My Dad

Today is the fourth anniversary of my dad's death. He died on my little brother's 30th birthday (S. always joked that it took the pressure off of his turning 30!), after a year-long fight with Agnogenic Myeloid Metaplasia (a blood cancer, but not leukemia) and about 18 months after he retired. He was 62 years old.

It's impossible to describe my dad in a single blog entry, but he was a fantastic carpenter, an excellent cook, and an all-around smart guy.

I can't take pictures of all the things he fixed or helped/guided G. in fixing in our house. Here are two things that he built for my kids--a rocking horse as C's Big Sister gift, and a sidewalk cruiser for T:
I looked back through all my digital pictures and I don't have a lot of my dad--he was always kinda there, but in the background. But here are a few.

At our house, reading with T:

Watching Uncle S. play a game with C--probably giving "helpful advice" as they play:
At their house, the summer he was diagnosed, with my mom's extended family:
Filling up the Farmall Cub (his pride and joy) so G. can take the kids for a ride:
And the last picture we have of him, taken a few days before he went into the hospital--and the only picture we have of him with M.
His death is not a raw loss anymore, but there's not a week that goes by where I don't think "I wish I could show this to Dad!" or "I wish I could ask Dad about this" or even "I remember how Dad would..."

We're thinking about you today, Dad. M. and I made nitrate sandwiches for lunch and talked about all the good things you used to cook.

Thirteen Years

G. and I were married thirteen years ago today. We were married in Northern Michigan, and it actually snowed the night of our reception. We had a simple, but beautiful, wedding, followed by a (freezing cold) game of croquet, followed by a fantastic reception in the off-season at a ski resort. The band who played at the reception included my grade school and high school band director, and they graciously allowed some of the groomsmen (including JohnEats) to use their instruments to play Sweet Home Alabama. We danced and laughed and had a wonderful time. It's been a great thirteen years so far, and I fully expect the next thirteen (and the next and the next...) to be just as wonderful. I love you, G.

The value of a stay-at-home-mom

There's a kind of cool salary wizard at Mom Salary Wizard to calculate what moms should make for their "mom job". (There are versions for SAHM's and WOHM's)

According to the wizard, I'm worth $154,096 a year. In contrast, had I stayed at my teaching job, I might by now be making close to $50,000 a year.

And I think it's nice that the "value" of having a parent at home is being recognized. (This article popped up on My Yahoo as one of the top stories last week. ) I think it's certainly a better article than the ones that talk about how a woman is wasting her life, her intelligence, and her self-worth by staying home with the kids. But mainly, I don't need the justification, and I think it reeks of materialism. The joy that I get from staying home is not in realizing the monetary value of what we're saving (although G. will repeatedly tell me, when I consider returning to the paid workforce, how much my staying home SAVES us...). The value and the benefits that I get are the things that are not countable.

I did not start out my parenting "career" as an Attachment Parent, but I grew into it, following my daughter's lead. The more I followed her lead, the more I wanted to BE with her--fulltime. And so I quit my paid job when she was a little over two, and haven't looked back in nine years.

And I read a wonderful quote posted on my friend NewMama's website. Kim Pekin, the President of Natural Family Boutique, said: "I think that love of parenting is one of the biggest benefits of attachment parenting....[while] 'detachment' style parenting makes parenting into a job, another thing on your list of things to do."

I think the two ideas are similar. If you read an article that tells you that, as a stay-at-home mom (or working mom...) you should be making some exhorbitant amount of money, then a part of your mind might start counting out money/fees/charges in your everyday life. But if you realize that the benefits of being home (or being with your child after work...) are your true payment, then you realize that you're not missing out on anything. In fact, you're the wealthier one.

T's golden birthday

Today is T's "golden birthday"--that is, he turns 8 on May 8th. As usual, I am remembering his birth day on this, his birthday. :)

Of my three, T's birth was far-and-away the best experience. My water broke first, so I *knew* it was the real thing (unlike with C's birth). Though labor did not start immediately, I used some natural means of labor induction, and they worked (unlike with M's birth). Having my supportive husband there was invaluable and wonderful. I did not birth on my back. I did not push for hours. I *watched* as he was born and I immediately was able to hold him and put him to my breast. His big sister C. was there at his birth and she did a wonderful job of guiding me and cheering me when the pushing got tough. It was a birth the way that all births should be!

And T. was an amazing baby... He nursed 45 minutes out of every hour around the clock. He was born at 8 lb., 4 oz.; at one week he was up to 9 lbs. even. At two months, he'd almost doubled his birth weight at 16 lb., 2 oz. At 4 months, we left the doctor's office and drove to Toys R Us because he'd outgrown his infant carseat at 21 lb., 6 oz. At 15 months, he weighed what his 3 YO sister currently weighs: 29 lb., 3 oz.

It has been a blast to watch this pudgy baby (who nonetheless walked at 10 months) turn into a long, lean boy. He refused solids until he was 15 months and for years his diet consisted of a handful of items: bread, cheese, chicken nuggets, pancakes and french fries. Today many would still call him a picky eater (he doesn't like pizza or spaghetti), but he can get by at a friend's house w/o my having to pack him a separate meal. He ate ONION RINGS last week! And he'll eat tacos and hamburgers and ham or salami on a sandwich!

He loves video games and pokemon and tamagotchis. He is finally reading SOME fiction for fun and he adores math. He asked for an electric guitar for his birthday and he's growing his hair so that he looks like Billie Joe Armstrong from Green Day. He plays soccer and wants to learn tennis. His favorite color is green and he wants a pair of green Chuck Taylor All-stars (low tops) for his birthday, too.

Happy 8th Birthday, T. I love you...

Mom to an 11-year-old

Eleven years ago today, at 12:46 pm, C. was born and I became a parent. This began an amazing journey, which changed just about everything about me. I don't think I'd recognize myself eleven years ago. My children have taught me so very much. And C. was (and is!) the guinea pig! We tease her that first children are for making mistakes so that we can be perfect parents for the rest. She's been a very patient kid for all of this.

Because the kids had a half day of school last Friday, we had her party then. She invited four friends over and first we had lunch:

Then we went to A Touch of Glaze to paint pottery. Here are some pictures from that adventure:

(I'll pick up the finished pieces tomorrow and post pictures of them then!)

After pottery, we headed back to our place for pizza and cake (C. chose chocolate with raspberry cream filling):

And here's one picture from this morning, when she opened her gifts from her siblings:
After school today we'll do the rest of her gifts, and go out to eat (she chose Qdoba).

UPDATE: She's opened her gifts and here are pics of the birthday girl, modeling two new outfits:

Am I losing the "bf" in bfmomma?

Contrary to what some unknown person asked me some ten + years ago, the "bf" in "bfmomma" does NOT stand for "big and fat" (although that is more true today than it was ten years ago!). I chose "bfmomma" as my screen identity when I was just getting into the internet and shortly after my first child was born. The "bf" stands for breastfeeding, and as a new, inexperienced mom, breastfeeding changed my life and taught me HOW to be a mother. It taught me that I didn't have to follow the baby books and measure when and how much to feed my child, as she'd know when she'd had enough and when she needed more. The natural progression was such that this oozed into the other areas of parenting. My baby slept better when she was lying next to me in bed than when she was alone in a cradle. My baby was happier in a sling, next to my body, than in a stroller where she couldn't even see me. My toddler had control of her own bladder and would be potty trained when SHE was ready--not when I was sick of changing diapers or when the books said she should be trained. And yes, my 9 year old was going to go to a week of sleep-away Girl Scout camp two summers ago because SHE was ready.

I have been breastfeeding or pregnant (or both) for one month shy of eleven years now. I cannot tell you how much I have changed as a person in that time. I used to be shy! I didn't used to share my opinions very often.

For about six months now, M. has been nursing only twice a day--first thing in the morning (her first words--even before her eyes open--are "kin' I ning you now?") and last thing at night, so she falls asleep with sweet, milky dreams. But now my last child (yep, she's the final one!) seems to be cutting back on even that. In the last week, she has skipped a nursing FOUR times. She skipped both last night's (I was gone) and this morning's (I was here). I have not tried to rush this, nor tried to prolong it, using La Leche League's "don't offer; don't refuse" means of weaning. As M. is such a blend of my other two children, I had always thought that she would wean when she was three (C. weaned at two; T. at four), but I didn't really believe it, either. I think I'd pictured myself nursing for the rest of my life. I still can't imagine it not being a part of my life.

And so I'll keep the "bfmomma"--for the mammaries ;)

Ode to My New Sweater

Some of you know that my husband has a long-standing tradition of writing silly (sometimes raunchy) poetry for me in honor of "big" occasions (birthdays, Valentine's Day, anniversaries, etc.). I have quite a collection! Anyway, he wrote one about his new cardigan yesterday and gave me permission to share it (though he couldn't understand WHY I'd want to!). This is reassurance to all of you that he really does appreciate the work I put into it.

Ode to My New Sweater
by G.

Gently purple like Prince's rain that colored your adolescence,
The product of the magic that you do with your fingers
Pulling strings around sticks that I will never understand,
The same fingers that do other sorts of magic that I do,
Like you, it scratches me even when I didn't know I was itchy.