Noah on the Go December 14, 2007

Nana took this picture almost 2 months ago–we simply must get our most recent pictures off the camera! However, I will admit that (visually, anyway) our Noahbaby hasn’t changed much. I mean, he was already sporting the 12-month clothes when he was 5 months, and the pants are just now becoming capris as he inches towards the 8-month milestone. He is hanging in at 2 teeth, but is teething almost incessantly now. Last night, we were almost convinced he must have an ear ache, becuase he’s been so miserable the last few days and he’s been tugging at his ears. Several reliable sources  later (Dr.Greene.com, AskDrSears.com, among others), the consensus is that an infant under one year (regardless of his inherent genius!) can’t pinpoint where pain is, so pulling ears is not a clue, and that ear infections usually come right after a cold, while cold symptoms are still in play. Little Noah has not endured a single illness in his young life, so it must just be the teething.

He is now very aware of our comings and goings, and while frustrating, I am rather flattered at his concern over my disappearances when I use the bathroom or leave to get a drink. He is also waving hello to people now, with that little babyish Queen-style wave. (Really, you’d think the Queen would rethink her wave, considering it’s the hallmark of the under-one set around the world.) And speaking of hand gestures, we have been playing a lot of little hand-games (songs set to finger movements) which he can imitate with amazing accuracy. Will be a surgeon one day? Hmmm. Daddy Joseph says he will be a pianist. Well, for the next couple of decades at least, I suppose he’ll become a Wii champion. Sigh.

Noah hasn’t crawled yet, but is quite pleased with himself when he gets on all fours and does the rock-rock-rock motion. And, he loves to hold himself up. I’m so in love with him. I’m also so very thankful that little Joseph loves his brother as much as his Daddy and I do. They have always had a solid bond, but it is getting more and more fun as Joseph “talks” to Noah by imitating his sounds. It thrills Noah and is a game he can play for…minutes! (which is hours in big-people time!) Now that I think of it, I’m going to check out here what little Joseph was like at 8 months.

I do fear, however, that the glory days of breast-feeding might be coming to an end. I’m just not getting the flow I once enjoyed. I’ve been taking Organic Mother’s Milk tea with no success. I remember using a homeopathic tincture with Joseph. Aunt Shell the pharmacist sells it at her pharmacy; I’ll have to ask her. Anyway, this is just not the right time to stop nursing, for so many reasons. First, he is only now realizing separation anxiety. What is more comforting, really, than mama’s warm embrace and familiar milk? Secondly, we will be traveling to Canada over Christmas–a new environment/routine, sick people on the aircraft, a change in weather, new people holding him–he will need breatmilk’s immune-building antibodies, no? And the comfort and security?

He also has his times when he just expects it, primarily directly after his bath. It doesn’t matter if he is filled to the brim with organic strained peas, winter squash and pumpkin pie, he wants to be nursed after his bath, and he makes that clear with no uncertain terms.

But, for me, I wonder what if (sniff, sniff) I never have another baby? What if the exquisite experience of having a newborn on our home doesn’t ever happen again? I can honestly say that I’m not too keen on another pregnancy, and while I’m a huge advocate of natural waterbirth at home, and my own experiences were fast, manageable and nothing short of miraculous, I don’t really want to do it again. (Although I would gladly help any other woman who asked for it.) Yes, we could adopt. That is our plan, should we desire a third baby, but the truth is, after Noah, I may never nurse again. Deep sigh. I know a lot of women have struggle upon struggle with nursing and eventually throw in the towel. I understand that, because it isn’t as easy (or painless) as we are told it will be. But when it works, when mommy and baby connect, and baby absolutely loves it, when it is clearly the baby’s favorite activity, a failproof soothing technique, and a moment that brings a smile to his or her little angelic face, ooh, it’s tough to let go. Hmm, I don’t want to be that mom at the park who’s taken it a little too far (the child nurses, then grabs the mom’s car keys and drives to the mall with his friends) but both neither Noah nor I are ready to sever our bond just yet.

A Very Toddler Christmas December 5, 2007

What a difference a year makes. As little Joseph nears his third birthday, Christmas certainly takes on new meaning. He was thrilled with our Christmas tree last year, he never left it alone, but this year his eyes are open to most everything around him and he has the words to exclaim in joy and wonder.

He even asked if he could go to church this morning. It’s a Wednesday.

I’m trying to decide what has topped his list of holiday amazement–he absolutely loves Christmas lights (cheers to Daddy for decorating our house!), he adores the Charlie Brown Christmas movie, he wants his Silent Night and Twas the Night Before Christmas books read over and over, and he quite enjoys the little arrangement I set up of his stuffed animals playing carols on little light-up instruments that we bought at Lowe’s last year. And, when an older gentleman happens to pass with a whitish beard, he points and shouts, “Nick! Nick!” (as in “with a little old driver so lively and quick, I knew in a moment it must be Saint…”)

However, I guess I’ll have to admit that number one on his list of magical Christmas treats is his Advent Calendar. The first few days, he made such a fuss over wanting to open every single window immediately, that my husband said, “let’s just let him get it over with.” Ever the Christmas stickler (and advent-calendar afficionada) I replied, “it will be a month-long lesson in patience.” After a few days, Joseph really got the hang of it and looks forward each morning at breakfast to opening a new window: “pick one, mommy? pick one?” he asks excitedly.

This year we will travel to London, Ontario, Canada for Christmas, and I do hope there will be plenty of snow. There is nothing like bundling up for sledding or ice skating, followed by hot chocolate, of course (or better yet, maple lattes). Oooh, or taking walks at night beneath a starry sky, looking at all the neighborhood Christmas lights while big fluffy snowflakes fall gently from the sky and with each footstep, crunch, crunch, crunch, in the snow. 

(Crappy global warming! Maybe our best present to ourselves and our holiday memories would be to decrease our carbon footprint, but that’s another blog entry.)

My Gluten-free Toddler; follow-up November 9, 2007

We committed ourselves to a month-long gluten-free trial diet for our toddler, Joseph. Read about the smashing success of our first few weeks here. We were ever so pleased with his calm and happy demeanor that we almost forgot about the tantrums and spontaneous refusals to cooperate with even the simplest requests. So confident were we that when we traveled to Aunt Jen’s wedding in Kansas at the end of the 30-day trial, we allowed wheat to be part of the grand occasion—and paid the price. Dearly. We once again faced the eye of the notorious tornado: Total Toddler Meltdown.

In my heart, I secretly thought, It’s not the gluten, those healthy grains found in virtually everything from fish crackers to cream of broccoli soup. It’s the blip in routine: an airplane flight, a different bed to sleep in, the convergence of cousins from far and wide. I felt like even though he was eating bread and butter with dinner, it wasn’t a “controlled test” because we were out of our daily routine.

Anyway, here we are, halfway into November and Joseph is once again gluten-free. His nursery school has been incredibly supportive and I have been reading labels dutifully. Where I used to be hyper-vigilant about sugar content, I have added strict gluten surveillance to my list of things to be overly concerned about. Yes, I’m one of those mothers, who can’t accept the innocuous offering of a snack during playdate before suffering the giver with a thorough cross-examination. Please don’t judge; pity, perhaps.

Still, I’m unconvinced. My husband, on the other hand, has had a revelation. He now remembers that when he was Joseph’s age, he was put on medication for exactly the kind of uproarious frenzy our son demonstrates when he’s had gluten. He wished his parents had tried a diet change, like we have. So why am I so unconvinced? First, little J is getting close to three. Shouldn’t we expect him to act, well, childish? Isn’t this part and parcel of the age-group? Also, he still has his moments where he mysteriously refuses (crying, kicking and running away) when we are simply trying to get him to put on shoes. To be  honest, while I want our little guy to be calm, happy, self-assured and at ease, I also want him to experience the full, shall we say, “pageant” of life’s emotions. I would never sculpt his personality through the introduction of pharmaceuticals, certainly, but I do want him to know that it’s OK to feel really strongly about something and it’s my job to help him find more constructive ways to express himself.

I guess what I’m asking is, does my son have an aversion to gluten, or should I just learn to be a better parent?

**looking for more about my gluten-free toddler? See the latest here.

Gluten-Free and… Loving It? October 15, 2007

I’ll admit it: When we were in Maine, we threw some dietary caution to the lobster-scented coastal wind. We stayed primarily in B&B’s and were lavished each morning with fancy Belgian waffles, baked fruit served in luxuriously rich sauces and warm muffins, fresh-baked cookies and the like–all made with refined white flour. Tasty, yes, but we did miss our usual whole grains, veggie, fruit, nut and lean meat diet. (Cheers to the Co-op in Belfast! They saved us from veggie withdrawal symptoms.)

While our toddler was certainly off his schedule, and sleeping in a variety of different beds throughout the trip would set off a tantrum in even the mildest of two-year-olds, we really noticed a difference with the change in diet. So, we indulged while on vaca, but I decided that when we returned, we would try out a gluten-free diet, and see if the white flour really was at the root of total toddler meltdown.

I contacted Joseph’s nursery school for help. Anneliese’s (where he attends 3 days a week) is the only school in Orange County with an organic menu. They are very conscientious about the kids’ diets, so I was hoping for some input. They did mention that some other parents were trying the same thing–with the idea that the glucose breaks down over the day, and by bedtime, the child is behaving like they have been fed an all-sugar dinner. Hmm, thought I. Bedtime troubles, we’ve got those in spades….

It’s relatively easy to make the switch to a gluten-free diet. Mother’s Market and Henry’s both carry plenty of options. If you are blessed with a Whole Foods in your neighborhood (you lucky so-and-so!) the choices are even wider. I picked up some bread mixes and little Joseph and I made a project of it. He got to break the eggs and hold the measuring spoon while I poured the oil. And, I won’t make you guess whether a toddler enjoys kneading sticky dough! They do.

We did a couple of different types. Chebe offers a pizza crust that we prepared, rolled out, and cut into star shapes. When my little Dora fanatic immediately proclaimed them to be Explorer Stars, I knew we’d have a winner. (Yes, it tastes good, too.) I was so pleased with the whole thing (and feeling so smugly Martha Stewart-esque) that I went ahead and made a whole batch of star-shaped mini-pizzas (cutting the veggie-pepperoni into heart shapes!) to freeze.

OK, fast-forward: What a DIFFERENCE! Within only a couple of days, bedtime became a time of peace and cuddling–and sleep. It’s been two weeks now, and we haven’t had a single meltdown (except once when he missed a nap in order to visit his cousins). And, instead of our regular two-hour nightly Battle Royale to get the child in bed and asleep, he gladly gets into bed and snuggles happily while stories are read, then lights out, and he goes to sleep!! Wow! After the countless books we’ve read to find some magical fix for bedtime bawling–with no success–we have this happy, agreeable bed-timer. What a treat!

Let me add a very special note: While we only narrowly escaped an unfortunate appearance on one of those nanny reality shows, most importantly, I’m happy for little Joseph. He used to get so very upset and frantic at bedtime, screaming, shouting, crying, kicking–I can’t even begin to understand the little storm that was going on inside him, his frustrations. And when he would quiet down, he would cling to us in the dark, refusing to fall asleep, repeating “hug, hug,” hoping we would never let him go. How wonderful for HIM to have his anxieties removed. How wonderful that we can lay there hugging and kissing and reading books and singing songs and all the while he is confident and at ease. There have even been evenings when we were able to leave him in his bed, awake, and let him fall asleep by himself!

OK, now what about the rest of the family? For me, personally, I like to keep an eye on the glycemic index. We’ve all read that diets high in sugar make the waistline heavy. An apple-shaped body is a result of a high-glycemic diet, and, as someone who had a second baby this year, the waistline is a particularly sensitive region for me, weight-loss-wise. In case you aren’t aware, gluten-free means potatoes and corn–two of the worst offenders on the GI! I can tell you that in only two weeks, I have been in such pain (I can’t even digest them!) and weight I JUST lost is creeping back to my midsection. Clearly, gluten-free is not for me. My husband feels the same. He is the type that keeps a caloric balance: when one culprit is cut, other treats can be added. Studies have shown that when we think we are eating light, we allow ourselves more special treats (which is fine in theory). The problem is that most people can portion out a boneless, skinless chicken breast. Exactly what portion of gluten-free peanut-butter shortbread cookie is appropriate?

Anyway, we promised ourselves we would try this for a month. If we experience an entire meltdown-free 30-day period, we owe it to our son–and our sanity–to make a gluten-free diet our child’s new lifestyle.

There’s more! To read about how we progressed in the following month, click here.

Slideshow of Our Trip To Maine October 9, 2007

The Motherland, at Arm’s Length August 10, 2007

It would seem to be an easy enough task: change my Canadian passport to reflect my married name. Ta da! Et voila!

It’s only a twelve-dollar fee to change an existing passport. In Canadian currency. What is that, four bucks?

I won’t even tell you how many wasted hours have been spent in passport photo places that attempt to create a Canadian-authorized photo with little or no success–while trying to entertain infant and toddler. In the US, you can pretty much submit your own at-home photo, providing it’s the right size and has a white background. The Canadians ask that the photos be taken by a professional (fine, I need all the help I can get anyway), are a specific size in millimetres (the Queen demands it!), are stamped with the date the photo was taken, not processed, and are signed by a Canadian-born Guarantor of lofty profession and title.  

I found a delightful grandfather with a little passport biz about 20 miles north who specializes in such quirky requests. He shot my photo, then did one for Noah’s US passport. His youngest grandson is the same age as Noah, but I digress. So, I now have the photo! Now, I just need a guarantor. I haven’t lived in Canada for 10+ years. I don’t really know anyone there, except family and a few close friends. I don’t have a doctor, accountant, lawyer or even veterinarian there to vouch for me. I can’t have it notarized, because, well, I would have to be with the Canadian-born notary to show that the photo looks just like me! There is a form, the PPTC 132, that one might use in lieu of a guarantor, but of course it’s only available at a Passport Canada office… in Canada. No downloads, people?!

Scouring the Los Angeles Canadian Consulate site for more info, I came across this little gem: “for the remainder of 2007, Canadians and Americans do not need a passport to travel back and forth between Canada and the U.S. by land, sea, or fresh water.”
Hmm, so Dad was right. He’d told me as much, but did I listen? Maybe we should just fly in to a bordering US airport this Christmas, drive across and I’ll handle my passport at that time.

Camping, Boating and Mother’s Day June 29, 2007

What does dirt taste like? I thought my son was past the stage of tasting every curious object under-nose, but dirt seems to hold a certain appeal. We kicked off the unofficial start to summer last weekend with a trip to Lake Casitas, just outside Ojai, for camping and boating. Perhaps it’s just Baby Joseph’s close proximity to the ground, or maybe the many twigs, grasses, flowers and rocks peppering the landscape give the soil below a mysteriously savory appeal, but we spent much of our time—on land, anyway—chasing a baby bent on tasting this world.

Preconceived notions and romantic expectations are the cracker crumbs in the bed-linens of life. Dreams and fantasies of what “should be” inevitably lead to disappointment, and a missed opportunity to appreciate what is. For example, when I met Joseph, I simply focused on the joy I experienced merely in giving him love. I let go of worry about whether my ardor would be requited, whether I would “get” for everything I was giving. What I received would be a bonus, an unexpected delight. In fact, he returned–tenfold–what I gave and I was amazed.

Ok, so that was vague, but what I’m getting at is that when it comes to Mother’s Day, I’ve struggled with feelings of entitlement, expectations of Belgian waffle brunches and appointments for spa treatments. When my son is old enough, I plainly expect a handmade card, wilty garden-plucked flowers and burnt toast served to me on a tray in bed. (Note to self: put on a pretty, picture-perfect nightgown-and-robe ensemble, like the lady in the Hallmark commercial.)

When I brought this up, my husband asked the ladies at work if scheduling our camping and boating trip on Mother’s Day weekend was ill-timed. They (grandmothers, all of them! Decades of waffles and handmade cards under their [robe] belts!) agreed that time spent with family was an ideal choice, be it by land or by sea. (Or, lake, in our case.)

So, to Lake Casitas…

Enclosed in a little nylon dome atop a grassy hill overlooking the glistening bay, we watched our son cheerfully navigate over pillows and sleeping bags, stopping to examine zipper closures and the contents of small pockets on sides of backpacks. We witnessed the brazen confrontation of the big-kid slide, conquered without a hint of trepidation. We enjoyed trouble-free hours floating on the picturesque lake, and counted ourselves among the lucky ones. But this did not comprise Mother’s Day. This was another example of that “tenfold” of giving my husband lavishes. The weekend began, in fact, with a trip to the salon. We three were treated to new hairstyles, and the weekend closed with–you guessed it–brunch in Ojai. We ate at The Garden Terrace, where Chef Pat created some incredibly wonderful treats for moms and their families. My husband and son presented me with a gift each day: first, 15 magnetic rocks symbolizing the 15 months I’ve been a mother; second, a pink stone cross necklace (an astonishing gesture considering that my husband does not share my faith); and after brunch, a leather-bound “Mother’s Day Book” to hold messages from my husband and son each and every Mother’s Day. On our son’s behalf, Joseph had completed the first entry. I can’t tell you how touched I was, and am, to receive it. OK, before I am accused of bragging about how sweet a life I live, please understand I am floored by how loving and thoughtful one man can be—and I’m so thankful for everything he does. The Hallmark lady can keep her breakfast in bed.

If I Stay on Vacation, I Won’t Have to Clean the House June 25, 2007

Our vacation is officially over. You know how I can tell? The house is a mess from one end to the next. Truthfully, I cleaned it all up just before we left… then just just before we left, we undid all my efforts with the last-minute “oh no! did you pack…?” chaos that accompanies new parenthood. Sure, we can pack for ourselves; I’ve perfected the week’s worth of coordinated outfits, toiletries and shoes for every occasion in a neat carry-on attache gig. I wow myself at every trip, in fact, packing usually more than I ever actually wear in a small, rolling suitcase I don’t even need to check at the airport… but a baby brings an entirely new dimension. We were driving, thank goodness, so we could allow ourselves more than we would on a plane trip, certainly, but by the time we were an hour past our planned get-away time, we were still haggling about whether to pack his gargantuan, un-foldable Jumperoo. And not a room in the house could be considered neat or tidy by any stretch of the imagination. So we’re back, and it’s a mess.