Have you had the pleasure of reading Meredith? Have you?

Funny, subtle, thoughtful, adventurous, real.......and very, very pregnant.

In fact, little Henry should be making his appearance any time now, changing big brother Eli's life forever. Or maybe Eli will be too busy stomping to take very much notice. Stomp. Stomp.

Let's get back to Meredith. She makes me smile inside. This is just a guess, but I am almost sure if we met we'd have an immediate connection. I think we'd make each other laugh...a lot. She's as quirky as me, but funnier. It makes me a little sad, actually. Why does she have to live in Japan?!! Not fair, Mere. Not fair.

But the point is....we are having a baby shower. Here....online. Right now. My wonderful co-hostesses are Meredith's cousin, Momma K, and Marie of Practigal. Please make the rounds to their places, play our games, and then go visit Meredith and wish her and her family well.

If you are interested in contributing to a gift for Henry, there is information at the other websites.

+++++++++++++++++

My theme is Japan.

A while back, my husband came across an article explaining that traditionally, Japanese babies did not wear diapers. Instead, Japanese babies were toilet-trained as newborns. Remembering this, I did a couple of internet searches.

This is something that came up in an image search for "diapers in Japan." Please explain it to me, Meredith.

Are those diapers? Do boys wear diapers when they play baseball in Japan? Expound.

Anyway, I spent way too much time searching for evidence of a diaper-free Japan and didn't find much. I did find out that Japanese disposable diapers are softer than ours, and possibly smaller due to smaller baby bottoms. No evidence, though.

There is a diaper-free movement, not based out of Japan, that claims to base their philosophy on Asian traditions.

Excerpts from Diaper-Free Baby.

"In my many years traveling throughout Asia I saw almost no babies with diapers. Yet I commonly saw infants who would seem to eliminate on command. Their moms would hold them over a gutter with their pants down, whistle a quiet hiss, or grunt, and then the baby would go.

"In traditional societies, cueing sounds for peeing often resemble the sound of flowing water, or urination itself.... In Japan, the childhood euphemistic equivalent of pee-pee is "shii shii". A low whistle is also sometimes used in Japan, and a steady whistling sound is the primary signal in China.

"So, what do you think Henry? Do you have to go "shii-shii?" Where the hell's a gutter when I need one?"

This method actually is somewhat attractive to me....for like a second. And then I imagine holding Rachel or Hannah, as newborns, over the toilet every morning from 5:00 until 8:00 as they grunt their way through a poop due to underdeveloped bowels.

But let's move on. I wanted to find a nice Japanese children's song for Henry.

I found this sweet and wonderful site and tried to choose a song.

This one sounded promising...so cute. The title is The Little Elephant.

The first two lines are adorable

"Little elephant, little elephant,

You have a long long nose."

But being a mother, I was put off a bit by the next line.

"Yes sir, my mother has a long nose, too."

So I tried another one. A lullabye. It's called Lullaby in Edo.

The first verse was as lovely and nice as can be.

"Sleep, baby, sleep,

Oh, my baby, sleep,

How lovely, how lovely,

How nice you are!

But then it got all weird and panicky on me.

"Where's the nurse, where's the girl?

Where's your nurse girl?

She's gone, she's gone,

Far across the hill!

So I chose this one. If you want to listen to the melody, go here It's pretty darn sweet.

A Rolling Acorn

An acorn rolled down and down,

He suddenly fell into a pond.

Then came the loaches [a kind of fish],

Hi boy! Come play with us!

The acorn enjoyed playing with them.

But he soon began to cry,

I want to go back to the mountain.

The loaches didn't know what to do.

My assignment for you? Henry is an American that will grow up being able to say he was born in Japan. How cool is that? I think he will grow up having a sense of adventure and love of travel like his parents. Let's give him an early start by teaching him a bit about the world. Write him a short letter in my comments describing something about the place where you live (locally;not nationally) and what you like about it. I will compile these into a little booklet for Henry. That he can treasure always. Or....look at and say, "Who the hell are these people, mom?"

First of all, I’d like to thank Miz S for awarding me a Perfect Post award for last week’s rambling post. The award meant a lot to me because I adore Miz S. I believe she must be somehow related to me we have so many things in common, like having two daughters and interfaith marriages. She’s naughty and nice all wrapped up in one sweetheart of a funny package. It touches me that my post touched her.

Being acknowledged for that particular post was also special because it was a ramble and many of you indicated last week that you like my rambles, which means you like me I think. I also expressed an opinion, somewhat awkwardly, in that post and if I hadn't gotton the perfect post button I probably would have obsessed about not having articulated what I was trying to say clearly enough. I get like that.

You are all so accepting of me, it’s amazing. What a loving environment you’ve created for me here. So thanks to Miz S and to all of you for liking me as I am without the bells and whistles or a cool sophistication factor. What a gift you give me.

(My editing voice says: "Geesh, that speech was long. How embarassing.")

++++++++++

Take a look at my family tree and you’ll see good, stocky, no-nonsense German-Catholic roots (on one side intense, on the other side Prairie-Home-Companion-ish) and not much else except a bit of suppressed German Lutheranism. I had many aunts and uncles growing up. Some I knew very well. Others not so much. In the “not so much” category, were my Aunt LEFT and Uncle RIGHT, as in positioned to the left and right of me at a table. Having a conversation with them was an intense experience. They competed. Your attention was the prize. I was not aware of this tendency of theirs when I sat down to dinner with them at about 10 years old. I don’t remember how the conversation started, but at some point it became clear that LEFT and RIGHT were not having the same conversation with me. In fact, they were having two different conversations and speaking at the same time, willing me to focus on them. My eyes darted, unsure who I should settle on. Their voices grew louder and stronger. Neither one would back down. The stressful part of this was that they were competing for my eyes, trying to lock me in with intense eye contact. They were from my Dad’s side of the family. The intense side.

Anyway, I was reminded of Aunt LEFT and Uncle RIGHT the other day as I sat and ate with my two girls. Mr. Raehan was late from work so he didn’t have the pleasure of helping to manage this conversation.

Rachel: I am having a dream. I am at school and walking to the bathroom with two other girls.

(I ponder this and wonder how one responds to such a statement. Then Hannah chimes in.)

Hannah: I’m a girl. (Pause) I’m not a boy.

Me: Yes, you’re a girl.

Rachel: (Continues to talk about this dream she is having.)

Me: So, Rachel, did you have this dream last night or are you having it right now?

Rachel: I’m having it right now.

Me: (Again, wondering how to respond to such a statement.)

Hannah: I a big girl. I sleep in a big bed.

Me: So you must be imagining this is happening. It’s not really a dream.

Rachel: No, it’s a dream.

Hannah: I want a girl party. Not a boy party. (Hannah’s birthday is in October).

These two were no help.

Well, I took requests this morning and the tally is complete. I got one vote for potty training. One vote for NOT potty training. Three or four votes for a not-funny yoga post. One vote for ramble. And I think one vote for a nap, too.

Ramble it is, because that's about all I have the time and energy to do. I'll catch a nap at some point during my ramble, how's that?

+++++++

My life as I know it is about to change. We're changing Hannah to a big bed tonight. She's 2 1/2. We are late on this, I know, but the kid likes her crib and we have traumatic memories of transitioning Rachel to a bed. I was pregnant at the time Rachel started climbing out of her crib and there went that happy second trimester. I dragged my way through it. It took Rachel hours to fall asleep and she was up at 5:00 every morning. We got through it. We've had about two years of our kids in bed by 7 PM and sleeping through the night. This is how I've managed to go to school and parent at the same time. Bah-bye to my long evenings for who knows how long.

Why change now if Hannah is happy in her crib? We're not sleeping well anyway because Hannah has been waking up wanting to be changed. She's so ready to be out of diapers and so NOT ready. Anyway, we figure since we're not sleeping well anyway we might as well get this bed transition started. Besides, Hannah's preschool teacher suggested that it might help with the potty training to get her into a big bed because it will help Hannah think of herself as a big girl. She has a point there.

The funny thing is I've been sitting here all smug giving advice to people with kids that aren't sleeping through the night. It's dawned on me that for the past month or so, my kid has not sleeping through the night. Oh yeah.

So, we spent the day at IKEA picking out a bed, mattress, and bedding set. We got her the same bed that Rachel has, a white bed with drawers AND a trundle. Very cool bed if you're looking for one. We figure if we have a third child, they'll need to share a room at some point and matching beds is nice. Yada-yada.

The ride home was a joy. There was a mattress between Rachel and Hannah's seat, and the girls, who usually drive us crazy by pushing each other's buttons during the ride, drove us crazy because they were freaking out at not being able to see each other. Good times.

I don't know about this rambling strategy...I can see that you are nodding off already.

+++++++

Yoga poses. There's not much to my story. I've been doing yoga for six months and have not been able to do the full wheel.

I did one once by accident at home about a month ago. Then yesterday in class, again. It felt great. But I couldn't repeat it. Now I'm on a quest. This wheel represents my youth to me. One of my yoga teachers said that someone discovered that the real fountain of youth is really your spine. I'm not sure how literally to take this, but I see his point. When I can do the wheel regularly I'll be a kid again. I'm kidding, but not really. It does mean a lot to me.

+++++++

We said good-bye to a neighbor today. After a year of marriage, she and her husband are getting divorced. They have no kids, thank goodness, but I know she dreamed of having some in their house, which is no longer theirs. I knocked on her door and she was in tears, still crying, her heart broken. She was about to leave, say good-bye to her house and her dog. I could feel the pain. We hugged tightly and a lot. Rachel was by my side taking it in. She doesn't know the two are divorcing. It's not something I think she needs to know. I just told her our neighbor was sad because she had to say good-bye to her home. We were friendly with this neighbor but never real close. I did not know until the marriage had dissolved that there were problems. Instead, I worried about what they would think when we argued in whispers in our backyard about silly things--not knowing there was so much pain in the quiet house next door. My heart goes out to her. Them both. Let this teach me to reach out more. I forget sometimes how much pain is out there.

+++++++

I think I better quit while I'm only a little bit behind here. Boring you a little bit is better than boring you in the-post-that-will-not-end.

Here is the rest of what I want to say. Thank you to all those who called me a good mother after reading my letter to Rachel last week. I do like hearing that, I do. However, to be completely honest it makes me a little uncomfortable. Not because I think I'm a bad mother, but because most of the mothers I know are good mothers. Not everyone can write about it the way I can--there are many who can. I write about my feelings and what I see, and not as much about what I do. Don't assume I always act perfectly. I don't. If anything, my writing inspires me to be a better mother. It helps me see things more clearly. I wonder sometimes if previous generations of mothers worried so much about being good mothers. I think all we can do is give our children what we have inside us. I try to reach a balance between raising children that are happy and independent and children that I can tolerate. I learn as I go. I make mistakes. I try not to worry too much about my mistakes, but just enough to know that I can do better, and can be better.

I'm not sure what I'm trying to say. Maybe this: I'm no better than you at mothering. I think there are such strong "good mother," "bad mother" caricatures out there that we are working under. These caricatures place enormous pressure on us. On one extreme is Dr. Laura who has her cookie-cutter good mother ideal that is hurtful, in my mind. On the other hand, I see a lot of people in blogdom who intentionally portray themselves as "bad mothers." (And no, no and NO, I don't mean YOU. Nobody I know.) It's good for a few laughs, but it gets boring and is hurtful, too in my opinion. It's kind of like being back in elementary school and the girls being afraid to show that they are smart. Of course no one wants to gloat about their mothering, and sure it is helpful to write about our mistakes, but why wave the bad mother banner. I don't get that. I think part of being a successful mother is throwing both caracitures-good and bad mother- away and just digging in. It's work. You don't always do it right. You keep at it day after day and the big picture will turn out well if you are lucky. I hope, I hope. To be honest, I'm just focusing on the rewards I get each day. They are gold. I imagine there will be years when the gold mine gets dry. I'll just try to keep my eyes open. Hit me if I forget.

And you knew all of this already. So, I'll shut up.

Enough rambling. I'll try to be more coherent next week.

+++++++

And I realize I've included no kids stories, which are what you like best. The heck with my self-absorption, right? Move over, and show us the kids. (Don't feel bad, I agree with you!)

Here's a quick one: Every time we have garbage pick-up morning, Hannah wakes the whole house up by shouting, "There's a garbage truck in my room!" about 100 times. I feel like taping it and sending it to the garbage people to get them to wait until at least 6:00 to come by.

I know I said I was going to post today, but nothing of any interest is coming to mind. I sat at the computer last night and the only thing I could think to blog about was my wheel. I did a full wheel in yoga class yesterday...

...and then I tried it agaIn and couldn't push up. It's my Holy Grail right now, or perhaps my fountain of youth. I need to find my wheel again. Instead of writing a post last night I searched for photos of the full wheel to post here but then I wondered if that would be violating copyright. So I googled "free images full wheel yoga," which brought me links to "free" yoga photos with prices on them, which confused me. Then I started looking for instructions for doing the full wheel, which made me laugh to myself a little. So I thought about doing a humorous post about yoga poses, except me trying to be funny is funny in all the wrong ways.

So I went to bed.

....and then Hannah woke up twice during the night wanting us to change her diaper.

So my plan B is to write a post about potty training. Except that I'm wiped out. So.....I got nothing.

Sigh.

I'll be back....hopefully late tonight.

I'm taking requests. What should I write about?

Update: Thursday, May 25th I'm guest posting at Petroville. I'll be back here on Monday, as usual.

**Disclaimer: This is a long post. I’m done with classes and my mind is a bubbling. What can I do? Read only what you want to. I realize you have lives. I’m just happy to have room in my brain finally to be able to think a little more creatively about mine.**

As I mentioned last week, my Mother’s Day weekend was perfect and exceeded all of my expectations, though I tend not to have real detailed expectations of these things. Rachel’s birthday party was really fun and I was atypically relaxed throughout it all. I had turned in my last assignment the night before and was feeling free, free, free. On Saturday, I asked my husband if we could sneak in an early mountain hike before our scheduled Mother's Day brunch. It hit the ticket. The only thing missing was a yoga class. That would have been a good ending to the weekend. I’m not saying we there wasn’t a rattlesnake directly on our path (there was; thank God we didn’t bring the dog) or we didn’t arrive sweaty to brunch (we did) or there weren’t meltdowns after the birthday party (there were). I'm not sayng I ate too much (no comment here). I’m just saying, it was perfect to me.

A year ago on Mother’s Day we were all sick with the stomach flu, and though I was a somewhat grumpy about not getting a break, I did chuckle to myself and think how appropriate it really was to be holding and rocking your sick children on Mother’s Day and catching their vomit in towels. A study in contrasts: the glorious rocking of your child and chunks of last night’s dinner on your sleeve.

There are events that are much worse than anticipated. There are events that are better than anticipated. Then there are unanticipated events that become powerful pieces of your life. For example, presents. When you plan to buy a present you usually imagine your child playing with them in a certain way. Sometimes your kid likes the toy. Sometimes not so much. Sometimes she likes a toy but doesn’t play with it, or plays with it in strange, annoying ways. What I find interesting are the items that become part of the heart of your family without any planning. For example, the kilted skirt that I bought at goodwill on a whim when Rachel was two. It sat in her closet for months and I was pretty sure it would stay there. But one day, when I was cleaning out the closet, Rachel spotted it and shouted, “a lassie skirt!” She had seen Scottish dancing on an old around-the-world, sing-a-long video inherited from her older nieces. So I let her put on the skirt, and she started doing her version of a Scottish jig. And for almost a whole year, she’d put that skirt on and do her little jig while we sang “Have you ever seen a lassie.” That lassie has been retired and put in our little Hall of Fame box of clothing.

There are also the moments that are hard to remember, but you want to try to because they are so perfect. Like last week, when I was changing Hannah, and out of the corner of my eye saw Rachel looking into the mirror and laughing at her own impersonation of an evil fairy princess, and then five minutes later walking by with a pillow under her shirt, muttering to herself and sighing, “Gosh it‘s hard to have nine kids, but it’s a lot of fun.” And Hannah (!), who has been inserting the phrases “always,” “forever” “ever[y] day” and “all day long” into sentences in ways that make no sense. It’s so sweet I’ve been trying to keep a note of her sentences but I can’t seem to. Today, Hannah was pretending to be a doctor and lifted her leg up behind her in a way that looked like a ballet move. I asked her if she was a doctor ballerina. She said, very seriously, “Ballet shoes, always.” Later that day I was asking Rachel if she remembered examples of when Hannah uses these phrases and she reminded me of when we were in the car and Hannah said, “Thank you, God, for going in the car, forever.”

+++++++++

Dear Rachel,

You are finally five, sweetie. We knew it was coming, didn’t we? We’ve been talking about you turning five for so long now. It almost seems like forever. Still, in the end, I think we both felt uncomfortable as this birthday came nearer and nearer. The week before your birthday, you were very excited about your party, but were struggling with something. I could tell. You clung to me more closely than usual and were especially sensitive and perhaps even anxious and sad. Then on the night before your birthday, you burst into tears, explaining that you were afraid that everything might change when you turned five, that essentially our life together in this house would dissolve before you were ready. I feel it, too, Rachel, but I have a secret that helps me. I need to tell you about it. It is a magical secret.

Do you know what my secret is?

Here it is: I see you.

Even when you think I don’t, I do.

What do I see?

Your face. It is beautiful. When you don’t know it I watch you. If I look closely, I can even see your face as a newborn, the little heart shaped outline, the delicate features. Or sometimes, I see the laughter of your two-year-old self, bubbling with such joy and abandon. I see the three-year old Rachel, too, doing projects with such seriousness and determination. Most of all, I see your face now, so mature and grown-up, so simply perfect, as it will always be. You still and more than ever take my breath away, my Rachel.

What else do I see?

*Your determination, excitement and curiosity. You love a project. The excitement on your face when you decide upon a project is palpable. And then when you are getting to the task and doing what needs to be done, you are so focused and determined to see it through. You started to write without an ounce of guidance from me and it’s been amazing how determined you were to write messages to people before I even knew you could do it. Now you are starting to read. I can’t wait to see the excitement build as it gets easier for you.

*Your sensitivity and kindness. Even though I often give you a hard time about being grumpy toward your sister, I see your gestures of kindness and protection towards her. Like the other day when someone took a toy from her on the playground and to make her feel better you let her play with your brand new birthday present, an insect catching set. And then we caught our friend, Rufus, the ladybug, and after three days of letting Rufus feed off the raisins in her cage, it was time to let her go. You quietly watched Rufus take flight and land on our fence, and then suddenly burst into tears. You have never had a problem developing attachments, and the love you give those that you bond with is powerful and true.

*Your intelligence and sense of humor. You always are one step ahead of me. For example, the other day when Dad was out of town I said, “Let’s call Dad. That would be a good project.” You look at me with a puzzled smirk on your face and said, “Project? That’s not a project!” and then after we giggled over this for a few minutes you said, “Let’s go outside. That’s a good project,” and we giggled again. You’re a smart kid, and outwit me on an hourly basis.

*Your affection, warmth and love of friends and family. Is it possible for anyone to be more excited and loving towards friends and family than you. I think not. Your fierce and passionate love of your cousins is a sight to behold. And just last week, after saying good-bye to your grandma, you moaned, “It’s not fair. Grandma ruined my day by leaving,” then burst into heartfelt tears.

I am so proud of you. And I need to remember to let you know that I see you. You have always been early to do things by yourself. You dressed yourself at two and now you sometimes even make your bed without any prodding. We’ve come to expect this kind of thing from you, and don’t tell you enough that we see you (on a good day) laying out your blanket and putting your stuffed animals and dolls just so around your pillow. Often I’m thinking about laundry or about to change a diaper, or soothing Hannah. I get distracted and don’t let you know that I see you….I saw you. Or else, I’m too focused on setting and enforcing limits, telling you "no" essentially, to let you know the good that I see. That’s not really fair, is it? No way.

When I was a little girl and I was in a room full of people, my Dad would often look at me from across the room and gently pump his fist a few times to his chest. That was his sign that he loved and he was proud of me. I always knew. He did it especially when I wore an solid orange, stretchy shirt and pants set that he loved on me. Boy did I feel special in that orange outfit and on other days, too, when he’d meet my eye and give me the sign.

Your Dad makes that same gesture to you now. We need our signal, you and me,...so you know, whether you are wearing your best dress, an old favorite pair of pants that are ridiculously too small, or your lovely birthday suit, that I see you, and I love you, and I am proud of you.

And psssst….here is another secret. I will always be able to see you at four. And I will always be able to see you at five, or any other age. All I have to do is look real closely into your face and it will be there. Even if your face is scowling me, I bet I'll find it. And I’ll share that with you if you want me to.

At four I loved you more. At five, I STILL love you more. My love will NEVER stop growing. Isn’t that crazy? How big do you think it can get. So big no one can count it. CRAZY, daisy!

I am the luckiest Mama indeed to have my view of you.

Whenever you want to see you, let me know. I will make time and give you a view of spectacular you.

Love, Mama