Grief Through The Eyes of a 3 Year Old

Dear Grownups,

I need you to read me "Nana Upstairs, and Nana Downstairs" by Tommie dePaola just one more time today, to see if Nana gets to come back this time after she dies in the story. I need to keep asking you if my Grandma is coming back and if I can visit her again. I need to hear the same answer, over and over, like a call and answer refrain. I need time to truly understand and process what "gone forever" really means. I need to play with my dollies and pretend that one dies over and over, comforting myself by allowing her to come back to life with my magical thinking within my pretend world.

I need you to know that I feel your big feelings, even when you think you are hiding them from me. I see the tightness in your jaws, the weariness in your puffy red eyes, the way your shoulders droop. I see your furrowed brows as you answer emails on your phones. I hear snippets of harshly whispered conversations and phone calls. I hear the tension and impatience in your voices, and I see through the false cheerfulness that you're using to cover your own fears, sadness, anger and confusion. I need to ask you why people seem so sad and mad, and I need you to reassure me that it's not my fault.

I find it distressing to hear comments like "She's in a better place", or "She will live forever in our hearts". I'm confused because dying means gone forever, but people say she is living and in another place. Why isn't she living with her family? Why can't I visit her?

I was frightened when I heard someone say, "Dying is like sleeping forever", because that means I don't ever want to let myself or anyone I love fall asleep or else we might die, too.

I'm scared because you told me my Grandma was sick and that is why her body stopped working. My daddy has a cough. He's sick. Now I worry that he is going to die. I don't want my mommy lying down in her bed because it reminds me of my Grandma lying down in bed when I visited her. I have to ask about all the people I know who are older. I have to know if they are sick. I have to ask if they will die, too. I need you to reassure me again that my Grandma's illness was different, that every cough and sniffle will not equal death.

I need you to understand that when I get easily frustrated with tasks I could easily do last week, that I need some patience and compassion instead of your criticism. When I wet my pants instead of going to the toilet, I need you to know that I am not being defiant, but rather, struggling with connecting to my own elimination cues as I struggle to understand the sudden changes in my schedule and the emotional reactions of the big people in my life. I am processing all of the huge feelings that are within and around me. When I ask you to help me put my shoes on or to hold the spoon for me while I eat a few bites of my dinner, it is not because I can't do it myself. I just feel really insecure right now and need someone to help me feel loved, cared for, and nurtured.

I need the safety net of my routines now, more than ever. I need regular meals, snacks, play, rest, and sleep. I need my bath and my bedtime story. I need my snuggles and my songs. I need my blankey and my stuffies, and everything that helps me to feel safe. I need as much "normal" as you can give me in the coming days and weeks.

I need you to understand that I may want your attention and love one moment, then may want to retreat into my own quiet space the next. I need you to understand that I am sensitive to all of the lights, sounds, smells and movement that come along with large gatherings, and that I may be easily overwhelmed. I need to not be tasked with being "on" as the "entertainment" to distract adults from their own feelings, and that I may shut down or melt down if I am the centre of attention for an extended period of time. I need you to protect me from becoming overwhelmed, and to help me when it's all become too much.

It's okay that you cried when you told me that my Grandma died, because it showed me that it is okay to cry when we lose someone we love, and that expressing big feelings is a safe and healthy thing to do. It's okay that you cried when you read me "Nana Upstairs, and Nana Downstairs" the first time, as it taught me that good readers make meaningful connections as they read texts, and that good writing can evoke powerful feelings.

In this time of hurt and healing, please don't forget about me. I need you. I need you to model healthy grieving and self-care coping strategies. I need you to take really good care of yourselves so that you can take really good care of me.

Love,

Your grieving child

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Bedtime Rituals

A lot of parents say that their child’s bedtime is their favourite part of the day. Usually comments like these are said half in jest, but with the core truth reflecting a feeling of relief about finally having some time to oneself or with a partner, about having a break from the daily chores associated with parenting, about being able to use the bathroom without an audience…

My favourite part of the day is Willow’s bedtime routine, but not for these reasons. Sure, I love having time in the evening to connect with my partner, to write, to read, to play with social media, to practise yoga, to plan, and to reflect.  But I also absolutely cherish the uninterrupted hour that I have the privilege of spending with a delicious little toddler every single night. The hour of slowing down and quieting our bodies and our minds, the hour of distancing ourselves from electronic devices, bright lights, loud sounds, and the rushed activities of the day. The sacred hour of enjoying each other and being entirely present with one another as we naturally lower our cortisol and blood pressure levels, and naturally raise our oxytocin and endorphin levels.

The routine has changed over Willow’s lifetime, from just nursing in a glider at first, to including saying goodnight to daddy and kittens, having a shower or a bath, a coconut oil massage, tooth brushing, potty and hand washing, picking out Jammies, turning on a sound machine to mask the motorcycle-enthusiasts and windstorms, bedtime stories while cuddling two monkey loveys before turning out the lights, singing a goodnight song, and mommy tiptoeing out while Willow sings or whispers herself to sleep. 

While turning down an activity request, it occurred to me this evening that, in the roughly 20 months that I have been Willow’s mommy, I have not missed a single night of her bedtime routine. I’ve gone out after bedtime and left her in the care of others, but I have never actually had anyone else “do bedtime” with her. 

I tell myself that I don’t want to disrupt Willow’s routine. We have a good thing going. Why mess with it?  Ultimately, though, my decision to be here every night has just as much to do with me as it does with Willow. 

Before I became pregnant with Willow, I was very active as a volunteer on a variety of committees, sang in a choir, jammed as many workshops and other professional development activities into my schedule as I could, was active in my church, and was quite engaged in the work of my local federation executive, in addition to fully committing to my full time teaching job and extracurricular activities. Whenever anyone asked me to take on another task or leadership role, I eagerly agreed, relishing the feeling of being needed and appreciated.  For the first five years of our marriage, my husband and I rarely ate dinner together.  I filled the aching hole in my heart with busy-ness. Meetings and workshops filled my waking hours and decreased the time I had to focus on the pain of infertility and pregnancy loss. 

Nowadays, my heart is full. It is so full that sometimes it feels like it is going to burst. I want to relish every second with the family that I have been blessed with. I want to slow down time and soak it all in while I can. I want to bask in this love and in this gratitude for the miracle we have been given.  Life can never go back to “the way it was”. I am not the person I once was. 

Now that Willow is beyond the “infant” stage and I have been back at work for awhile, I’ve been asked by several different colleagues and friends about getting back into volunteer activities, committees, music in the community, and professional leadership projects that would involve late afternoon and early evening meetings or rehearsals. I have made the decision to “turn them down rather than let them down”, and I am surprisingly okay with this.  I am choosing to be involved in a few small projects and an online course with flexible timelines, but the tightly-wound super-woman who worked day and night in order to outrun her feelings is gone. I’m not sure that she will ever return, even when Willow is older.

This is what I know for right now: I will be home for dinner with my family. I will be home for bath and bedtime routine. I will be entirely present with my family for this time, since we are apart all day during the week. There is no meeting or event that is so important that it needs to rob me of this precious and fleeting time with the two most important people (and kittens) in my life.  

  

 

Middle Path Parenting

Do all parents and parenting styles need a label?  I doubt it, but I have been asked by several different people which “parenting style” I follow.  It sometimes frustrates people when I cannot clearly define myself or my beliefs by producing an appropriate label. I do not fit neatly into a preconceived category.  I’m the kind of person who reads many books and articles on a subject and gathers information from observations and discussions, then synthesizes all of the information into something that makes sense to me but does not really resemble or resonate with any one source.

I’d like to say that I’m a “common sense parent”, but if common sense were common, then everyone would have it, right?  So perhaps I can say that I am a “middle path” parent.  Maybe my “style” can be better defined by what it is NOT than what it IS.

I wouldn’t consider myself to be a hardcore “Attachment Parent”, as Willow has slept in her own room since four months of life, but I did wear her skin-to-skin in a sling for the first weeks of her life and still happily wear her in a soft-structured carrier when she needs a bit of TLC or when a stroller is inconvenient.

I’m not a “Diaper-Free/EC” mom, but I am happy to let Willow sit on the potty after a nap or whenever she shows interest in doing so, to save a diaper.

I’m not a “Cloth Diaper Extremist”.  I love the frugality of our cloth diapers and the lack of landfill space they take up compared to disposables, but I have no problems putting Willow in a disposable diaper to help her sleep longer at night, or to make clean-up easier while we are out and about.

I’m not a “Pro-Vaccination Propagandist”, but I do believe in protecting both our child and immunocompromised children who cannot be vaccinated by being part of the herd of immunity.

I’m not a “Nipple Nazi” but I worked very hard to transition our daughter from expensive formula to free breast milk after a rocky start in the hospital.  I have nursed Willow in public places as a manner of feeding our baby on demand, not to make some sort of political statement.

I’m not an “Authoritarian Parent”, as I understand discipline to mean lovingly and consistently teaching and guiding, as opposed to punishing a child for not following arbitrarily set rules.   I’m confident setting appropriate boundaries and using the word “no”.  I believe that it is not only okay but essential to say “no” to something that I do not want to happen, regardless of whether or not it is a safety issue.  Allowing children to do anything and everything they want to do, regardless of how it makes others feel, can lead to resentment, frustration, and confusion.  Willow deserves for me to firmly and lovingly set boundaries well before either of us loses our patience, and to follow through by lovingly helping her or removing her from a situation when it becomes more than she can handle.

I am not a “Food Purist”. Willow ate homemade baby mush, and she also tried a few store-bought jars of mush. Luckily, the mush stage was very short-lived, since this girl hates the sound of the blender. We buy some organic and some non-organic foods. We buy some local and some imported foods. We love bananas, which will never be “in season” in Canada. We eat some things that contain sugar, salt and preservatives. I try to follow reasonable nutritional guidelines and include vegetables with most meals, but I’m not overly concerned if the cucumbers are not consumed at breakfast.

I’m not a “Helicopter Parent”, but I still watch our unsteady toddler like a hawk when she gets anywhere near the pond, road, or anything she can climb.

I believe in empowering children by offering them reasonable, age-appropriate choices. I won’t let Willow choose whether or not to wear a sweater on a cool day, but she is welcome to choose between the grey sweater and the purple sweater. I won’t let her choose whether or not to go to bed, but she can choose to wear the red pyjamas or the blue pyjamas. She can choose whether to walk across the street holding my hand or to be carried. She can choose to take off her shoes by herself or with help. I can empathize with her unhappiness at being strapped into the car seat when we need to drive somewhere, and she can have the choice of bringing a transition object with her in the car seat, but I will not let her choose to ride on my lap, as much as she would prefer that seat!

I’m not a “happiness is the only goal” parent.  Of course I want Willow to have a happy childhood (while accepting that even if I do the best job ever, she will likely still require therapy at some point).  BUT I believe that it’s healthy for children to experience conflict and disappointment and to not always get their way. I believe that a frustrated or upset child should not always be immediately distracted and prevented from experiencing and working through tough feelings.  I believe that it is okay for a toddler to experience sadness when a parent leaves, or frustration when a limit is set or a challenge becomes too great.  I believe that it is okay to accept a child’s feelings and allow him or her to express them in a non-violent way. I think that it is far more productive to help a child identify strong feelings and to try to empathize (even when the problem he or she is getting upset about seems trivial or even ridiculous to an adult) instead of taking photos to post on child-shaming social media sites.

I believe that preventing situations in which small children feel overwhelmed is vital. Predictable routines and reminders of upcoming transitions are respectful and comforting ways of keeping the train moving along peacefully for everyone. Packing extra snacks, water, comfort items, etc. can mean the difference between a lion and a lamb on trip to an unfamiliar place. I also believe in preventing low frustration-threshold meltdowns by ensuring that children are fed, well rested, and comfortably clothed for the weather and the activity at hand, whenever possible.

I have what I believe to be reasonable developmentally appropriate expectations, and I choose not to set kids up for failure. I don’t expect Willow to sit quietly on my lap for a one hour church service that runs into her nap time. I don’t expect her to just chill out while we visit friends or family beyond her bedtime. I don’t expect her to happily wait for food for thirty minutes in a restaurant without any snacks from home.  I don’t expect her to play outside without getting dirty.

I wonder if sometimes when other parents ask me what my “style” is, they really just want to know if I will secretly or overtly judge them if they pull out a bottle to feed their infant, or talk about their co-sleeping arrangement, or use a package of disposable baby wipes, or open up a non-organic, non-local, pre-packaged, GMO-filled processed snack for their toddler.

The truth: I’m too busy wiping off my own child’s grimy hands that were just reaching into the urinal in the public bathroom to worry about whether or not you believe in anti-bacterial soap or sunscreen.  I’m too busy trying to find that banana in my backpack to feed my hungry child to even notice if your child is eating goldfish crackers.  I’m too busy getting packed up at the park so that we can get home in time for a successful nap (and avoid an overtired toddler meltdown) to wonder about who sleeps where at your house. I’m too busy trying to keep my own child’s diaper explosion contained long enough to get to the bathroom to notice that you are using local mompreneur cloth diapers and wipes.

I am not a purist. I am not an extremist. Nobody will want to claim me as the spokesperson for any parenting philosophy or program. I am a middle-of-the-road, moderately educated momma who fiercely loves her child, and who is not afraid to make mistakes and learn from them. I may not be doing what you are doing, but that doesn’t mean that either of us is wrong.  I don’t know about you, but I’m too busy making my own choices and loving my own delicious miracle to really worry about the choices you are making for yours.

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Love Is A Drive-By Fruiting

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I have “banana hair”, and I couldn’t be happier.  Tonight, our daughter was so excited to give me a hug that she was literally shaking.  I knelt down to her level with my arms out and she squealed and ran toward me.  In her excitement, she forgot to put down the banana that she had been eating, and it ended up mashed into the back of my hair and neck.

I have received the gift of being able to find the “bless in the mess”, thanks to the miracle that is Willow Mei.  From the mess of daily nausea and vomiting during pregnancy (which assured me of Willow’s continued presence right up until the day she was born), to the mess of experiencing hours of solid screaming (when she finally had the energy to find her voice after being too weak to open her eyes or cry), to the mess of waste products streaming out of multiple orifices simultaneously (proving that she was finally taking in enough nutrition to eliminate appropriately after three weeks of being unable to eat properly after birth), she’s given me reasons to find joy in all of the little things.  These things that others may take for granted or even possibly resent when they are happening, but may look back upon with a certain degree of fondness one day.  Like many of my silent sorority sisters who have been lucky enough to graduate from spending years praying for a child to finally having a living, breathing miracle, I don’t have the luxury of taking any of this for granted.  Perhaps one of the most precious gems in parenting after infertility and loss is that I don’t have to wait for “one day” to look back and feel love and gratitude for the messes, big and small.  I can and do appreciate it all now.

I remember working in a childcare centre where a little boy in my group was working in the sensory bin.  He looked up to see his mommy entering the classroom and broke out into a huge smile.  He toddled toward her, arms outstretched, with a look of pure joy on his face.  He reached his mommy and grabbed her around her calves, getting the mucky sensory bin material all over her legs.  She recoiled, disgusted by the material that had been lovingly deposited on her legs.  The little boy began to wail, likely upset by both his mother’s unexpected and sudden movement away from him as well as by the expression on her face. The mom wasn’t trying to upset or hurt the boy in any way.  She was just grossed out by the yucky contents of the sensory bin being smeared on her.  Who wouldn’t be?  We were able to clean everyone up and dry the boy’s tears, and everyone eventually went home happy.  It was a small moment that left a big impression on me, as it made me think about how our automatic reactions might be perceived by children.  If we string together enough of these small moments we can make a big impact on a child’s self-image.

With practice, we can be mindful of our reactions and of the messages we are sending to children with our body language and our words.  When I change Willow’s diaper after she has accidentally eaten a dairy product at daycare, what does my face look like as I register the sensory explosion before me?  What words am I choosing to use as I speak with her during the change?  When Willow helps me to tidy the kitchen after dinner by dumping the dirty cat food dishes into my drawer of freshly washed and folded kitchen linens, what does my body language communicate to her?

So… when I became the unwitting victim of a rogue banana, I giggled.  I held our little girl tighter for just a minute, kissed her sticky little toddler cheeks, and let her know with my words and my body that I was just as happy to see her as she was to see me.

Love is a drive-by fruiting.

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Hostility, digital footprints and the post that went “small town viral” 

I sometimes worry because I know that word choice, phrasing and the ordering of ideas can either help or hinder the author’s intended message. I endeavour to be respectful in my written communication, whether on social media sites such as Pinterest, Twitter, or Facebook, or while blogging or emailing. 
 
A few hostile responses posted in social media channels or directly on my blog can seem to overshadow the many supportive and respectful ones and can actually create a snowball effect by empowering others who are feeling negative or hostile to join in and create drama and conflict, whether in support of or against the original comment. Hostile discussions can become an endless cycle if we let them, and it is often easier in the short run but more difficult in the long run to give in to the urge to “feed the trolls”, even when this is done with the very best of intentions. 
 
I am starting to think that I could completely rewrite my previous blog post that has received the most flack via social media and still have a handful of readers/responders who believe that I am personally attacking them (possibly because they are already having a bad day, have already felt judged, and are feeling insecure about their own parenting choices). As one very kind early childhood educator reminded me, “You can’t please everybody all of the time… nor should you.”  Or translated into Twitter hashtaggery, #hatersgonnahate. 
 
Sometimes a piece of writing can come across as incredibly judgemental and harsh to one person, and completely rational and respectful to another, although both may disagree with the content or point of view.  It is hard for me to know how much of it is my writing style (possibly creating an overly negative tone) and how much is a result of people working through their own insecurities and issues. How much, if at all, should I be modifying or censoring my work to avoid upsetting random strangers?
 
If my blog were used to generate income, I would likely feel more pressure to please my “customers” by removing certain posts or by changing them so much that the integrity of the original piece would be lost.  As a blog primarily written for me and my daughter, with a typical audience of roughly 25 family members and friends, I thankfully have the luxury of not having to jump through hoops to try to achieve the impossible task of pleasing everyone who might possibly stumble upon my blog. 
 
As a writer, a teacher, and a mother, I feel strongly that while I am not responsible for the happiness or opinions of others, I do have the responsibility to ensure that my digital footprint does not include cyber bullying, the unnecessary creation or furthering of conflict for the sake of conflict, or any other kind of behaviour that I would not want my daughter or my students to witness or replicate. 
 
Does anyone remember learning about the ink blot test in introductory Psychology class? Different people saw completely different images and inferred different meanings based on their own states of mind, their experiences of the world, and the things that were lurking in their subconscious. One person might have seen a mother lovingly holding and nursing her child while another might have seen a small animal viciously biting a person.  Both saw the same ink blot picture, but had completely different interpretations. An ink blot picture is a randomly generated image with no artist’s intended meaning, so there really is no “right or wrong” interpretation, although the interpretation can give us some insight into the state of mind of the viewer.  To use a Hundred Acre Woods metaphor, Eeyore and Rabbit will always take away a much more negative message from a situation than will Pooh or Kanga or Roo. 
 
I wonder if we were all completely honest with ourselves if we would discover that the strong negative emotional responses to things we read sometimes have less to do with the original intention of the author and more to do with our own filters, fears, and experiences.  I have read Huffington Post articles about marriage that evoke anger in me after a sleepless night or a disagreement with my partner, but the same article can seem completely inoffensive or might even seem to offer a nugget of truth for me when I come across it on another day when I am happier and well-rested. 
 
Case in point: I wrote about respecting preverbal babies and toddlers by watching for and responding to their nonverbal cues, and gave an example of a five year old child demonstrating empathy and compassion for Willow by moving from treating her as a “doll” to decorate during a game of dress-up to respecting her as another (albeit smaller and nonverbal) human being with needs and desires of her own. I introduced this story with anecdotes about our family’s attempts to give Willow some reasonable and developmentally appropriate choices about her clothing, and shared my thoughts (as a teacher and a parent) on the need for children to be allowed access to appropriate, comfortable, functional and safe clothing (whether or not it is “pretty” or “name brand” certainly was not the point) for a variety of activities. The intended take-home message or “big idea” was about respecting all children, even ones who are not able to verbally express their needs and desires. 
 
My blog post received almost 18,000 views in a single day after it was shared on various Facebook groups and pages, then picked up by some social media news feeds. Needless to say, this was a huge increase from my usual 25 readers (Hi, Gramma Judy!). Many of my new readers, particularly those familiar with RIE practices, were cheering me on for sending an important message about respecting young children, even if they were confused about the association with clothing choices or felt strongly that their children should always be dressed in a certain way or even disagreed with my choice to allow Willow to wear mismatched clothing in public. A vocal minority reacted with a great deal of hostility, claiming that the post was personally attacking them by accusing them of being bad or even abusive parents because they dressed their baby girl in a fancy dress or their baby boy in a tie and designer suit. Talk about the author’s purpose not being clearly understood!  The post was not meant in any way to shame or judge parents for picking out aesthetically pleasing or expensive clothing for their kids, but apparently some are perseverating on the mention of toddler fashion, and completely missing the main idea of the piece. 
 
So …to answer what has become too overwhelming a number of similar questions to continue to answer personally, and to avoid wasting precious time on social media sites repeating myself when I could be spending that time playing and learning with and from a delicious toddler:
Yes, everyone including me has the right to enjoy fancy or dressy clothing, whether for attending a weekly worship service, a party, for photographs, a visit to Gramma’s house, or just to feel special. I have a pair of “happy shoes” in bold colours that make me smile when I am sad. It’s great when kids are given opportunities to have some (reasonable) choices about clothing, but we all know that societal expectations can and do interfere with individual choice, particularly when it comes to dressing up as a flower girl, ring bearer, or for a choir or dance performance, etc.  If given the choice as a child I may well have worn a tutu on top of a Winnie the Pooh costume to school and to Gramma’s house at every visit (and also in the bath tub if allowed). Tutus are not the focus of the post. I repeat, tutus are NOT the focus of the post. 
 
As a non-visual learner with the fashion sense of a rock, please be assured that if I see you or your child at the grocery store, I can pretty much guarantee you that I will not even register what either of you are wearing, let alone judge you or harass you or your child in some way for wearing something “nice”. I will be too busy finding my own groceries and focusing on caring for the most important people in my life: my own family members.
 
Having worked in both daycare and elementary education settings, I really did want to stress the safety, comfort and function factors when it comes to choosing appropriate clothing for the task at hand. As a colleague once reminded me, sometimes common sense is not as common as we’d like to think it is when it comes to what is safe and functional. I have experienced young children showing up for outdoor gross motor play and physical education activities wearing slippery, stiff dress shoes or heeled boots (tripping/slipping/falling hazard), outfits that severely limit movement and thus participation in active learning, and decorative necklaces (strangulation hazard, especially on the climber) because they look “pretty”, with no regard for safety, comfort or function. There is most definitely a time and a place for certain types of clothing and accessories. Thankfully there are gorgeous shoes and other pieces of clothing that are aesthetically pleasing as well as comfortable, functional and safe.  
 
No, I do not insist that all children must show up to school in mismatched, stained, or hand-me-down clothing, and I don’t believe that anything that is pretty must automatically be uncomfortable or restrictive. Thankfully, the world in which we live is not only black and white, although it is certainly easier to demonize someone and feed the desire for conflict by assuming that she is an extremist. 
 
Not everyone is ready or willing to accept a viewpoint or parenting choice that differs from his or hers, and that is okay.  I know firsthand that examining one’s own long-held beliefs is a scary and painful process to go through, and many people are just not in the right head space to accomplish this task.  And that is okay.  But it’s never okay to be cruel or rude, whether we are speaking to someone’s face or hiding behind internet anonymity.  It’s neither respectful nor responsible to create conflict for the sake of conflict, even if we are having a bad day. 
 
I understand that it can be easier to lash out defensively than to reflect and respond by providing suggestions, alternate viewpoints, or constructive criticism from a calm place of mutual respect.  I also understand that anything any of us writes on social media sites never really disappears. Once something is published or posted to the Internet, we no longer own it. We live in an era of instant screenshots and digital archiving. The web owns anything that we create (even if it is later modified or erased) and it can come back to haunt us years later. I, for one, hope that my own digital footprint is not something that I will be ashamed to have my daughter see in ten or twenty years. 
 
Here is what I know to be true: There is no such thing as a perfect parent. We parents are all just stumbling along and learning from our kids and experiences as we go, none of us any “better” than the rest.  Certainly none deserving of cruelty, taunting or name-calling.  We are all doing the best we can with what we have and what we know, and although it is easy to feel judged by others, most of the time the “others” are so busy taking care of their own families that we are not even on their radar!  The “mommy wars” only exist if we allow them to exist, and trolls can only have power if we feed them.  I don’t know about anyone else, but I’ve discovered that I am too busy chasing after a delightful little toddler to bother wasting any more time feeding comment wars.  
 
I will not apologize for loving my daughter and the experience of parenthood so much that I am inspired to blog about them, nor will I stop writing at anyone’s request. I will not apologize for sharing my ideas, reflections, beliefs and “aha” moments, even if they do not align perfectly with those of all roughly 18,000 readers. BUT I will feel free to choose not to respond or to censor those attempting to elicit a strong negative reaction (creating conflict for the sake of “drama”) from me or others, especially when the language and tone used is purposely offensive, hostile, or contains profanity.  
 
Readers are more than welcome to comment if they wish to provide helpful, constructive and specific feedback about my writing, to reflect on emotional responses that were evoked, and to share their own divergent ideas, opinions and experiences in a respectful manner.  I have had some wonderful reflective “aha” moments about my writing and parenting choices after seeing some respectful discussion on a parent group when some of my articles have been posted. Readers also have the right to refrain from reading and responding to my work at any time. I may reflect on a piece and choose to tweak the phrasing or word choice in a post as a result of feedback.  I may add a comment or an explanation to respond to concerns. Or, I may choose to do nothing if I feel that no action is required. 
 
This blog is a safe space for me to reflect, learn, grow, and share. I am open to sharing this space with others, but please know that it will be on my terms. I know that is upsetting to those wishing to use my blog as a springboard for creating conflict for their own amusement or emotional outlet, and you may feel free to continue to create a negative digital footprint for yourself, if you truly feel the need to do so, on your own blog or other social media sites over which I have no censorship rights.  I ultimately want this blog to be a place where my daughter can one day go to be able to read and understand a bit of what was going through my heart and my head in these early days. I do not want her to witness bullying, name-calling, shaming, profanity, or any other kind of behaviour that I would not encourage her or my students to engage in as they learn to become respectful digital citizens. 
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My Daughter Is Not A Doll

Willow’s everyday clothing is functional.  She wears items that feel soft on her skin, are generally loose and allow for easy movement, are often stretchy, and have closures that make them easy to put on without a fuss.  Everything is able to go in the washer and dryer.  Most items have been previously well-loved by other people’s children, so we don’t have to stress if food or bodily fluids land on them.  Willow wears clothing that matches the weather and her activity level.  She wears clothing that makes diaper changes as easy and as efficient as possible.  She is encouraged to choose which diaper cover, pants, shirt or bib to wear.  She sometimes looks as though she’s dressed for clown college, but she is comfortable, happy, and able to move and play with ease.

When discussing clothing choices for young children, my husband commented, “you wouldn’t wear your wedding dress to the gym, so why would you send your daughter to playgroups or daycare wearing Sunday clothes?”

Why, indeed?

Dress-up clothes are fine in limited quantities for photos and special occasions, but do babies and toddlers really need to wear restrictive, uncomfortable clothing every time they leave the house?  I know that people love to gush over those decorative yet tight and stiff embroidered denim jeans, those scratchy polyester dresses with crinolines that make the skin crawl, those shiny little dress shoes with the rigid soles that hinder healthy foot development and are unsafe to wear while running or climbing on playground equipment… but when we force children to wear non-functional clothing, we are often taking away their physical ability to learn, play, explore and move freely. We make them uncomfortable solely for our viewing pleasure. We are treating them like little dolls instead of like human beings who deserve both respect and comfort.

While working in child care, I remember repeatedly asking a parent if she could please send appropriate play clothing with her immaculately-dressed toddler. This little girl regularly came to school wearing tight miniskirts, high-heeled knee-high boots, tight jeans, belts, etc. Her hair was always perfectly styled. She literally looked like a doll. She did not want to play in the sensory bin or finger paint because she might get her outfits dirty or wet. She couldn’t run outside with the other toddlers (and could barely walk some days) because her high heeled boots made her trip and were not allowed on our small climbing structure. She was afraid to dirty her tights by sitting in the sand box. She couldn’t use the riding toys because her skirt didn’t stretch enough to allow sufficient movement. In short, she missed out on a lot of our gross and fine motor activities, sensory play, and therefore many major learning experiences that we had to offer.  But she looked ever so cute…

A few months ago Willow and I were staying at a friend’s house and playing with her two daughters. The youngest, a kindergarten student, wanted to play “dress up” with her many hats after school. Willow loves hats, so this was a fun game for everyone. We took photos and had a lot of fun. Our little friend excitedly cried out, “Here, make Willow wear this!”. I explained that we wouldn’t MAKE Willow wear the items, but would offer them to her to wear, because she “is a person, not a doll”.  I also explained that we would only play this game for as long as Willow enjoyed it and was having fun. That five year old child thoughtfully considered what I said, and completely understood when it was time to stop. She independently read Willow’s cues (squirming, turning away, no longer smiling or laughing), turned to me and said, “Oh. I think she’s all done playing dress-up now”.

This kindergarten student demonstrated the kind of sensitivity, empathy and respect that I wish all people could have with preverbal children. Just because Willow doesn’t have the words to tell us to stop or that she’s uncomfortable or not enjoying something doesn’t mean that we have the right to force her to do things for our amusement or pleasure… including treating her like a doll instead of like a person.

***NOTE: Thank you so much to everyone who has taken the time to read, share, and respond to this post.  I am frankly a bit overwhelmed right now, and ever so thankful to Janet Lansbury for getting the ball rolling.  My follow-up musings in response to the almost 18,000 views of this post in 24 hours and the resulting flood of comments can be found in this post.***

Farewell Ginger

Dear Nougat (a.k.a. Ginger),

You’ve had a hard two months. Likely the hardest in your short little life. You lost your home, your cat sibling, your three human siblings, and your human parents. You learned to survive on your own in the harsh Canadian winter with no reliable sources of food, water or shelter for the first few weeks. You roamed the freezing cold streets until you finally found a water dish, food bowls, and a cozy, insulated cat shelter with straw bedding on a porch belonging to two other ginger cats and their people. You endured bullying by hardened neighbourhood strays and bigger cats who technically have homes but who spend a lot of nights out in the cold with empty bellies. You learned when to slink off to the window well to let Felix have the warm spot between the doors, and when to hold your ground. You are such a resilient little creature. I have so much respect for you.

Despite all of the loss, violence, and harshness that you experienced on the outside, you always remained a gentle soul. I mistakenly thought that you were declawed at first, because I never really saw or felt your claws in action. You timidly accepted food and water from a distance, skittishly hiding around the side of the house at first, until we were safely back in the house. You slowly allowed the gap between us to decrease over the weeks, first letting me talk to you across the porch, then smelling my hand, then head-butting and meowing greetings to me, then sniffing Willow’s stroller or car seat every time she crossed your path, until you finally decided to jump right into my arms for cuddles this week, and to crawl all over Willow to cover her face in kisses. You snuck into the house and made yourself at home on the stairs, and I knew that it was the right time to coax you into a carrier to visit the veterinarian so that we could have you examined, treated, and hopefully find a loving home for you if you didn’t already have one.

You are a very lucky cat. Your human parents loved you so much that they had you microchipped. When we asked Dr. H. if she could scan you for a microchip, we were so excited to find out that you had a family that loved and missed you terribly. A family that had given up hope of finding you. Dropping you off at your home and seeing the children gush over you as you were reunited with your loved ones made my heart sing. You were home at long last.

Thank you for choosing our porch to claim as your own for the past several weeks. It was a privilege and an honour to gradually win your trust and affection, and to have you as a temporary member of our family. Thank you for being so gentle with Baby Willow and for playing “hide and go meow” with Tobi through the windows. Thank you for your patience when possessive Hana would hiss at you through the screen door to tell you to stop cuddling HER mommy. Thank you for reminding us that miracles can and do happen. You have left tiny ginger paw prints on all of our hearts and we will always remember you with love and warmth.

Congratulations on finally finding your way back home, Nougat. We will miss you.

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