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On Finding Time
The struggle for time and balance seems fairly typical for most moms, whether working at home or away from home. I’m sure I’m no exception. I’m not a great multi-tasker. I work best once I get into a flow, say after about 20 minutes. Once I’m in that place, it’s very hard for me to shut off until I reach a pre-determined stopping point which tends to be task oriented, not time oriented. I don’t do well with setting the timer and working for X number of minutes. I like to check something off my list. At work I was very good at time management and at completing tasks. Deadlines, projects, to do lists. Yes. I’ve also had an on-again/off-again romance with day planners since First Year uni. I am not completely Type A, but I do have some pretty strong tendencies in that direction. At home, I feel like I’m either scrambling, avoiding, dropping the ball or time wasting. It’s an uncomfortable place to be. Before motherhood it seems we are pulled in fewer competing directions and our commitments have clearly demarcated time slots. Work time is work time. Self time, couple time, friend time can all be fit in around life tasks like cleaning, cooking, sleeping and errands. As a mom, there are no clear time slots for anything. It seems like all of these responsibilities need to happen at once, while caring for tiny dictators. I very rarely get a chance to get into my post-twenty-minute-work groove. I very rarely feel that I am working in my optimal range. I feel like I’m juggling all the time. For a klutz like me that is an incredibly unnerving way to live. My heart rate is shooting up just typing this. Clutter, disorganization, noise. They stress me out. I hold my breath. I feel swept away in a swift moving river and I start to panic. I have coping mechanisms but I haven’t really found answers. I focus on keeping the toys picked up, keeping rooms tidy. I write lists. But I also avoid. I check email, facebook or twitter, rather than trying to write or catch up on bookkeeping because I only have five minutes instead of forty-five. If I were to add up all those five minute chunks in a day, which are generally wasted on social media surfing, I would find I have much more time than I think I do. The reason I do this is because I haven’t yet learned how to break out of my need for compartmentalization. For 8 months, we had a mother’s helper who watched Rain four mornings a week while I worked. This is the closest I’ve come to finding a balance between self, work and mother. The rest of the time, the reality of working at home with kids is very different. I have tried working while the kids napped but if they wake early I often become resentful. I have tried working while the kids play. The task takes longer with the interruptions and in the end I am frustrated and stressed by the mess the kids have created while I was in my supposed work zone. Because of my need to work in that zone, I can get a bit obsessed with my projects. The more I work on a project, the more I want to, the more it occupies my thoughts, the more it competes with my children (especially if I was pulled away before completing a task). I seem to shift continuously between denial of self and selfishness. This isn’t exactly the compartmentalization I’ve been looking for. For me to really feel that I am managing my time in a positive way, I need to be clear about what is work time and what is family time. I want to be more present with my children and more present in my work. This delicate balance isn’t going to be a static place where I can stand still. I expect it will take footwork. I expect I will have to say no to some...
Read MoreLet Them Play
This is Part VI of the series Kindergarten Considerations in which I have been discussing (and wrestling with) the considerations behind the seemingly innocuous decision of where to send my four year old son to school. I had promised to share my thoughts on our options in this post but I got totally distracted by the idea that maybe school isn’t necessary at all. Rain can’t recite the whole alphabet; it still gets a bit jumbled and he doesn’t yet recognize all of the letters. He can recite to 10 when he feels like it and when he tries he can reliably count objects in groups up to 4 or 5. He doesn’t write his name. He wrote the letter R on the back of his Valentines but often elaborated by adding wheels, arms or flowers. I am totally fine with that. Here’s the deal. I have complete confidence in my kids’ abilities. They both demonstrate to me every day that they are very bright. I don’t care what age they learn to write their name or say the alphabet or count or read. I know with 100% certainty that they will do it and at their own pace. There will be plenty of time in the coming years for them to focus on academics and I don’t believe that they will be at a disadvantage from learning to read at 7 instead of 4 for instance. In fact, a recent study from New Zealand has proven that very thing. By age 11, there was no difference between kids who learned to read at 7 and those who learned at 4. “One theory for the finding that an earlier beginning does not lead to a later advantage is that the most important early factors for later reading achievement, for most children, are language and learning experiences that are gained without formal reading instruction,” says Dr Suggate. “Because later starters at reading are still learning through play, language, and interactions with adults, their long-term learning is not disadvantaged. Instead, these activities prepare the soil well for later development of reading.” “This research then raises the question; if there aren’t advantages to learning to read from the age of five, could there be disadvantages to starting teaching children to read earlier (at age 5). In other words, we could be putting them off,” he says. The above passage makes several striking observations in only a few short sentences. First, that the most important factors for later literacy are “early language and learning, while de-emphasising the importance of early reading.” Second, that play is vital for early learning. Third, it raises the question of what harm we could be doing by teaching reading too early. I have heard elsewhere that teaching reading before 11 for instance, shapes our brains in a linear order and can hamper our abilities to think laterally. These three observations alone are reason enough for me to feel relaxed about Rain’s academic career. We’ve got time for Rain to be a kid. We can focus on formal reading instruction in a couple of years. There are so few years in life when we are truly free of pressures, truly free to play. I want him to play, partly because it’s fun and partly because he is learning even while he plays. He is learning about respect, gravity, problem solving, shapes, empathy, conservancy, conflict resolution, following instructions, developing hand-eye coordination and fine-motor skills, and more all day, just by playing and experimenting. Interestingly, educators are starting to chime in about the importance of play. Last year, the Alliance for Childhood published a report, Crisis in the Kindergarten, about the lack of play in Kindergarten in the US. This report explained that there was too much instruction, too much testing, too much homework and not enough child-directed play. A New York Times article on the Crisis in the Kindergarten report discussed the lack of play in classrooms and also touched on some thoughts on creativity that are similar to those of Sir Ken Robinson. Thinkers like Daniel Pink have proposed...
Read MoreTrick of the Light
The other day, when I dropped Rain at preschool, he unzipped his coat, found a hook, hung it up, placed his boots neatly underneath and marched confidently off to find something to do. The teacher got him set up showing a younger boy how to use a set of plastic gears. I was amazed at how big he was, how tall, how grown-up, how helpful, how knowing. That night, he had a bad dream. I heard him crying and went to his room. In the dark, I held him. His little body shook and his voice broke with sobs. How like a baby he still was! I smoothed the curls on his sweaty forehead and offered him “a pinch.” His still-dimpled hand found my forearm and methodically squeazed the muscle, just as he used to when he was nursing at 10 months old. How strange that in the dark, in the night, he was still my baby, still clinging desperately to me as I whispered that he was safe. I have this same experience every day with his younger sister Noa. As she giggles and runs after her older brother, how cute and big she seems. How stubborn and determined when they fight, when Rain takes her toy and she defiantly shouts “No!” How like a little girl she is in the day-to-day moments of life. Walking, talking, climbing. Sit down to breastfeed and it’s another story. I trace the curve of her nose, marvel at the downy hair on her cheek, the pout of her lower lip. She sucks contentedly and I try again to memorize her face, just as it is. Suddenly she seems to be my baby again. Her face innocent and newborn-like, despite that her wee head is at least four times bigger than it was the day I first craddled it in my palm. One moment so big; the next so small. Is it a trick of the light? How is it that one moment we’ve finally gotten used to the fact that they are growing up and the next we are once again brought to our knees by the utter tiny-ness and dependence of them? Something shifts and we see how tightly they are still tied to us and then just as quickly the veil is drawn aside and they are running from us, laughing. I am often astounded that children can seem to suddenly cross into a new developmental stage all at once. I’ve seen this in my own children and in my friends’ children. Overnight they seem to shift from floppy newborn to chubby baby, from squirming toddler to running, jumping full-fledged boy. It is breathtaking and always provokes a complex reaction in me: part pride, part shock. There is always the sad surprise that I’ve had to part with the last stage without being asked, without preparation. Suddenly, it’s gone and I’m loving the next stage. How grateful I am to discover that just as suddenly there are momentary lapses into the previous stage. Would it be too unbearable to watch the speed with which our kids grow up if it weren’t for these tiny reprieves? I savour these as best I can. I record them with my senses, in my muscle memory, the weight of their bodies in my arms, the smell of their hair, the whisper of their breath on my cheek. I pack them away, knowing that quickly, suddenly, the light will change and the baby will be gone again. Time gently grants us this fleeting grace as she marches forward. A minute here, a minute there, a ray of sunshine as our babies walk confidently out of our...
Read MoreTake back your holidays from Hallmark
I already had a post written and scheduled for Valentine’s Day…not about Valentine’s Day, but about love in a way. Then I read Amber’s post at Strocel.com about having The Valentine’s Blues. There were a lot of comments echoing her blues and they are generally representative of what I hear over and over. I’ve often felt that way too. My husband used to say the same things but I told him that I thought his attitude was a cop-out. It is what you make it. First, we can lower our expectations. Valentine’s Day doesn’t have to be the most romantic day of the year. Acknowledging our love for each other doesn’t have to be a grand gesture and it doesn’t have to be expensive. We can be satisfied with something thoughtful and heartfelt rather than expecting fireworks year after year. Valentine’s Day can just be an opportunity to tell each other how we feel. We aren’t excused from doing it the rest of the year. It’s just an acknowledgement that we can get busy and forgetful, that we often take our love for granted after many years. It’s kind of nice to have a day set aside to remind us that love is a verb, an action, not a feeling. I feel like why not take that opportunity? Why shun the whole idea just because a lot of it in our culture has gotten warped and twisted? I don’t like the commercialism of Christmas but I can choose to celebrate the holiday in a way that is authentic to me. Secondly, it doesn’t have to be a hallmark holiday. We don’t buy cards, flowers or chocolate. We often do something small and simple. One year, Aaron took red electrical tape and made heart shapes all over Eliza’s ceiling before he left for work so I got a surprise when I got up. That was all he did that day but it was touching and sweet. The next year, he made white paper hearts and hung them from strings. One year, I wrote a 100 things I love about him on tiny slips of paper and hid them for Aaron to find. This year, I’m planning to tape coloured hearts on the floor in a trail leading from beds to hiding spots for some gifts for each family member to discover when they wake tomorrow morning. An (oft-begged for) umbrella for Rain, a pair of shoes for Noa and some import beer for Aaron with little notes about why I love them. There doesn’t have to be anything Hallmark about your holidays. You can choose how you celebrate. You don’t have to fall into the hype and expectations. When I was single, I too felt that Valentine-less angst and that was probably when I felt the most cynical about it. I certainly do understand that it can make people feel left out. Yet, one of my best Valentine’s Days ever was the year that a single guy friend and I decided to spend it together. We exchanged gifts (chocolates and flowers), had an awesome dinner at a vegetarian Indian restaurant and went for a long walk around the seawall in Vancouver. It was such a fun acknowledgement of the day and of our friendship (which never went further, if you’re wondering). It really showed me that I am in charge of how I approach a supposed Hallmark Holiday. Since then, I’ve also chosen to extend the day beyond just my partner. Now that Rain is in preschool (and soon Kindergarten), there is the expectation of celebrating with his peers. This is kind of complicated because I don’t want to encourage the whole boyfriend/girlfriend thing at such a young age and besides, the classes usually (rightfully) ask that Valentines are sent for everyone in the class. It is a fun holiday for kids with the opportunities for crafts, the hearts, the treats and the ultimate for most kids: getting cards (kid equivalent to mail). For our family then, I started extending it into our home. It doesn’t have to be a...
Read MoreFire Together, Wire Together: Early School Experience
This is Part V of the series Kindergarten Considerations. In this series I am discussing (and wrestling with) the considerations behind the seemingly innocuous decision of where to send my four year old son to school. I promise to share my thoughts on some of our specific options in Part VI. I can’t promise to tell you what we decide because I still have no idea. I’ve been struggling a lot with some of the ideas that came up in my last post for this series. There’s a part of me that wants not to take the idea of registering Rain for Kindergarten so seriously. There’s a part of me that acknowledges that while public school isn’t the ideal learning environment in my opinion, in most cases it isn’t malevolent either. Many (the majority of?) public school teachers are incredibly dedicated and genuinely interested in their students’ success. I did well in public school myself. It is hard not to sound terribly elitist when claiming that public school isn’t good enough for our family. I can imagine the unspoken retort: “It was good enough for all of us and we all turned out fine. Get over yourself.” But I have to balance all of this with the undeniable fact that we are indeed shaped by our experiences. There’s a saying in psychology that neurons that fire together, wire together. Keep in mind that this is a layman’s description (I’m no psychologist) but what this means is that when we do something like painting or math for instance, neurons in certain centres of our brain fire (release neurotransmitters into the synaptic space between neurons) and activate the neurons next to them to fire as well in a sort of chain reaction. Sometimes these are called pathways. Imagine that the more you practice painting or math, the more times you walk down the pathway, you wear in the trail. It gets easier and easier to walk that pathway: you can put down your machete, you’re no longer stumbling and losing your way. Eventually these neurons that fire together, wire together. They create a strong network that fires in unison. This process happens in everything we do, from practicing a skill to overindulging in emotions like anger, and it actually shapes our brains. Unused pathways whither away. Frequently travelled pathways become like super-highways. Melodie from Breastfeeding Moms Unite left a comment on a recent post in this series that really startled me into thinking about this topic in a new way. I had all of the info to make this leap myself but it wasn’t until I read her comment that it all clicked. I know that I am a direct product of my education. I am very concrete and literal, and have a need to get things Right. It’s not something I want to pass on to my kids. I’ve always thought that I did well in school because my brain happens to be organized in the way that the school system is organized. My linear, chronological brain is perfectly in line with a linear, chronological, orderly school system, right? My husband with his right-brain, lateral, spatial thinking is one of the ones who struggles in this set up, right? This is partly true. But wait a minute, according to “neurons that fire together, wire together,” according to Dr. Siegel’s TED talk on how over-emphasis on academics actually changes the architecture of the brain, I am actually a product of our school system. Yes, I probably had an advantage in the beginning because I do have a preference for linear thinking. But over the years, the school system wore that pathway deeper and deeper into my brain’s structure. I see myself in Melodie’s quote above. I think sheepishly of some of my rigidness, my perfectionism, my inability to go with the flow. I think back to the enrichment program in grade 4 when we did a unit of art appreciation on Marc Chagall and in the end painted our own autobiographical Chagall impression. I think of the other skills I have...
Read MoreParenting Together
Welcome to the February Carnival of Natural Parenting: Love and partners! This post was written for inclusion in the monthly Carnival of Natural Parenting hosted by Hobo Mama and Code Name: Mama. This month we’re writing about how a co-parent has or has not supported us in our dedication to natural parenting. Please read to the end to find a list of links to the other carnival participants. ****** I think for most of us, parenting is an expression of who we are. It is a natural outpouring of everything that makes us, from our experience being raised by our parents to our own adult values and life situations. Along the way we add in books we’ve read, conversations with friends, advice from strangers (sometimes unwanted and unasked for) and then it gets distilled through our practical experience learning with each of our children. We add pieces from here, pieces from there. I don’t think there are many of us who say “What is my parenting ideology?,” then go buy the book and follow it to the letter. (Are there?) The hope along the way is that our highly individual concept of parenting will at least co-exist if not be cohesive with that of our fellow co-parent. That’s not always the case and there are often considerable challenges in aligning parenting styles within a partnership (and even more so when co-parenting happens outside of a partnership). When I think of a question like “What does your co-parent do to support your dedication to natural parenting?” the first thing that comes to mind is sincere gratitude that my husband and I travel this path together. It isn’t so much a matter of Aaron being supportive of my dedication to parent a certain way but rather that he shares my dedication to parent in a way that reflects our shared values. We were married after seeing each other for only three months. For a lot of people that would be a recipe for disaster. When people hear about marriages like ours, a little red flag goes up and they sort of hold their breath waiting for the marriage to dissolve so they can say “Ugh, I saw that coming.” We’ve been married for seven years and we have two children. One of the main things we attribute our success to (besides believing that you have to work hard at marriage) is that despite our wild differences, we share similar values and upbringing. This isn’t to say that we just went about raising our children exactly the way we were raised. We certainly do things differently than our parents did, but we’ve been able to adopt a shared vision of parenting because we started out with some shared reference points. With this solid foundation, another important factor is that we try to make parenting an extension of the way we live. We have terms like natural parenting and attachment parenting as descriptors to explain to others what kind of philosophies we are drawn to, but we don’t follow a particular ideology in a prescriptive way. As such, our parenting style becomes a partnership that is an extension of our marriage, of our life together, of our joint choices, rather than a dogmatic battleground. We lived in a 40 foot converted school bus when our son was born. There was no room for a crib, no bedroom door to shut out the cries of a baby crying-it-out. At first there was no plumbing either. Before I got pregnant, we spent a year carrying in our water in 4L jugs to drink, to cook with and to boil for washing up. We spent five years using a port-a-potty that had to be emptied weekly. We were intimately aware of what we consumed and of how much garbage, compost, waste and gray water we created. Co-sleeping, cloth diapering, and breastfeeding were obvious choices that were aligned with all of the other day-to-day choices we made simply by choosing to live in 300 square feet. These were not individual parenting choices that had to be hammered...
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