Birthdate Reversion

Or: Why Adoptive Parenting Is Weird Sometimes

Remember our daughter's January birthday? No, you don't. You can't. You mustn't. Forget anyone ever said anything about January. This is not the birth date you're looking for.

Once upon a time at the end of our pre-child days, we received that most remarkable of phone calls, the one telling us we had a daughter waiting a world away. It was April, and she'd been born in December. On the very day we had delivered our completed dossier to the agency, in fact. What a story!

Oh, but there was more to story. Well, actually, less. That birth date was just an estimate and the orphanage doctor didn't think she could be that old when they took her in. We were told to consider her a month younger, January birthday. Okay, Ethiopian Christmas baby, that's cool.

Ah, funny story . . . (not really). There's this little thing in adoption called paperwork. Actually it's such a big thing that it consumes your life almost as much as an actual child, but I digress. The important thing to know about this paperwork is that the parts of it that come from another country may well be full of typos and translation errors and contradictory facts like, oh, say, two different birth dates. So while Anna's medical records show a January 2007 birth date, everything else says December 2006: adoption decree, Ethiopian birth certificate, visa, and so on. We've been observing the January date, but anytime I have to be able to actually prove it I have to remember to say December because that's what's on paper. Confusing and occasionally embarrassing (you don't know your kid's birthday, lady?).

So to make a short story boring (too late), I thought I could get these reconciled when we did the Oregon readoption process. A lawyer is now working on our readoption papers, and he says that there is no clear-cut process for changing a birth date, so while we have a shot based on the existing medical records, the court might refuse. We could try again with perhaps a new doctor's affidavit, but there's no guarantee on that either and, well, do you know how much lawyers charge for this kind of thing?

At this point we need it done--so there's no confusion as we get new insurance, doctors, etc.--more than we need to spend all kinds of time and money on the chance we can get the date moved one month. It just seems a bit silly to fight for now that we're measuring her age in years. And really, isn't it more fun to celebrate before all the Christmas hoopla makes you feel like if you have to deal with one more present or social gathering or baked good, your New Year's weight loss will start off with gagging on the birthday cake?

Still, it's weird. We're deciding our daughter's birthday? After we've celebrated it twice? Obviously she doesn't understand time well enough to realize this is a change, but someday she'll find out. The really difficult question to answer is why no one really knows her birthday. . . . Having no story of her to go with that day is one of the harder things for me to accept and figure out how to explain. But it's the reality that we will just have to grapple with one year at a time.

All that to say . . . hey, did you know our daughter's birthday is the exact day we dropped off our dossier? Cool story, huh?

Mark it down: DECEMBER. There is no January. If you send cards in January, we will tell her you are tardy and senile.

Born at the right time . . . whenever the heck it was.

What Shall We Do with a Sickly Toddler?

Anna's very "two" behavior has been much better since last weekend. Now I don't have to chase her down to feed her; I only have to chase her down with a tissue bucket to catch all the snot flowing out of her.

Wait--these kid things get sick too? And I'm supposed to do something? Sorry, I'm not that familiar with this part of the job description.

Whether it started with our germs or with allergies, what she has is now very much like what made Aaron and I miserable in succession over the past month: nasal congestion, runny nose, cough, general misery. And although I'd checked her temperature yesterday morning and it was okay, it didn't occur to me to check it again until her bedtime, when it was over 101.

At that moment I realized: My kid is really sick, and I have no idea what to do.

Anna has never really been sick. No fevers, ear infections, nothing. So I couldn't remember where the Fever Danger Zone starts. What's the rule on calling the doctor? If her fever is over 101? 102? Over 100 for 24 hours? Under 124 while watching 24?

Always nice to feel both helpless and clueless.

Fortunately it also occurred to me that hey, they probably make medicine for that, and I had some on hand that she can actually take now that she's over two. Gave her some and checked on her later--fever was down a bit by the time we went to bed and quite a bit when I checked her in the night. (I also got instant advice and assurance via Twitter--viva la connected world!)

Anna was pretty wilted and miserable again this morning but perked up a bit as the meds kicked in again and she got her fill of sweet, sweet mommy sympathy and Winnie the Pooh movies. Well, almost. She can never really get enough Pooh these days.

Perhaps I'll let her watch a little more while I read Mommying Your Sick Child for Dummies.

As Bipolar as This Blog

First of all, could this blog swing any more wildly from cute smiley pictures to melodramatic bemoaning? I'm sure you're hoping not. Thanks for bearing with me through my e-published mood swings.

Speaking of mood swings, miss Anna is being extremely two this week. In the words of a Seinfeldian keychain, Ho-leeey COW!

This started Easter Sunday, the first day since our trip that we had any real goings-on. I don't know if her tiredness caught up to her and/or she thought we were leaving that evening (as most Sundays) or what, but after her nap she was like thirty inches of saran wrap--would not stop clinging to me and melting down into tears for no apparent reason. She was only really okay when I was holding her; even Aaron would not do.

Monday, again, she was a mess in the evening. The biggest meltdown was clearly a control battle: she put her baby doll and Pooh bear in her chair before dinner, which was all fine and adorable until it was time to eat and she would not accept them moving so she could eat. I can testify to the strength of the chair's 3-point harness. Then she decided that life and food were fine and dandy and was so cheerful I even let her baby sit next to her while she finished her chicken fajita with ketchup (blech); hence the photo.

I know toddlers want control in a world where so much is out of their tiny little hands. I try to give her choices, but frankly, she's not very good at it yet. She wants it all or doesn't know what she wants. Do you want this or that? This! NO, THAT. THAT! THAT! THIS! THAT! THWAAAAAAAAAAH! So sometimes choices helps and sometimes it doesn't. Sometimes she blows a fuse before you can give her an opportunity to choose or do it herself. Looking for ways I can let her assert her independence harmlessly, though.

By the way, just how much cheese can a two-year-old eat before it ceases to be intestinally harmless?

I'm glad she seems to be settling down a bit here at the end of the week (knock on wood) because it is awfully tiring when every other meal, diaper change, step out of the room for five seconds yields a meltdown. Worse yet is when it can't even be traced to one of those things! She almost seems to just want to be held and even babied sometimes--a little regression going on. For example, she came along to Bible study with us Wednesday because I totally forgot to confirm a sitter, and she found a pacifier in the toys she dragged out from the nursery and sat on my lap sucking it for five or ten minutes. She didn't even use pacifiers as a baby but she knows what they are; her cousin we just visited uses one. So I held her and rocked her and told her she was my baby. You'll always be my baby.

I don't know that it has anything to do with this behavior (what would have triggered it in her right now, except maybe our trip away from dad, then back home away from grandma et al?) but this clingyness, plus coming up on two years since referral, reminds me that she is going to be becoming more and more aware of her adoption and we need to be talking about it and helping her understand it (as a two-year-old can). There are going to be times when she's feeling anxious or sad about it, though she might not know quite why, and needs those extra snuggles to feel secure that we will always be her family. That's a grace I hope I can always extend.

You'll always be a part of me
I'm part of you indefinitely
Girl don't you know you can't escape me
Ooh darling 'cause you'll always be my baby

This Life Is Kicking My Life's Butt

Once upon a time I was going to write a post about how hard it is for me to catch up and keep up on things right now. That was yesterday. And Monday. And last week. And three weeks ago.

Ha ha ha ha ha, said my life.

I love all (well, almost all) the parts of my life, I really do. I love face wiping and hair doing and story reading. I love dodgeball and rides home and spirited discussions with teenagers. I love reading and re-reading and feeling like a manuscript is better now than when it came to me. I love helping our church move forward, helping my husband fulfill his call, and helping pay the bills.

But sometimes I don't love how all those parts all pile together, all the time.

I hate that my blog is all pictures and no words because I have so many words that it would take days to get them out and no days during which to do so. I hate that when I get behind on things, it takes weeks to feel caught up, if I ever do. I hate that I should be working on being proactive on many things but I'm just keeping up with the here and now.

This life, this schedule, is kind of kicking my butt right now. It's kicking the butt of the life it's supposed to add up to, because it's just a bit too much of a good thing sometimes. And I hate to say that, because there may be no more spoiled rotten kind of complaint in the world than "I have too much of a good thing." But it can feel that way sometimes--like I want all these things in my life, but I can't quite handle them all at once, all the time.

In theory and on paper it's all quite manageable. Sometimes I think about other people with more kids and Real Jobs and Big Important Things to do and I actually feel like quite the royal slacker. Then of course that theory of relativity goes out the window when something comes along to throw off schedules and we all get tired and someone skips her nap and I think Child, if you don't stop shrieking and get off that floor, I'm gonna throw YOU out the window!

(Dear social workers: I would never really throw my child out the window. There's a screen.)

All this to say . . . I'm really glad it's spring break right now. We've had a little bit of a break from the activities. But it is a big, busy weekend for our church search committee (please pray!), and Monday I realized it is going to be miraculous if I can get all the work I need to done before I go to Denver next week--and I need to, because I really need for that to be a vacation.

Our friend and Aaron's old boss would often say that youth ministry is not rocket science. But it's hard. That's how I often feel about what I do: parenting is not rocket science, but it's hard. It's hard because it's constant. It's not hard to understand; it's hard to do, hard to keep up with.

That's how all of life is sometimes. With all these things in my life that I love doing but sometimes still don't want to do, it's not the thing itself that sometimes seems like too much; it's the getting started and the keeping going. It's not the doing, it's the discipline--the doing it even when you don't want to part. That's true of everything worth doing: parenting, marriage, creating, working, being healthy, mentoring, praying, listening. Getting started or pushing through the mundane or difficult parts can be hard, but once you break through, there's a zone of deep reward, satisfaction, and joy.

So I'm digging deep for a little more gumption for the next six days: enough to work hard so I can enjoy the satisfaction of a job well done; to be present in the lives of the teenagers who come to our event and ride in my car; to listen to Spirit guidance above my own desires and fears; to be attentive and loving to my husband and daughter so we are family, not just people living in a house; to not just do but live this life.

And waiting on the other side of this week: Rocky Mountain High. I can't wait.

How do you dig deep and keep going when the constancy of life catches up to you?


P.S.: Sorry this is so long. Finding enough time to edit it would take me another three weeks!

My Triannual Emotional Meltdown

True confessions time: Yesterday I was trying to cornrow Anna's hair, which still takes me too long and frustrates me too much because I'm just getting the hang of it, and the movie of choice was not holding her attention. As she started to wander off in the middle of a row again, I yanked her back toward me hard as I barked "Sit down NOW!" loud and mean enough to scare us both to tears.

PARENTING FAIL.

And that was the good day this week.

Okay, I exaggerate; it hasn't been that bad. But it has been a long week.

Last weekend we had a lot of fun time with friends, but it was busy. Saturday we re-perfected the house for the house listing photo shoot. Then I tried to work at the pizza place--hey, it's not bad, it has an ocean view--and a freaking Miley Cyrus birthday party broke out. Nothing nurtures productive concentration like seven-year-old girls prancing around with fake microphones shrieking "I wanna be a rock star!" They are lucky the pinata they smacked five feet away from me did not resemble Ms. Miley herself, or I would have beat the snot out of it myself. Needless to say, I did not get as much done as I'd hoped, and I went into the week tired.

Sunday we had Frontline. Monday we had Young Life. Starting Tuesday Aaron had a problem with his blood thinners, apparently, that had him anxiously waiting to get in for a test and wondering if he should cancel a youth event. And since just the thought of blood and doctors is enough to make me woozy, I was anxious too. I've realized I've been tense and clenching my jaw enough to give me the splitting headache I had Tuesday.

And so it was that on Tuesday, February 24, 2009, 'round about suppertime, I had my Triannual Emotional Meltdown. I am usually quite even-keeled, but at a certain point I break and go batsnot insane. My husband is fortunate that it does not happen more frequently, because it is not pretty. It is almost as ugly as my Semi-Annual Murderous Anger Explosion of Doom.

The EmoMelt consists of a tsunami of tears occurring in unpredictable rise and retreat cycles. Since the tsunami is triggered below the surface of the unstable female, few signs and warnings indicate to the hapless husband that he should shut the heck up and, if possible, retreat to higher ground. The aftershocks may last as few as fifteen minutes or as long as 36 hours. Fortunately, occasional occurrences over the last twelve years have led my husband to develop a fairly sophisticated warning system, leading him to flee the kitchen area with little one in tow, saving him from almost certain death divorce.

The good news is that I did feel better after my EmoMelt, my later hair outburst notwithstanding. But these days are still busy, busy, busy and the future very uncertain, and I sometimes catch myself clenching my jaw or losing my patience or blinking for upwards of five seconds while reading, and I know I'm not yet winning the war for a balanced life and a peaceful soul.

But recognizing an emotional meltdown for what it is and learning to let it come and let it go--knowing that sometimes you'll feel better if you just have that cry instead of trying to hold it all together--for me, sometimes that is half the battle.

The other half is not causing too much collateral damage to unsuspecting family members along the way. I'm thankful I have a husband who gives me plenty of grace (and a wide berth) when I am overwhelmed and a daughter who swiftly demonstrates forgiveness through hugs and kisses and an insistent tug on the finger to go jump on the bed again.

As Lent began this week, I saw again how far removed I am from who I'm supposed to be. But I'm hoping to gain a little ground each day, even if only three steps forward, two steps back.

And I hereby declare: I'm giving up emotional freak-outs for Lent.

Jesus and my husband will be so pleased.

What's the Gesture for Highfalutin?

Ah, this explains everything.

Baby's gestures reflect family's wealth
Infants with parents of high socio-economic status have bigger non-verbal repertoires, a study shows

New evidence suggests that the better a baby is at grasping the meanings of these hand gestures, the better his or her vocabulary will be by preschool age - which is itself a known predictor of future academic success.

The new study out of the University of Chicago, which appears today in the journal Science, also found that children from higher socio-economic backgrounds have a distinct advantage over those from lower-income backgrounds. They gesture more as babies and have larger vocabularies at age 4½.

So my baby girl's not a tiny mime because she's at all developmentally behind in her speech. It's actually because we are rich, demonstrative snobs.

Someone forgot to tell my checkbook. It's acting all lower-income again.

Of course this is just one study and the comments on this article bring up some good points as to why I wouldn't put too much stock in it. But it will be interesting to hear what the Early Intervention people have to say about how gestures and speech relate. They come to evaluate Anna on Thursday morning. I fully expect her to start speaking in long paragraphs on Wednesday night, just to make me look like The Parent Who Cried Wolf.

Wordless Wetzel: Our Tiny Mime

As I alluded to in my she's-two update post, Anna seems to have something funny going on with her speech. Namely, she seems to think it's more fun to not talk. She's big on charades, not so much into speechifying. The question is whether this is something truly wrong with her ability to speak or she is one of those kids just holding back until she can bust out in full-on Shakespearean monologues.

She does communicate. Like crazy. She told me at dinner, using only the word "woof," that she wanted to clean off her tray and get down the big pad of paper with the dog on it and draw. She constantly gestures for things she wants (dance music, basketball) or wants you to do (sit here, draw, put ketchup all over my carrots). She's much more into motions than words--for instance, an O-mouthed silent "blub blub blub" impression means fish or Goldfish crackers. She knows the word well but won't even try to say it. Why should she when she can act it out? It's like living with a tiny mime. Or being trapped inside a game of Guesstures.

I mean, she just started saying no, instead of just shaking her head, about two weeks ago. A toddler who doesn't say no! Well, maybe I should enjoy that while it lasts . . .

It was suspect #3--'that one'!

Her comprehension is even better than her charades ability. You can have a whole conversation with her and she'll nod and make expressions and point to what you're talking about to let you know she's following you. She can point out almost anything you ask her to in her books. She knows a ton of body parts but only says "teeth." She loves animals but prefers to call them by their noises rather than names. And her memory is ridiculous: she'll go find things where she left them ages ago, and yesterday at church she pulled a friend of ours over to a certain spot to do a little pretending game she'd thought was funny--a month ago.

So like most parents, we think our kid is dang smart, but that's also because other people keep saying to us, "She is so smart!" I mean, I think she is too, but I also know she's not saying as much as other people's even younger kids are saying--so it's been a bit of a nagging worry. I know, but . . . why won't you talk, child?!

Still, at Thanksgiving we made a list of all the words she'd said (with meaning and some regularity) it was almost 50, which is about where an 18-24 month old should be, so I decided we could wait until she turned two and see if she would start putting two words together by then. But she hasn't, other than sort of getting lucky a couple times. Of course, she can put two gestures together like nobody's business.

So our pediatrician told us to call Early Intervention for an evaluation and whatever magical powers they possess. Apparently this is all free (well, prepaid through your taxes, thank you) no matter your income and they even come to your house. I should get a call back from them tomorrow to find out more.

As stupid as I know it is, I can't help feeling like maybe I/we should have been or should be doing something more or different. Are we letting her off the hook with her gestures too much? Not enough reading? (Doesn't seem possible.) Too much TV? (Uh, are you counting football?) White noise machine scrambling her brain? (Oops, now my mom's worried about that.)

Or is it in part because she had 9 months in the womb and 7 months in Ethiopia hearing only Amharic, not English?

Or maybe it just is what it is, and worrying about why will not add one hour to my life or one word to her vocabulary. I'm trying to remember that as I wait for the Early Intervention cavalry to arrive. And I'm remembering to be grateful to have access to such a resource here in the U.S.

And I'm enjoying the sweet sounds from downstairs which will all too soon be gone--the beautiful, mysterious poetry of "Dab be! Abb beee! Dabyee abbayae abbyeeeeeeeeee!"

Et Two, Bebe?

Anna is now officially--not just behaviorally--a two-year-old. After she got her eyes uncrossed, she wished for a pony, a helicopter, a sixteen-year moratorium on naps, and a lifetime supply of bananas and Goldfish crackers.

Last week she checked out at the doctor's office at a little over 27 pounds, 34 inches ("36 with the afro," for you Fletch lovers). People often think she seems tall and is older than she is, but she's right in the middle of the growth curve at around the 50th percentile for height and weight. Big change from her 10th percentile days! She still has a big head, though. Developmentally she is on track with the exception of speech--more on that in another post.

Some of her favorite things right now are anything that makes noise, like the little piano she got for Christmas; she mostly likes to push the button that makes it play "ABC" by the Jackson Five. So often that I had a dream about the dumb song! She also likes her little laptop with learning games, but they are really for older kids, so she mostly likes to hold down the volume button that makes a little monkey say EEH-EEH! EEH-EEH! EEH-EEH! a hundred times consecutively. So often that I threatened to smash the thing into a pulp with her precious bananas. Or maybe with the similarly charming birthday card with the dying singing cats.

For Christmas she also got play food from us and from my parents, plus plastic pots and a shopping cart (the cart is still en route from Michigan), all of which she loves. Some of the food velcroes together so you can slice it and stack it into sandwiches and burgers.

She will gladly pay you Tuesday for a hamburger today!

Anna also loves her baby doll, balloons from the grocery store produce guy, telephones, Sesame Street, Mr. Potato Head, and the music between Wii Sports games. She's learned to take off her diaper and open certain doors, including, I'm pretty sure, the baby gate cutting her off from the Spiral Staircase of Doom. We are so screwed.

Sharing is . . . not something she has mastered.

Her favorite word is currently "bye." If you appear to be leaving the house (or simply the room), she will shout "Bye! Byeeeeeee!" She sometimes puts one of her little bags over her shoulder like a purse and heads for the door, announcing "Bye! Bye!" And when former President Bush's helicopter took off, she waved frantically at the TV and yelled "BYEEEEEEEEE! BYEEEEE! BYE!" But he shouldn't take it personally because she kept doing it to Wolf Blitzer too. That guy can not take a hint.

Food-wise she's doing just what the doctor said two-year-olds do: being picky and eating nothing sometimes, then at other times eating to rival her father. I'm glad to have her past the two mark so she can eat everything and anything and doesn't need whole milk anymore. Please, please let her quickly develop a love for the economical protein wonder that is peanut butter...

After we cut out milk before naps and bed, I realized I should move her nap up earlier in the afternoon since she's mellow after lunch. I started putting her down before 1:00 instead of at 2:00 and she slept three full hours five days in a row! Why didn't someone tell me this before?

She also napped for a sitter yesterday, which frankly I didn't think she'd do. She was cranky as heck all evening and wailing at bedtime, though--perhaps letting me know she did not appreciate that disruption to our daytime routine? She usually only has a sitter during evening play hours, and she is always fine with it. Still, I'm glad to know we could leave her with someone over naptime or bedtime and she would probably go to sleep fine. Maybe someday we will do something crazy like go to the movies . . . ah, who am I kidding? Crazy for us is staying up late enough to watch CSI and American Idol!

And that's life with Little Miss Two!

In Your Face--No, Actually, in Mine

My two-year-old is beating me up.

She's gotten into hitting. For control. For effect. Apparently, for fun.

This gets her a time-out. Problem is, that doesn't seem to be helping much. Sometimes I think she wants one. Sometimes she definitely wants one because it means she'd stay in the living room (albeit on the chair in the corner) instead of having to go for a diaper change. Manipulator alert! We're onto this one, so diaper change it is.

Sometimes if she takes a swing at me and misses I'll warn her and she'll stop. But when I'm brushing her teeth, she doesn't miss. She slaps me in the face. Which kind of, you know, fricking hurts. And makes me mad. And then she knows it and hits again, again, again. I can either get hit repeatedly or grab her hands, but that only confirms that I'm mad and makes her mad (or makes it more fun, perhaps, depending on your understanding of total toddler depravity, I suppose).

It's getting to me. And she knows it.

I don't think I want to give her time-out then (although tonight I did) because I don't want to teach that negative behavior gets more attention--and gets her out of brushing her teeth and going to bed. I do want to stop and/or punish the behavior with enough unpleasantness and immediacy to show this is serious. And I'd really like to, you know, not get hit in the face.

How do I get at this? Can I make time-out work here? Do I need some sort of upgrade to Time-Out 2.0?

I am remembering that it's probably about control, so I should probably find some way to give her more control in the tooth brushing process.

Right. More control? She's opening the cabinet, she's licking the mirror . . . she's out of control!

But at least she has semi-clean teeth.

Surviving Weekends; Alienating Babysitters?

That was a really long short full weekend. (Kind of like this post. Sorry. Everybody needs an editor and I'm too tired to be mine.)

Friday is normally Aaron's day off; he had to go in to work, and I went to church for a while to get some things ready for our big congregational workshop Saturday. (Then we had a really nice evening with friends, but that is beside the point because I'm trying to garner sympathy here, okay?)

Saturday I went to church at 8:00 a.m. (I know!) for our 9:00-2:00 meeting. I had to give the first part of the presentation, trying to act all smartypants with my PowerPoint and my statistics and my worksheets and my making the people hold up their fingers so they would remember what number group they're in (a very sophisticated business technique). We had a great turnout and everyone seemed pleased with the discussions, so I guess all went well--but that's just draining when you're largely responsible for making sure it does.

Rescued the babysitter, put Anna down for her nap, entered catatonic why-aren't-I-napping-too? state. Got Anna up and bundled us up for the youth group bonfire on the beach. We had about 25 people enjoying hot dogs, s'mores, football, and (in Anna's case) getting sand all over themselves. It was chilly at first but the wind actually died down and it was really nice to be out there. (Photos to come.)

I brought Anna home for a bath, and by the time Aaron got home she was running around like a crazy, diaper-clad Tazmanian devil: spinning, dancing, falling down, crawling back and forth under the dog, and doing her favorite cheerleading moves (the Irish Rumble). She was so hilarious! We just sat around laughing at her and shaking our heads at her insane antics.

Sunday we had church (again! in the morning, again!), then watched football, if that's still what you call it. Anna was a wicked combination of overtired and stubborn and didn't fall asleep until 4:00. I don't know what was up but after about an hour she woke up screaming . . . and pretty much didn't stop for an hour.

Aaron had to leave just after she got up and she FREAKED. OUT. and wouldn't settle down. She was in almost constant meltdown, falling apart at any little thing or no apparent thing. She didn't want to eat, wouldn't really let me eat, had no patience and a hundred demands. I had worried that the weekend would be too busy for her (babysitters and going places and teenagers--all beloved but exhausting) but wouldn't you know it? I couldn't skip Frontline because we would be splitting up the guys and girls and I had to be on the "panel" for the guys' discussion.

Somebodyerother's Law: The only time your child will need you to stay home will be the one time you cannot skip out on being somewhere else. Or to put it another way, if there is a function you must attend, your child will choose one hour before that function to FREAK OUT.

Now mind you I'm not mad at Anna for this. She clearly was overtired and needed some quiet time at home. I'm not sure if/how attachment factors into the clingyness and anxiety that seems to show up at such times but if us going off and doing things makes her feel insecure/needy, well, that's not her fault either.

So at 5:30 I called the lady from church who was going to watch Anna during Frontline and said I didn't know exactly what I was doing but didn't think I should take Anna to her house (where she's never been before). I thought maybe I'd go late and leave early and have somebody amuse Anna at church for as little time as possibly necessary. Now mind you we'd already had a little confusion and changing of plans that morning as to the evening's arrangements. So I felt like a real schmoe telling this lady who obviously now was all ready and excited to have Anna over that I wasn't going to bring her. But I really felt like if I took her to this new place and then left, there would be total meltdown that I would be paying for much longer than the hour and a half.

Anna did settle down by about 6:00 and I called back and said if you could come to church and watch her during the discussion part, that'd be great, and if not because you've written me off as a weirdo indecisive paranoid advantage-taking freak who can't understand the concept that you wanted to be at your house because it's not easy for you to get out and about, that's okay, I'll ask someone else who is there or whatever since this is really all my fault and problem anyway.

Okay, I didn't exactly get all that out. I don't know what I said but I hope it sounded somewhat humble and intelligible, and mostly I hope that she doesn't think it was about her or her house at all and will be willing to try again another night. It really wasn't--truly Anna was not in a good state and I didn't want her to think I was punishing her for it. But how do I explain the attachment issue connection when I'm not even sure if there is one? Objectively I think she was just tired but in my gut I think if I'd pushed it there maybe could have been some attachment implications. Or whatever you call her velcroed to my leg crying for three days. I don't know, maybe not, but I didn't want to put her (or me) through it.

People with attachment/adoption experience, what do you think? Am I fully or only partially nutters? I need some parental affirmation here!

Of course Anna was a bouncy little angel the whole time in the nursery, thus ensuring it seemed like she would have been fine anytime anywhere. Oh well.

The good news is that even though we had to be gone again Monday night, she had a grand time with the friend who came over and was good today despite being up late again.

The further exhausting and scary yet exciting news is that we had at least FIFTY-THREE high schoolers at our first Young Life Club on Monday, practically busting out the walls of the little clubhouse. May I remind you that this was the first club and there are only 225 kids in our high school--a fifth were there. And I'm pretty sure it was the rowdy fifth! Oh, lordy . . . what the heck are we going to do with them all?!

Whew. For some reason I'm tired. Thus I'm publishing this in its ridiculously long and wordy state. If you made it this far, you are now probably as tired as I am!

So This Is What the Weeks Look Like Now?

Yikes.

We are moving full tilt into insanity season around here. At least one of us has had something going on every night for ten days straight, and it's the same through next week with the exception of Friday. Young Life is starting up, Frontline is going strong, there's all kinds of school events, and these days we both have church meetings too. (Added bonus: Aaron's back is killing him.) I am trying to be organized by planning meals ahead so it can be something easy on busy nights, so I don't have to cut into my work time to get dinner ready, but I think we'd better get used to the kitchen looking like this:


Okay, clearly we're already used to this. But I do try to draw the line at cultivating mysterious fungi.

Anna was clingy and whiny and grumpy as all get-out today and I hope it's not because she's been with so many different sitters lately. I think she was tired and is getting another tooth. But Mamaaaaaa she says. Maaahahahahaaahmaaaa, noooooo, don't go to the bathroom without me, I'll diiiiiiiieeeeeeee.

It's really not her most charming mood.

Of course we took her with us for a YL meeting and she could not have been happier to run around and dance and play with everyone. You'd never know she'd been grumpy, unless you'd been in the van ten minutes earlier when she thought we weren't going to be joined in five seconds by Daaahaahaahdaaaaa.

What is this? Some sort of anxiety or missing us, or just a moody toddler?

I hope that if she's better rested tomorrow and I give her some extra attention if she needs it she'll be more mellow. Even extroverts need some quiet time. Or their mothers do, anyway!

On the Fifth Day There Was Silence

We girls had a good weekend without Aaron home; it went fast. I took Anna to the high school football game Friday night. We left in the third quarter when we were losing 40-0. Sadly, this was not the worst football we saw this weekend. Why do we torture ourselves with the Lions again? FIRE MILLEN. Twice on Sundays.

The biggest parenting development around here is that we seem to have found a nap time routine that is annoying but works. Eventually. And that's good enough for me.

Anna has always needed to be held to fall asleep for naps, although for quite some time she has put herself to sleep at night just fine. When she went down to one nap in the afternoon, usually by the time she got her milk snack, she'd fall asleep drinking it. But when she didn't, she'd need to be held/rocked until really asleep or she'd make sure she stayed awake all afternoon by standing up in her crib screaming.

Needless to say, this sound was not conducive to reading for comprehension. So because my work time is precious, I would always make sure she was asleep before putting her down. Sometimes Aaron wouldn't, and she'd scream bloody murder, and I'd want to drive my red pencil into my eardrums.

Lately she has not been falling asleep as easily, and I need her to learn to sleep on her own in the daytime too. She is just way too big and heavy for the holding and bouncing her while I'm standing up thing, plus we should get her off bottles of milk (she will tolerate a Nuby cup instead of bottle, but prefers this babyish routine with the bottle, and that's supposed to be gone by age 2). So I was looking for a time when I could afford to be thoroughly annoyed by prolonged crying sounds rather than needing every minute possible to work.

Thankfully, my husband is more stubborn than me—he let her cry a few times and it has started working. Sure, it takes 45 minutes to an hour of alternating between babbling and screeching . . . but eventually she falls asleep! In fact, here's a little live-blogging of today's nap timeline:

2:05 Left her in her room, sleepy. No noise on my way out.
2:11 Sounds of clunking against crib. "Mama!"
2:14 "Maaaaaamaaaaaa! Waaaaaaaa! Maaaamaaaaaa. Aaaaaaaaaaagh!"
2:23 Silence. Victory in record time?
2:24 Nope. "Waaaaaaaaaaa!" She realized she was almost asleep, God forbid.
2:32 Silence again. And this time it holds!

Thirty minutes is definitely a new record, so I hope it means that after five straight days she's getting the idea that it's not necessary or effective to holler for an hour a day.

Is it wrong that I feel no sympathy for this crying, just mild amusement? Hey, I respond with plenty of heart when it's real crying—this is really just manipulative noise. In fact she even started the manipulation in July, at my parents' house, when she realized that telling us when she had a wet diaper might get her out of her crib to be changed. But then right after Aaron changed her she pointed down there and said, "Stinky! Stinky!" again. Liar, liar, stinkypants on fire!

We're onto you, Stinkypants. And we're willing to trade an hour of annoying noise for two hours of nap. We're the parents. We will win. Our motto: Always Be Victorious!

Getting Sit(ter)uated

Where have I been all my life? Oh yes, I have been chained to my computer again, until today, when I escaped to forage for groceries and things to wear with my new red corduroy jacket (which I adore despite my lack of a fashion clue what to do with it). Unfortunately during my many work hours I was easily distracted by shiny things like news! information! interviews! disasters! sudden plummet in office temperature! Sesame Street spoofing Monty Python! Lions fans wailing and cursing their quarterback and coach (why didn't we see that coming?)! Since my work was paid for the project, not the hours, well, I think I made minimum wage this week. Sheesh! (Going back to hourly this week—so I will actually stay focused. I'm distractable but I'm an honest biller!)

I'm kicking off this next round with three days of solo parenting, since Aaron is going to Young Life leadership camp with the other leaders and some kids. Boo hoo, I'd like to go, but Anna wouldn't be so easy to sneak in this year (as she was last year), and anyway, I need to be at a church workshop for our pastoral search committee. Yes, you can say it: SUCKER. But they needed as many people as possible and I like to think I can be kind of useful in the writing of reports (although last time there was a church self-analysis, ahem, didn't work out so well. We do not speak of it.).

All these things gearing up as we get into fall suddenly has my calendar full and my brain spinning with wondering how am I going to do it all? and who's going to watch the kid while I do? All the youth work obviously involves Aaron and me at the same time. Last year I took Anna along to Frontline, which worked semi-okay but won't work any more and limited my usefulness. I didn't do anything with Young Life except help with planning, but I want to try to get back into it.

That means activities that require me to get a babysitter Sunday nights, Monday nights, Wednesday nights if we start our small group study back up, and possibly whenever we decide to have our church meetings, if it's not a time when Aaron can be home. Not such a problem except that during those times all of the young people will be where we are, so I have to find, you know, real grownups.

And all that work I've been doing in the evenings? Most of it's going to have to get done during the day somehow, because if I'm not off somewhere, probably Aaron has a meeting or there's a school sports event that he/we should attend to connect with kids. But life's getting too freaking expensive, so I should really be upping my hours, not cutting them back.

I think I can hear what all of you who are smarter than me are saying: And just how do you think you're going to do all that?

I have no earthly idea.

Excuse me while I go burn my day planner in effigy.

We don’t need a mommy war. We’ve got real battles to fight.

I’ve stopped my involuntary crying, but now I have a new problem.

I can’t stop thinking about Sarah Palin.

I think that as a VP candidate, she’s a train wreck for oh so many reasons.

As a mother? I think she seems to love her family, I assume she has plenty of competency and resources to care for them, and beyond that, it’s none of my goshdarn business. But the blogosphere is filling up with questions and opinions about her family situation, her work/family balance, whether or not it’s sexist to question her work/family balance, and so on. Do you see where this is headed?

Yep. Too late. I saw those dreaded, inflammatory, useless words in a headline today: “Mommy War.”

Sigh.

Come on now. We all make compromises in life—to make ends meet, to advance our careers, to follow our passions, to live where we want to live, to deal with how one family member’s actions affect the others, to decide how to focus our time and energy. We have some nonnegotiables, and the rest is constant readjustment, looking for the balance.

In that, Sarah Palin is no different than Michelle Obama, or Joe Biden, or me. Or a million other women and men who are trying to walk the minefield without starting a “war.”

If you want to talk family and politics, let’s talk about all the women and men who whose work/family choices aren’t really choices.

Let’s talk about the parents who don’t have a spouse who can help support the family and how an American can work full time and still earn less than the federal poverty level.

Let’s talk about the women who go back to work right after they give birth not because they are ready but because they can’t afford not to or are afraid they’ll lose their position.

Let’s talk about the families with a child or adult who has a disability, chronic condition, or other preexisting condition that requires care denied by insurance—or who can’t even get insurance because no one will sell it to them due to their condition.

You want to talk about teen pregnancy? Instead of putting a microscope on one family, let’s talk about how even in the best-intentioned and most-attentive family, kids are being crushed by pressures and insecurities most adults have no idea about; let’s talk about how adolescents today are being systemically abandoned by a society that is so narcissistic and adult-centric that it leaves kids on their own to figure out how to become adults—then wonders why they try to grow up too soon yet get stuck in adolescence longer and longer before they really do. (For research and explanation read Hurt by Chap Clark.)

There are plenty of issues having to do with families and children and work and policies that we can and should talk about. These aren’t mommy wars; they’re issues for our whole society—because no one’s family lives in a vacuum. It’s not just how we each build our families; it’s how we want to shape our world.

If we spend all our scrutinizing each other’s choices, we won’t have enough energy left to work for the people who don’t have any choices. We’ll never get anything done except arguing.

I personally don’t think Sarah Palin is the right person to be nominated to be second in line for the one who sets the course for our country. But I don’t think arguing about how the course she is taking may affect her family is helpful for women or for the decisions our country has to make about policies and direction. A “mommy war” over Sarah Palin won’t end oil dependence, stop genocide, or educate kids for the global economy. If we let this time become a battle between women, we’ll never win the fight for our children’s futures.

We don’t need a mommy war. We’ve got real battles to fight.

Ketching Up

On the child front, the next tooth has finally broken through. It's a whopper. She did wake up at 2:00 a.m. and refuse to go back to sleep the other night, though. How is it that when you plan to get up early and be productive, that's when they keep you up half the night? They know. I don't know how, but they know.

Anna's been quite successfully eating all table food too, although I have to use up the mystery cubes that are in the freezer somehow. Fortunately she doesn't know that toast isn't usually spread with mushed veggies. I think I really just needed to get some more kid-friendly foods on hand—well, I had to get any food on hand, because we were down to no cereal, bread, mac and cheese, or toilet paper, and that is NOT COOL. If she only eats a couple kinds of veggies right now, so be it. It'd be nice if she'd eat more of our meats, but there are enough others she eats. I got some frozen chicken nuggets and she likes those and pretty much anything with ketchup.

Did you know they say ketchup is one of the things you should buy organic because it's where many people, especially kids, get a large portion of their veggies and organic has 57 percent more lycopene? True story. Not that I do it.

Tonight a friend who knows the new-ish neighbors we've only caught glimpses of is introducing us to them. What can I say, we need to be set up because we're not very good at meeting our neighbors although we're still desperate stalkers of anyone who looks like they might be under 35 and able to hold a job other than a certain kind of illegal distribution. So I've been busy today making iced tea and brownies and pico de gallo—or as my husband adorably calls it, pico de mayo—and decluttering toys and chasing down dust bunnies. Because if you can't keep up with the Joneses, you can at least offer them a place to sit that's not covered in cat hair.

Eat Your Heart Out: Food Input Requested!

Yesterday a friend said in an email that her 16-month-old has 17 teeth. I replied that wow, she must be able to chew even rocks and tires, while I still have to blend them for Ms. Anna Eight-Tooth. And she said Don't tell me you're still blending food?

And I knew I'd been outed: I am clueless about kid food.

Really, the formula was brutally expensive, but at least it was simple. Now it's all "2 1-ounces servings of this, 4 2-ounce or 2 4-ounce servings of that..." I had a good system worked out with the blended veggie cubes, but my friend is right: it's time for the girl to start chewing more and eating more table food.

She will eat quite a few things we eat, but she is funny about textures. Too chewy or too much of a skin and at least some of it comes back out. So I cop out and feed her the blended slop so I know she's getting her veggies. For example, usually (non-pureed) green beans are rejected although, go figure, peas are fine. Cooked carrots and sweet potatoes, she could eat all day; corn, broccoli, forget it. Lunchmeat, yes; chicken, no (unless it's a McD's Chicken MushNugget--sorry to say that I even know that). She will eat ground beef in spaghetti or Mexican but not in hamburger form. She likes chili beans and the like as well as baked beans (we don't call her Fartypants for nothing). She loves fruit, cheese, crackers, bread any time, any where.

I think perhaps I have been worrying a bit too much about "following the rules," getting her the exact number of servings and such, but obviously she does need her protein and it would be good if she did continue to eat vegetables, not just fruit, and maybe even something other than the ever-popular sweet potato. So my questions to you are:

• What does/did your toddler eat? (Anna is 18 months.)
• What do you suggest for meat and veggies in particular? Cooking tips?
• What are some favorite easy things you give your kid when what you're eating won't work, or a couple favorites for breakfast, lunch, dinner?

And for bonus points:

• Why is a zucchini a fruit, not a vegetable?
• Which one is an avocado, anyway?

Thanks for playing, and stay tuned for future episodes: taking away the nap time bottle and potty training!

The Incredible Non-Sleeping Baby

We jinxed it.

Monday night remarked how lucky we are that we can just put our kid in her crib, say goodnight, and let her put herself to sleep. We smiled as we listened to our daughter softly recite her growing vocabulary in her crib before drifting off for twelve straight hours of sleep. Mama. Dada. Diddie. Baba. Baby. Baby! Babeeeeey! Whoooooo.

Tuesday she fought me a bit for naptime and vigorously battled nighttime sleep. After a couple rounds of crying for us, I had to hold her until she was essentially out.

Wednesday night—an epic battle for the ages. She had slept in late and napped a little late and probably too long (things I allowed because I was trying to hammer out a project). We usually have her up until at least 9:00 anyway (hey, it keeps her cribbed past the 8:00 a.m. hour), but this night, 9:30 was just the beginning.

Aaron did a couple rounds with her and then tried letting her cry. We’re not big cry-it-out people, but sometimes we’ll let her cry a bit if it seems she just wants to try to get you back in there. She usually gives it up in a couple minutes anyway. Well, after a good ten minutes of her crying, screaming bloody murder, and hacking (from crying so hard, plus she’s had an allergies cough), my brain was splitting open and I couldn’t possibly get any work done anyway, so I went in there. She seemed truly beyond the point of calming herself down.

Oh yeah. You would be too if you had that puke stench on you.

She’d only thrown up a little bit of milk, but it was nasty. So it necessitated lights on, wiping up, a change of clothes. And . . . let the cycle begin again. I went upstairs and heard Aaron reading to her. Rocking her. Singing to her. And the pitter-patter of tiny, hyperactive feet escaping from her room.

Eventually my turn again and I wasn’t taking any chances trying to put her down half asleep. I mean, don’t be a hero. I had to get this girl into her usual semicomatose state before I could so much as think about shifting her horizontal or taking a breath in the middle of Somewhere Over the Rainbow. I thought I’d ruined it when I put her down and she started grabbing at blankets, but the kid is like a T-Rex: she can’t see you if you don’t move. I froze until I was sure she didn’t know I was still there and was just getting comfortable to sleep like she usually does, you know, two and a half hours earlier.

So we all went to bed close to midnight, and only one of us woke up before 6:00 to get some work done. We should all be up late again tonight for fireworks over the bay—but a huge fog bank is enveloping our town as we speak. In case our night reverts to a quiet night at home, I need to get the once-again-late napper up now to avert a potential repeat!

Making What We're Told Come True

Recently My Too-Smart Brother Guru shared with me this blog post noting this column describing (yes, I know this sourcing is getting really indirect) an experiment by psychologist Sian Beilock regarding what's known as "stereotype threat."

Two groups of female college students were given a math test. But before the test, one group was told that the purpose of the experiment was to find out why men usually do better at math. And? "The students who were reminded of the stereotype that women are worse at maths did worse at maths, performing 10-15% less well than the others."

In other cases, "merely asking school children to tick a box to indicate their ethnicity, before completing an intellectual ability test, causes black pupils to do worse than if there's no tick box." Yikes!

This trick of the mind can work in our favor if we're reminded of a "positive" stereotype (i.e., south-east Asian girls did better on math tests when reminded not of gender but of their ethnicity--a group typed as good at math--rather than gender).

The stereotype threat is that "stereotypes about what certain people can do, however unjustified to begin with, become true because they eat away at us; we make them real."

As a parent and especially a transracial adoptive parent, I find this fascinating and also sobering. What we push our children to try, how well we expect them to do, and how we communicate the value of effort vs. success can have a powerful impact on their confidence or lack thereof. What they're told becomes what they tell themselves, and prophecies become self-fulfilling.

So many stereotypes are ingrained in our world, just waiting to remind our kids that boys will be boys, girls gossip, smart kids don't have to study, some hair is good hair, and big boys don't cry. Non-white kids often feel the added burden of the extra layer of stereotypes against which they are examined as they play basketball, dance, use slang, excel at math, wear baggy pants, and cluster with those who look like themselves. My child will have to find and keep her own balance as she navigates the no-win minefield telling her that if she does certain things she's "acting black" and if she doesn't she's "not black enough."

Being aware of what messages we and others are sending our kids is a constant battle. If we're always complimenting her beauty, will she think it's more important than her brains? Am I expecting and therefore reinforcing certain abilities or traits or behavior from her because she's African? adopted? a girl? our first child? so much like me? my chance to live vicariously? We can err on the side of paying no attention to our messages or on the side of overanalyzing and overcompensating at every turn.

Yet no matter what we do, each child comes with their own strengths and fears and stubborn spots and ways of expressing themselves. They may seem to be just like us or to come from some other, utterly opposite planet--or maybe both in the same day--and all we can really know is that though we shape them, God made them. We can't alter their person or potential one whit, but we can help them stretch them to their fullest.

And so what will I tell my children? What is the essential thing I want them to know so that they can be? I think it is that they are loved, and that they are loving. God willing, both will be reflected with abundant clarity, this truth will be made true, and they will become who they were made, with love, to be.


(But to be honest, I really wouldn't mind if one of them could also be really good at football or a really good singer . . . )

Cloth Diapers Part 4: Fashion Reasons We Use Cloth Diapers

Or, The Aesthetics of Poop-Catchers

Or, My Baby's Bum Is Cuter Than Your Baby's Bum

Having already bored you all to tears with my environmental, financial, and home ec laundry lectures, finally I'm getting to what kind of diapers we use, which are our favorites, and the fashion show!

First of all, as mentioned in comments, cloth wipes are great with cloth diapers because you don't have to throw some things away and some things in the wash; you can just throw the wipes in the pail with the diapers, and they hardly add to the laundry at all. I use the small cheap baby washcloths, although they are not as soft as wipes you can buy or make. I wet them with plain water--warm if I'm feeling kind, but usually I just pre-wet a small stack and keep them in an old plastic container from disposable wipes. You can make or buy solutions or add tea tree oil or scent, but I don't bother (see again: lazy and cheap).

I have a variety of diapers. First we bought the cheapest route: Chinese prefolds and covers. I bought our first diapers with just money we'd saved in change jars and pop cans, by the way; so you could do this quite cheaply. I will admit that at first these seemed really huge and I was no good at different ways of folding to better keep the poop off the covers (it never got on clothes though). But it was mostly a fit issue--once our daughter grew a bit more, a simple fold-in-thirds-lay-it-in-the-cover system starting working fine. This is what I do now most of the time at home and for naps since they're still bulky but very absorbent. Easy to care for since they're 100 percent cotton.

Pins? Nope. I have never even tried using one (though my husband did it with his little brother back in the day!). I did try a Snappi fastener when I was experimenting with folding techniques, but now I just fold in thirds so don't need it. I will keep it, though, because mark my words, a Snappi is THE best thing for cleaning fuzz out of velcro! (Which reminds me to clean my Teva sandals...)

I also have a couple fitted diapers which also need a cover over them (unless you are just chillin' at home and want to let your babe romp in just their cute, breathable diaper). They have nice elastic around the legs which keeps everything in, even with runny newborn poo (or so I hear since we didn't have any of that here). So they're easier and cuter than prefolds but a bit more expensive and take longer to dry.

Covers: I have 3 Bummis Super Whisper Wrap and 1 ProWrap. This is the waterproof layer that holds the prefold on and keeps wetness in. These don't need to be washed after every use unless poop gets on them. So when I throw a wet diaper in the pail, I hang the cover in the bathroom to air out a little bit and use another one next time, just rotating them until they need a wash. That's why you don't need many covers.

When I use prefolds and fitteds I also throw a rectangle of fleece on top of the diaper; that keeps her feeling drier (moisture passes right through fleece) and if she poops, it doesn't stick to the fleece at all. It seriously rolls right off like . . . well, since it's poop I won't give an analogy since most of my analogies usually have to do with food. But it makes everything super easy.

But then we discovered . . . pocket diapers! How can you not love diapers with names like Fuzzi Bunz and bumGenius 3.0? Pocket diapers consist of a waterproof cover-type outside with velcro or snap closure. On the inside is a layer of fleece or suedecloth with an opening at the back to stuff in an absorbent insert. They usually come with a microfiber insert but the beauty of it is that you can stuff whatever you want and however much you want in there--prefold diapers, hemp doublers, an old hand towel, or I hear those microfiber towels sold for washing your car are super absorbent. At night we use two inserts or even really load it up with a prefold and doubler. That's because our girl sleeps 11-12 hours and during that time pees approximately, oh, 11-12 gallons. It's the opposite of what you'd expect, maybe, but we have much more success with cloth than disposables at night.

If you've pre-stuffed your pockets, at changing time you just grab it and put it on like a disposable. The inserts are fairly thin so these do not have the bulkiness of prefolds. The fleece inside keeps your baby feeling dry. And since poop does not stick to the fleece, poop is easy to dump out and doesn't stain them. Ease of use, ease of wear, ease of clean, AND fun cute colors? What more could you ask of a waste containment system?

Now, these diapers may seem expensive at $17-18 each. But keep in mind that you are using them many times, even for more than one child. And the bumGenius 3.0 have an amazing one-size design--they snap down/unsnap to three different sizes so you can use the same diaper throughout your child's diaper years, 8 pounds to 35 pounds. So if they work for you, they're all you need. (Fuzzi Bunz and others come in sizes so you would probably need two or more sets.)

One other kind of diaper: all-in-one. This is exactly what it sounds like--everything sewn together, absorbent part on the inside with waterproof outside, goes on just like a disposable except it's cloth. We have one of these and it's okay, but it takes a long time to dry, and this is an expensive way to go. Really nice for the diaper bag or babysitter, though.

My recommendations: Different people like different diapers and have different budgets (and some have sewing skills to really keep it cheap), but if I were starting over right now, I would probably just buy pockets, and I would recommend the bumGenius one-size. For $400 you (or I) could have an abundance (21) of bumGenius for one child and use those same diapers for the next child to come along because they fit all sizes. If you had two in diapers at once, you might have to wash more often or want buy a few more, but it would be simpler than having a bunch of different kinds/sizes and more cost effective--definitely less painful than buying diapers for two, I'm sure!

I'm telling you, cloth diapers don't have to be big and bulky (though I find no harm in that if it keeps her dry all night). They can be colorful and cute, and I'd much rather see a little bright color sticking out the top of her pants on occasion than a long tail of paper with Mickey Mouse on it. (Must even the pee-catchers be advertisements? She doesn't even watch TV yet but she should be brand-imprinted to like that annoying Elmo?) I'm not going to offer photos here, but my girl frolicking in her pink diaper? Oh yeah, that's off the charts adorableness. My baby's diaper bum is cuter than your baby's diaper bum!

And with that . . . the fashion show! Today's model will be The Cow. Despite her fat tummy and super thin legs, The Cow thinks her diapers fit just moooo-velously!

Here The Cow shows off this year's hot diaper accessory, the Snappi diaper fastener. Pair it with a simple, classic white prefold--instant "Snappi casual"!


For fab fitted fashion, try a Kissaluvs size 1, seen here in a lovely lemony snickety shade.


The Cow is really feeling glamorous in this bumGenius 3.0 one-size pocket diaper, set on medium. Work it, Cow, work it!


If your child has a tail, you can simply stick it out the top.


Ah, freedom of moooo-vement! Doing the splits is a snap in this bold red Fuzzi Bunz pocket diaper.


And in this fun and funky Bummis all-in-one, Cow can even do a headstand!


And . . . that oughta answer the question of What do you do at home when you're not working?

Any tips from you other cloth diaper users? If anyone's thinking of giving cloth diapers a shot, let me know if you want advice--obviously I kind of enjoy this subject!

Cloth Diapers Part 3: Lazy Reasons We're (Still) Using Cloth Diapers

Or, It's Not Actually Quite Easy Being Green

NOTE: Two tips added at end of post.

In my last two posts I talked about reasons to use cloth diapers: environmental friendliness and saving money. If you're like me, you feel good about being good to the earth, but you really feel good about saving money. But you're also busy and practical--things have to work for your life or sorry, we'll find another way to pay for the better way. I hear ya. Whatever our reasons for trying cloth, if it wasn't working for us, we probably wouldn't still be doing it.

And so I'm here to assure you today that cloth diapering is not rocket science. It is a little more work--a load of laundry every few days--but it is not hard. After all, my fancy-schmancy automatic washing machine does most of the work. My mother had to wash my diapers with a ringer washer. And then there's all the African nannies hand-washing for a whole orphanage without running hot water . . . yeah, my laundry routine's not too bad. The hardest part of cloth diapering for me was figuring out what to buy and what detergent to use. Now it's resisting the urge to buy more of our favorite diapers!

Guilt-free note before we go on: Please don't think that I'm one of those Cloth Diaper Nazis who thinks everyone who doesn't use them is so callous to the health of the world and their child that they probably also burn tires in their backyard trash pit and wipe their baby's bum with battery acid. I don't! I realize I'm blessed to be able to work at home where I can throw wash in at odd hours and that this would be harder for those who work full-time/outside the home or for those who don't have easy access to laundry. In those situations maybe I never would have tried it either. But I do think that many people never even think to even try cloth because of misconceptions--that washing uses the same resources (not true), that it's not really cheaper (definitely not true), and that they don't work well and/or are nasty to take care of (read on, my friend).

In a nutshell, here's my diapering routine:

• Put clean diaper on child.
• Child soils diaper either immediately or at least convenient time possible (ready to leave house, ready to fall asleep, ready to thrash like a bucking bronco when placed on changing table).
• Take off dirty diaper, set aside, clean child with baby washcloths wet with water.
• Put clean diaper on child, release child back into the wild.
• Take diaper and wipes into bathroom, drop poop into toilet if any, throw diaper into trash can lined with waterproof fabric wet bag.
• On the third day wash again, in accordance with instructions.
  

My diaper pail is a cheapo plastic trash can with flip lid. It's lined with a wet bag I bought online. When it's laundry time, I pull out the bag, take it to the washer, and dump everything out by turning it inside out and putting the bag right in the wash too, so I don't have to touch the dirty diapers. I make do without an extra bag to alternate or a smaller one to travel with, though those would be nice extras. We do also keep a small trash can with lid in the girl's room for any disposable wipes and dipes we use. I find this smells far worse than the cloth pail (although having to keep the bathroom door closed all the time because of the little girl's toilet obsession is not preferable).

I do laundry about every three days, or whenever all my favorite diapers/the best overnight diapers are used up. Buy more, wash less often, but only up to a certain point or they will get kind of ripe, of course.

I basically wash my diapers twice: (1) cold presoak/cold wash; (2) hot wash on "stain cycle" that has an extra cold rinse. We have a high-efficiency front-load machine so I use very little detergent, about 1 tablespoon on the first wash, and maybe a few drops of tea tree oil which is a natural disinfectant. For the second wash I don't even have to open the washer, just go out and put in half as much detergent as the first time and restart the washer (time elapsed: 30 seconds. Told you this isn't hard.).

When I first started I couldn't find a great detergent and had a tendency to use too much, which can cause it to build up on pocket diapers (will explain in next post) if not rinsed out well enough. Most detergents today are too good in the sense that they have all kinds of whiteners and brighteners and enzymes (and--again--petroleum products!) which actually build up on fabrics, so you want to use a cheapo store brand powder one or something more natural. At our health store I found Country Save, which is recommended for cloth diapers and as a bonus, environmentally friendly/biodegradable. At this rate the box will last me years, but if I ever use up my other stuff, I'll probably start using it on everything.

When I did have build up problems from too much bad detergent and diaper rash cream (oops! a fish-oil kind got on my pocket dipes), I "stripped" my diapers with blue Dawn dish detergent in a hot wash. I had to do a few washes and extra rinses but haven't had problems since. Once in a while I just use a little Dawn in my second wash instead of detergent--I've even heard of people just using it all the time. Who knew the power of Dawn? (Note: I'm told it has to be Dawn and it has to be the original blue kind.)

Okay, while I've been giving y'all too much information, the washer has been doing all the work for a couple hours. I put down the bon-bons, turn off Oprah, and go throw everything in the dryer except the covers (because keeping them out of the heat will make them last longer). I select for "damp dry" on medium-low heat and return to Oprah. By the time Dr. Oz is done lecturing me about healthy eating, I have finished my ice cream and the dryer has stopped. I pull out everything that's dry--wet bag, pocket diaper outsides, fleece liners, washcloths I use as wipes. Basically everything that's colored comes out and whites stay in, so it's easy. What's left is things with thicker materal that need a bit more time on high heat--prefolds, fitted diapers, pocket diaper inserts. (This may make more sense after I describe my diapers, next post.)

When everything is dry, I take it in my daughter's room and leave it in a pile on her toybox for a few hours or days. But eventually I get some organizational urge and go put everything away. I may or may not fold my prefolds but I usually stuff the pocket diapers so they are all ready to go, easy-peasy all one piece just like a disposable.

I am looking forward to line drying more often as the sun returns to these parts, because (did I mention?) I'm cheap, plus sunlight is a miraculous cure for any stains or odors that sneak through.

And really . . . at least when it comes to diapers . . . what could be more satisfying than this?



Stay tuned for our next thrilling installment, in which we will attempt to answer that most burning of questions: What the heck is a pocket diaper?

EDIT: I forgot to mention two things:
1. Plain ol' white vinegar in the rinse cycle helps with detergent buildup.
2. If poop removal scares you, you can get biodegradable/flushable rice paper liners to lay inside the diaper. Then you just grab the paper and throw/flush it all away. (But if you use a piece of fleece or a pocket diaper with fleece inside, it really does just fall right off anyway. Anything that doesn't, I'm not touching, scraping, or dunking. That's what washers are for.)