Can't You Control Your Child?

I winced as these words hit me in the back, and they weren't even directed at me (this time, anyway). I turned around to see a painstakingly put-together elderly woman storming away from an obviously tired, obviously frazzled and, given the redness of nose and the bleariness of her eyes, obviously sick young mom. She had an infant on her hip, equally red-nosed & bleary-eyed, and an active toddler who had taken a distinct interest in the bags of cotton balls. He was probably just getting over the sickness after thoughtfully passing it on to his mom & sister, and was now full of that bored, fidgety energy of a toddler who's been cooped up for a few days. My heart broke open with empathy for the mom. I could tell that she was clinging to the frayed ends of her rope, and the last thing she needed at that point was criticism. If anything, she could have used a hug and some reassurance that she would make it through.

I've been there. We've all been there, haven't we? That place where you're just trying to get through the day, or afternoon, or trip to the drug store, or sometimes even just the next 5 minutes. If you haven't, perhaps you could direct me to your blog/book/advice column/babysitting service, because I probably have something to learn from you. Can't I control my child? The simple answer to that weighted question is no, I cannot control my child. Nor do I truly have the slightest interest in doing so. Yes, I occasionally cringe at his behaviour. There was the time he threw a major tantrum on the sidewalk outside the grocery store. I felt like an animal on the plains of Africa as the cars slowly drove by, people peering at us through their tightly rolled up windows. And of course the lovely incident when he spat on my face in Starbucks. That was a doozy. Yes, I wish I didn't have to constantly remind him about the ins and outs of polite society, but he's 4 and he's going to belch really emphatically at the most inopportune times. He's going to loudly point out and ask questions about what is different about any person he sees, whether it's something they want acknowledged or not. Actually, especially if not. And then there's his tendency to try to negotiate everything, including non-negotiable safety issues, or simply on those days when I want him to just do what I ask without argument. It would certainly make my life easier if I could turn him into a docile yes-man, but I'm not sure it would best serve the needs of my son. As a parent, I don't see it as my job to "control" him, but more to help him learn how to control himself.

I would love it if he picked up some impulse control sooner rather than later, but he's like Curious George - "a good little monkey, but always very curious." As we wend our way through childhood, I want him to learn that I will always listen to his viewpoint. I want him to know that I will really only stand in the way of his desires if they will or could seriously harm him or someone else. At the core of it all, though, is my desire to instill in him the belief that everyone, including himself, deserves to be treated with kindness and respect. If I can manage that, I will consider myself a successful parent. Getting too caught up in the details, I run the risk of quashing some of the qualities in my son that I love and admire. His dive-in head first lust for life. His healthy determination; he knows what he wants, and will not be swayed from his path. He has faith in his abilities ("I can do it myself!"), and all that negotiation leads me to believe he has the knowledge and skills to stand up for himself. These qualities that can frustrate me to no end mostly because they interfere with my plans for the day, could really serve him in the future. So no, I won't "control" my son. But that rude old lady in the drug store is sure lucky that I've learned to control myself, because dammit if I didn't want to run up and give her a swift kick in the shin.

Get Back To Work!

"But I don't want you working, Momma! I want you here!" How can you hear that plea/demand and not have your heart break a little bit? Could it really be 4 short years ago that the little dude became my full time job? Never mind that he's now in pre-school three days a week and playcare two of those afternoons. Nevermind that this new schedule of mine hasn't impacted his schedule in the slightest (yet). Kiddo is nervous about me returning to work, because it's human nature to be nervous about change. He knows that some moms work, but he's never known his mom to go to work. Up until a few months ago, Dad going to work meant he left on Sunday night and we didn't see him again until Friday night. So, yeah, the kid's a little worried about what this change is going to mean for him.

I had been prepping kiddo for the possibility of me working. I knew he was ready - he has become increasingly independent ("I can do it myself!"), he's started asking why he can't go to pre-school every day, and he's a very active, social little fellow. He has more needs than his introverted, introspective momma can fill. As much as he may protest, I suspect the kid gets sick of looking at me some days. Granted, this job came up unexpectedly, and a little quicker than anticipated, but it's part-time, flexible hours doing something I love (baking). It was impossible to pass up. And I sure as hell knew I was ready to go back to work. The term "stir-crazy" comes to mind. Heavy on the "crazy". So we're transitioning to a lifestyle that will work better for everyone involved, but it doesn't come without some growing pains. For all his rambunctiousness, he's a pretty sensitive kid. He's one of those children who just feels everything intensely - joy, sadness, anger, fear. Every change, every stage has been accompanied by sleep disturbances and reactive behaviour. All I know how to do at this point (in my sleep-deprived state) is continue to be honest with him about what he can expect, be there when I say I'm going to be there, and cuddle him to death when the opportunity arises. And hope to all hell that I'm not going to screw him up. But really, I could screw him up just as easily at home as I could at work. I may as well make some money while I'm doing it.

To Sleep, Perchance To Dream

We were a bit cocky in the early months. We managed to get the kiddo sleeping through the night (ie. 6 straight hours) when he was 8 weeks old. Somewhere along the way, things went horribly wrong. It all started at about 18 months when he figured out how to climb out of his crib. He became a broken jack-in-the-box, constantly popping out no matter how hard you tried to stuff him back in. Then, when we finally convinced him to stay in his own bed, the nightmares started. Dragons, dinosaurs, monsters, lions, aliens, bad guys... you name it. We have fought them off with dragon spray, anti-lion protection lotion, night lights, threats, rhymes & chants. The bastards keep coming back. We've tried letting him come to sleep in our bed in the middle of the night, but one of us invariably ends up swearing, and I invariably end up lying awake until the alarm goes off. I've tried sleeping with him in his bed, but he's a kicker (like his poppa), and a twin bed is not big enough for the two of us.

You don't realize how important sleep is until you're not getting enough of it. You feel stupider, probably because you are. Your brain function deteriorates without rest, causing you to lose concentration, memory function, and problem-solving ability. You may still be able to get stuff done, but you're slower, clumsier and have a harder time making decisions. On top of all that, you'll have a harder time regulating your emotions, so you can get depressed and/or bitchy. Really bitchy. So when all three members of my family are not sleeping well, you can imagine the sunshine and rainbows just bursting out of our house. To quote the WonderPets, "This is serious."

I remember some of the nightmares I had as a kid; I was sure those scrubbin' bubbles were going to come into my house and smother me. I can remember lying rigidly awake, scared to move, listening and analyzing every sound the house made. My poor little 4-year old does the same thing. He can't regulate his dreams yet. He still believes that the monsters in his head are real. We're working on it, but he still doesn't believe he can take control of the dream and change the story. Thankfully, my hubby received a suggestion from a friend that is showing some promise. We still have kiddo's crib mattress, which we have now placed in our room on the floor over on my side of the bed. If the little dude wakes in the night, he can come plop himself down there. It's nice to wake up only once or twice, as opposed to the 10 to 15 times we were developing into. Already I feel a tiny bit more patient, and maybe a little bit smarter. Here comes the sunshine (and rainbows).

Boys In Pink Tutus

I knew I would catch some flack for it. I was pretty sure my husband wouldn't be thrilled by the idea, but I was curious to see how it would all play out. When we were visiting with kiddo's bestest friend in the whole world and she decided to put on one of her princess dresses, my boy decided he wanted to be a "beautiful prince." So he went to her dress-up closet and managed to pull out the most gauzy, floaty, sparkly, fuzzy-trimmed pink confection of a dress he could possibly find. Despite my convictions on gender neutrality in play, I found myself asking if he realized that "usually" only girls wore dresses. He gave me his standard "I know, Momma" (this kid apparently knows everything), so I helped him put it on.

I'm pretty sure my son won't suffer any negative long term consequences from trying on a dress. Some may disagree (my husband grumbled something about a "slippery slope"), but I don't believe that letting my son wear a pink tutu will make him gay. If you do disagree, maybe you could tell me this: how long would he have to wear it before the homosexuality seeps in? On hour? Five? Or would he have to try it on multiple times? For the record, I don't care if he is gay or not - I just don't believe that pink gauze & sequins hold that kind of power. And I'm sure that most people would agree with me. So the question then becomes, why are we so hyper-vigilant about our sons engaging in typically female play? Are we worried about it making them "girly?" And what does that actually mean? Thanks to the feminist movement, parents rarely worry about their daughters playing with cars, or playing sports. Unfortunately, there has been no mainstream equivalent to feminism for men. Do we really de-value stereotypical feminine characteristics that much? Would the world be worse off if men as a whole were more emotionally intelligent? More nurturing? Had better communication skills? Enjoyed romantic comedies? I think not. So I say, if your son wants to wear pink, or try on a dress, or play with dolls, let him. Let him walk a mile in kitten heels. Children are naturally curious. To deny them opportunities to explore simply places limits on their perspective & understanding.

I, for one, do not want to place those kinds of limits on my kid. This wasn't about gender roles or sexuality. It was about never having worn sequins before. It was about trying something new. It was about wanting to be a part of whatever his best friend was doing. Once in their dresses, they climbed up the ladder to the rope bridge, clambered across, slid down the slide, attempted the monkey bars. Rolled on the grass. Played "bus." He shot at bad guys with his umbrella. All of it normal, natural kid stuff. And they looked damn good doing it.

Coffee 101

When I first tasted coffee as a teenager, I thought "This is bitter & disgusting. Why would anyone put themselves through this?" My mother assured me that I would one day be converted, probably when I was in university doing exams, or after the birth of a child. Her confidence in these assertions of course strengthened my resolve to NEVER like the stuff. Imagine my surprise to find a kindred spirit in the owner of my local coffee shop.

Dave Evans, owner of The Stick In The Mud, claims he never drank coffee regularly before the age of 35, as no one had ever made him a good cup of the stuff. He was happy to amble through life as a tea snob of sorts, until a compatriot in the tea camp came back from France a defector. As the story goes, this friend and his wife spent some time in Paris enjoying the traditional one, 10-hour meal per day. Towards the end of the day, early evening-ish, they would head out for an espresso and be good to go for another 2 hours or so. Sounds lovely, doesn't it? This story sent Dave on the quest to find the perfect cup of coffee in Canada. Now, as a barista, coffee roaster, owner and aficionado, he claimed to be able to convert me. Skeptical as I was, I'm always up for a challenge.

The weapon of choice was a cappuccino: 1 ounce of espresso to 5 1/2 ounces of milk. Rich, thick espresso in the bottom with steamed milk poured in, topped with that yummy milk foam, a.k.a. microfoam, a.k.a. liquid marshmallow. (Appropriately called liquid marshmallow as the process of adding heat and air to the milk allows the naturally occurring sugars in the milk to be more readily accessible to the tongue.) In the interest of full disclosure, mine was a wet cappuccino. Wet cappuccinos generally have a higher ratio of milk and are poured slightly differently. According to the laws of cappuccino, you need to drink them within a couple of minutes before things start to separate. Which is probably why they're also not supposed to be larger than 7 ounces. Over 7 ounces, and you call it a latte; roughly the same ratio of espresso to milk, just bigger. As part of my coffee education, I learned that Americanos are made by adding water to espresso. They originated in World War II as a somewhat disdainful accommodation of American GIs in Europe who were seeking a larger cup than the traditional espresso. But I digress; back to my cappuccino.

I gave it a gentle stir and tasted the foam: so far, so good. I dove right in, and guess what? It still tasted like coffee, but it was the best damn cup of coffee I've ever had. Bitter, yes, but bitter in the way of extremely dark chocolate. The Stick In The Mud roasts their own beans on-site, and Dave claims that he aims for the taste of a dark chocolate fruit & nut bar in the roasting process. How can you go wrong with that? I even went on to try an espresso after my cappuccino; a little harder for my virgin palate, but not as harsh as I expected. This could be the caffeine buzz talking, but I may even go on to become a convert. That is, if The Stick didn't make such a damn good chai latte.

Does Enjoying Cover Tunes Mean I'm Getting Old?

Addiction is a strong word. Let's say I've developed a penchant for covers of songs from my youth, and it doesn't matter if I liked the original version or not. So why do I get a kick out of hearing some old, familiar songs redone? There has to be some psychology behind that. I went through the songs on my 'covers' playlist (yes, I went so far as to make a playlist), and managed to break it down to a few reasons. (I've linked to the songs I could find online, but otherwise linked to the artist.)

Firstly, some of these remakes just make me giggle. The Acorn's cover of Strange Animal by Gowan is probably not going to win them any awards for musical genius, but I could listen to that tune all day. Likewise, Sebadoh's overly-articulated version of Run To You (Bryan Adams) elicits a chuckle and a boogie almost every time. Then there's Your Love, originally by The Outfield. I had that album on vinyl; I probably still have it tucked away in a box somewhere. Bon Iver's version makes me smile, and gives me warm fuzzy feelings at the same time.

This overlaps into the second category of cover tunes: those that take me back to a specific time or place in my life. Ladies of the 80s, I've got 3 words - Pretty In Pink. As a teenager in the 80s, I wanted to be Molly Ringwald. The National's cover of Pretty In Pink allows me to drift off & reminisce, while still maintaining a aura of cool (yeah, right). On the flip side, I wasn't a fan of Cum On Feel The Noise back in the day but it was played at pretty much every school dance I attended. Thanks to Bobby Bare Jr., I can finally enjoy this tune. Repeatedly.

Finally, there are a few cover songs that are simply musically brilliant. M. Ward's version of Let's Dance rivals David Bowie's original for a place in my heart. And don't tell Elton John, but I may actually prefer Tortoise & Bonnie Prince Billy's version of Daniel. Maybe. Then there's the combination of two of my favourite artists: Neko Case singing Neil Young. I believe she always will be a Dreaming Man.

Most of these cover songs I love for a combination of all of the above reasons. So why is there an influx of covers from the days of my youth? Did these bands grow up on the same music I did? It's possible that for some of them, this is the music of their parents. Man, I'm getting old. But it is comforting to know that some things are recurrent in the soundtrack of my life - songs, people, lessons. Now if you'll excuse me, I think I hear Shonen Knife playing Top Of The World (The Carpenters). Time to dance.

Happy Turkey Day!

Thanksgiving could be my favourite holiday. You don't have to worry about presents or too much pomp & ceremony. This is one holiday in which it's all about the food. Plus, it's pretty much a non-denominational, all inclusive kind of day, although some First Nations people may disagree. And possibly some vegetarians, but that's why they invented Tofurkey (why else would someone invent tofurkey?) For any of my American friends who may be unaware, we here in Canada celebrate Thanksgiving in October. Why? As part of our national identity centers around being polite, we always want to be the first to say thank you.

As my son's birthday falls in the week before Thanksgiving, we manage to fulfill our family obligations then. Therefore, for Turkey Day we don't have to worry about traveling or remembering which side of the family we visited last year. I love that we seem to have started the tradition of hosting a potluck Thanksgiving for our friends every year. This year we've invited as many people as can fit around the table, plus a few more. Hence, I have named this year's turkey Larry, as he is one giant bird. I doubt we'll go around the table and have everyone state what they're thankful for; with this many people, the food would get cold before we got halfway around the room. The act of coming together, sitting down to share a meal: there is reverence and thanks in that alone. But to get in the spirit of things, I shall get my thanks out of the way now.

I am, of course, thankful for my friends and family, those I see regularly and those I rarely get to see. I am thankful for love, understanding, and acceptance. I am thankful for books, music, creativity. I am thankful for sleep, when I can get it. I am thankful for trees and streams and isolated beaches. I am thankful for Larry. I will be thankful if my old oven makes it through this day. I am thankful for chocolate. I am thankful for you.

Happy Turkey Day.