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Mama Says THE

Lighter Side of Mothering ISSUE

Spring/Summer 2009 Issue No. 13 Montpelier, VT Free at drop‐offs or $10 by subscription

Mama Says Mama Says is a forum for expression, education, and dialogue; it is a collective of the voices of our community. Mama Says began as a newsletter, created to trace the personal evo‐lution of ourselves as parents. Now, Mama Says, Inc. is a community network organized around improving the lives of families through support, education, advocacy and communication. We invite you to join our work or submit writing. Contact us at: Mama Says, Inc. P.O. Box 381, Montpelier, VT 05601 amesolomon@yahoo.com Mama Says, Inc. © 2008 Editor: Amé Solomon is a mother, writer, and midwife living in Ver‐mont. Layout: Sarah Madru is a mom who lives and works in Plainfield, VT.

Featured Artists: Cover Art by Jay Ericson: Jay is a local photographer whose work has taken him around the world to such places as Chile, Argentina, Tanza‐nia, Morocco, and to all corners of the U.S. Jay is happiest with either a camera or fly rod in hand, exploring natural landscapes near and far. He lives in Barre with his wife and two sons, all of whom are quite ac‐customed to the sound of a camera shutter. He can be found online at www.jayericson.com. Illustration by Linda Wooliever: Linda is the mother of two beautiful kids, owner of Vermont Fiddle Heads, graphic/web designer and an artist.

Mama’s Top Ten “Humor” Books: Sleep Is for the Weak: The Best of the Mommybloggers by Rita Arens (Editor) My Mother Wears Combat Boots: A Parenting Guide for the Rest of Us by Jessica Mills The Passion of the Hausfrau: Motherhood, Illuminated by Nicole Chaison Operating Instructions: A Journal of My Son's First Year by Anne Lamott Note to Self: 30 Women on Hardship, Humiliation, Heartbreak, and Overcoming It All by Andrea Buchanan (Editor) Mother Shock: Loving Every (Other) Minute of It by Andrea Buchanan The Essential Hip Mama: Writing from the Cutting Edge of Parenting by Ariel Gore (Editor) Breeder: Real‐Life Stories from the New Generation of Mothers by Ariel Gore (Editor) The Big Rumpus: A Mother's Tale from the Trenches by Ayun Halliday Daddy Needs a Drink: An Irreverent Look at Parenting from a Dad Who Truly Loves His Kids‐‐Even When They're Driving Him Nuts by Robert Wilder

Please visit the Mama Says community writing blog at:

http://mamasayszine.blogspot.com/

Back issues are posted on our blog!

editor’s note

What’s so funny about motherhood anyway?

Becoming a parent is serious business. First there’s the life and death feat of childbirth, where not only do you risk your life and that of the little bundle of joy you’ve waited 9 months to push out from your nether regions, but also a part of you does die—that in‐dependent, less caring, selfish chick who slept late on the week‐ends that you’ve come to know and love/hate for 20‐some, 30‐some or if you’re really brave 40‐some years—then to be reborn a nurturing, thoughtful, 401K‐planning protective mother bear. I mean, what’s funny about writing your will, trying to save for col‐lege and retirement, and worrying about what kind of planetary legacy we’re leaving these innocent children? I’ve been trying to come up with some snappy lines on how obliterating one’s ego is such a riot, but I couldn’t seem to focus long enough to remember it all and the incongruity mixed with massive sleep deprivation ended up more disconcerting than funny.

So I did some research. I delved into my recent purchase of The Complete K Chronicles, a comprehensive collection of Keith Knight’s comic strip. Keith, who also goes by Keef, has a shtick he does called Life’s Little Victories. Inspired by his genius, I found there were a few little victories in my life that gave me pause for amuse‐ment (but I note the irony that in the midst of writing this, I am try‐ing to harass my kid into picking up the toys up off his floor before his grandparents show up and its really.not.funny.anymore).

So here’s a couple of my life’s Little Victories: My husband, while absentmindedly talking on the phone and simul‐taneously searching the fridge for dinner fixins, doesn’t notice the baby reaching in and while doing so, she snatches an open box of baking soda from the 2nd shelf. Amazingly, it does a full flip and lands upright and none spills! Dinner making continues without further potential disastrous delay.

One day after school, I spontaneously stop at the library with my 7‐year‐old because he’s complaining again of being so bored. We stumble upon the library’s super cool comic drawing club, of which said son is over the moon to go to weekly on his own for almost two hours! Bonus victory: he now draws long, complicated comics at home for hours at a time.

We are driving home from a full day of activities at the local me‐tropolis with both tired kids in the back of the car. The baby falls asleep a couple hours before bedtime, and I think we’re doomed‐‐

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surely she’ll wake up with a renewed vigor upon pulling into the driveway, making her bedtime 11pm and sapping the last bit of cel‐lular strength that remained in me after a long day out with them. When we reach home and unstrap her from her car seat, she stays asleep while removing her coat, shoes, and hat, and segways right to bed without waking. There is much rejoicing with free hours to write, drink, read, talk to hubby, and ~breathe~.

Have a little funny mama/papa victory to help lighten things up? Please share them via email with us at: amesolomon@yahoo.com

Wishing you a multitude of little parental victories.

Amé Editor, Mama Says

That’s Funny by Leila Breton

My daughter, now 27 months, has the divine ability to laugh things off. This is a skill I could use. One day she was trying to pick some‐thing up and it kept slipping out of her fingers. All she said was: "That's funny." She kept at it until she could pick the item up. When I’m ahead of the game, I’ll be savvy enough to use her sense of hu‐mor to my advantage and say something funny or at least in a funny voice to coax her away from the scissors or the dvd cabinet. After a couple more times of my hit line, I can safely start a transition to‐ward another activity.

Okay. So I’m a genius. But what does mama genius do when she’s not ahead of her game? Let’s be honest here. I don’t always have the funny thing or voice or even energy to go the positive route. In those cases, I use my “I’m a gentle mother type” voice. When that doesn’t work and she keeps at it I try my distraction routine. Some‐times I resort to tactics tried on me when I was a kid (especially the “ignore it” tactic which never works). Most times I can retract. I ask my inner guide for patience and try to make amends. It’s much more fun and less draining to find things funny. I try to smile when my face pulls me down. I come closer. I listen more carefully. I breathe deeper. I keep trying.

Leila Breton studied theatre and dance and is the mother of two little kids and wife to one super guy. She blogs at www.bilingualbaby.wordpress.com.

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Mama Says Page 5

the 30 minute nap by Lia Keller

I gulped and tried not to spit out my mouthful of tea as my friend talked about her son’s 2 hour naps. I thought this was astounding and secretly thought she should have him tested for narco‐lepsy. The two other women at our table said they wished their chil‐dren would nap for that long, they only get an hour and half. What? What are these sleepy heads doing? Do they have their babies crawling on a treadmill all day long or forced jumping for hours in the doorway?

My precious son takes 30 minute power naps. Maybe I need to have him tested? I day dream about leisurely surfing message boards or sinking into the couch with my knitting and getting more than 4 rows completed. I could bake some muffins, I could write a letter, I could sort through the box of “stuff” piled in the hallway.

I meekly said that my son takes 30 minute power‐naps. You could bake chicken by this child ‐ he has an extremely accurate internal clock. When his eyes roll back in his head and his arms go limp, I slowly put him in his crib and gently pull his blanket up under his arms. I creep away at a snail’s pace and then begin the whirlwind of activities I had been listing in my head while rocking him to sleep. This morning, I did the dishes ‐ hurriedly scrubbing away, all the while glancing over my shoulder at the oven’s clock to see how much time I had left. I dried my hands while running into the laundry room to transfer the piles of de‐spitified baby clothes into the dryer. I picked up the spattering of baby toys from underneath the high chair as I moved the chairs so I could be ready for vacuuming when the baby woke up.

I hear his breathing change, he starts to stir and then murmur until a small cry forms. I peek over the crib’s edge and see his crooked smile just as his arms reach up to make room for my hands to lift him. I am breathing a bit hard... maybe this could be my 30 minutes of cardio for the day. I hug him close and he warms my shoulder. I tip him down into the crook of my arm for some nursing and he slowly blinks at me.

How do you get anything done asks my friend? I explain the virtues of multitasking and preparation. They buy me a cookie in sympa‐thy. I savor the chocolate chips and think that if given 2 interrupted hours, I would procrastinate away the majority of the time getting

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many games of Bubble Shooter completed and catching up on some reality shows. My babe is forcing me to use my time wisely and I should be thankful for his 30 minute naps.

Lia Keller is the mother of a 7 month old son born in Au‐gust. She has a M.S. in Counseling Psychology though would get a degree in Photography or go to cooking school if she could. When babe is napping, she enjoys bak‐ing, knitting, petting her two dogs, rock climbing and tri‐athlons.

Oh The Things We Didn’t Know by Michelle A.L. Singer

When we were in the 8th grade, Amy Shepherd and I added a very clever (so we thought) artistic element to our copiously‐passed notes: a cartoon called Don’t You Hate It When…. The cartoon was made up of a single frame (for us, a crudely drawn box) that por‐trayed, in very bad artwork, a scenario that answered the question “Don’t you hate it when,” for example, “you get a huge zit right be‐fore picture day?”

Fast forward twenty years and we are both moms of three with two last names apiece. Having just re‐discovered pages and pages of our juvenile cartoons, I was inspired by life with a six‐, four‐ and two‐month‐old to pan the goldmine of material in motherhood, and start it up again. I wrote some up and sent them to Amy in Colorado where we both grew up. Sadly, my artistry had not improved in the in‐tervening twenty years.

But what really struck me was when I paired a cartoon from 8th grade with a new cartoon, sort of a “then” and “now” concept. My “then” car‐toon: “Don’t you hate it when your boyfriend calls you when he’s with his friends?” features a drawing of a girl with an

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Scene 6: 6‐year‐old classmate of son admiring and engaging precious 2‐year‐old daughter. Thoughts hit fast forward to her teen years. Song: Hands Off, She’s Mine by The English Beat.

Scene 7: 4pm: Channel Ma Ingalls. Attempt cooking dinner with both kids “helping”. Fights ensue. There is slapping, spilling, biting, hair pull‐ing, pinching, and high pitched screaming involved. Channel Kali and it ain’t pretty. 4:40pm: Order pizza. Take lavender bubble bath with kids. Giggles and laughter. Song: Never Too Late by Michael Franti.

Elizabeth Murphy is a passionate yogini, labor and delivery nurse, and mama of two delightful budding yoginis. She submitted this on a torn piece of paper because she does not use an email address (gasp!).

Heather’s Nearly New

“The Best in Used Clothing”

CHILDREN & MATERNITY CLOTHING

Baby Equipment, Toys, and Books

62 River Street Montpelier, VT

229-4002 Appointment needed for trades

Michelle Lakey Singer and Amy Shepherd‐Fowler started the cartoon back when they were just Mich and Amy in the 8th grade and, or obvious reasons, picked it back up again as 30‐something moms‐of‐three.

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80’s perm, big eyes, and a very poorly drawn phone surrounded by words like “BANG!” “CRASH!” and “HEY DUDE!” The “now” car‐toon: “Don’t you hate it when your six‐year‐old daughter gives you your own (good) advice?” features a spry girl with pigtails who is saying, “Mom, you need to have a time out, use your inside voice, and treat me how you want to be treated.”

Oh, if my biggest prob‐lem was still a rambunc‐tious phone call from my cutie‐patutie boyfriend (and he was)! Oh, how we so don’t know what we are in for—all the parenting philosophies, guilt, and constant risk of losing your shit while on the job that are im‐plicit in the non‐fictional “now” cartoon.

I know people have really terrible middle and high school years, filed with all manner of horrors and stress, but I wasn’t one of them. And let us not underestimate the value of not having to pay rent or cook your own meals. Finding these cartoons inevitably inspired in me nostalgia for a simpler time.

This is not to say that this part of my life doesn’t have its own re‐wards. There is a deep satisfaction in answering the call to be a mother. I know that in earning rent and cooking meals for my own kids, who will also not appreciate it until they are thirty, I am allow‐ing them to have their own simpler time. Someday soon, my child’s biggest worry is going to be something big to them, but not so big when taken in perspective. And I’m going to love it when that hap‐pens.

Knee, Meet Eye. Career, Meet Kid by Joanna Tebbs Young

My son has a new habit. 3AM, rock‐hard knee, my eyeball. Need I say more?

We are not a co‐sleeping kind of family. Frankly, we prefer the “sleep” to the “co.” My children slept by my side in a co‐sleeper un‐til they graduated to their crib in the next room. They both took this transition in stride and without complaint. Yes, I sleep‐padded across the cold floor in response to their cry for milk or comfort for many sleep‐deprived months but it was all for a good cause ‐ being able to sleep next to my husband with room to spare. This was what worked for us.

I should say this is what was working for us. At two, our son up‐graded to a big boy bed and once again the transition was fairly un‐eventful. He shares a bedroom with his older sister and each night they drift off to dreamland together. But then one night he came to us needing some early morning reassurance. In our dream state we let him into our cozy nest. And so it began. After going to bed on the dot of 7pm he sleeps in his own jungle animal‐fleeced bed for about seven hours. (I exaggerate, of course. What family with young chil‐dren can do anything on the dot of?) But then the fun begins.

He has become adept – and fast! ‐ at the climb from floor to bed rail to side table, over mom’s head to burrow into the small, warm space between us. For the first 10 or so night‐time visitations I would in‐stantly wake and carry him back to his own bed where he would generally stay put. But then it began to repeat in yo‐yo fashion. Ut‐ter exhaustion and defeat eventually found me waking to a sweaty and snoring neighbor, with no memory of being clambered over.

The damage has been done. He now knows that the grass is cozier on the other side of the bedroom wall and that if he is persistent enough he will eventually get to stay put. Meanwhile, my husband and I are waking each morning feeling a cross between road kill and cold lumpy soup.

Soup or not, I am a writing mama and when knee meets eye, my brain fires into action. I start forming sentences about the experi‐ence before Little Man has even finished squirming into position. So, at 3AM I am forced out of bed, not by my octopus of a son, but by my compulsion to write. Today I was lucky. It was 6AM and I only have a fat lip rather than an empty eye socket. But here I am writing

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strong enough. And that strength led me to the promised calm wa‐ters of Kathrynn in my arms.

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Lisa lives in Indiana w/ her husband Wes, daughter Kath‐rynn (now 6), and various animals. The question "am I strong enough" still comes up, and the answer is still al‐ways a resounding yes! You can read about their lives here: http://perpetualjoy.blogspot.com/

Mama’s Playlist by Elizabeth Murphy

These random scenes of my life should be set to the following mu‐sical selections…

Scene 1: 4pm, A dark January day. Way sub‐zero temperatures. Been in‐doors 3 days with vomiting feverish children. No groceries ‘cept stale crackers and dried adzuki beans. Music: Folsom Prison Blues, Johnny Cash.

Scene 2: 8am: Beloved partner encourages me to sleep late, then prepares hearty pancake breakfast for us and adorable well behaved children. Successfully read New York Times article while sipping hot tea. Chil‐dren engage in wholesome activity sans fighting. Music: Smile, smile, smile by Dan Zanes.

Scene 3: 4pm: Attempt grocery shopping with two screaming, crabby, fight‐ing kids in tow. Music: Welcome to the Jungle by Guns‐n‐Roses.

Scene 4: Finally leaving out the door with partner for date. Children sobbing as we go, pleading to come with. Music: Fight for Your Right to Party by The Beastie Boys.

Scene 5: Stars are aligned. The moment arrives for intimacy with partner. Music: Business Time by Flight of the Concorts.

Birth Story by Lisa Meuser

All mothers have two things in common in regards to their birth stories: we all know labor will start eventually, and we know that at some point it will all be over. What we are often unsure of are the details‐ the ‘how and what,’ and how we’ll handle the ‘how and what’…..

For me, it was more specifically, “Am I strong enough?”

On the eve of Kathrynn’s birth, as those contractions revealed them‐selves to me, I thought:

I’m not ready for this yet! I still have two weeks to prepare until the due date. I have things yet to do! My baby is finally going to come. But…Can I do this? Can I actually be strong enough to give birth?

After the initial surge of chaotic thoughts, I kept my mind clear of negative ones and stayed in the present, because regardless of my fears, emotions, and hesitation for what laid before me, I couldn’t turn back. Things were moving along like a stream that grows into a river‐ gaining speed and momentum, faster and faster‐ only to end with the waterfall, and the calm pool of water beneath that would be my child.

I had established early on in my pregnancy who would be present at my birth, and they all provided tremendous support for my process. They were all conscious and respectful of the sacredness of the event. Though the river was tumultuous at times, and then serene at others, everyone present was quiet and still throughout it all. The discomfort I experienced was raw and intense, but in retrospect I understand that the Energy, God, the Goddess‐‐ whatever you want to call it‐‐supported me so graciously during my process. That en‐ergy flowed from those people present, as well as from all those Mothers Who Have Gone Before Me who had relinquished their bod‐ies to the process of bringing life into the world. Lastly, that energy also lay within me. I was a powerful presence for myself.

Though I had great support, no one could do it for me. It was my work to surrender to the power of the process, and to connect with my inner strength. Surrender with out anticipation, joining my breath, and uniting with the inner strength to trust my body as it flowed in and out of the transformation of childbirth. Yes, I was

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about it as if it is the most important event to have happened this side of midnight. Meanwhile, Little Man is pulling on me demanding his breakfast as if he hasn't eaten since Monday.

And so it goes ‐ the constant tussle between your agenda and that of your child; the selfish‐you versus the mommy‐you. I want to sleep, he wants to snuggle. I want to write, he wants his Chex. I want a life that involves more than sippy cups and wiping behinds, he wants my undivided attention 29 hours a day.

I only began to take my writing seriously after I left my 40‐hour a week, soul‐sucking job to be home with my firstborn. After the initial high of spending every moment with my beloved baby and having the time to keep the house the cleanest it has ever been, I sobered up and realized I wasn’t Mother Goose or June Cleaver. Freed from the chains of a paycheck, I began to envision what I might like do with my life. I was not born to be a mother (as I quickly realized when the sight of Mocha Dream lipstick graffiti on the hallway wall sent me spiraling into a rage); no, I was put on this earth to write down stuff.

And now, as I squeeze this essay between the squeals and spills, I try to curb my frustration and not lose my train of thought. Who wins? The words bouncing in my head, itching to get out and onto the pa‐per (screen) or the hungry two‐year old who can say, I‐eee wan cer‐e‐AAAL, fifty‐seven times in increasing volume with no breath in be‐tween? The desire for uninterrupted sleep and room to roll in my own bed or the sleepy child wanting nothing more than the warmth and close proximity of his parents.

Of course, Little Man wins on both accounts. Sleeping fitfully next to a content child trumps getting up fifty times a night only to be clam‐bered over again and again. And my need to write will not over‐ride the needs of my child. But I will not give up my potential for the sake of my children – I want to show them that I am more than just their maid and comfort in the night, that a mother can have goals, can have success outside of the home, and has the right to love herself enough to make her own dreams come true.

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Joanna Tebbs Young lives in Rutland, Vermont with her husband and two young children where she is a grant‐writer by day and journal, blog and essay writer by night.

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The B Word that Ends with “Weaning” by Paule Bézaire

Although breastfeeding appears to be a private matter, society, friends, and family all seem to have a word to say about it. You’d think there’s not much more private than what goes on between a breast and a set of gums and/or teeth.

This said, nursing is magical ‐ I felt it while nursing my first child, and I still do with my fourth. It has its challenges, but also its incredible rewards.

“How long will you be nursing?” – a recurrent question that at times, one just doesn’t want to answer. At the last WIC appointment here in Vermont, the nurse cited a recommendation of breastfeeding for a year. La Leche League encourages prolonged breastfeeding and promotes nursing beyond one year if it is mutually desired by mother and child. The World Health Organization advises breast‐feeding to two years or beyond.

Chances are, by the time your child is a teenager, she or he will probably be off your breasts and off to other wonders. How does that transition happen, though? You’d think I would know the an‐swer by now ‐ that maybe I’d have written a book about it, if not a thesis: “How to keep the neighbors out of your nursing business”, “Nursing for your rights”, ... and last but not least: “Weaning Grace‐fully”. Well, forget the “gracefully”, because this fourth time around, it seems like it’ll be as hard as ever. So much for John Dewey’s “experiential learning”...

The reality is, you and your child are the only two directly effected by the matter. The momentum for your weaning comes from within: you and only you and your child can feel when the time is ripe. Here are some considerations to ponder: your feelings and be‐liefs and your child’s needs (physical, emotional, spiritual). Other considerations may also include partner’s needs, other children in the family, and life logistics. I’ve had a bit of all possible experi‐ences, ranging from a “child‐led” situation to a difficult to wean rela‐tionship. Additionally, being pregnant has had an effect on my weaning process: less milk and change in taste equals easier wean‐ing‐‐ for me, anyway.

If you are considering weaning, remember that only you know the

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thing. I've been just snipping the hairs off her head that have nits and sticking them in a plastic bag to throw away. They are incredibly hard to remove and the comb I got at the drugstore was worthless. After a particular round of Find the Nits, she wanted to see them. She said it would be neat to watch them in the bag go through their life cycle, then, she said, we could kill them.

I’ll not be doing that, by the way‐‐ I said, yes, that would be interest‐ing, but we need to throw these away. What I wanted to say is, honey, I'm sorry, but I need to torch these f**kers.

A couple weeks into the lice experience, I found this in the kitchen after cleaning yet another round of Find the Nits in Fiona's hair:

This is why I pick out nits for hours on end. Well, one reason.

Rachael Burke is a master chef, baker, and mother of two lice‐free girls living in Central Vermont.

Pediculiasis By Rachael Burke

It started with me. I was in the shower, working conditioner through my hair. Plenty of hair comes out while doing this, when I looked down at my hands to see a piece of fuzz. I’m not entirely sure because the fuzz has what looks like legs. No, surely those can’t be legs. I resume conditioning, then pull out another piece of fuzz. It looks identical, and this time I can tell that those are unmistakably legs. Then I remember my older daughter Fiona recently complain‐ing of a dry scalp that was so itchy it was annoying her. Feeling a sense of dread, I finish my shower and call her over. I go through her thick hair methodically and start to doubt my unease.

That’s when something in my line of vision scurries away from me, trying to take shelter in my daughter’s hair.

Thus I commence the task of eradicating lice from my home and be‐loved family’s heads. I think before the week is out, I may end up with very short hair. I've already chopped off quite a bit of Fiona's.

I generally use toxic chemicals as a last resort, especially when it concerns my children. However, I found myself going right for the toxic lice shampoo straight away (after picking up my other daugh‐ter from pre‐school). I ordered a fancy lice comb when I couldn’t find one locally. I felt silly doing this at the time because I thought, “Oh, it will get here too late and we won’t use it” and “Well, maybe we’ll use it once to be thorough and then never use it again”. The comb is actually maybe the smartest purchase we’ve made during the Lice Adventure of ’09.

We’ve found the toxic chemicals (permethrin, plant derived, but still a neuro‐toxin) to be ineffective (believe me, we tried). Nits still hatch, and there can still be lice crawling around in your child’s hair the next day. ~Shudder~. Mayonnaise? Ineffective. Olive oil, Tea tree oil, geranium, rosemary? Sadly, all ineffective. It is perhaps possible these herbs discourage infestation (We regularly use them on our youngest who has, in‐credibly, managed to avoid infestation, as has my husband. Except for the two I found in my hair, I have also escaped infestation).

We’re now on our third round of lice—an experience I had hoped to escape during our journey through the school years.

Fiona, seven year old that she is, is sort of fascinated by the whole

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personal circumstances of your relationship with your child, and only you can make the call. Look within to make sure this is what you need, and seek the support of your community. There are several techniques to introduce weaning, and a few good tricks of the trade to reduce hurt feelings of rejection. La Leche League is a great source for this information.

Blessings on your nursing ‐ and on weaning too!

Paule Bézaire is a mother of four, a doula‐in‐training, and an interdisciplinary artist living in wolcott, vermont. She is offering free doula birthing services and can be reached at: 802.917.3079 or pezbez3@yahoo.com.

By Linda Wooliever

Baby Jones by Sarah Madru

Names are being withheld to protect the extremely innocent.

My two‐year‐old son crawls across the floor. Oh, he can walk, but in this scenario he is pretending to be a baby. “Eh eh eh,” he says. Or maybe it’s more like “Uh uh uh.” In either case, it’s like no baby sound I’ve ever heard before.

This doesn’t daunt his pretend mother, my four‐year‐old daughter. “Oh, Baby Jones,” she says (yes, that is what she’s calling him, and she made it up herself). “Baby Jones, mommy is here.”

“Sweetheart,” I say to my son, “I don’t think babies really sound quite like that.” In my head I add: Unless it’s the most annoying baby in the world.

“Baby Jones, do you want me to cover you up?”

“Uh.”

He collapses on the giant pillow she has thoughtfully placed on the floor for him, right in the warmest spot in front of the wood stove. She proceeds to lay blankets on top of him, one by one.

Suddenly articulate, “Cover my head.” And then the muffled order, “Now my feet.”

My daughter is exhibiting a patience rarely on display in her daily interactions with me, which usually begin with, “I’m hungry, I want breakfast.” Every morning. I feel like history should have taught her that I always feed her breakfast immediately upon rising, before I even pee. So I recently instructed them to say “Good morning, Mama” or “I love you, Mama” instead. Now the first thing I hear every morning, with minor daily variations, is “I love you, Mama. Can I have breakfast?”

She caters to his whims, a blanket here, a blanket there, head cov‐ered, feet tucked in, talking sweetly all the while. I wonder for the umpteenth time where she came from, and recall my middle of the night fumbling as I fail over and over again to get the blankets ex‐actly right, ultimately resorting to threats just so we can all go back to sleep.

I love this nurturing play, which I see as evidence that I have done something right. Sometimes I really need that because they cer‐

Mama Says Page 12 Mama Says Page 13

tainly pick up on all the things I do wrong. For example, at two years old, my daughter dropped her sippy cup on the floor and exclaimed, “For God’s sake, sippy cup!” in front of my in‐laws. Other times she has raged after being sent to her room, where we can hear her turn‐ing over furniture and hollering a few choice words. Nothing vulgar, mind you, just things I’d rather she didn’t repeat on the playground. In spite of myself, part of me is impressed that she gets the context just right.

My own play can be a little wild sometimes. I’ve always enjoyed scaring them, and they generally thrill at having someone safe (like a parent) leap out from behind a corner, yell, and grab them. One day when my son was about eight months old, I helped him pop out to frighten his sister. She shrieked with delighted terror. His terror, on the other hand, was pure. As I held him close while he sobbed, my mother observed in her customarily understated manner, “Hmmm. I wonder what he just learned there.”

When my son decided at about twenty months of age that there was a cougar in the yard, I reacted typically. First I explained and reasoned with him. Then I promised eternal protection from all cou‐gars, everywhere. Finally, I developed my Mama Cougar persona, turning his anxiety into play by pretending to be that which he feared and bringing it into our home. Mama Cougar was unpredict‐able, but she could be neutralized by hugs and pets, turning growls into purrs. He liked it until I crossed a previously unsuspected boundary by dragging his sister from the room by her ankle. Ah, well, it was fun while it lasted, I swear.

So I am touched when I see them both nursing baby dolls, knowing that they learned that tenderness from me, too.

“Baby Jones, do you want to nurse?”

“Uh.”

“No! Not my belly button.” She lifts her shirt higher and indicates the appropriate place for suckling.

Sarah Madru lives in Plainfield with her husband, their two children, and two cats. She is the manager of the incredible Green Mountain Youth Symphony.