

Now  comes the deep breathing…and, I give K the space to work it all out:  He’ll clomp upstairs and fling himself onto the bed, hiding under the covers whenever I check in. Or, run off to pout in a corner or shut himself in a closet or the bathroom. Yes, all of these dramatic gestures from a child on the cusp of two years old!

Even in the midst of this I remain amused and amazed by how well this child of mine knows his own mind and fearlessly expresses it.  Most important, I recognize and respect that K is a little person who doesn’t yet know what to do with all these big new feelings and ideas blooming inside.  It’s not necessary, helpful or appropriate to exhaust myself by demanding his obedience. As a connected parent, I understand that when children don’t “feel right” they have difficulty demonstrating the behavior we deem “acting right” and learning to manage feelings is a slow and gradual practice (for kids and adults alike).

This wide open perspective serves us both: K learns that he can freely and safely experience a full range of natural emotion such as frustration (the most common because he can’t do or have something), anger, discomfort, fear or confusion without punishment.  I not only foster trust and compassionate communication between us, but also exercise patience and conserve energy. I model  the calm behavior and, slowly and gradually, nurture those seeds of calm in him.

So I wait nearby, quietly assuring him that I understand and am ready to help, to hold, to hug.

Then that moment of intensity passes.  K settles into my arms.  I rock him and sing the calm down song until his breath comes smooth and steady. (Ah, the magic of songs and education-based kids’ programming that can be used as empowerment tools for parents and their little ones. Another jewel for magic + mindfulness: Anh’s Anger.)

Now I know he’s ready to listen. I replay the scenario and translate his feelings into simple words: you wanted to do this, mommy said that, you felt mad…and so on.  Sometimes, I take him to stand before the mirror so he can see how his feelings look.  I tell him that it’s okay, that he’s growing and learning, and still needs help from mommy and daddy.

I look into K’s eyes and say, “Gimme your nose!”  Giggling, we rub our noses together in an Eskimo kiss. Into this simple, loving gesture I breathe my willingness to receive all his no’s with mindfulness.  K’s transient outburst is already forgotten. Centered and at ease once more, he zips off to the next new experience. 

a million hoodies, a million hearts: metta behind the movement for trayvon martin

Easily seen is the outrage, despair and fear, the ignorance and insensitivity, the failures of the police, lawmakers and politicians, the complex, provocative and polarizing rhetoric and debate, the uncertainty of justice and the swelling distrust in the systems that are meant to ensure our safety.

Hard indeed to see and to carry hope for the possibility of deep and lasting change.

Not only to the controversial and dangerous law that gave a misguided vigilante license to act upon his fear and racism with unnecessary and deadly force.

But also to individual and systemic institutional practices that reinforce our prejudices, feeding and fueling them to become rampant antis-, –isms and -phobias.

Easily seen are the differences between us: skin, hair, race, gender, age, sexuality, religion, education, politics, economics…

Hard indeed to see are the threads that tie us together:
blood, breathe, heart, soul, histories, joy, suffering…

But for my practice of the buddha-dharma,
I might sit heavy with visceral rage, terror, disgust and disappointment.

Stomach-churning, heart-racing, tear-choking, breath-stealing anguish

For Trayvon,
my son,
my mate,
my father,
my brothers,
my nephews,
my cousins,
my friends,
my neighbors,
and others known or unknown to me who could be snatched from their loved ones
so brutally, so easily.

And not just sons, not only males.

Our daughters, mothers, sisters, and aunts are always vulnerable too. 

This cruelty, this pain, this suffering does not discriminate.
It leaves no one untouched.

So with my practice I sit.
Breath-, Love- and Hope-filled.

In full trust of the ever-evolving nature of all things.
In full remembrance that there are causes of and an end of suffering.
In full awareness of the victory of each sweet breath.

I sit to cradle my simmering feelings—
giving them space to stretch out, unfold, take new shape in their own time.

They are natural, they are human, they are mine.

Yet they are not me.

Touching the dharma and continuously taking refuge in the Five Mindfulness Trainings,             I am determined that my feelings will not feed or fuel choices that are unskillful, harmful or deadly.

I grow steady with each breath.
My anger and fear cool, soften and slowly transform into
the compassionate vigilance of mindfulness.

I listen deeply, see more clearly what is the true, necessary and wise course of action for me in this moment.

I touch the Metta Suttasending compassion and lovingkindness
in all directions with every breath
so that any habitual inclination toward anger, numbness, despair or avoidance will be released.

I step back—filtering out the discord, limiting what I consume from the media.
Tuning in—to my breath, my intentions, my dharma, my heart.

From this space, I listen deeply for:
facts, resolution, and the aspirations I hear beneath the pleas for justice.

From this space, I see clearly the faces:
brown as my own,
also darker, lighter—matching the full spectrum of hues and tones of people I know and love—reflecting my sadness, my questions, my aspirations.

From this space, I see clearly the hearts beneath the hoodies.

I feel them beating, bleeding, bursting wide and tender with compassion
for Trayvon Martin, his heartbroken parents and loved ones,
and all others who are suffering from such tragic and profound losses.

Hearing, seeing, feeling completely, I touch those aspirations that connect us all.

I chant them silently, I chant them aloud to my son each night, I chant them for us all.

With each nourishing, energizing, life-sustaining breath:

May we and all beings be happy,

May we and all beings be safe,

May we and all beings be well,

May we and all beings have peace.

My path and practice are affirmed.  I know this is the only way for me.

 Trayvon‑Martin‑009_540x405.jpg

  • My son: My ray of light, my bell of mindfulness, my clear intention for practice.
  • My mate: A miraculous odds-smashing survivor of a random act of road rage, he was shot in the head at 19. He happens to be white. The shooter, who served the minimum sentence on a plea, is black. His parents–my loving “in-laws”—and family members who are models and practitioners of faith and forgiveness.
  • The Dhammapada (Verses 252 – 3) as quoted in Come See For Yourself  ~ Ayya Khema         We read and discussed the chapter “The Faults of Others” in my root sangha (lamc.info) several years ago, and it continues to resonate.
  • The Places That Scare You: A Guide To Fearlessness in Difficult Times ~ Pema Chodron    I’m currently re-reading this book (slowly digesting the practices), and my bookmark was resting in the middle of her chapter on Compassion.
  • Metta for Children ~ InvitingtheBell.com                                                                                         Matt wrote about introducing this “magical” practice to his daughter (exactly one month ago today) and, auspiciously, I read it shortly after putting my own child to bed with thoughts about how to incorporate age-appropriate bedtime blessings into our evening ritual. Every night since, I sing my simple metta chant to him.
  • ‘Million Hoodie’ March  ~ Newsone.com

when lessons rebound: floss-o-philia

This is what happens when I forget to hide the floss:

open with teeth

floss-o-philia: chew
chew

floss-o-philia: stretch & saw
stretch & saw

on the madness in motherhood

Cackling, with laughter to keep the tears at bay.

“From cool to chaos” — whirlwind-tornado-tsunami — in a split second.

MESSY

 …sticky, stinky, sloppy, smushy and sometimes…

STRANGELY GLORIOUS

 …to be freed from the insistent call to order

from shelves, drawers, closets and containers.

LIFE

…spilling

…out:

ALL VIBRANT.  LOUD.  REAL. 

Wailing

Pouting

Shrieking

Bellowing:

HERE, HERE, HERE!

NOW…NOW…NOW!

NONONONO!

And then, sighing:

OKAY? OKAY. OKAY!

YES…YES…YES.

And now:

Laughing.  Softly.  Deeply.  Easily.  Always.

{Posted with WordPress for BlackBerry.}

to tv or not to tv: oh, canada!

to tv: After a trial run with “t-tops,” my not-quite 2-year-old said “triceratops” the other day. Thank you, nick jr. & Dino Dan!

not to tv: K’s internal antenna had been tuned to Caillou‘s timetable for the past year, so he always seems to know exactly when it’s on.  And now, well, it’s being recalibrated toward Go, Diego, Go!

potty: repurposed

disassemble

disassemble

fill with water

fill with water

schooner-sized sippy cup

create a schooner-sized sippy cup

Can you guess what was in his diaper at the time?! (OH! Adding to the madness + magic, this, of all songs, actually came on my Pandora Sade station: music for this moment of madness + magic.) Thank heavens he had never actually used it for its intended purpose! Until…*

*BREAKING NEWS: Surprise, surprise! K had some serious movement (as in: major toddler milestone) this morning & will no longer be allowed to play with his pot!

madness + magic: out on a walk…

My not-quite 2-year-old eats dirt. Then squeals for pizza.

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