Joni Mitchell

My six-year-old niece overheard me telling her mom that I was feeling a bit melancholy.  ”Well, Auntie Karen, we don’t have any melons in our garden, but we are growing cauliflower.  You could have some of that.”  It [...]]]> “They paved paradise, and put up a parking lot.”

Joni Mitchell

My six-year-old niece overheard me telling her mom that I was feeling a bit melancholy.  ”Well, Auntie Karen, we don’t have any melons in our garden, but we are growing cauliflower.  You could have some of that.”  It took me a second, but I figured out that she thought I had a hankering for a ‘melon-cauli’ combo.  Sweet.

The reason for my blues?  My husband is going to be away for almost three weeks.  I realize that it may not sound like a very long time; some partnerships deal with much longer periods of separation, but it all depends on what you’ve grown accustomed to.  And I’ve grown accustomed to my husband.

It seemed like a good idea six months ago, when we made the decision for him to go away and earn some extra money, but now I feel a slight queasiness when I think of his upcoming departure.  The girls and I will manage just fine, and we have lots of family support; but we’ll miss him.

I’m reminded of visits with my grandparents each summer when I was a kid.  Sometimes I’d go to Winnipeg to visit them, but often they would drive out to the coast for a couple of weeks to visit our family.  If it was a banner year, they’d come to the Island, then I’d drive back to the prairies with them.  I loved being in their company.  We’d play a lot of cards, go swimming together in oceans and lakes, and share many laughs.

Of course every year, the inevitable would occur: the visit would come to an end and we’d have to part.  I remember that heart-heavy feeling; the tears would live right behind my eyes for hours, waiting patiently for an opportunity to be released.  Grandpa’s hug would do it to me every time.  (It’s happening even now as I write this.  I remember watching a programme about how, physiologically, our bodies don’t differentiate between an actual event, and the mere memory of that event.  So when my mind took me on a journey back in time just now, my body re-lived the moment.  I saw Grandpa, felt the same feelings I had thirty years ago when he hugged me good-bye, and my eyes welled up with tears.  Powerful stuff!)

The energy in our home always felt so different after my grandparents had left, and I used to marvel at how quickly a new norm had been established.  There was a tangible emptiness, even though all of the usual suspects still resided in our home.

I think I’ve always  preferred to be the Leaver, as opposed to the one Being Left.  Leaving is tough too, but at least you’re moving on to a new situation.  Whenever I was gearing up for a move away from my family, the days leading up to my departure would be filled with emotion, but once I had said my tearful good-byes, my mind was focused on the adventures that lay ahead.

One of my all-time favourite Shakespearean lines comes from Romeo and Juliet, “Parting is such sweet sorrow.”  (I think I’ve referred to it before in a post about leaving my daughters.)  The sorrow is sweet because the love is strong.  I’ve only known my husband for seven years, and, in a relatively short time, we’ve become a family.  I depend on him.

I do take comfort in the knowledge that I was fiercely independent for many, many years.  I know that I am a strong, capable woman who can handle life on her own if need be, but I do appreciate leaning on someone, and having them lean on me.  It has taken me awhile to surrender to this new place, but it feels good.  And safe.

Speaking of favourite lines, this second one is borrowed from Big Yellow Taxi by Joni Mitchell:  ”Don’t it always seem to go, that you don’t know what you’ve got till it’s gone?”  Well, yes, it does always seem to go that way, but every once in awhile, we catch a glimpse of what life would be like without something, or someone, and it makes us all the more appreciative for what we have.  It’s a gift, wrapped up in a little bit of heartache.

Here’s Joni:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZgMEPk6fvpg

Eli Khamarov

When I drop Pip off at Daisytree pre-school two mornings a week, it provides Fig and I with a two-hour chunk of one-on-one time.  During the week-long Spring Break, Fig demonstrated a few negative, attention-seeking behaviours [...]]]> “The best things in life are unexpected – because there were no expectations.”

Eli Khamarov

When I drop Pip off at Daisytree pre-school two mornings a week, it provides Fig and I with a two-hour chunk of one-on-one time.  During the week-long Spring Break, Fig demonstrated a few negative, attention-seeking behaviours and I wondered if she was missing our mother-daughter time.  Our first week back at school, I was really looking forward to being able to focus all of my attention on Fig for awhile. I drove the girls to Daisytree, we walked Pip into the school and hugged her good-bye, and then I asked Fig what she wanted to do for our ‘date.’

“Play,” said Fig.  She didn’t want to leave the wonders of the Daisytree environment.  She wanted to stay with Pip.  I tried to entice her with a trip to the park, to the muffin shop, to the playground, but Fig didn’t budge.  She liked looking at the worms in the kiddie pool that was in the pre-school’s back-yard.  After about fifteen minutes of worm-watching, I told Fig that we had to go.  I tried all of the tactics in my arsenal to convince her to leave peacefully, but in the end, I had to pick Fig up and carry her to the car.

I always hate having to physically remove my kids when they’re not cooperating.  I feel like a bully:  ”Okay, you’re not doing what I want, so I’ll use my size and strength to overpower you.”  I know I wouldn’t like to be hoisted under someone’s arm against my will.  I do it as a last resort, but it never feels good.

Fig became so upset with me, that she cried in the car for the next fifteen minutes.  When we arrived at her favourite playground, she calmed down and we proceeded to have a great time.  We played hide and seek, slid down the slide together, told knock-knock jokes while Fig was in the swing, and had a tender cuddle when she fell down a couple of steps.  Then it was time to leave.  Once again, Fig wanted to stay right where she was.  There were more tears, and her general dissatisfaction continued for the next hour.  She didn’t want her shoes removed, she didn’t want to wash her hands, she didn’t want me to put her down, she didn’t like the lunch I made, and she didn’t want to nap.  You’ve been there.   Clearly, this was not the idyllic mother-daughter time that I had anticipated.

My expectation was that Fig and I would have a glorious morning together, and in reality, there were probably as many minutes of crying as there were non-crying ones.

Last weekend I had my first newborn photo-shoot.  The New Mom had told me that her week-old bundle of joy slept so soundly in the afternoons, we would be able to place her on any prop and she’d slumber peacefully.  With the parents input, I set-up about six different scenarios for the baby-shoot.  I even borrowed a bike with a basket, hoping to capture some great ‘baby in the basket’ images.  Both the parents and I had very high expectations, but the baby had other ideas.

She was awake for the entire photo shoot, and she was definitely not happy about being placed, naked and alone, upon strange new surfaces.  Who could blame her?  She wanted to be clothed and swaddled and cuddled.  Isn’t that what all newborns want, and deserve?

And who could blame Fig, for that matter?  No-one.  Fig is a normal two-year-old, making sense of the world and trying to make her wishes known and respected.  She is asserting her independence, and it’s a healthy, encouraging part of her growth.

Both situations have me examining the whole notion of ‘expectations.’  This is not a new theme for me.  Sometimes it’s helpful to have high expectations, because it encourages me to achieve wonderful things.  When they’re too high, however, the disappointment can alter the enjoyment of the experience.

If I look back on these two experiences and erase my expectations, I feel hugely satisfied.  The photos captured during the newborn shoot are precious.  I love looking at them.  The beauty of this little family is overwhelming.  (www.pantusophotography.com.)  Likewise, being at the playground with Fig was a lovely experience!  She adored having all of my attention and we shared a lot of laughs.

It brings to mind the wonderful Ekhart Tolle books (that I need to re-visit) about living in the moment.  How can I be bothered with expectations when I’m fully present in the now?  It’s one of my biggest challenges in life.  To simply live in the moment.

I’m up for it.

William James

When I was a teenager, I was really interested in the performing arts.  I loved music.  I wrote songs, I played guitar, I acted in plays, I danced, but I did not have a very powerful singing voice.  My [...]]]> “I don’t sing because I’m happy; I’m happy because I sing.”

William James

When I was a teenager, I was really interested in the performing arts.  I loved music.  I wrote songs, I played guitar, I acted in plays, I danced, but I did not have a very powerful singing voice.  My ever-supportive parents arranged for me to have private vocal instruction with a lady named Joyce Court.  After several rather frustrating singing lessons, dear Mrs. Court said to my mom and I, “Have you thought about modeling, Karen?”  In other words, I was not going to make it as a singer.  I had a good ear, I could read music, and I could definitely carry a tune, but I just didn’t sound that great.

I moved on.  My experience with Mrs. Court definitely discouraged me from performing songs in a public forum, but it certainly didn’t stop me from singing for pure enjoyment.  I used to sing with my students when I was teaching, and now I literally sing ALL THE TIME with my daughters.  Singing soothes babies and older children alike.  If my daughters are cranky, I can always distract them with a little song.

The cool thing is, my daughters don’t give a damn whether or not I have a good singing voice, they call for encores all the time!  I sing kids’ songs, current songs, lullabies, Abba, soundtracks from musicals such as The Sound of Music, and I also make-up my own ‘running-commentary’ type songs.  These are the tunes that would probably be most irritating to any other adult within earshot, but they work.  I often pick showtunes like, “New York, New York,” and change up the lyrics… ‘Start getting your shoes,”  (instead of ‘Start spreading the news…’)   “and put on your socks, we’ll get our winter jackets on, and head outside.”   I’m sure I’m not the only one who does this.

I’m reminded of a former colleague of mine, who taught second grade, and used to sing and hum constantly.  Sometimes she’d even sing her responses to her students.  I thought she was rather loopy at the time, but I don’t anymore.  I get it.  Even my mom is a hummer.  I never recognize the songs she hums, and perhaps they are just a random collection of notes.  Maybe she just hums for humming’s sake, but that doesn’t matter, does it?

I’ve noticed recently that Pip and Fig also launch into operetta-style conversations very naturally, as though it’s just another acceptable form of communicating.  I’m thinking it might make difficult conversations go a lot smoother in the future.  Imagine if Pip confronted me one day and sang, “Mama Mia, Here I go again, My My, Can I get my tongue pierced?”

“Ever has it been that love knows not its own depth until the hour of separation.”

Kahlil Gibran

Over the last month, it seems as though Fig has become more attached to me than usual.  She’s sleeping through the night now and I’m down to only two breast-feeds each day, so she may [...]]]>

“Ever has it been that love knows not its own depth until the hour of separation.”

Kahlil Gibran

Over the last month, it seems as though Fig has become more attached to me than usual.  She’s sleeping through the night now and I’m down to only two breast-feeds each day, so she may be feeling as though she has less ‘up-close-and-personal-time’ with Mama.  These days, if she’s awake, she’s glued to my hip, which makes it challenging to leave the house without her.  The girls have only really known one babysitter thus far: my mother.  Yes, we know how lucky we are to have family close by; especially a grandmother who is so willing and wonderful…but that’s another post.

Lately, every time Grandma P. comes over to watch the girls, (which is at least once each week,) Fig immediately starts following me around the house with her arms outstretched, crying, “Mama!”   Fig often has to be wrenched from my arms, before I make a quick exit.   I know that she calms down quickly, and my mom is great at distracting Fig, but it’s unpleasant, to say the least.

One morning Grandma P. managed to distract Fig while I put on my boots and coat, and grabbed my purse.  I waved silently to Mom and she nodded quickly.  Without saying anything, we knew we were both thinking the same thing: that I should get out while the getting was good!

I slipped out the door, walked down the stairs and around the house to my car.  I even sat down in the driver’s seat, and then I thought, “I can’t do it.  I can’t leave this way.”   I hadn’t said good-bye to Pip or to Fig.  It didn’t feel right.  I have always wanted to instill trust in my daughters.  I don’t want them to think that Mama can disappear at any time.  I want them to know that I’ll always be honest with them, and that I have faith they can handle any situation.

So, I went back inside.  My mom looked surprised.  ”Sorry Mom,” I said, “I don’t want to sneak out the back door, I want to say good-bye properly and face the music.”  My mom completely understood.  I gave each of my daughters a kiss and a hug and I said ‘good-bye’ before I left.  And wouldn’t you know it, Fig just looked at me and said, “Bye, Mama!”

Sharon Lee

Pip singing, "Somewhere Over the Rainbow," for parents, teachers and friends at her pre-school's Christmas party. (Thanks to Lori for snapping the photo)

“Pip, you need to put some clothes on,” is [...]]]> “The moment you say ‘I know everything’ is the end of your growth.”

Sharon Lee

Pip singing, "Somewhere Over the Rainbow," for parents, teachers and friends at her pre-school's Christmas party. (Thanks to Lori for snapping the photo)

“Pip, you need to put some clothes on,” is a phrase I find myself uttering, not just in the morning, but several times a day.  My daughter simply prefers to be naked.  Oh, we insist on underpants, but that’s about all we can get her to consistently wear.  It doesn’t help that we have a toasty warm fire burning in the living-room fireplace throughout the day.  When we arrive home from pre-school, or some other daily outing, Pip strips down to her underwear, takes either a toy or books into the living room, and plops down on the carpet in front of the fire.

She says that clothes are ’scratchy.’  Thus, we only buy ’soft’ clothes for her.  My sister hands-down the most wonderful jeans and chords from my niece, but Pip will not wear them.  She doesn’t like tags on anything; even stuffed animals.   Pip doesn’t like people close to her wearing ’scratchy’ clothes either, and she won’t hug me when I’m wearing my favourite wool sweater.

Pip is a sensitive soul.  From the time she was only a few months old, I knew that she was an observer.  I remember taking her to a baby music class when she was about 10 months old and being surprised at the fact that she didn’t want to participate.  She loved music!   We sang and played instruments at home all the time, but during the music class, she just wanted to sit on my lap and watch what was going on around her.  This behaviour continued week after week and by the end of the session she had just started to feel comfortable enough to take part, but even then, it was only the familiar activities that she enjoyed.

My husband and I have never wanted to label Pip as being ’shy,’ but new people in her life will often say, “Are you shy?” or “Don’t be shy,” if she doesn’t engage with them right away.  I don’t like it, because I feel that she is being misunderstood.  She is a confident, happy little person, but she likes to observe people and situations before she acts.  She’s also incredibly empathetic.  If a child is upset on the playground, or if her little sister is out of sorts, Pip’s eyes will well up with tears.  Empathy is a wonderful trait, but it must be exhausting for Pip to take on the emotions of other children.

Does any of this sound familiar to you?  It was only recently that it all made sense to me and I came to a new understanding about my daughter and myself.  Last summer, my insightful cousin Sheryl read a book about ‘Highly Sensitive People.’  She said that it made her think of me and Pip.  It took me awhile to get around to it, but I finally looked at the author’s website.  I read through the checklist for ‘Highly Sensitive Children,’ and Pip exhibited almost ALL  of the character traits.

I had many, ‘Aha,’ moments as I sifted through the information on the website, because it turns out that I possess  many of the adult ‘HSP’ traits.  It was enlightening, and also incredibly comforting.  Especially this bit:

• Your trait is normal. It is found in 15 to 20% of the population–too many to be a disorder, but not enough to be well understood by the majority of those around you.
• It is innate. In fact, biologists have found it to be in most or all animals, from fruit flies and fish to dogs, cats, horses, and primates. This trait reflects a certain type of survival strategy, being observant before acting. The brains of highly sensitive persons (HSPs) actually work a little differently than others’.
• You are more aware than others of subtleties. This is mainly because your brain processes information and reflects on it more deeply. So even if you wear glasses, for example, you see more than others by noticing more.
• You are also more easily overwhelmed. If you notice everything, you are naturally going to be overstimulated when things are too intense, complex, chaotic, or novel for a long time.
• This trait is not a new discovery, but it has been misunderstood. Because HSPs prefer to look before entering new situations, they are often called “shy.” But shyness is learned, not innate. In fact, 30% of HSPs are extraverts, although the trait is often mislabeled as introversion. It has also been called inhibitedness, fearfulness, or neuroticism. Some HSPs behave in these ways, but it is not innate to do so and not the basic trait.
• Sensitivity is valued differently in different cultures. In cultures where it is not valued, HSPs tend to have low self-esteem. They are told “don’t be so sensitive” so that they feel abnormal.

The author’s name is Elaine Aron and her homepage can be found at: www.hsperson.com/index.html

I don’t know if this information is of interest to people who aren’t highly sensitive, but this learning experience has reminded me, yet again, what incredible teachers my daughters are and how much I have to learn.

I’ve come to a deeper understanding about Pip, as well as myself, and I’ve found a great resource for both of us.  I’ll be better equipped to help Pip when her eyes water because some child on the playground is crying.  I’ll be more tolerant when she refuses to wear a new shirt.  I’ll also be easier on myself.  (Thank you, cousin Sheryl!)

In the end, I think it all comes down to acceptance.  Acceptance of our kids, our spouses, our parents, ourselves…not judgement, but acceptance.  Amen to that.

k.d. lang

I’m a pescatarian, which is basically a vegetarian who eats seafood.  Ever since I was a child, I was bothered by the sight of meat on my plate, but I couldn’t articulate my feelings.  I wasn’t aware that [...]]]> “We all love animals.  Why do we call some ‘pets’ and others ‘dinner?’”

k.d. lang

I’m a pescatarian, which is basically a vegetarian who eats seafood.  Ever since I was a child, I was bothered by the sight of meat on my plate, but I couldn’t articulate my feelings.  I wasn’t aware that there were such people as vegetarians; I just thought that I should learn to like meat like everyone else.  I went to great lengths to try to disguise morsels of beef and chicken and veal by mixing them in with other food on my plate.  I was sure that a piece of steak would be more palatable if it was covered with corn and mashed potatoes, but no matter how it went in, it was always tough for me to swallow.

Once I left home and was in charge of my own meals, I was essentially a pescatarian, but I didn’t officially present that title to the world because it seemed  inconvenient.  I thought it would be rude, for instance, if I was invited to someone’s home for dinner and then didn’t eat the meat that had been prepared.  (I definitely had a ‘pleaser’ mentality.)  Finally, in my twenties, I boldly ‘came-out’ of the meat-locker and announced that I was a fish-eating vegetarian.  It was such a relief!

My husband enjoys eating meat, but he also loves seafood so it hasn’t posed a problem for him to be a part of a pescatarian household.  When it comes to our daughters, they aren’t presented with the opportunity to eat meat very often, but I don’t stop them  if they choose to try it.  I plan to share my beliefs with the girls when they’re older, and I will respect whatever choices they make.

It seems, however, that I might be having the conversation with my three-year-old daughter, Pip,  a little earlier than anticipated.  Pip typically loves eating fish, but lately she has started asking questions like, “Mama, what was this fish doing?”

“What do you mean, Honey?”

“I mean, was it swimming?”

“Yes, it was swimming.”  I quickly launch into a little prayer of thanks to the fish at this point, both to divert the conversation and express our gratitude, and we carry on with our meal.  The last time we had salmon, though, Pip wouldn’t touch it.

“Eat some of your fish please, Pip.”

“No, Mama, I can’t.”

“Why not?”

“I just don’t know about it, Mama.”

“What do you mean?”

“I just don’t know what it’s going to do when it’s inside me,” she started to cry at this point.

Pip had imagined that the salmon would come to life in her wee belly and resume swimming.  Creepy.  Despite all attempts to assuage her fears, she did not eat the fish.

I thought she had forgotten the fish discussion until the following morning.  We were playing with horses and Pip was very curious about their diet.  ”What do horses eat, Mama?”

“Well, your Auntie used to have a horse named Misty, and I know that she liked to eat grass and apples and carrots, and sugar cubes!”

“Do horses eat fish?”

“No, I don’t think so, Pip.”

“Mama, I don’t want to eat horses,”  Pip said.

“Of course not, Pip, you don’t have to eat horses.”

“I don’t want animals to be died, I want them to run around and swim a little bit.”

“That’s very kind of you, Pip,” and I left it at that.  Believe it or not, that brief conversation with Pip has me reconsidering my choice to eat seafood.  Suddenly, when I imagine explaining to my daughters why I eat fish, but not meat, my argument seems weak.  In fact, I’m a hypocrite.  I am bothered by the notion of eating animals that bond with their young, yet I will kill a crab and eat it.  It turns my stomach to see a rack of lamb, but I’ll happily bang on a goat-skin drum.  I own leather shoes, a leather jacket, and at this very moment I’m lying on a leather couch!  Like I said,  it’s hypocritical!

I should clarify that I’m not attempting to persuade anyone out there to become a vegetarian, my point is simply this: is it not a beautiful thing when your three-year-old daughter inspires you to reevaluate your belief system?  I have always set high standards for myself, but now, more than ever, I want to be the best person I can be, because I know what an important role model I am for two glorious little people.  My daughters make me want to be a better woman.  What a gift.

Bill Vaughn

When Fig is too quiet, it usually means trouble.  I was in Pip’s bedroom, assisting with her fifteenth costume-change of the [...]]]> “A three-year-old child is a being who gets almost as much fun out of a fifty-six dollar set of swings as it does out of finding a small green worm.”

Bill Vaughn

When Fig is too quiet, it usually means trouble.  I was in Pip’s bedroom, assisting with her fifteenth costume-change of the day, when I noticed that Fig wasn’t with us.  ”Where’s Fig?”  I asked Pip.

“I don’t know, Mama.”   I called Fig’s name.  There was no answer.

“It’s awfully quiet,” I said to Pip as I attached her butterfly wings.  ”Let’s see what your sister’s up to.”  I walked out of the bedroom calling Fig’s name.  No sign of her in the bathroom, nor in the master-bedroom.  She wasn’t in the kitchen.

“Here she is Mama!”  Pip yelled from the living room.  I turned the corner to find Fig carefully unwrapping her tenth tampon.

I did what any responsible disciplinarian would do; I grabbed my camera.  I also took some solace in the fact that these weren’t my favourite brand of feminine protection.  It was one of those emergency purchases at the Merville Store, where selection is limited.  The unused members of the box had sat under the bathroom sink for months, and I suspect they were quite thrilled to see the light of day and to realize that they were to be used as toys.

Fig quickly discovered that the cardboard tubes fit perfectly on her fingers.  ”Mama, Puppet!”  she proudly announced.

After playing with the tampon puppets for a time, the inevitable happened…

but nothing prepared me for this:

I don’t think I’ll ever view feminine protection in quite the same way!

Pip wanted to play with her cousin last week and I explained that she was having a sleep-over at Grandma P. and [...]]]> “In the final analysis it is not what you do for your children but what you have taught them to do for themselves that will make them successful human beings.”
– Ann Landers

Pip wanted to play with her cousin last week and I explained that she was having a sleep-over at Grandma P. and Grandpa R.’s house.  That was all it took.  The seed had been planted; Pip wanted a sleep-over.  We called Grandma P. to arrange a date and Pip started counting the days.

Now my parents are only a ten-minute drive away, but it was a big deal for Pip to sleep away from home.  My husband and I haven’t gone on any trips together (yet) without the kids, and any time my mom has baby-sat for us, she has come over to our house.  The plan was for my mom to pick Pip up at 2:30 pm on Friday so that they could enjoy the afternoon together, before having dinner.  Pip would spend the night with her grandparents and we’d pick her up Saturday morning.

My mom had said to me on the phone, “Now this could be a huge success, or a complete disaster,” and I agreed.  Pip had surprised me with her independence before, but she had also cried Thursday night after I left her bedroom because she missed me.  One never knows how these ‘firsts’ are going to go.  I had told Mom that it would be nice to say goodnight to Pip on the phone, but we agreed that Mom should  initiate the call instead of me,  just in case there were any rough patches.

I’ll tell you right now, the sleep-0ver was a huge success; for Pip.  What my husband and I were not prepared for, was how much we would miss her!  I’ll never forget the look on Big Daddy-O’s face when Grandma and Pip drove away from our house.  I was standing at the door with Fig, trying to ignore the ridiculous tears forming in my eyes, and my husband gave me a look that I’ve never seen before, and I’ll not soon forget.  It was a surprised, emotional look that said, ‘Can you believe how hard this is?’  He yelled up at me, “She just left and I already miss her!”

It felt so strange to be a family without Pip.  Both my husband and I have been away from Pip for at least one night before, but it was a different experience to be at home, going through our normal rituals as a family without our eldest daughter.  Of course we enjoyed our time with Fig, and  I must say that she was in her element.  She didn’t mention her sister once, she just lapped up all the undivided attention we were showering upon her.

When Fig was in the tub, both Big Daddy-O and I were in the bathroom with her, and I said, “I hope Pip calls soon.”  My husband laughed.

“I bet we’re going to be saying that a lot when she’s fifteen.”

“Seventeen.”  I countered.

Pip did indeed call shortly thereafter, and her voice sounded small and happy.  It was pretty special for Pip to have Grandma and Grandpa all to herself.   It was also special for our second child to have her parents all to herself.  In the end, I think everyone benefitted from the sleep-over.  It’s a brilliant feeling to know that there’s a place, other than home, where your child feels safe and well-loved and happy.  Thanks Mom and Dad.

Paul Johannes Tillich, The Eternal Now

Pip and I were snuggling together in bed one morning while Big-Daddy-O and Fig were getting a fire started.  ”Mama, [...]]]> “Language… has created the word “loneliness” to express the pain of being alone.  And it has created the word “solitude” to express the glory of being alone.”

Paul Johannes Tillich, The Eternal Now

Pip and I were snuggling together in bed one morning while Big-Daddy-O and Fig were getting a fire started.  ”Mama, are there some families where each Mama has one kid?”

“Sure, Pip.”  I cited a couple of examples of friends of ours.  One family consists of a brother and sister who have two mothers, and the other family has one child.

“That’s what I want, Mama, just one kid and one Mama.  You can be my Mama and Fig can have another one.”  Instead of explaining the impossibility of her suggestion, I tried to probe Pip’s mind a little deeper.

“Why do you want that, Pip?”

“Mama, it’s hard to be a big sister.”

“Tell me what’s hard, Sweetie.”

“Well, all the sharing, I have to share all of my stuff and Fig can reach everything in my room; she wrecks my set-ups and takes the skirt off of Dorothy.”

I promised Pip that we could find a place in her room to store the special toys that were just for her.  I then told her that Fig was a part of our family, we loved her like crazy and she was here to stay.  I reminded Pip of how Fig makes her laugh and how much fun they have dancing together, riding (pretend) horses together, and chasing each other around the house.  By the end of the conversation, Pip had a smile on her face.

It was a good conversation; a good reminder for me that Pip needs her space.  Pip’s bedroom is on the main floor of our home and is much larger than the nursery which is upstairs, so Pip’s room is ‘the toy room.’  She’s never really allowed to shut her sister out of her room because then Fig wouldn’t have access to the toys, puzzles, books, etc.

On top of that, we always insist that the girls share everything.  If they aren’t willing to take turns, then the toy is removed for a period of time.  It’s a decent rule, but I also appreciate that there are some precious belongings that Pip would rather Fig not handle.  Our youngest daughter is not the gentlest toddler in the world and she’s been known to rip the antlers off a moose, de-pop a few ‘pop-up’ books and chew on puzzle pieces.  Pip deserves to have a few toys that are out-of-Fig’s-bounds.

I am a big sister, and I remember spending a lot of time playing with my younger siblings, but I also remember shutting the door to my bedroom and spending time on my own.  I needed my own space.  I still do.  I can certainly relate to Pip’s wishes, and I’m a bit surprised that I haven’t made more of an effort to ensure that Pip has a place to retreat to.  Ah well, sometimes I need to be hit over the head, and luckily Pip was gentle.

Sandra Boynton

Pip has always adored her belly-button.  It’s an impressive, round ‘outey,’ and she rubs it to soothe herself.  It came as no surprise, therefore, when Pip brought [...]]]> “We hippos love our belly-b’s, they’re round and cute and funny, and there’s a place we take them to when summer days are sunny.”

Sandra Boynton

Pip has always adored her belly-button.  It’s an impressive, round ‘outey,’ and she rubs it to soothe herself.  It came as no surprise, therefore, when Pip brought her first ‘family drawing’ over to me the other day and I noticed that we all had belly-buttons.  It seems that we’re destined to remain mouth-less for awhile, and poor Fig didn’t get arms, but at least we have our belly-b’s.