The Mamas Club

Welcome To the The Mother magazine's Blog Carnival: "Friendship and Connection" The Mother magazine is a holistic, natural mothering publication. It is with great pleasure that we share this topic with such a talented group of bloggers. You will find links to the each of the other posts at the end of this one. We hope you enjoy them!

It has been a terrible morning. 

There have been multiple spills, siblings yelling and hitting.

Breakfast is still all over the table and floor, and the living room.

There is what feels like a vortex of chaos at the very start of my morning.

It is loud. Grating. And difficult to remain patient on so very little sleep.

The strongest black coffee that I can brew hasn't made it into my cup yet.

The internal battle between the nurturing unconditional Mama and the pregnant woman who watches pandemonium unfold from outside of her own body is already raging at this early morning hour. I can feel myself unraveling. I know I am going to yell. I know I have to contain myself.

Pull it together. Breathe. Get the Coffee in the Cup. Try to Connect. 

It's hard to hear my own pep talk in the midst of this maelstrom. 

My little boy suddenly appears, smacks me in the belly and runs away. 

The top pops off.

I yell.  

A few not very nice words.

Everyone is tearful now and loud. 

I just made my job that much harder. And I feel terrible about myself. 

My auto-script of negative self-talk is about to unfold: 

I don't know what I am doing. I will never get this right. I am ruining them. Why can't I just be better at this? Why can't I just be a different person: a different Mom? 

Instead I decide on a sincere apology. We sit down in the hallway.  

Cry, talk, reconnect. Forgive.

After some reading time, play time, and a few giggles, I open my email. 

An invite from new friends to play in their sandbox this afternoon. 

Although this invitation comes as a relief I debate whether today is the right day for this venture.

These things can be hit or miss:

refereeing conflict between yet another child,

not sure of the exact right words to use this time,

trying not to sound like I am begging my children to leave when we have worn out our welcome,

and that feeling of not measuring up as I sit in another Mama’s pristine house with perfectly organized toys and labeled shelves to place them on.

These are exclusive clubs, you know, the "We Are Mamas Clubs".

Membership requires similar parenting tactics and/or principles, similarly behaved children, children that actually like each other, mothers that feel the same.

And I am still trying to find my tribe.

But okay, we need to get out and maybe it’s worth the risk.

I time it perfectly. The baby catches a quick nap in her car seat while my boy plays with friends. I sit on the stoop with my new friend watching the kids play in the falling leaves. 

"How's your day going?" she asks. 

"Uhh, terrible." I can’t help but unload. 

I tell her about this morning. I confess to yelling. I tell her about my unrealistic expectations of my children - of myself. I complain about all the little inconveniences and big hormones of pregnancy.

She rubs my shoulder and that is enough to lift some of the heaviness of the morning.

How rare it is to be mothered when you are a mother. 

She says, “ I remember when I was pregnant with my second a friend reminded me about the Goddess Kali. The mother goddess who is at once nurturing and vicious.” 

Photo: Premnath Thirumalalsamy

I remember Kali. The Mother who is simultaneously feared and adored, the bringer of destruction and creation. She suckles her offspring while ripping off the heads of those that stand in the way of peace. She is an archetypal conundrum and I am reminded that

I am not alone.

The baby has woken. We follow the kids inside. 

Our conversation slows as we attend to our children. But even being inside her house feels like the perfect thing today. 

It feels familiar here. 

Toys are everywhere. Unfolded laundry has been thrown into baskets and into the corner. Dishes are piled high in and around the sink. Uneaten lunch is still lingering on the table. 

It’s not only my house that looks like the hub of destruction and creation. 

Kids are yelling, running, making messes. 

We are calm. 

We are attentive. 

We redirect, affirm, smile, snuggle.

We nurse our babies midst the chaos. 

We are Mamas of Kali’s not- so- exclusive club. 

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Thank you for visiting The Mother magazine blog carnival, read further and enjoy the other fantastic bloggers!

 

Hope in the Heartache, Light in the Darkness

"A child heats your lap with a fever that rages fire. Your chest heaves, holding an unimaginable weariness like a weight pinning you to the floor. Tears threaten at your lashes. In this moment you want to cry out; for help, for understanding..." Follow Starr and The Mother magazine • Facebook • Twitter

The Mama Club

"The internal battle between the nurturing unconditional Mama and the pregnant woman who watches pandemonium unfold from outside of her own body is already raging at this early morning hour. I can feel myself unraveling. I know I am going to yell. I know I have to contain myself. Pull it together. Breathe. Get the Coffee in the Cup. Try to Connect."

Follow Kati from THE BEST THINGS • Facebook • Twitter

•••

The Dream Friendship

"For me a true friendship is built on honesty, love, trust and belief in each other. When you have a friend with this kind of connection life is so much easier, especially the journey of motherhood." Follow Vicky from MOTHERING A DREAM •••

Twins and Friendship

"After I had my twins and the weeks turned into months I began to feel afraid the words may ring true. I began to feel estranged from my old self, as if she had died but I had just then realized it. I felt as if I were imprisoned in my own home..." Follow Miranda from Twinning It • Facebook • Twitter •••

The Red Thread

"I feel blessed by the integrity of those women who I call friends, and am deeply thankful for the bonds that knit our lives together, even when we’re separated by long distances and busy lives. We connect at a heart level." Follow Veronika Sophia Robinson • Facebook • Twitter •••

On Kindred Spirits

"At times, I envy the ease with which my toddler makes friends. When we are at the park, now that we're (mostly) past the how-dare-you-play-on-MY-slide phase, making friends is generally as simple as "I'm small; you're small; let's play!" And off Bug goes with whatever other little kid happens to be there that day, while I look on wistfully."

Follow Holly from Leaves of Lavender

•••

Where Moms Make Friends in the Digital Age

"Before the Internet, moms met each other at Mothers’ Centers, when they dropped off and picked up their kids from nursery school, at child birth classes, in their neighborhood where moms used to knock on each others’ doors for tea and a chat, and at work"

Follow Laurie Hollman, PhD • Facebook • Twitter

On Being Scared...

Halloween 2014

It's Halloween Eve. The anticipation has been building all week. We have engaged in Halloween related activities and projects all week long. It's almost here!

I promise, we are not really big Halloween junkies. Babe-O has had an interest in things that are a bit scary this year, like the idea of ghosts and haunted houses, spiders and bats, and ghouls (we call them dirty guys). And more than the tricks or treats, I really enjoy the feeling of Magic that can accompany Halloween. The magic of being anyone or anything that you want to be. The magic of autumn nights where the leaves crunch under your feet, toasty popcorn and warm apple cider fill your belly, the stars burn brighter in the clear night sky and bonfires spark and warm chilly noses in the cold air that will carry in Winter. As the leaves fall and the nights get longer, it seems like a time to celebrate the magic of growing older. Because we are all doing it and because that sweet and sour anguish of watching my kids get older lives in my bones and will always haunt my heart as I try my hardest to hold onto the little moments, knowing I will have to let go.

Today Babe-O and I had a scare. Different kinds, in different ways. For me, it was the kind of scare that reinforced the impossibility of keeping my children protected from fear or unpleasant experiences whether they be scary or painful.

We had a friend over and dressed up in our costumes for a day out at a Glow in The Dark Inflatable Playground. The kind where your kids get to jump up and down until they are ravenous and so very tired, yet totally pumped full of adrenaline. You know, kinda how it feels after a really hard workout (the kind that make you feel like you might pass out but you don't). It's fun (once in a while).
And it was a special event for Halloween. Jump around in your costumes! Glowing, bouncing, Halloween fun! Perfect!

Babe-O quickly got used to the Glow in the Dark area, after being very cautious at first. He and his friend were having a great time chasing each other around an enclosed obstacle course. Babe-ala and I watched from behind the net enclosure, cheering Babe-O on as he bounced by. Suddenly and undetected by myself, an older child in a scary wolf mask entered the dark glowing bouncy house. Babe-O turned around only to be head-on with a wolf. The scream was piercing as he tried to escape the enclosure only getting trapped in the net. I yelled for the older child to take off his mask, which only took a moment and Babe-O recovered with the comfort of his friend and myself.

It's hard to describe a Mom's (or Dad's) reaction in the instant when her child is faced with something terrifying, something so scary you know that in some way, measurable or immeasurable, it will change them. There are all different kinds of scary and all different ways of being changed. But in the instant the incident occurs you can at once empathize so deeply as to be equally and indelibly imprinted as your child and simultaneously realize that although you are now more present for your child than you may ever mundanely be you are absolutely and utterly unable to protect them from the impact.

The spectrum of scary is so broad: from childhood illness, disease, tragedies (which we also live with on a daily basis you can read about Deo here) to the frights of Halloween, fear of the dark, loud flushing toilets.  The effect may have it's definite course or be unknown and as a Mom it can be hard to decipher which is scarier.

As a Mom, the scariest thing is to embrace my own fears about my children growing up - to really let myself feel the fear, pain, even regret of not having seen the Wolf coming. Accepting that while they are young I can  do what "feels" like sustaining their lives every day and still not see the Wolf coming. Realizing that sometimes I may see the Wolf coming and have to let my children encounter it on their own and knowing that even if they turn to me in times of fear there will be increasingly less and less I will be able to do.

We will have different scares, in different ways. If I practice living with and love through my fears, which I believe is the magic of fully, deeply living I may have the privilege to be there to hold the space where their fear lives without letting mine get in the way.

It comforts me to know, on this Halloween Eve, that my children may know the feeling of being loved that is both connected to fear and more powerful than it. 

How's that for existential Halloween fodder?

Just to let you know:
As he was leaving the Glowing, Bouncing Halloween Party that nearly made him pee his pants, he had a conversation with the manager (totally unprovoked by me- i swear.) In which he informed him that he had run into a wolf in the bouncy house. He reassured him that. "the wolf was really a boy, so thank goodness for that". He continued by questioning the manager, "did you see the wolf come in? " And then castigating him, " You should not let wolves come in here. Next time no masks in the bouncy houses!" (Unannounced to Babe-O, I had already had this conversation with the manager).

Deep breath. He'll be okay this time.

The Pigeon Gets A Pumpkin!

The Pigeon is Babe-O's very favorite literary character!
He just loves him (and the duckling)!
He loves all the books (by Mo Willems) and knows them all by heart.
And since Batman has come into action, we have taken a short break from pigeon only bringing him back to fight crime with Batman once in a while.

Recently, we were surprised to find this book on the "New Books" shelf at the library.



Needless to say, Pigeon has made a come back!
Babe-O plays Pigeon and Duckling stories out in his sleep.
We role play Pigeon and Duckling (I usually get to be Duckling) almost everyday and we do Pigeon and Duckling puppet shows.
I am sure this may seem familiar to many of you, since Pigeon and Duckling are pretty popular.
(And if you don't know Pigeon and Duckling, I recommend them no matter your age. Very funny stuff and a lot of room for ad lib!)

Naturally, our pumpkins have turned into Pigeon and Duckling.

Here they are sharing a hot dog on the front porch.
Babe-ala brings the mustard to the party!

I will admit that this project stressed me out a little bit.
The excitement leading up to the final project was very frenetic and it was hard for little hands to resist pigeon and duckling while they were still wet.

We used acrylic paints like these.  Babe-O and Babe-ala both helped paint the pumpkins. Our paints clearly said non-toxic on the label. Although, I worry with acrylic paint (hence the heightened stress about the painty mess).While they dried, we took a long bath break.

The beak is made from foam sheets. I cut two triangles for the top and two for the bottom beak and hot-glued them in 3-D fashion, as well as to the pumpkin itself.
I painted the eyes on and Babe-O helped put the large googly eyes on Pigeon.

When they were dry (or still a little wet), we got a hot dog and mustard bottle from our play kitchen and had a hot dog party on the front porch!

Fun, fun, fun!

And here's the scary pumpkin (carved by yours truly)... just because it's The Scariest Best Things Week... and we HAD to have a scary pumpkin...

ROAR! 

A few of our favorite Pigeon books:

Orange Pumpkins. No Really, Orange Pumpkins.

I did this a long time ago with a clementine peel.
But lately we have a ton of oranges in the house.
We haven't seen a good orange in a while so when we found them at the store we bought them up.
Here's what we did with the peels.
Perfect for little hands since carving a pumpkin is usually a big persons job around here.

Step 1: Cut off the top of your orange.

Step 2: Make an incision down the back of the peel and carefully pull out the orange guts. If the peel rips a bit that's okay. You'll see it will still be spherical-ish.

Step 3: Cut out your orange pumpkin face. I used a knife and I helped Babe-O me use scissors to cut  a scary face into the peel.

Step 4: Sucher up your orange. I cut up a bamboo skewer. Toothpicks might work fine too.

Step 5: Insert tea light.

Step 6: Light your candle and turn off the lights for some spooky orange pumpkin fun!

Keeping The Kids Clean: Part Two

Welcome to The Scariest Best Things Week! Some very spooky posts are headed your way this week. To begin, Part Two: a very chilling account of how I don't keep my kids clean. Promise that the following posts will be very Halloween-y! 

It's time for some Fall House Cleaning.
And instead of cleaning it, we have been trying to get out of it as much as we can.
Soaking up the crisp autumn weather, visiting the remaining ducks and geese before they head south and exploring the leafy forests seem like a better idea than cleaning.
Because well, I am lazy about cleaning AND it always feels like a losing battle.

We live in a 1200sq ft house. There are five of us. Plus one more coming home from afar, plus one more on the way. That all equals an avalanche of mess in this house.
There are food crumbs, laundry, art leftovers, outside particles (such as dirt - it sounds better the other way), toys, toys, did I say toys?, everywhere you look. One could spend the entire day sweeping and putting away and turn around to find it all back the same way. 
I can't fight that battle. It makes me insane. AND I don't have time to clean around the clock.
I have way too much playing to do!
But this post is less about the mess that is inside my house. Maybe another day.
This post is about how that mess gets on my children and how, then I take my children and that mess out of my house into (drumroll) the REAL, CLEAN-ish world.

Now, before I go any further, let me set a few things straight.


1. Order and cleanliness are important. Kinda.
Order helps kids feel secure. Keeping things neat helps kids focus and so on and so forth.
Time out.
Order doesn't always look neat and tidy.
I help my kids feel secure. They know no matter what the mess looks like, I'll always be there to help them or support them in cleaning it up, now or forever.
I also have found that if my kids find an activity worthy, they will focus when they are ready and that doesn't mean it will always look like they are focusing to me.

For example, when the Legos explode all over the playroom and all the other toys in the playroom end up in the living room - that's Babe-Os way of ordering his most important toys and his workspace.
Similarly, when he can't find something he really wants because I didn't clean up after him or it's lost in the morass he learns a little bit about keeping order, without me having to nag or make orders.
But that's order of possessions.
How about the order of a routine?
Well, we have one of those. It consists of waking up, sustaining our bodies with nutrition when we are hungry, doing what makes us happy, maintaining our hygiene when it is agreeable to all*, and trying not to boss each other around all day long until our bodies feel tired enough to go to sleep.

*One trick to getting a kid who doesn't want to take a bath to take a bath is to let them do something really really messy so that they get so messy that they really want to take a bath.

 2. I don't require my kids to clean up.
They aren't there yet. There is NO interest in cleaning up ANYTHING.
Some kids have that desire. Mine don't.
One day they will be more ready to cooperate in the cleaning. I hope.
Instead of singing songs to myself and playing games, or devising clever games to try to interest them while I do all the cleaning alone (which I have tried) I talk a little bit about it and then do the nasty job myself.
So I'll say, " Look at all these toys. I don't want to trip over them. Let's put some away."
And then I 'll just do it.
Or when I think he can handle it I'll say, "Put this in the toy box." And just hand Babe-O the toy. Sometimes I get a little help and sometimes I don't.
Here's the most important lesson I have learned about asking for help.
If I expect a yes answer, don't ask. It just makes me mad when I don't get one.
How about spills? or sticky fingers? or messy faces?
For spills I just say, " It's okay. Let's clean it up." And do the same as above. Mostly, clean it up myself while they hold an extra towel.
For messy selves I hand them a wipe and try to get a wipe in myself, or I let it go.
Because I'd rather give them freedom. I'd rather give them a choice to be as they are. I'd rather have peace.

3. They are healthy.
Everyone has a bath at least every other day.
They pee in the water and I don't drain it. But because I have recently had a guilty moment I checked on that. It turns out pee water is sterile. So I am okay on that.
I clean the bathroom.
I wash the floors and change the sheets (occasionally).
I wash clothes. (I don't always fold it, but believe me I wash it.)
I wash their hands before they eat and after they use the toilet and whenever we go somewhere that gives me the eeby jeebies (most of the time).
I change diapers and keep their skin healthy.
I brush their teeth and their hair when they let me.
I do the important things. (For example, under no circumstances can anyone drink the bathwater, only the water that comes out of the faucet. But they drink it with cups that have been in the bathwater. Well, no one has died or been sick so we are okay on that too.)



So, here is what unclean looks like for us:

I let them feed themselves. At home, in public, in the car. Whenever they are hungry.
I let them eat what they like. I don't limit to-go foods to dry foods. I let them eat yogurt and smoothies in the car. I let them pick apart their sandwiches and eat peanut butter with their fingers. I let them use big people utensils and serve themselves. I let them drink out of cups with no lids because who wants to suck their drink out of a tiny hole in a plastic lid all the time?

I don't use bibs. They don't like them. Never have. Not as babies and not as toddlers. They always cry and complain and tear them off anyway. Plus it's just more tiny laundry.

I let them play with their food. In fact it's our family pasttime. It's almost a daily occurrence. Whether Batman has to save the Lego guys from the syrup filled holes in a waffle or we make food specifically for the purpose of playing with it, it just happens and I'll never limit that or stop it. I 've even been known to turn a blind eye when they throw food.

I let them wipe their hands and face on their clothes or mine if we don't have a wipe with us.

I let them wear their leftovers in their hair if they want to. I try to clean it out, but sometimes they don't want me to. So there you go cashier at the grocery store, who handed me a paper towel to wipe down my kids. I am not doing it. You can recycle your paper towel.

I let them get dirtier. If we are at the park and there are muddy rocks to climb. I say, " go for it."
Even if we are going to the store next.  If it just rained and their are giant muddy puddles to splash in I say, "absolutely." We can usually find a way to clean off our boots enough to track only minimal dirt into the store or library or five star resturant with white linens and furniture (oh, wait Babe-O won't eat there so I guess I do that one). We have had to run home to grab dry socks. We have had to cancel plans to go home and take a bath.

I want to give my kids this time limited opportunity to be. a. kid. To be messy and enjoy it. To make a mess and play in it. To not even notice who may or may not be judging them.To be just exactly who they are, just exactly how they want to be. Because they are not just kids who look messy on the outside.

They are people who have opinions and desires about when and how and where they and their things are kept clean. And I'm not just their Mom who is or isn't doing my best job of keeping them clean. I'm the person caring for and protecting their right to be as they are.

Keeping The Kids Clean: Part One

So here is what happened today.

We left our messy house to visit the grocery store.
Both kids had at least one article of clothing on that they had slept in.
Both kids had some remnants of breakfast either stuck in their hair or on their clothes.
Both kids had peanut butter and apples for a snack in the car on the way to the store.

I considered myself skilled to have gotten them dressed, in the car, and happily accompanying me to said store.

We shopped. A bit frantically, because I misjudged lunch time for snack time and the apple and peanut butter has not been enough to hold them over. They requested all of their favorite snacks and demanded to eat them right away. My shopping list went out the window and everything ended up in the cart.

Overall, I applauded myself on the way to the check out. This was a smooth trip. Babe-O helped out, picked out a few foods he wanted to eat. Only ran off once. Babe-ala stayed in the cart seat for half the trip and made it to the check out without gnawing a hole through the cracker box.
I'm doing awesome today.

Babe-O helped unload the cart and then even helped pack some groceries.
He made conversation with the cashier.
Babe-ala helped slide the debit card at just the right time.
Nobody is screaming.
I'm killing this.

At which point the cashier kindly states:

Cashier: (directly to Babe-ala) What's that in your hair? Paint? You must have had fun.

Me: No. That's yogurt. From breakfast. It was fun.

Cashier: (quietly and with dismay) Oh.

Me: (chuckle uncomfortably, try to avoid eye contact)

Cashier: (silently folds a paper towel in half and hands it to me).

Me: Oh. It's dried on. (Yes, folks I really did say this. As if to inform that the yogurt would not in fact come out of my baby's hair even if I tried to wipe it out. And then I proceeded to make a token effort to clean off Babe-ala's head.)

Babe-ala: (looks at me with confusion as if to say, "Why have you taken this paper towel from a stranger?")

Me (to Babe-ala): Sorry (as I put the paper towel down on the counter, neatly folded, as it was given to me).

I let her eat powdered donuts on the way home.
I had some too.

The Shoulds and An Open Heart

Deception I tell you.
Another snow fall. Just enough to cover the ground and streets for half a day.
And it's cold. Our coats are still stuffed into the car seat buckles.
We are still in our boots and mittens.
It's spring but it's not really spring.
And it's got me thinking
about patience
about parenting
about how sometimes my parenting doesn't "look" as it "should."

I love them more than life. No one could ever love them as I do.
They are the brightest, the cutest, the funniest. I know them at their best and their worst. They have changed the world, they will change the world. All the same things mommas think and feel of their babies.

AND I have had some horrible days recently. The kind of days where all of the above thoughts don't seem to be in the forefront of my mind. Where connection never sparked. The kind of days where patience never rang the doorbell and even if it had I probably wouldn't have let it in. The kinds of days where my voice was loud, my face scary. The kind of day that requires forgiveness from myself first.

And why? What is behind these days that happen infrequently but happen?

Time lines. Pressure to get it done.
Conflicting agendas. Mine, theirs, ours.
Expectations. Of them and me.
Transition.

Three and one half and twelve months. Two very different people. Two very different ages. Both so active. Both so independent. Both need to be so close, in their own ways.  Both exploring their own worlds beside one another. Only one bridge.
Me.

Me. The one who should have all the housework done, or at least start it.
Me. The one who should read more parenting books.
Me. The one who should know all the right things to say at the right times.
Me. The one who should be a better example. ALL. THE. TIME.

It's tough.
It's scary.
I don't have the answers. Sometimes I don't even know where to look for the answers.

I only know what makes it a little bit better for me.

Find the soft spot.
It's there. Somewhere.
Maybe buried deeper than I thought.
With time, sometimes a lot of time, it can be
Uncovered. The spot where vulnerability lies.
Live vulnerable. Parent vulnerable.
Parent from the part of my heart that fears and
doesn't give up even after one hundred less than perfect attempts.
From the part of my heart that isn't afraid to say
"I don't know."
"Tell me how."
"I made a mistake."
"I am sorry."
"Let's talk about it."
Parent from the whole of my heart.
Be human.

Because more than all the things I should be doing, should be saying, should be teaching is to be human. To find the softness, the tenderness and stay there.
To forgive myself.
To practice.
To be patient with myself first.
To open my heart even when I'd rather close the door and put up the closed sign.

What an amazing gift... an open heart
imperfect
exposed
real
soft
full
human.

The Shoulds don't live there. Just Me.
Me. The one that was meant for them.
Me. The one that loves them like no other.
Me. Just Me
...
Some food for thought on this snow covered spring day.

An Open Letter to Batman

Welcome to the March 2014 Carnival of Natural Parenting: Everyday Superheroes
This post was written for inclusion in the monthly Carnival of Natural Parenting hosted by Hobo Mama and Code Name: Mama. This month our participants have talked about the remarkable people and characteristics that have touched their lives. Please read to the end to find a list of links to the other carnival participants.
***

Dear Batman,

I have a lot of questions for you.  But to begin, let me help you understand. 

My life is steeped in your presence.

I have a kid. He is three. Despite all of my efforts to divert the development of his super powers, he chooses to emulate you – The Dark Knight, The Caped Crusader, The Head Honcho of The Dynamic Duo, The Greatest Detective in the World. Therefore, I live with you.

I wake up with you. I take you to the bathroom. I drive you around in the various Bat Vehicles. I help protect your secret identity as I explain to everyone that despite being fully regaled in bat attire you are in fact Bruce Wayne when we are in public, NOT Batman. Like you, I have been bitten by the Great White Shark. I have been sprayed with bat spray shark repellant. In the dark hours of night, when the city and citizens sleep, I watch you swing from the bat rope (perhaps not meant to hold your weight) as you keep an eye out for the Bat Signal. I hold my breath and tongue as you slide down the banisters (the Bat Pole) to battle Joker, Two Face, the Penguin, and Cat Woman in my living room, remembering that you are learning about gravity and exerting your power as you jump off of the arms of the couch and the coffee table. I carry you to the Bat Cave when you are weary from fighting villains. I tuck you into the Bat Bed and kiss your head as I remove your mask and cape because I fear that they will choke you in the night.

You might think of me as being like Robin or Alfred. But I am not.

I am Mama.

I know, I know. Your Mom was murdered when you were young and you have spent your life seeking revenge (often violent) on criminals in the name of justice. I am sorry. Horrific. Unimaginable. I am not sure what to say to you about that. I am not sure what to say to my kid about that either. He really wants to know. Because, you see, he really, really wants to be YOU. I am just not good at death, especially being orphaned. So, can you please tell me exactly how to explain to my three year old how you became Batman?

I would also like to know how to make a cape that is safe for my Little Batman. He uses anything that resembles a cape, ties it around his neck, and dangles from poles (towel rods), walks down stairs, and climbs the walls. I need a cape that won’t trip him, strangle him, or leave marks on his neck. One that he can remove or put on quickly so that at the moment his true identity could be compromised or a villain is approaching so he doesn’t have to ask his Mom for help (because really? that is just not cool). More importantly, how I can make a cape that will protect my Little Batman’s heart?  That will keep it soft and gentle and help him remain connected to the world, to life and all of its beauty and tragedy.

I understand that you do not really have any super powers. You have developed your intellect, spirit, and physical self to battle your enemies. I get that. I do. We are working on those things. So why do you look so juiced up these days Batman? How much protein powder do you put in your smoothies?  I have tried and tried to explain to my little Batman that superheroes need healthy foods to fight crime. He still won’t eat vegetables. So, can you stop putting your picture all over junk foods that my little Batman sees in the supermarket? Please send me your meal plans and make it official looking so that he will be enticed. And Batman, can you reassure me that even though he so badly wants to be you he will know that true strength doesn’t come from being super cut? That what you look like on the outside isn’t a clear reflection of what lies inside? Can you tell me with confidence that despite your emphasis on fighting, he will develop all the parts of himself and overcome the most difficult of enemies any of us have, ourselves?

And while we are on the subject, let me address some of your violent tendencies.

In my house, violence is not tolerated. We don’t hit people. Not even the enemy. Well okay, little Batman sometimes hits people. But we talk about it and why it’s not okay. And one day, hopefully, he won’t hit anymore. He’s getting better at not hitting. But despite your sleuthing and outsmarting it always seems to boil down to a fight accentuated by awesome sound effects that only make it all look the more attractive.  And my Little Batman wants to be YOU.  So as you can see, you are working against me. I think it would be best for all of us (particularly little Batman’s sister), if you could model the intellectual and spiritual aspects of your power a bit more please. Maybe develop your creative side a bit more - you could use your weapons to make sculptures or something. Okay? (This one is actually an order not a request).

Next let me address your treatment of women.

On one hand, I have yet to see you hit a woman. (And let me tell you, I preview EVERYTHING.) I have seen you out-science Poison Ivy and out-smart Cat Woman. You tend to use your Bat rope and various Bat gasses when it comes to capturing villainesses. And even though these criminals ultimately have to be caught, I can’t say that I agree with your tactics of tying up and drugging women.

In addition, whether villainess or superheroine, the women you work with are anatomic anomalies. Their legs and waists could never sustain the weight of their busts and hips. I don’t know who you have to talk to about this but please, real women’s bodies are powerful and beautiful.  

Further, the female superheroes we have seen are merely an extension of their counterparts, as Bat “girl” is merely an extension of yourself. So, I am telling you right now I promote Wonder Woman. And when you team up with her or any other heroine to fight crime don’t offer to pick off the bigger criminal or use your advanced Bat tools. Treat her as your equal. (Also a demand). Your chivalry is patronizing.

So Batman, how are you going to help me make sure that my Little Batman is going to grow up and treat women with respect and dignity?  That includes not assuming that women need help or “saving.” That he will not abuse the power and privilege that comes with being a white male. That he will listen, admire, and support. That he will speak out against injustices against women and minorities.

This is a job for Batman. I would like a response from you. It’s a big responsibility that you have. And frankly, I need some support in raising a kid that really, really wants to be YOU. Get to your bat computer and get me some real good bat answers. Because otherwise I might have to let everyone in on our dirty little secret…

I am the REAL superhero. I am the one patiently, curiously, fearlessly, growing a beautiful, tenderhearted, brilliantly spirited, feminist little boy. A little boy who lets me know at the end of really busy Bat Day, “Mama? I don’t want to be Batman right now. I just want to be Babe-O.”

When you have answers, just send the bat signal. We know what it looks like and we are waiting.

Respectfully,

Mama

***
Visit Hobo Mama and Code Name: Mama to find out how you can participate in the next Carnival of Natural Parenting!
Please take time to read the submissions by the other carnival participants:
(This list will be updated by afternoon March 11 with all the carnival links.)

• I Am A Super Hero — Jennifer at Hybrid Rasta Mama shares how she learned the hard way exactly what it means to be a real super hero and not a burned out shell of a human simply pretending to be one.
• Quiet Heroics — Heroism doesn't have to be big and bold. Read how Jorje of Momma Jorje is a quiet hero…and how you probably are, too.
• Not a Bang, but a Whisper {Carnival of Natural Parenting} — Meegs at A New Day talks about the different types of "superheroes," ones that come in with a bang and ones that come in with a whisper.
• Silent courage of motherhood in rural Cambodia — Nathalie at Kampuchea Crossings marvels at how rural Khmer women defy the odds in childbirth.
• Super Pappy — Mother Goutte's little boy met a superhero in checked slippers and Volkswagen Polo, his grand dad: Super Pappy!
• An Open Letter to Batman — Kati at The Best Things challenges Batman to hold up his end of the deal, in the name of social justice, civic duty, and a little boy named Babe-O!
• My Village — Kellie at Our Mindful Life reflects on the people who helped her to become her best self.
• 5 Lessons My Kids Taught Me — Children are amazing teachers, when we only stop to listen. They remind us to choose happiness, to delight in the small things, to let go and forgive. There is so much we can learn from our children. Justine at The Lone Home Ranger shares a few of the lessons she's learned.
• Could you use some superpowers? — Tat at Mum in search shares a fun activity to help you connect with your own superpowers.
• Like Fire Engines — Tam at tinsenpup tells the story of the day she saw a surprising superhero lurking in the guise of her not entirely mild-mannered four-year-old daughter.
• Everyday Superheroes — Erica at ChildOrganics shares her list of Walker Warburg Syndrome Superheroes that have touched her life forever.
• My Superhero of the Week: Nancy Gallagher — Tribal Mama muses about the transcendent things her superhero mom has done.
• My choice in natural birth does not make me a super hero — Bianca, The Pierogie Mama, discusses her thoughts on her experience with the perception of natural birth and putting those mamas on a different level. Does giving birth naturally give cause for an extra pat on the back? No! All mamas, no matter how they birth, are superheroes.
• Someone's Hero — Sometimes being a parent means pretending to be a grown-up, but it always means you are someone's hero. Read Mandy's lament at Living Peacefully with Children.
• Growing into a Super Hero — Casey at Joyful Courage shares how owning our behavior and choosing to be a better parent, a better person, is an act of courage.
• A Math Superhero — Kerry at City Kids Homeschooling writes that her 7-year-old daughter's superhero is an MIT-trained mathematician.
• It Starts With Truffula Trees And Tulips — Luschka of Diary of a First Child takes a hard look at the realities of her relationship with her mother, and through this post goes on a journey of discovery that ends in a surprise realisation for her.
• We Don't Need an Excuse — Maria Kang (aka "Hot Mom") asks women #WhatsYourExcuse for not being in shape? Dionna at Code Name: Mama asks Hot Mom what her excuse is for not devoting her life to charity work, or fostering dozens of stray dogs each year, or advocating for the needs of others. Better yet, Code Name: Mama says, how about we realize that every woman has her own priorities. Focus on your own, and stop judging others for theirs.
• It's not heroic when you're living it — Lauren at Hobo Mama knows from the inside that homeschooling does not take a hero, and that much of what we choose as parents is simply what works best for us.
• Superheroes, princesses and preschoolers — Garry at Postilius discusses why his preschool-age son is not ready for comic book superheroes.
• The Loving Parents of Children with Special Needs – Everyday Superheroes — Deb Chitwood at Living Montessori Now shares posts with resources for parents of children with special needs along with posts to help others know how to support parents of children with special needs.
• Everyday Empathy — Mommy Giraffe of Little Green Giraffe shares why her secret superpower is everyday empathy.
• The Simplicity of Being a Superhero — Ana at Panda & Ananaso explains what superheroes mean to her wise three-year-old.
• My Father, The Hero — Fathers are pretty amazing; find out why Christine at The Erudite Mom thinks hers is the bees knees.

Winter Lemonade

We are the kind of people who wait until the last minute to do things.
Not really.
But mostly.
And mostly when the things we need to do are really important.
Like sledding (and taxes).

You might call us procrastinators.
I choose to define it otherwise.
There is a certain kind of energy that comes with doing things at the last minute.
And doing things at the last minute provides a challenge, either to get it done at the same quality you would if you had spent more time or to make the best of what you've got.
Sometimes, waiting till the last minute takes the boring out of everyday tasks or things that have lost their luster, like snow related activities. 

Today we made the best of what we got.
We have been sledding this year (over Christmas break, because sledding with a three year old and a ten month old is not a job for one person. I don't care who you are.)
But we wanted to go again before all the snow melts.
So today was the day.
It is the first day that Diet Coke Papa is on Spring Break and the last day we will have snow on the ground, because this whole week is forecast  in the high 40's.

We packed a lunch and some hot chocolate, our sled, some firewood, extra warm clothes (because in our thawing brains it is still -72 degrees) and headed for the hills.
A park we had never been to, complete with a sledding hill, and warming house.
It was gorgeous!

An amazing feeling to breathe in the wild, open air, hear the bird calls, and feel the wind smack you in the face and snow fly all around you and make it's way into all the hermetically sealed seams of your snowsuit as you speed down the hill, grasping onto your blue plastic sled and your three year old for dear life. (NOTE TO SELF: a really good sled is on next year's Christmas list.)

Yeah,well.
 We had the wide white open and fresh air.
 Birds were everywhere and so was the sound of dripping melting snow.
It was magical.
Just not sled worthy.
(NOTE TO SELF: It has to be cold and snowy to sled. Like below 40 degrees.) 

But we are nothing if not great at making lemonade.
(I'll share a recipe sometime. Or maybe I should keep that a family secret?
There that suspense should keep you coming back to the blog.)

Anyway, turns out, wet, drippy snow makes for a slow, slow, very, very slow ride.
 Like slug slow.
Definitely not exciting enough to keep a toddler interested in anything but the warming house, where Diet Coke Papa had built a raging fire designed to keep us warm from...
the already warm temperatures causing us to sweat (a totally unfamiliar experience).

 And that's cool because let me tell you, this warming house is my new dream house! (Babe-O's too).

(Go ahead laugh. But, I am NOT kidding people. My dream is to live in a little log cabin in the middle of nowhere).

So after a few failed attempts at zooming down the hill on our butts, (and even Diet Coke Papa tried, because that's what you do when you have a torn hamstring)...

It got serious!

I am talking about Mama showing off her Olympic luge skills, like running starts, and belly sledding.

Even Babe-O tried! Note the disappointment in speed as he bows his head down toward the end of the ride.

You know what? We laughed, we played, we explored, we drank hot chocolate by a fire.

BEST sledding trip EVER.

And for some reason, during this panoply of my sledding and gymnastic abilities, I kept hearing my Dad’s voice,“Nothing embarrasses me.” He used to say this to us when we were kids after he had just done something potentially embarrassing but probably mostly intended to make us laugh.
It’s true.
I am not embarrassed.
I am not embarrassed that I don't know enough about sledding to have known that we wouldn't be able to really call what we did sledding.
I am not embarrassed that I "slugged" down that hill on my belly (and at times I was as terrified as I would have been if I would have been flying).
I am not embarrassed.
Not one bit.

Because Babe-O and Diet Coke Papa, even Babe-ala laughed their guts out. And we came home warm, happy, full of endorphins, with sore cheeks and smelling like campfire (oh, we LOVE that smell). 

So there you have it.
Procrastination pays.
Or maybe it’s more like: Have fun where you are with what you’ve got.

Because YOU are exactly what they need
YOU with all your procrastinating tendencies, with your tangled hair and smelly arm pits,
YOU with your unending supply of patience, peanut butter and jelly, and hugs
YOU and ONLY YOU can make them laugh so loud the birds fly out of the trees
YOU and ONLY YOU hold the secret recipe to THE BEST Lemonade on the planet!

And now I can honestly say I have had enough winter AND I can't wait to sled again with my Fam-O!