My skin is looser than it used to be. It slides under my palm when I rest my cheek on my hand. My son pulls the skin on the back of my hand up to make a high point and then releases it to watch it slowly ooze back down to cover my bones.
This loose skin will soon lead to wrinkles and sagging. It already has begun to do so.
And I'm really okay with that. I mean, I'm okay with it partly because I am, by luck of the genetic draw, blessed with a relatively youthful appearance.
Still, I have learned that you have to approach make-up and skin care differently at middle age.
You've got these wrinkled that you'd like to minimize, which would have been make up's job in the past. But too much make up only accentuates the problem because it settles into the lines. Ditto that for some lipsticks on some mouths.
So what do you do? There's always expression-stealing Botox, but I would never do that. I'm not a cosmetic surgery/procedure kind of gal. I won't even sign up for the laser treatments that my dermatologist recommended for the slight discoloration at my hairline, a lasting reminder of how many hormones I had to shoot up to get The Boy. (A dab of concealer does just fine.)
So, I don't know what you do, but for me, I've gone minimalist: a good all purpose moisturizer twice a day, sunscreen in the summer, only-just-enough make up, and the realization that no matter what I do, my skin will get looser the longer I wear it. I hope I live so long as to crease the hell out of it.
Friday, February 15, 2013
Tuesday, February 12, 2013
The Three Year Itch
So, a little over three years ago, when I was leaving my last job, a good friend and colleague joked that it was about time for me to be moving along anyway, since I'd been at that job about three years. He was joking, but the reality is that it's true. Here's a rough sketch of my résumé post law school:
So, you see, I'm in immediate peril of exceeding my longest stint of legal employment. And I will admit to feeling antsy.
A rolling stone gathers no moss, after all.
I do wonder why I am not able to commit to a job long term. I had no problem committing to The Working Dad. (But he's perfect . . . for me, anyway.)
Maybe I've not found the perfect job yet. But in an environment when legal jobs are scarce, maybe I don't need perfect. No, I definitely don't. I need a good job that's flexible enough for a mom of a toddler.
And I've got that.
But that doesn't mean I'm completely satisfied.
And, there are lots of things I like about my job -- the people are nice, there are intellectual challenges, no billable hours or expected overtime, it's pretty secure (but for possible sequestration) -- but not everything.
It is also a highly stressful and demanding job. Often, things happen at the last minute on an "emergency" (to someone else) basis. There are more deadlines than a person should reasonably be expected to keep track of, and they're all short. Opposing counsel can be difficult. And the judges can too.
Essentially, these are the problems with every job in my particular practice area. So I know that getting another law job --short of going in-house (which has its own problems) -- would not solve those problems.
So, essentially, I don't love being a lawyer. I like it okay, but it's not my dream job or life's true calling (despite the fact that, when I was 12, I said I wanted to be a Supreme Court Justice like Sandra Day O'Connor). There are too-many-to-count lawyers like me, who like it okay, but feel like they sort of missed the mark on personal fulfillment in the job department.
What's a 42 year old wife and mother to do, then? I can't chuck the career, nearly 15 years in. I mean, I could, if it were just me, but it's not just me. My husband depends on me, and my son's college fund and general way of life also depend on my income.
Still, I do think a lot about people who set off on a different path. My dance teacher who left a big accounting firm to open a dance studio . . . A sorority sister who opened her own cupcake bakery . . . A law school friend who started his own test prep business . . . And several of my colleagues who have started their own solo practices.
They all struck out on their own, without a net, and did something. But I need the safety net that my job provides right now. I'm afraid of the high wire. And I couldn't do that to The Working Dad, take a leap and make him be the safety net.
Anyway, I don't know what I would leap into. Other than writing, I'm not sure I am good at much else in a marketable way. And I'm not even sure my writing is all that marketable. Fine for a blog, but professional diarist? The idea of joining the droves of memoirists these days sort of leaves me cold. (And as an aside, didn't it used to be the case that only old, famous people did memoirs? Now, it seems like every hipster is writing her own me-novel about her not-so-unique journey to age twenty-five.)
And fiction? Well, maybe, but it's a whole different voice and style.... I've never liked the short story form. And who has the time for a novel, a baby, and a demanding full-time job?
If I did change careers, I think doing something in ornithology would be fun. (Bird Nerd.) But the outlay of time and money reasonably required to become an ornithologist at age 42 is prohibitive for all of the above reasons.
So I guess, for now, I just press on past 3 years 5 months and beat my professional life longevity record. It's not so bad. I'm just restless. And, in four years, I will achieve Federal employee annual-leave-nirvana when I start earning eight hours of leave a pay period.
I'm even cognizant that this -- we'll call it professional ambivalance -- may spring from the fact that I haven't had an actual vacation since August 2009. (And, no, I don't consider the eleven weeks of maternity leave in 2011 to have been "vacation." Ditto that regarding the marathon that is the holiday season . . . .) I have not been able to build back leave in the two years since The Boy was born (because of illness mainly, and other parenting reasons). So no leave equals, no vacation, equals a very worn out worker. That could be it, but I know it's not only it.
Anyway, I'm not getting my résumé together this time. I have at least learned that changing jobs isn't going to fix the fundamental problem. I'm as happy as I could be in any law job, I think. But there's got to be a way to be professionally satisfied, less restless. I wish I could figure it out.
Meanwhile, this rolling stone will, um, you know, get her nose back to the grindstone and . . . ugh, the metaphors! Maybe just a glass of wine, dinner and pulpy TV, and I'll be like Scarlet O'Hara and think about it tomorrow.
First Federal Clerkship - 2 years
Law Firm - 3 years 5 months
First Federal Agency - 2 years 6 months
Second Federal Clerkship - 3 years 3 months
Second Federal Agency - 3 years 5 months and counting
So, you see, I'm in immediate peril of exceeding my longest stint of legal employment. And I will admit to feeling antsy.
A rolling stone gathers no moss, after all.
I do wonder why I am not able to commit to a job long term. I had no problem committing to The Working Dad. (But he's perfect . . . for me, anyway.)
Maybe I've not found the perfect job yet. But in an environment when legal jobs are scarce, maybe I don't need perfect. No, I definitely don't. I need a good job that's flexible enough for a mom of a toddler.
And I've got that.
But that doesn't mean I'm completely satisfied.
And, there are lots of things I like about my job -- the people are nice, there are intellectual challenges, no billable hours or expected overtime, it's pretty secure (but for possible sequestration) -- but not everything.
It is also a highly stressful and demanding job. Often, things happen at the last minute on an "emergency" (to someone else) basis. There are more deadlines than a person should reasonably be expected to keep track of, and they're all short. Opposing counsel can be difficult. And the judges can too.
Essentially, these are the problems with every job in my particular practice area. So I know that getting another law job --short of going in-house (which has its own problems) -- would not solve those problems.
So, essentially, I don't love being a lawyer. I like it okay, but it's not my dream job or life's true calling (despite the fact that, when I was 12, I said I wanted to be a Supreme Court Justice like Sandra Day O'Connor). There are too-many-to-count lawyers like me, who like it okay, but feel like they sort of missed the mark on personal fulfillment in the job department.
What's a 42 year old wife and mother to do, then? I can't chuck the career, nearly 15 years in. I mean, I could, if it were just me, but it's not just me. My husband depends on me, and my son's college fund and general way of life also depend on my income.
Still, I do think a lot about people who set off on a different path. My dance teacher who left a big accounting firm to open a dance studio . . . A sorority sister who opened her own cupcake bakery . . . A law school friend who started his own test prep business . . . And several of my colleagues who have started their own solo practices.
They all struck out on their own, without a net, and did something. But I need the safety net that my job provides right now. I'm afraid of the high wire. And I couldn't do that to The Working Dad, take a leap and make him be the safety net.
Anyway, I don't know what I would leap into. Other than writing, I'm not sure I am good at much else in a marketable way. And I'm not even sure my writing is all that marketable. Fine for a blog, but professional diarist? The idea of joining the droves of memoirists these days sort of leaves me cold. (And as an aside, didn't it used to be the case that only old, famous people did memoirs? Now, it seems like every hipster is writing her own me-novel about her not-so-unique journey to age twenty-five.)
And fiction? Well, maybe, but it's a whole different voice and style.... I've never liked the short story form. And who has the time for a novel, a baby, and a demanding full-time job?
If I did change careers, I think doing something in ornithology would be fun. (Bird Nerd.) But the outlay of time and money reasonably required to become an ornithologist at age 42 is prohibitive for all of the above reasons.
So I guess, for now, I just press on past 3 years 5 months and beat my professional life longevity record. It's not so bad. I'm just restless. And, in four years, I will achieve Federal employee annual-leave-nirvana when I start earning eight hours of leave a pay period.
I'm even cognizant that this -- we'll call it professional ambivalance -- may spring from the fact that I haven't had an actual vacation since August 2009. (And, no, I don't consider the eleven weeks of maternity leave in 2011 to have been "vacation." Ditto that regarding the marathon that is the holiday season . . . .) I have not been able to build back leave in the two years since The Boy was born (because of illness mainly, and other parenting reasons). So no leave equals, no vacation, equals a very worn out worker. That could be it, but I know it's not only it.
Anyway, I'm not getting my résumé together this time. I have at least learned that changing jobs isn't going to fix the fundamental problem. I'm as happy as I could be in any law job, I think. But there's got to be a way to be professionally satisfied, less restless. I wish I could figure it out.
Meanwhile, this rolling stone will, um, you know, get her nose back to the grindstone and . . . ugh, the metaphors! Maybe just a glass of wine, dinner and pulpy TV, and I'll be like Scarlet O'Hara and think about it tomorrow.
Sunday, February 3, 2013
So...The Re-Ferbered Weekend....
This was the real test of the re-Ferberized weekend. Would The Boy take a nap without it being a battle royale?
Things The Working Dad and I were supposed to do:
1. Stick close to home. No big trips that would keep us from being home by lunchtime.
2. Feed The Boy lunch by no later than 11:30.
3. Be in The Boy's room by noon so he can wind down for nap at 12:30.
The 12:30 nap is not our idea, but is his schedule at school. We have tried in the past not to deviate too much from the school schedule so he can have an easy transition back to school on Monday morning.
So.
What actually happened on Saturday was a little different.
We had to take my car for an oil change, so we dropped it off around 9, then went to breakfast (or as we say to The Boy, to get bacon and jelly) near the dealership, then we went to the nearby mall to let The Boy run off some energy.
At 10:30, the car still wasn't ready, so we headed home. The Boy fell asleep in the car right around 11 o'clock. We let him. We carried him up to his room asleep and he napped until about 1:45. He was cheerful and ready for lunch when he woke up. Happy day!
Sure, we didn't really obey the Ferber rules, but we got a serious nap out of him with no fuss. And the rest of the day was pretty darned pleasant. Except for a little fussing at the park (he didn't want to leave the "duuuuuckkkkiiiieeeesssss!"), it was a pleasant day with a well rested boy.
One thing The Working Dad and I observed is that his nap came about 5 hours after he woke up for the day. With him waking up just before 2 from his nap and an 8 o'clock bedtime, his nap fell pretty much right in the midpoint of his day.
We have noticed that The Boy starts to look and act tired by late morning. In the past, we've tried to keep him up (even if he started to nod off) so that we could make it to the 12:30 nap time on the weekends. I think this may have been a mistake. I think that in striving to keep him on the school nap schedule we were making an over-tired boy who then had trouble getting to sleep at the appointed hour.
I haven't figured out how the school manages to keep him up that long and not have a cranky, over-tired boy at 12:30. Maybe the peer pressure of other awake kids keeps The Boy going. At any rate, I think we are resolved to be a little more relaxed about naps and let him get his nap on the weekend when he gets drowsy. If that's 11 a.m., that's okay. We're just going to watch his cues and not be so hidebound by the school schedule.
On Sunday, I heard the words "Mommy eat!" come through the baby monitor at 5:33 a.m., but then he was quiet until 6:15 a.m., when I heard those words again plus the word "up." So, you know, we were up. I would have liked to get another couple of hours of sleep, but that okay. The Working Dad and I have learned that staying up late is a thing of the past as long as we've got an early riser of a boy and so, well, we don't do that anymore. So breakfast for everybody!
We went to the grocery store (where The Boy likes to drive the race car grocery cart), then we came home and unloaded groceries. The Working Dad and The Boy played while I did prep for the week's dinners, started bean soup for tonight's dinner, and got lunch going. (Yes, Wonder-Woman-level of multi-tasking.)
The Boy had dark circles developing under his eyes, so he had lunch early (brunch, really) and by 11:15, we were up in his room. We played some and then he sat in an armchair and read books to us. At noon, we put him to bed, he yelled a little (for less than five minutes), but went to sleep pretty fast. He really does need an earlier nap, but that's just not going to happen during the week at school, but we can work to provide that on the weekends.
He slept until 2:45, got up cheerful, had a snack, and then we met our friends at the park. Dinner time, potty time, bath time and bedtime were all nice and peaceful. It's good to be back on track with sleep. And it's even better that it wasn't that difficult to get back on track.
Things The Working Dad and I were supposed to do:
1. Stick close to home. No big trips that would keep us from being home by lunchtime.
2. Feed The Boy lunch by no later than 11:30.
3. Be in The Boy's room by noon so he can wind down for nap at 12:30.
The 12:30 nap is not our idea, but is his schedule at school. We have tried in the past not to deviate too much from the school schedule so he can have an easy transition back to school on Monday morning.
So.
What actually happened on Saturday was a little different.
We had to take my car for an oil change, so we dropped it off around 9, then went to breakfast (or as we say to The Boy, to get bacon and jelly) near the dealership, then we went to the nearby mall to let The Boy run off some energy.
At 10:30, the car still wasn't ready, so we headed home. The Boy fell asleep in the car right around 11 o'clock. We let him. We carried him up to his room asleep and he napped until about 1:45. He was cheerful and ready for lunch when he woke up. Happy day!
Sure, we didn't really obey the Ferber rules, but we got a serious nap out of him with no fuss. And the rest of the day was pretty darned pleasant. Except for a little fussing at the park (he didn't want to leave the "duuuuuckkkkiiiieeeesssss!"), it was a pleasant day with a well rested boy.
One thing The Working Dad and I observed is that his nap came about 5 hours after he woke up for the day. With him waking up just before 2 from his nap and an 8 o'clock bedtime, his nap fell pretty much right in the midpoint of his day.
We have noticed that The Boy starts to look and act tired by late morning. In the past, we've tried to keep him up (even if he started to nod off) so that we could make it to the 12:30 nap time on the weekends. I think this may have been a mistake. I think that in striving to keep him on the school nap schedule we were making an over-tired boy who then had trouble getting to sleep at the appointed hour.
I haven't figured out how the school manages to keep him up that long and not have a cranky, over-tired boy at 12:30. Maybe the peer pressure of other awake kids keeps The Boy going. At any rate, I think we are resolved to be a little more relaxed about naps and let him get his nap on the weekend when he gets drowsy. If that's 11 a.m., that's okay. We're just going to watch his cues and not be so hidebound by the school schedule.
On Sunday, I heard the words "Mommy eat!" come through the baby monitor at 5:33 a.m., but then he was quiet until 6:15 a.m., when I heard those words again plus the word "up." So, you know, we were up. I would have liked to get another couple of hours of sleep, but that okay. The Working Dad and I have learned that staying up late is a thing of the past as long as we've got an early riser of a boy and so, well, we don't do that anymore. So breakfast for everybody!
We went to the grocery store (where The Boy likes to drive the race car grocery cart), then we came home and unloaded groceries. The Working Dad and The Boy played while I did prep for the week's dinners, started bean soup for tonight's dinner, and got lunch going. (Yes, Wonder-Woman-level of multi-tasking.)
The Boy had dark circles developing under his eyes, so he had lunch early (brunch, really) and by 11:15, we were up in his room. We played some and then he sat in an armchair and read books to us. At noon, we put him to bed, he yelled a little (for less than five minutes), but went to sleep pretty fast. He really does need an earlier nap, but that's just not going to happen during the week at school, but we can work to provide that on the weekends.
He slept until 2:45, got up cheerful, had a snack, and then we met our friends at the park. Dinner time, potty time, bath time and bedtime were all nice and peaceful. It's good to be back on track with sleep. And it's even better that it wasn't that difficult to get back on track.
Friday, February 1, 2013
House of Cards
Apparently, Kevin Spacey is in a new show produced exclusively through Netflix called "House of Cards." I don't know a thing about it I think it's supposed to be a political drama thing, but who knows. What I want to talk about is a snip of an interview I heard with Kevin Spacey on the radio this week.
His character, again, apparently, because I know nothing of the show.... His character apparently engages in a camera/audience Ferris-Beuller-style dialogue, like he's talking to a friend. And Spacey referred to this as (I paraphrase) "kind of like saying something to your best friend, not something that you would say to your wife."
What?
I can't think of a thing I'd say to or share with someone else that I wouldn't say to or share with The Working Dad. Honestly, I feel like, if there are things you would tell your buddy, but not your spouse, there's a problem. Your could, in fact, be living in, please pardon the obvious reference, a house of cards.
Maybe this is why Hollywood marriages fail so often. They're hung up on this division of life into romance and non-romance. But good ol' real life has those things all squashed up together. Friendship, sex, love, affinity...all those things get swished together into this wonderful sauce called marriage. Thankfully.....
His character, again, apparently, because I know nothing of the show.... His character apparently engages in a camera/audience Ferris-Beuller-style dialogue, like he's talking to a friend. And Spacey referred to this as (I paraphrase) "kind of like saying something to your best friend, not something that you would say to your wife."
What?
I can't think of a thing I'd say to or share with someone else that I wouldn't say to or share with The Working Dad. Honestly, I feel like, if there are things you would tell your buddy, but not your spouse, there's a problem. Your could, in fact, be living in, please pardon the obvious reference, a house of cards.
Maybe this is why Hollywood marriages fail so often. They're hung up on this division of life into romance and non-romance. But good ol' real life has those things all squashed up together. Friendship, sex, love, affinity...all those things get swished together into this wonderful sauce called marriage. Thankfully.....
Thursday, January 31, 2013
The Re-Ferberized Family
Last July, we Ferberized The Boy, with great success. Everyone was better rested and healthier. It was a good thing for the family.
Over the months, I'd let some of our good habits slide, mainly because things seemed to be going so well, but also, as a dear friend said to me yesterday, "life gets in the way." In the beginning I was very diligent about telling The Boy how much time we had to do an activity. (For instance, "it's fifteen minutes until bedtime" or "we have two more books until bedtime.") But I have slacked off in recent weeks. I had also forgotten how important those cues are to The Boy and to sleep training. It gives him expectations and prepared him for bedtime to arrive. If I'm not giving him the cues, bedtime can seem to come suddenly, when he's not ready. My cues let him prepare himself.
Anyway, over the last few of weeks, The Boy has begun rejecting naps on the weekends (but not at school), and putting up quite a struggle at bedtime too. In our desperation to get him to sleep, The Working Dad and I had fallen into some of our old tricks and habits: forehead tickles until he dozed off, rocking to sleep, lulling him to sleep in the stroller, letting him watch TV to get drowsy. Most of these things are nice (I looooove rocking him and would rock an 18-year-old him if he'd let me). But they are also sleep crutches, and the goal is to get him sleeping on his own without needing the forehead tickles.
I'm not entirely sure from where the recent sleep problems emanate. I am given to understand that toddlers reject sleep in an effort to assert control over their world, and that this sort of sleep struggle is not uncommon around the age of two. He's almost two, so that may be it. I think, though, the problems are a combination of his natural rebellion as an almost-two-year-old and our having slack off on the routine.
Also at play is the potty. We've added potty time to our bedtime routine, which necessarily takes away time post-bath for reading, singing, and generally winding down.
Anyway, whatever the reasons for the sleep difficulties, the entire family seemed to be heading into sleep deprivation city again, and needed to change direction before it got more serious.
So this week, we reintroduced Dr. Ferber to our household. We needed to re-assert and re-establish our routines.
Night 1.1, January 30, 2013
Just like last time, it took The Boy about an hour's worth of screaming and crying to settle down on Ferber Night 1.1. Also like last time, it was incredibly difficult to hear him scream and cry, but we remained calm and a united front. He cried out alternately for me and The Working Dad. He would moan, "Noooooo." It was just horrible. But more difficult for him than me, I realize.
We checked on him at 3 minutes, five minutes, seven minutes, ten, twelve, and fifteen. He fell asleep before the next 15 minutes had passed. He woke up briefly about 45 minutes later, but settled down before three minutes (the first check interval) had passed. I waited around another 30 minutes to see if he would wake up again (writing the beginnings of this blog post, actually), but he stayed quiet. So I brushed my teeth, went to kiss The Working Dad (who was working late upstairs) goodnight, listened at The Boy's door (a screen door so we can actually look in and hear better) to check on him, and then went to bed. He woke up again at 12:49, but again fell silent again before the first check. He woke up for the morning at 5:06 a.m. (and Ferber says that if the kid is awake after four, the night is over). He was a cranky, cranky boy when he woke up and for the first hour. We think he was still mad at us from the night before. By six, though, he was his cheerful, goofy self.
Night 2.1, January 31, 2013
I picked The Boy up early from school so we could go feed water fowl (ducks, coots, geese, scaups, and gulls) at the park. (The coots ate right from our hands!)
We got The Boy's dinner to him earlier than we have been doing, with the goal being that we would be starting our evening routine before 7 o'clock, leaving plenty of parent/child time, post-bath. Bedtime is 8:00 p.m. these days, so getting started before seven gives wiggle room for the potty time. This night I was the ultimate in sleep-training clock-watcher. I told him how much time we had left for dinner, potty time, bath, and reading books. And as the time ticked away on each activity, I would remind him of the reduced amount of time. ("Five more minutes of bath." "Only three minutes until bedtime, time for one more book.")
We could not have had a nicer evening. It was an absolute pleasure reading books as he would bring them to me. (He gets to choose from a stack.) Each time we would finish a book, I would tell him how much time we had left until bedtime. It was so peaceful.
When bedtime came he fussed ever so briefly and then went to bed without at tear or a scream. Miraculous after the screamapalooza the night before . . . .
What's more, dinner, potty and bath were also easier. We've also been having recent battles about dinner and moving from the potty (which he would sit on all night, I'm convinced) to the bathtub. But tonight, with me telling him how long he had for each activity, he very willingly moved from one activity to the next when I told him time was up.
Just as I had suspected, what was needed was for The Working Dad and I to reassert our authority. The Boy needs for us to be in charge. He's more content and secure when he knows Mom and Dad are in control of the situation. One day, that won't be true, of course, but for now, for this toddler, it's the only way to be. It is clear to me that my boy benefits from and is happier with a clear, predictable structure. (It should come as no surprise to me that he's this way because his mom also succeeds with a bit of imposed order.)
So I'm calling the thing, after only two nights, a success. (At least until the weekend, when we shall see how the naps go.) We are a Re-Ferberized Family. And it is our family that is Ferberized, not just The Boy. All three of us have to observe the structure and schedule, or it all falls apart. It's sleep-training the child, sure, but what it really is is a commitment by the parents to create a stable, predictable world for their little guy during a time when so much changes for him so fast. And for The Boy, Dr. Ferber's method works to provide that structure.
Nighty-night, y'all.
Over the months, I'd let some of our good habits slide, mainly because things seemed to be going so well, but also, as a dear friend said to me yesterday, "life gets in the way." In the beginning I was very diligent about telling The Boy how much time we had to do an activity. (For instance, "it's fifteen minutes until bedtime" or "we have two more books until bedtime.") But I have slacked off in recent weeks. I had also forgotten how important those cues are to The Boy and to sleep training. It gives him expectations and prepared him for bedtime to arrive. If I'm not giving him the cues, bedtime can seem to come suddenly, when he's not ready. My cues let him prepare himself.
Anyway, over the last few of weeks, The Boy has begun rejecting naps on the weekends (but not at school), and putting up quite a struggle at bedtime too. In our desperation to get him to sleep, The Working Dad and I had fallen into some of our old tricks and habits: forehead tickles until he dozed off, rocking to sleep, lulling him to sleep in the stroller, letting him watch TV to get drowsy. Most of these things are nice (I looooove rocking him and would rock an 18-year-old him if he'd let me). But they are also sleep crutches, and the goal is to get him sleeping on his own without needing the forehead tickles.
I'm not entirely sure from where the recent sleep problems emanate. I am given to understand that toddlers reject sleep in an effort to assert control over their world, and that this sort of sleep struggle is not uncommon around the age of two. He's almost two, so that may be it. I think, though, the problems are a combination of his natural rebellion as an almost-two-year-old and our having slack off on the routine.
Also at play is the potty. We've added potty time to our bedtime routine, which necessarily takes away time post-bath for reading, singing, and generally winding down.
Anyway, whatever the reasons for the sleep difficulties, the entire family seemed to be heading into sleep deprivation city again, and needed to change direction before it got more serious.
So this week, we reintroduced Dr. Ferber to our household. We needed to re-assert and re-establish our routines.
Night 1.1, January 30, 2013
Just like last time, it took The Boy about an hour's worth of screaming and crying to settle down on Ferber Night 1.1. Also like last time, it was incredibly difficult to hear him scream and cry, but we remained calm and a united front. He cried out alternately for me and The Working Dad. He would moan, "Noooooo." It was just horrible. But more difficult for him than me, I realize.
We checked on him at 3 minutes, five minutes, seven minutes, ten, twelve, and fifteen. He fell asleep before the next 15 minutes had passed. He woke up briefly about 45 minutes later, but settled down before three minutes (the first check interval) had passed. I waited around another 30 minutes to see if he would wake up again (writing the beginnings of this blog post, actually), but he stayed quiet. So I brushed my teeth, went to kiss The Working Dad (who was working late upstairs) goodnight, listened at The Boy's door (a screen door so we can actually look in and hear better) to check on him, and then went to bed. He woke up again at 12:49, but again fell silent again before the first check. He woke up for the morning at 5:06 a.m. (and Ferber says that if the kid is awake after four, the night is over). He was a cranky, cranky boy when he woke up and for the first hour. We think he was still mad at us from the night before. By six, though, he was his cheerful, goofy self.
Night 2.1, January 31, 2013
I picked The Boy up early from school so we could go feed water fowl (ducks, coots, geese, scaups, and gulls) at the park. (The coots ate right from our hands!)
We got The Boy's dinner to him earlier than we have been doing, with the goal being that we would be starting our evening routine before 7 o'clock, leaving plenty of parent/child time, post-bath. Bedtime is 8:00 p.m. these days, so getting started before seven gives wiggle room for the potty time. This night I was the ultimate in sleep-training clock-watcher. I told him how much time we had left for dinner, potty time, bath, and reading books. And as the time ticked away on each activity, I would remind him of the reduced amount of time. ("Five more minutes of bath." "Only three minutes until bedtime, time for one more book.")
We could not have had a nicer evening. It was an absolute pleasure reading books as he would bring them to me. (He gets to choose from a stack.) Each time we would finish a book, I would tell him how much time we had left until bedtime. It was so peaceful.
When bedtime came he fussed ever so briefly and then went to bed without at tear or a scream. Miraculous after the screamapalooza the night before . . . .
What's more, dinner, potty and bath were also easier. We've also been having recent battles about dinner and moving from the potty (which he would sit on all night, I'm convinced) to the bathtub. But tonight, with me telling him how long he had for each activity, he very willingly moved from one activity to the next when I told him time was up.
Just as I had suspected, what was needed was for The Working Dad and I to reassert our authority. The Boy needs for us to be in charge. He's more content and secure when he knows Mom and Dad are in control of the situation. One day, that won't be true, of course, but for now, for this toddler, it's the only way to be. It is clear to me that my boy benefits from and is happier with a clear, predictable structure. (It should come as no surprise to me that he's this way because his mom also succeeds with a bit of imposed order.)
So I'm calling the thing, after only two nights, a success. (At least until the weekend, when we shall see how the naps go.) We are a Re-Ferberized Family. And it is our family that is Ferberized, not just The Boy. All three of us have to observe the structure and schedule, or it all falls apart. It's sleep-training the child, sure, but what it really is is a commitment by the parents to create a stable, predictable world for their little guy during a time when so much changes for him so fast. And for The Boy, Dr. Ferber's method works to provide that structure.
Nighty-night, y'all.
Wednesday, January 30, 2013
Sewing: Book Pocket For Glider
Until recently, we would sit on the floor to read to The Boy, this being his preference. But recently, he's decided he wants to sit in the glider and rock while we read. The benefit of being on the floor is that you would have a stack of books in easy reach. Not so when you're in the glider....
So today, I repurposed the dust ruffle from his Classic Pooh crib set into a book pocket. I just took one of the long side ruffles, folded it in half, sewed around three sides and affixed some ribbons to tie it to the chair. Looks great, works great and now the dust ruffle has a new life. Since this one turned out so well, I'm going to make another one for the other side of the chair. (We can go through a lot of books of a night.)
So today, I repurposed the dust ruffle from his Classic Pooh crib set into a book pocket. I just took one of the long side ruffles, folded it in half, sewed around three sides and affixed some ribbons to tie it to the chair. Looks great, works great and now the dust ruffle has a new life. Since this one turned out so well, I'm going to make another one for the other side of the chair. (We can go through a lot of books of a night.)
Breast is best.
Last night on The New Normal, Brian and David became concerned that, as two dudes, neither of them would be able to breast feed their soon-to-be-born-via-surrogate baby boy. The resolution was obvious: ask the surrogate if she would be willing to pump breast milk after the baby is born. And they did, and she readily agreed.
But Brian, observing a breast-feeding mother and friend, longed for the special bond that comes from physically holding child to breast.
He got himself a Mr. Milker (on the show, they called it "The Milkman"), and comedy (including a breast feeding flash mob) ensued.
I've mentioned before on this blog my difficulties breast feeding, and the massive guilt that was imposed upon me by the breast feeding establishment and my own desire to be the best mommy I could be (which at the time included producing tidal waves of creamy goodness from my boobies to nourish my child).
My son rejected both breast and expressed breast milk at age six months. He had been fed a diet of formula supplemented by my trickle of breast milk for all of his life up to that point. (And yes, I tried all manner of things to stimulate production to no avail.)
When he was first born, the milk that I produced was not plentiful, but it was sweet and contained obviously large amounts of milk fat. Yes, I tasted it. When he rejected me (and to be sure, it felt a tiny bit personal), I tasted it again. It was more watery, and it has a faint tinny flavor. Then I knew that he knew best: this stuff was not the best thing for him. Bring on the Enfamil.
Do I wish that I could have breast fed him longer and more effectively? Absolutely. Do I think my bond with my son is inferior to that of the bonds of mothers who breast feed successfully for the first year? Absolutely not. Parental bonds aren't forged by sheer physical closeness. It's a complex mix of physical, intellectual, and emotional interaction, as it is with all human relationships. Know how I know? Daddies love their babies just as much as mommies do, and most of them do not employ a Mr. Milker to seal the deal.
So breast feeding is nice. Good breast milk is also nice. But neither of them make you a beloved parent of a beloved child. For that you don't need boobs and working mammary glands, or a Mr. Milker. You just need time and a heart.
But Brian, observing a breast-feeding mother and friend, longed for the special bond that comes from physically holding child to breast.
He got himself a Mr. Milker (on the show, they called it "The Milkman"), and comedy (including a breast feeding flash mob) ensued.
I've mentioned before on this blog my difficulties breast feeding, and the massive guilt that was imposed upon me by the breast feeding establishment and my own desire to be the best mommy I could be (which at the time included producing tidal waves of creamy goodness from my boobies to nourish my child).
My son rejected both breast and expressed breast milk at age six months. He had been fed a diet of formula supplemented by my trickle of breast milk for all of his life up to that point. (And yes, I tried all manner of things to stimulate production to no avail.)
When he was first born, the milk that I produced was not plentiful, but it was sweet and contained obviously large amounts of milk fat. Yes, I tasted it. When he rejected me (and to be sure, it felt a tiny bit personal), I tasted it again. It was more watery, and it has a faint tinny flavor. Then I knew that he knew best: this stuff was not the best thing for him. Bring on the Enfamil.
Do I wish that I could have breast fed him longer and more effectively? Absolutely. Do I think my bond with my son is inferior to that of the bonds of mothers who breast feed successfully for the first year? Absolutely not. Parental bonds aren't forged by sheer physical closeness. It's a complex mix of physical, intellectual, and emotional interaction, as it is with all human relationships. Know how I know? Daddies love their babies just as much as mommies do, and most of them do not employ a Mr. Milker to seal the deal.
So breast feeding is nice. Good breast milk is also nice. But neither of them make you a beloved parent of a beloved child. For that you don't need boobs and working mammary glands, or a Mr. Milker. You just need time and a heart.
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