I Heart My Girls

It's been some time since I last posted. It seems to go like this--spurts of energy for blogging and then a dry spell and then a return to the posting (at least I hope I'm back at it for a little while). So, it's been nearly a month since Valentine's day, but I at least wanted to give it a little attention, as it was a notable one for me this year.

I don't, or I guess I should say didn't, care much about the holiday. It has always seemed like sort-of a silly, Hallmark holiday, focused so much on consumption and scripted symbols of love. Don't get me wrong, chocolates and roses, in my opinion, are really as good as they are supposed to be. However, being told that we need to buy them for our sweeties on a certain day and, of course, the more expensive the better, rubs me the wrong way. M. and I have sometimes observed Valentine's Day in our own way and sometimes not bothered at all. Throughout our relationship, we've always done little, sweet things for each other, and I've tended to love the surprise sweetnesses the most.

Also, it turns out, working with victims and survivors of domestic violence for nearly a decade has made me a wee bit cynical. I now seem to automatically associate typical Valentine's Day romantic pageantry with the make-up phase in a violent relationship, where the abusive partner says he/she is going to change, when everyone says it will never happen again and all is perfect, etc.

But this year it felt different. This year, instead of being annoyed by the whole thing, I couldn't help myself. I made pancakes in the shape of hearts; toast with heart-shaped cinnamon sugar; hearts from paper; silly Valentines for J's class (with her help), and a heart pillow for each girl. I realized what I know their grandparents figured out long ago: Valentine's Day is another opportunity to tell your kids you love them like crazy.

And I do. Valentine's Day or no, I can't stop showering my lovelies with kisses and endearments. It feels like the most natural thing in the world.

But, very, very sadly, when I go to work, I learn that it is not. I so often have found myself listening and witnessing the stories of people who have not felt that their mothers have loved them. At times, the results of these feelings have been far more devastating than other abuses my clients have been through.

As I've watched other, slightly younger clinicians learn this work, I've found that this aspect of the work, mothers not showing their love enough, appropriately enough, strongly enough, has been one of the hardest for them to bear. Witnessing the hurt that people experience when they don't feel loved by their mothers is heartbreaking. However, perhaps strangely, I'm drawn to this part of the work. And, luckily, it doesn't seem to push my buttons that much.

Through thinking about this Valentine's Day, I know more of why: I know my momma loves me endlessly. She tells me so all the time and has for as long as I've been around. I know how to do this loving-your-kids-and-telling-them-so thing without much thought; I've been learning it my whole life. And, I know that I'm passing along the same lessons to my girls.

Also, since becoming a mother, I've found myself bringing more parenting thoughts into the therapy room. I've been teaching some of my clients, who did not have enough loving experiences as kids, how to make things different in their parenting. It seems to be really hard work, at times, but the healing seems to be very profound when it comes.

So, this Valentine's Day, I not only found myself goofily making hearts out of everything, but I also discovered some profound gratitude. I'm grateful for the ways that loves flows so easily in my family, from me and to me. Grateful that I've got these amazing little girls to shower with love all the time. And, grateful that I've found work that lets me share these experiences, in little ways, with others who are hurting in hopes of helping them hurt just a little less.

Fast Felt

I've been learning about my creating self as this making-stuff-constantly thing continues. It turns out I really like little projects that I can get done pronto; these days I don't seem to have a long enough attention span for any longer term projects. I really like things I can get started and finished in about a day's work (which could mean several hours or minutes, depending on what is allotted on that day).

I guess this isn't really much of a surprise. I'm not the most patient person, I'm a bit manic at times, and I tend get really into and somewhat obsessed by the project/thought/activity of the moment. And, it turns out I've brought two little girls into the world who also seem to possess these traits. It's going to be interesting around here in a few years, me thinks...

Recently, my obsession has turned to little storage objects to help discourage the ever-present (and soon taking over the world) clutter in this house. So, I've been starting to plot and plan some objects for this purpose. Specifically, quickie objects to this end.

Over the weekend, I made a mediocre fabric bucket. It holds bags of dried fruit just fine, but is not terribly pleasing aesthetically. More serious work with π is needed.

Monday, though, the focus was wool and felting:

Here's my odd little felted box. Not sure yet what it will hold, other than the sweet little felted rocks we also made Monday. This felting project was a perfect fit for us. Quick, easy, tactile. Perfect for a momma wanting instant craftiness and a three-year-old wanting hands-on control.

Homebodies

We've all been feeling unwell (the three girls with an upper respiratory virus and M. with an unhappy back) for the past couple of weeks, and consequently, not much leaving the house has been happening. We've been doing lots of nice, slow home stuff...

The number of hours I clocked with C. in the Ergo over the past few weeks, especially when she was feverish and teething, is rather astonishing. And led to rather obsessive knitting (what else could I get done when she was only happy when I was rocking back and forth in one place?).

I thought this cotton/linen tank top was going to be a long-term project. Nope--7 days.

We've also been doing lots of baking and cooking and, when we have had appetites (don't worry, M's never faltered), eating and eating. Today I was inspired by Origami Mommy's post, and we turned a bit of the oatmeal ricotta bread dough into sweet Korean pancakes that were heavenly!

We've also been doing a good bit of art--papier mâché bowls, fingerpainting, and lots of writing and coloring.

Despite all this good stuff, though, I'm so relieved we're on the mend. I do need some time away from the mommying throughout the week and being able to breath and move without aching seems like a lovely idea. Although it was hectic with catch-up, work was a welcome change. It felt a bit fresher than it has in a bit; I've been in a bit of a rut. Guess I needed a bit of forced down time.

Baby Legs

I can't really explain my obsession with making leg warmers for C. But, I do love making them and then putting them on her chunky, beautiful leggies! They're a quick project, they let me repurpose all sorts of things, and they help me keep my baby's legs warm on super cold days like today.

Mostly I've been using old, out-grown pants (the ones above) or onesies that I cut and stitch in one way or another. But, recently a friend gave me some old socks, and I pretty much went nuts. On one pair I picked up stitches and knitted a cuff, but then I figured out that I could use a bit of the sock foot to make a very professional looking cuff (the ones below). I'm irrationally pleased by this.

A Year in the Making

One year ago I did this:

And today, to celebrate, while she did this:

I finished this:

Can't wait to give it to her!

D-Day

Last Thursday was a D-Day for me; "D" as in "dress," as in "dry," as in "done." I wore a dress to work, solidifying what has been a gradual trend--I don't need to pump or express milk in any way while I'm at work. I still do nurse a little at home now, when C. bumps her head, when she wants some extra nighttime snuggles, but all-in-all, she's more interested in exploring than nursing. The bottle of cow's milk easily goes with her when she needs to check out the next big thing. And, as C. is my second and last baby, this is the near-end of my stint as a lactating momma.

In many ways, this is a good thing. Nursing is hard work. I've been the all-night diner (to paraphrase the Sears' Breastfeeding Book) for many, many months. I haven't had a good night's sleep in years.

J. was a nursing fanatic. She decided to wean from the bottle (which M. used to give her pumped breast milk on my work days) at around 6 months and wouldn't use a sippy cup until around 16 months. This meant that at the height of summer, she wasn't drinking anything on the days I was at work. Therefore, when she was an all-night nurser, I didn't feel that it was safe to set any limits until she was about a year or so. Weaning finally happened when she was 20 months old, because I was almost four months pregnant with C. and incredibly sick.

C. has been much more easy-going about the whole thing. She was a nursing pro from the get-go. She latched on perfectly in the labor and delivery room, twice. However, she has always been fine with taking a bottle of breast milk. I was SO relieved when it became clear that I wasn't going to be the only option for this one.

But, then that led to it's own problems, I think. Without constant on-demand nursing my supply started to dip when she as around nine or ten months (likely due to my Mirena monkeying with my hormones), and we ended up supplementing with formula. This was so very, very hard for me. I have read pretty much every page of each Mothering Magazine delivered to my mailbox and have been well indoctrinated into the "Breast is Best" mindset. My scientific, critical self as well as my emotional, nurturing self both really do legitimately buy into this, but I have been troubled by the impact of this perspective and campaign on those who can't or chose not to nurse. I've seen several women really struggle with this, and the real pain that results just can't be useful to moms or babies or society at large. Finding Hanna Rosin's article, "The Case Against Breast-Feeding" (which I found, by the way, because of angry critics in Mothering), was really helpful to me. While I don't agree with all that she says, she helped to shed light on much of the rhetoric and politics that surrounds the issue. I found Rosin's perspective a comfort when C. happily sucked down her first bottle of formula. More, though, I saw my baby, who had been a bit cranky for the last week or so, perk up because she was getting enough to eat. The change was needed.

So is this change. Pumping needed to be over. It was making it so I didn't have lunch breaks, couldn't talk to friends or colleagues for any length of time, and was stressing over the lack of milk that the activity was producing. And, I really missed wearing dresses. It was time, but there's still a bit of sadness and regret I feel even now writing this. And it's not really about losing the baby time with my kids--sure that's part of it, but that time is smoothly and delightfully moving into toddler and preschooler time. It's really about my own identity changing and shifting. This body will never be pregnant or nursing again. It will be a comfort and an anchor for my girls for many, many years to come, but I'm really out of the reproducing business. It's good; I don't want to do that anymore, but I spent a lot of time looking towards those experiences and now I don't know exactly what to look forward to in terms of my body's place in my life, in my dreams, in my future. Much more so than when I turned 30, I'm feeling older and uncertain. I'm really glad I love this wardrobe shift because the deeper stuff turns out to be really, pretty complicated.

Casting On

It's been so very long since I even tried to put words down to post and even longer since I've posted. The last few months have been so very busy and exhausting. When I look back, I can't exactly tell you what took up all the energy and time, but certainly it has to do with two spirited youngsters, a job listening to trauma 27 hours a week, a limited budget, stubbornness about making our meals from scratch and using cloth diapers, not enough sleep, and, oh yes, that pesky dissertation draft M. is trying to get mostly finished by the end of the month. Whew.

But, there's been lots of creativity and joyfulness throughout that time, too. And, often that has been what has taken me away from keeping up with this blog. When I have to choose between writing here and being in my life, there really isn't any contest. But, now in this new year, I'm interested in seeing whether I might be able to bring the blogging back in without having to give up important time I need for other things. We'll see.

Today seemed like a good day for it. I've been thinking about new things, new possibilities lately. Of course, January is often a time of talking about new beginnings, resolutions and the like. In the past, January as a time for reflection has never grabbed me much, however, January was when my lovely C. was born last year, and now that the anniversary of the month of her birth is upon us, I'm finding myself doing a lot of looking back and looking ahead.

Beginnings are hard, though. Knitting recently reminded me of this. I just finished a goofy cowl for myself, made out of yarn raveled from a sweater bought at the Salvation Army the other day.

The knitting was easy and brainless, but the casting on was vile. The needles I was using didn't help, but I've always hated casting on. I don't like the counting, I don't like having to guess how much yarn to start with (I always get it wrong the first time and sometimes the second and third. Grrr.), and I really hate the work of the first row, when the yarn is tight around the needle and not interested in getting started on whatever I'm proposing. (Here's the pattern--it's beautiful in cashmere, don't you think? The reused synthetic took it for a bit of a weird turn, but it's comfy and warm and I didn't bring anything new into the world.)

I've been thinking about the beginnings of therapy, too, lately. After a break of three weeks, many of my existing clients and I have to figure out some of the choreography of our therapy time anew, and I've taken on a handful of new clients in the past month or so. So, there have been many sessions that also feel like casting on--I haven't yet found that comfortable flow of the work yet. It is exciting to be in these new or renewed relationships and brings a freshness to the work, but it keeps me on my toes and yearning, some, for the relative ease of humming, purposeful therapy work. It can be tiring.

Which reminds me of a new beginning of today. Believe it or not, I went to the gym today. I know. Sounds crazy, doesn't it? Over the holidays, our family joined the local YMCA, and I've been really excited and anxious about it. So, Saturday, J. and I tried out the "family fun pool" (it was, in fact, true to it's name). Today, however, I really pushed the new start thing. I took advantage of the free childcare rooms; J. and C. both played in the childcare area while I worked out a little. This was a BIG THING--C. had never been cared for by anyone but me, M. or our mothers. However, C. did not seem to get the memo about this, and, true to her take-on-the-world nature, she didn't seem to have a bit of a problem with it. So, it amazingly was a new beginning with little fanfare.

I hope that putting words to the page will prove to be a similar experience in this coming year. I hope to cobble together some record of my adventures, my ponderings, and my creations. We'll see how it goes...