Mimosa

Pebbles

- by Jo

Amanda and Anna have commented on Carrie's great Mama Post about discussion they've had with their kids about the whole Two Mummy Thing. I asked Amanda if she would elaborate a little because I know it's not long before we need to address this with E. In fact today, while we were out looking at ducks and ducklings, she said,"I've got a mummy. And a daddy too at home." Although she's never shown any hesitation in claiming us as hers, this is the first time she's said it in this way.

I guess the best thing to do is just get on with it. Next time we have a conversation that involves mummy and/or daddy and/or China I should just drop in a pebble. See where the ripples go.

If you've been here and done this, or have some ideas about how you'll approach it in the future, I'd love to hear from you. What did you say? How did your child react? The comments section is all yours. Or if you'd rather leave us a link to a post you've already written, that'd be great too.

I'll admit, I feel nauseous just thinking about watching her face drop when she realises what I'm saying, because I know it will. But this isn't about me so I need to suck it up and do this thing well.

What's your name? Who's your mommy?

By Carrie

When the four of us hooligans first began planning this venture, we spent weeks trying to come up with a name. We tried song titles, literary references, food, puns -- remind us to share the list sometime, because it was pretty funny. We kicked around the idea of playing on the names our children call us, thinking perhaps we had one in common -- The Four Mummies? Mama Times Four? The Momkees? Mommy, Mother, Ma?

It turned out that there was no name that we all liked: each name struck at least one of us as too formal, too childish, or just not "me." We took another route and went with the name of an exotic plant and refreshing breakfast cocktail. (Trust me, there's a logic there.)

It's not surprising that our choices in M names would be idiosyncratic. Our children's names for us, and our pet names for them, are part of the private language of a family, like the baby words ("biscetti" for "spaghetti") that remain in our vocabulary long after the children have outgrown them.

Bess called me Mama until the day after her second birthday, when suddenly I became Mommy. Did she decide it sounded less babyish? I wouldn't put it past her. Today I am usually Mom; I'm Mama when she's tired, and Mother (as in "MO-ther!") when she is exasperated with me. May and Ella switch among Mommy, Mom, and Mama. When May says, "Mama," her lingering Chinese accent makes it sound like the French Maman, which I find absolutely charming.

The way May tells the story of her life, she has had six mamas. (She was sent to live with several different families before she was finally taken to the social welfare institute.) She calls her foster mother her "China mom." She calls her first mother her "real mom." She came up with this term all on her own. I always refer to her as "your first mom" or "your birthmom." I don't think she had ever heard the term "real mom," but as she learned English, this is the combination of words she put together.

You know what? I don't care. I'd give a stern dressing-down to anyone who tried to ask me, "Who's her real mom?" I was as offended as anyone else by Teleflora's gaffe in labeling adoptive moms as "non-moms." But when May calls her birthmom her "real mom," she intends no disrespect to me. In fact, it would be disrespectful to correct her, because her birthmom isn't a non-mom, either -- she is her real mom. And so am I.

To May, I am simply her mom. No qualifier needed. And when she says, "You're the best mom I ever had," I know she means it sincerely.

Mama, Mommy, Mom, MO-ther -- it's all good. I waited a long time to be a mother, and my kids can call me whatever they want, as long as they call me.

However, a word of advice for those of you who are still waiting for your children: remember that whatever M name you choose, it will follow you forever. My mother has seven grown children and 13 grandchildren, and she still stops and turns around when she hears a kid cry, "Mom!" in the grocery store.

Once a mom, always a mom. Or mum. Or mama. Your choice.

What did you learn today?

cross-posted by Jo.

The curiosity of a two year old knows no bounds other than the energy and commitment of her parents. So this sunday morning, instead of lying around reading yesterday's papers and drinking homemade soya latte (how do you stop the soya milk from separating?), I took E out in the garden and "did stuff".

It wasn't entirely altruistic, I was hoping she'd burn off some energy and I'd get some time to read that paper while she napped (that didn't work out), but as ever, we ended up having great fun. It's such a gift to be shown a garden through the eyes of a small child.

First of all, there were birdbaths to top up. The littler one has to have pebbles in so that bugs can get out and also it looks nice. She says.

There were nasturtiums to check on; stones to examine; red ants to uncover (and stay away from) and best of all, wheelbarrow wheels to spin!

We had a look at the composter and talked about how our food makes food for the soil; the soil makes food for plants; the plants make food for bugs and bugs make food for birds. And she had a quick chat with the "wooden lice" family. Heh. I think one of them waved back while the camera was off.

Then there was the snail. I didn't think E would want to go near it but she was fascinated. And who wouldn't be? Snails are so...so...'Other'. Little aliens who aren't alien.

Then we had a look at our unfurnished wildlife tower. E decided which floor should be "the livin' woom" and set about furnishing it with straw. I love the expression on her face as she worked - she took such care.

Water, earth, straw, plants and insect life. And all before 10 o'clock in the morning. Who needs the newspapers? There's a world in our back garden and my favourite Wild Thing is who I want to be with. That's what I learnt today. Thanks E.

Grit and dirt and dust from the road

By Alisa

The first time I really felt like a mother, we were in Beijing.  We'd had L. for about a week, I think.

Honestly, I felt "motherly" the moment Slim put her into my arms, in Guangzhou: my baby was overwhelmed and crying and I wanted to protect her from the commotion in the room.  And then she fell asleep on my chest during the bus ride back to the hotel.  It was all good. 

But it was at Tiananmen  Square that I felt my first real jolt of motherhood. She was cranky: we were out over her morning nap time.  She was facing me in her mei tai, screaming her head off.  It was crowded.  People were staring at our group of ten families.  We were both on edge. 

An elderly woman came up, grabbed L's foot and nattered at me.  I'm sure she was telling me that L's feet weren't warm enough.  And yes, she could have been wearing boots but she was wearing shoes instead. It was cool out, but holy crap they like to dress their kids warmly! We had already endured elderly women in Guangzhou (where it was over 20 degrees celsius) yanking her pant legs down to her ankles when they were riding up, and telling me that she shouldn't suck her thumb. We didn't mind for the most part. Until Tiananmen  Square. So this woman grabbed L's foot, right? And nattered at me? And without even thinking, I jerked L away from her and said, firmly and without a second thought, "Don't touch my baby." 

In honour of Mother's Day (the North American version, anyway; I know the Brits in the room celebrated ages ago) I'd like to propose a "thinking outside of the box" sort of exercise.  Tell me about the very first time you really felt like a mother.  Or tell me when you feel most like a mother.  If you're not a mother (yet), tell me your most vivid memory of your own mother.

Forget moments like "baby's first smile/kiss/hug" and "the time my mother did xyz really sweet, special thing that I'll always remember". 

The times I feel most like a mother these days? Not when we're cuddling.  Not when she comes to me for comfort after she gets a boo boo. It's when she hands me disgusting things without a second thought:  a slightly chewed-up piece of apple, say.  A snotty tissue.  Puts the bits she doesn't want to eat on the side of my plate.  Expects me to pull open the sides of the string cheese wrapper after she's already chewed on it and made it all cheese-slimy just so she can get that last mouthful.

Yes, I am Mother.  And yes, that is a soggy, chewed up, spittle-covered glob of cookie/apple/cheese in my hand. You want to make something of it?

Tell me about your gritty moments.  The sticky moments. The ugly moments.  The real moments.

Tell me in the comments or link to your own blog -- whichever works best.

And happy mother's day.

Have you seen my brain anywhere?

True story: Last week I was driving Ella to gymnastics when I had a marvelous idea for a Mimosa post. It was going to be a great post: short and sweet, easy to write, something everyone could relate to. I was eager to get started on it.

But by the time we got home from gymnastics, the idea was gone. I could not for the life of me remember the subject of that new post. In my mind, I retraced the route we took in the car and replayed my conversations with Ella, looking for a memory trigger, but I drew a blank. I lay in bed at night running through all the parenting topics I could think of, and none rang a bell. I bemoaned the loss to the hooligans, who were appropriately sympathetic. We all understand the disappointment of the one that got away.

This morning I was standing in the shower thinking about that post. "Why can't I remember it?" I thought. "Darn Mommy Brain!" And then I remembered the subject of the missing post:

Mommy Brain.

Case in point. Just call me Exhibit A.

You know what I'm talking about, right? It's that thing that happens to you after you bring your darling child home. For a while you are wrapped in fluffy pink clouds of happiness. Then the clouds reveal themselves to be a memory-wiping fog. (Jo -- please insert any number of Star Trek references here.) Your once razor-sharp wit wouldn't cut through butter. You accuse family members of stealing your keys, and say nothing when you find you've left them in the refrigerator. The dentist's office calls to ask why you're not at the appointment you scheduled six months ago, and you start getting overdue bills in the mail. You, the model of efficiency, with your Blackberry and Day-Timer and online bill-paying account -- missing appointments and forgetting to pay bills! The shame. You try to carry on an occasional adult conversation and find that you have that thing where you can't remember words...you know...oh, it's right on the tip of my tongue...I think it starts with an a -- aphasia, that's it. You gesture a lot. Life becomes a game of Pictionary.

Sleep deprivation and a poor diet contribute to parental memory loss. Those of us who become parents later in life must also deal with the effects of middle age and perhaps perimenopause. But mostly, the problem is that life is about 100 times more complicated -- more appointments to remember for more people, more items to buy at the store, more laundry. All those tiny socks to sort! If you work outside the home, you must save all your mental acuity for your job, which is a huge strain; on the other hand, at least you know what day it is, something you're never sure of if you're a stay-at-home mom.

I wish I could tell you that it goes away when your children get older, but I can't. At least that hasn't been my experience. I still have Mommy Brain. At least I hope that's what it is. (It's like a Zen koan: If a mommy developed Alzheimer's disease, would anyone notice?)  I am still somewhat sleep-deprived; I'm a light sleeper and a worrier, and if a child or cat so much as sneezes at night I have to check and make sure they're still breathing. Life is even more complicated, with multiple school and extracurricular activities every day. Dinner is sometimes done in shifts, and there are more dishes to wash. Four of us wear the same size in socks, so sock-sorting is still a huge chore. (On the bright side, any spit-up I find on my clothes is probably my own.)

Maybe your brain changes physically when you become a mother, but my sense is that you simply run out of storage space. I think of my brain as an office that has gotten messier and messier over the years. When I was young and had less information to keep track of, my brain efficiently filed memories away in neatly labeled folders alphabetically arranged in tidy file cabinets. When those cabinets filled up and the volume of information increased, my brain got sloppy and started throwing memories into piles on desks and, later, the floor. As a result, I can access, say, Star Trek trivia and 1970s song lyrics at a moment's notice, but the location of my keys and the names of my kids' friends' parents are stuck in a dusty corner somewhere, inaccessible. It would be helpful if I could dump the old information to make rooom for new, but that stuff's indelible. I suppose that's why the elderly can remember what they got for Christmas in 1925, but not who is currently in the White House.

(It's telling that I imagine my brain in terms of an old-fashioned paper-storage system rather than a computer. Alisa probably thinks of her brain as a hard drive, and when she forgets something it's just in a bad sector.)

Make me feel better. Tell me about your memory lapses. What's the funniest place you ever left your keys? How many times have you had to call your own cell phone and listen for the ringtone because you'd lost the phone somewhere in the house? And tell me, please, has anyone ever recovered from Mommy Brain?

What To Wear

by Jo

Strolling slowly through my Google Reader yesterday...sipping a soy cappuccino...I read a wonderful post at one of my current favourites. It was so <air quotes> where I'm at </airquotes> that I instantly shared it with Alisa who is lucky enough to have a permanent tap into my befuddled consciousness, courtesy GTalk. She said,"Oh you have to post that on Mim!". And she's smart so I believed her.

Here it is - enjoy.

So what are you wearing on the inside? I'm almost afraid to ask...

Here Comes The Sun, Dude

From Alisa. Again.

Yes, it's me again, oh Mimosa oracle ...

No rant this time.  Just some earnest advice-seeking.  Is that okay?  What's the protocol?  <bowing> <curtsying awkwardly> <waving>

We're heading for a family vacation (extended family, that is) in Florida next week.

Question 1:  Ze plane.  What activities will keep a curious and somewhat stubborn two-year-old occupied for a few hours when they're exhausted because it's actually nap time but there's no way they're going to nap, no-way no-how?

Question 2:  On behalf of my fabulous sister-in-law (oh stop blushing -- no one knows who you are) ... do any of you have experience with so-called "morning" sickness?  Any tips? Morning sickness on an extended family beach vacation = bad timing, yes?  Gah. One of the major perks of going to China to start our family?  No morning sickness.  Though Slim did get into trouble when he pigged out on really spicy Szechuan food one night.  I won't go there.

That's it.  <Backing away slowly ...>  (Oh crap -- was I supposed to come bearing gifts?)

Back Off! Get Your *Own* Sandwich!**

Rant courtesy of Alisa

Oh my god, they want so badly for us to conform!  To whatever the going wisdom is (for different people, at different times of day, in different neighbourhoods).  It changes.  All the time.  And if you happen to do something a little bit differently, they hassle you. 

We don't read parenting books, for the most part.  It's not that we have anything against them; it's just that we haven't really felt a need to consult one.  Usually.  We have no "parenting philosophy".  We haven't particularly thought ahead in our parenting strategies and we didn't much before L. came along.  We practice "Duck, Then Discuss" parenting:  Duck when the mashed potatoes fly past your head.  Then discuss the best way to make sure it doesn't happen again.  As if.

We got L. a crib when her referral was imminent.  Her room was the first in our 1955 bungalow to be fully decorated (cream walls and a kind of sage-y, leafy green on the furniture, which was mine as a kid). 

Our first night with her, in Guangzhou, we barely even looked at the little metal crib beside the bed.  She slept between us on the king-sized bed.  All that room!  And a snuggly baby!  And my baby was in an orphanage (as Carrie said so eloquently)! 

She was always a good sleeper.  And I immediately introduced her to the concept of being rocked to sleep in someone's arms. (I must have been the one to teach her, don't you think?  I mean, who had the time to rock babies to sleep at the SWI?)  And that was the best way of getting her to sleep for a long time, which was okay with us: I would have worn her around my neck 24/7 if I could have.  And anyway, it worked like a charm every single time. Until it didn't. 

And then we introduced the idea of lying down together on the Big Bed before transferring her, asleep, to the crib.  And that worked.  Pretty much all of the time.

And then we stopped transferring her.

That was last summer, and she's still sleeping with us.  It's time to move her into her own bed, in her own room.  In fact, it's overdue.  She's been ready for a while.  Or capable, anyway, with some prep work.  But we pushed it to make sure.  And because neither of us really wants her to go, most of the time, to tell you the truth. 

Why did we start letting her sleep with us?  No idea.  She was sleeping just fine.  She had no concept of "sleeping with other people", I think.  How could she?  At the most, she would have craved the movement and noise of other  people in the same room with her.  But not physical contact.  Not sleeping skin on skin with someone -- that same someone every single time you go to sleep.  She didn't know that.

We craved having her in our bed.  There we were, going to sleep with our arms around each other, having a good cuddle under the warm duvet in the middle of winter, and she was in the other room, alone.  Why?   Forget that she'd been in an orphanage:  she was an extension of us and we wanted her with us.   

We both feel so strongly that it was the right thing for us to do.  Neither of us could put it into words, but we all got something out of it.  At a very basic level, we all sleep much better, in our teeny double bed.  And Slim and I aren't generally great sleepers.  L was sleeping well before, but she'd wake up occasionally during the night -- as most babies do, I think.  It's not like we were worried about it.  But in the Big Bed?  Not much mid-night waking at all!  Unless she's going through a developmental spurt, or something, in which case she grumbles loudly when she wakes herself up by kicking the living daylights out of us.

L. is confident, secure, happy and very attached to us.  She already was; that's not why we started co-sleeping.  But she's even more so now.  Yeah, that could be because another year has gone by.  That makes sense too.  But ...

There I go, trying to validate it again.  I have nothing to prove.  We're both confident and pleased about gravitating to co-sleeping.  She certainly hasn't suffered.  She's not a needy, clingy child.  I don't anticipate major problems when she shifts to her own bed.  She meets new challenges and opportunities with confidence (oh god, what am I writing -- her resume?) .  She's started potty training herself without any pushing from us -- because she wants to use the big toilet.  She eats well.  She's just confident enough with strangers but also hangs back with us just enough to be healthy.  All that good stuff.  Not that it's all co-sleeping!  Give me a break!  My point is, it hasn't done any harm.  That we've seen.  Yet.

Which is not at all to say that co-sleeping is the best way to go. That's the whole thing.  Co-sleeping was Our Thing - naturally.  For us.  We don't "believe in co-sleeping", if you know what I mean.  We believe in doing what feels right. 

When someone questions our "sleep style" (or whatever you'd call it), it doesn't make me take a step back to question some fancy theory I follow.  Not to get all melodramatic, but it's more like that person is questioning my own instincts.  At times, it even threatens my sense of self and therefore my self-confidence to Mother.

Do you know what I'm talking about?  Why do some people have a hard time understanding the concept of diversity in parenting styles?  Why do some people seem to have a mental block when it comes to letting people -- or encouraging them, even! -- follow their own parenting road map?

**Canadian readers should recognize the phrase in my title from a TV commercial. Remember?   

The Cupcake Connoisseur.

From LoopyLu

I was very interested to read the recent chat about what to eat for breakfast (my reading skills are very advanced for a 3 year old).  Luckily we have no such menu dilemmas at our house because we stick to a very strict, healthy and well balanced diet.  We start the day with a cupcake, stop for a lunch of cupcake and finish the day with a good cupcake dinner.  Of course we have a couple of snacks in between of . . . . . . . . . .cupcakes!

LoopyLu
Girl. Daughter. Scallywag

Assistance resistance

by Jo

I just read a comment on another blog that said something along the lines of, "I find what helps me most is asking for help." And I mentioned a few weeks ago, someone saying that help is more useful than advice for mothers. Which got me to thinking...

Do I ever actually ask for help?

At home? Er..um..nope. No. Except for that once when I...oh wait...no. That's a no. Nuh huh.

Trouble is, I didn't exactly grow up in an atmosphere where asking for help got you anywhere. I had a father who would simply ignore you if you asked him to do something for you. Or worse, silently get up and walk out of the room. Nice, eh?

My mother was usually pregnant, up to her eyes in something child-related and in a bit of daze thanks to be being married to my father.

So I learned early that if you want something doing, do it yourself. And do a good job.

This has not stood me in good stead for my own version of parenting and partnering. It makes me unnecessarily grouchy at times and, on a bad day, the wielder of a very unattractive martyr complex. I'm sure if I just damn well asked, I wouldn't ever get to the,"So it's just me who knows where the bin liners are then?" stage. Yeah. I'm her.

I know I give off an air of being strong, competent, resourceful, independent and "managing" because frankly, I am all those things. But that doesn't mean that life wouldn't be easier and free time more plentiful if some of the tasks I insist on doing myself were shared. Not necessarily by C, but by family members or friends. I'm always more than happy to return the favour. In fact, I love how wonderful it feels to be able to give someone the gift of time and/or energy - I must try harder to Just. Ask.

At work? Certainly. As much as it irks me to do so, we've just gone live with a new fancypants database and I haven't a clue how to use it. I owe the technical services team a veritable mountain of chocolate and laughter at their jokes about coding and cubes and Initiative>Tactic>Approach. Ha...that one kills me. Ahem.

Online? Yes, frequently. It still gets me funny looks from the people I know in real life when I say that some of my best friends are people I've never met, but it's true. Maybe it's easier to ask for help when you don't have to be looking someone in the eye. Maybe it feels less of an admission of weakness. Or is that just me?

So how do we help each other when we can't be there with an extra pair of hands or a car or a pie or a physical shoulder to lean or cry on? I've received help from online friends in the form of an open IM page or an email conversation when they've probably been desperate to get on and do something else. I've been sent virtual gifts and hugs and links to informative websites.I've also been inspired to move through my own melancholy, anger, frustration or distress by reading the blogs of people who have no idea I exist and no idea that I'm reading them. But something, some joke, some obervation, some light or some spark will lighten my heart and enable me to see a way forward for myself.

I hope that, even if it was or will be only once, I can do the same thing for someone else. That Mimosa can do the same for someone else.

So...

• Do you ask for help?
• Is it a last resort or are you wise enough to get in early with the request?
• Do you think that women are less likely to ask for help?
• Do we expect, especially as mothers, to be over-stretched and worn-out? Do those around us also expect us to be and just leave us to it? Can we hit them if they do?
• Have you given or received help and/or inspiration on the interwebs? Want to tell us about it?
• Got any brilliant ideas for helping each other out when we live so far apart?

Come on, help me out here... (See what I did there?)