Go for Goodness

See that picture down there? That's my family. If you're anything like me, you might look at that photo and feel a twinge of envy, mainly because you'll assume that one photo tells a story of our lives, as opposed to the one moment we captured. That was a really, really happy moment. That's why I snapped a shot. I can tell you, so very honestly, that those moments don't happen all the time when raising small kids. I just don't snap pictures of myself screaming into pillows or punching walls, or scowling at my spouse for not doing the laundry *right*.
But this, this was a great moment:

Before I had kids, one of my teachers told me that the greatest spiritual growth I would find would be in having and raising kids. It sure sounded glossy to me when she said it, and I know my heart swelled, but flash forward four years from that shared wisdom to me wiping the kitchen floor for the third time today or getting kicked in the eye, or picking up a turd from the carpet that my toddler left behind. There is nothing glossy about it. But she was right - this has been,  and is,  the greatest edge I've ever encountered in my life, and I have grown more as a person than I could have imagined.

I have often wondered about the Creator's Master Plan. It's ironic you know, that one of the main objectives of raising a human is to foster independence. We live a good portion of our lives being independent and full of ego, and doing what we want, when we want, and then BOOM we have kids and all the stuff the ego thrives on gets completely destroyed.
It's not about you anymore. It's not even about them, really. It's about being willing to give to other humans wholeheartedly, and to jump into the abyss of service.

My two biggest parenting challenges have been:
1) Controlling my temper. 
This means that I blow sometimes. I get full to the brim from sensory overload and frustration and I blow. After I blow I feel like the world's worst mother and I beat myself up for days and days. It's a shitty cycle and it sucks. So I work on it daily: cultivating patience.

2) Knowing what to do with my kids. 
I know that sounds weird, but I have a lot of anxiety around my time alone with them: finding things to do, keeping them occupied, trying new things, getting creative. I realized that I am not confident with my ability to play and be on the spot. So what happens? I get angry (see above) and the cycle continues.
I have told myself that I'm just not good at it. I look at other parents playing with their kids and I compare myself. I zone out when with them, or avoid moments of playtime by doing housework or making busy. Meanwhile, I miss out on all the moments of connection that I long for. 

My older child is almost 4, and it was just a few days ago that I decided to ditch this story of me being a shitty parent and get down on the floor with him and play. What was the hang-up? I've been afraid to fail. Afraid to try things I don't feel good at. Afraid to let go and jump into the moment.

Someone said to me today, "You know what? I think I'm really afraid of failure" to which I replied, "Who isn't?"
I know it's only been a few days, but in deciding to be open to trying new things, to committing to being present and playful with my kids, I feel like someone new. I feel my heart opening. I feel my vulnerability and humanness. I feel like it's okay to suck at this for awhile because then I'll get good at it.

I had a breakthrough.

And here's the wisdom I want to share:
My fear of failure and insecurity showed up in the form of a bad attitude. You know, "I hate playing with them. Playing is so boring. This sucks. I'd rather be doing anything else..."
A bad attitude is like being stuck in stone.
In shifting my attitude, I discovered that the voice of intuition kicks in. This is the voice that knows how to play with my kids, knows what they need, knows how to be present.  It's all there, I just have to keep kicking the shitty voices away.

And hey, look, this is us playing:

I hope I've inspired you to go for some goodness. Seriously, there is awful stuff happening in the world these days. Every act of love matters.

Is it Time?

Breastfeeding, for whatever reason, always seems like such a hot topic. I find it kind of stupid that we pay so much attention to this one act: whether or not a woman does it, and for how long, and where, and what she wears (or doesn't wear) while doing it, and who she may offend by doing/not doing it. The list goes on... There are so many issues in our not-so-evolved Western culture around parenting that exist because many of us have the luxury of not having to work and can discuss our breastfeeding woes or preferences.
Alas, here I am at home on a Friday afternoon because I have the privilege and luxury to work flexible hours so I can be with my kid. I mean that earnestly. And here I am on this Friday afternoon wanting to share a story about breastfeeding.
Cedar is now a year-and-a-half old. He has a full set of teeth, and we are still going strong with breastfeeding. He doesn't take nursing lightly; this kid is very serious about his boob. I have always loved sharing in this wonderful act with him. Lately though, I am feeling really annoyed by it. He is getting his back molars and because of all the discomfort, he has been especially needy and forceful with nursing. It can be very frustrating. This leads me to the question of whether it is time to begin the weaning process.
If there is one parenting philosophy that works for me, it is this: if you can't stand it, do something to change it. For example, I can't stand the biting and pulling and obsessing over my boobs. Makes me bonkers. When I am bonkers we all suffer - just ask my husband.
Although bonkers, I feel very emotional about the idea of weaning him. Just before his nap today I tried not giving him the breast and he cried and cried, then I started to cry too. This breastfeeding thing - this is ours. This is the most basic, beautiful, natural thing, other than love, that I feel I can offer my child at this point. When he is upset, the breast calms him. It is a simple communication, and no one else in the world can give this to him in this way. This boy grew inside my body, and it was my body that fed him, and my body continues to feed him through breastfeeding. So simple.
I feel emotional because I doubt that anything will ever be this simple again. I think about this huge, mad world that he is growing in, and I think about wanting to give him every tool there is to manage well within it. As he grows and changes, these tools will also have to change.
I imagine that every mother experiences this moment when she realizes that her baby is going to grow up and move on in the world. I have never experienced the movement of time at such a fast rate; it is mind-blowing.  While he is still on my breast, he remains a little person in so many ways. I do not want to force him, or myself, but I do want to change the stream of things right now so it is more comfortable for me, and in turn, for him.

Number Two, How You Scare Me So

I'll preface this post by saying: I am not pregnant. No, not yet. Haven't started "trying" or anything.  But we had a conversation last week that went something like this:
Bri: So, you wanna make a baby, huh?
Me: Yeah, you?
Bri: Yeah, why not?
And practically in unison: Get 'er done.
Isn't it funny that the first baby is the most incredibly romantic and wonderful idea/thing of all time, and number two is this shafted little being who happens because, well, you can't have just one, or the other needs a sibling, or you know you want two so you may as well get through the debauchery. So you shrug your shoulders and pull the goalie.
All that said, I know there's more to it, and I know that my heart wants a second baby with as much true love as it did for the first. Only difference? I guess I'm just too damn tired to put as much energy into it!
I'm scared though. Not a real scared, but an unsettled anxiety that's creeping around my shoulders these days. We've sort of, kind of, become settled with this one little guy. Bri and I are both back to work in our freelancey ways, and I am starting to have dreams for the bakery again, but here comes Number Two nudging my ovaries.
I've been taking polls from different families. This morning at the coffee shop I asked a friend who has a three year-old and a six month-old what it's like to have two. He said, "twice the beauty, twice the pain." Or there's my other friend who says that having two is not 1+1=2, but 1+1=3.
The consensus is that two is better than one and you may as well have the second one BEFORE you get too used to things like sleeping or having some time to get things done.
All logistics aside, I think I'm scared because those first and many months after Cedar were the most difficult and painful times of my life. I don't want that again. And that's just the truth leaking out now.
Moral of the story: when the heart wants, it wants. Things like Order and Control are always getting messed up by that dirty little heart scoundrel.
My great-grandmother had 9 kids. 8 of them girls. Times have changed, haven't they?