My supersized superego

It's 2am and I can't fall back asleep because I had a bad dream. I sound like a child, but it's true.

I've never been in love with the work if Sigmund Freud, or even Carl Jung for that matter. I'm not really too invested in the whole idea of developmental stages that involve one's anus or genitals, nor am I in support of the notion that all my son really wants to do is have sex with me. Those theories are just a little too far fetched in my book.

One thing I can say though, is that there is some worth in Psychodynamics regarding dream interpretation. I mean, we all need to admit it, dreams have to symbolize something- they don't just come out of nowhere. Although I don't spend hours trying to identify phallic symbols that arise at any given point in the splotchy memory of my dreams, I do attempt to understand what these night terrors might represent in my real life.

So tonight, I had a dream that I left Avery in my car in the freezing cold winter for like a 6 hour span of time and didn't realize it. So when I remembered, I ran outside and got him out of his carseat where he had been sitting shivering and crying hysterically. I was trying to comfort him.... and then I woke up. Phew.

Once I had a dream that I was pulling him down the sidewalk in a sled and a car ran over him. Once I had a dream that he was in his car seat and he went flying out of the window of my car. Once I had a dream that I dropped him on accident off the scenic overlook over Lake Willoghby on Mt. Pisqa.

I've had several dreams of him falling down flights of stairs, or getting burried in snowbanks, or getting burned in a fire. I've even had dreams of discovering his bottle is full of poisionous toxins while he was suckling on it.

What is the darn worth in these dreams, anyway? Why do they haunt me like the plague?

So here's my interpretation: I have this mommy guilt that just won't go away, and I don't know where it came from. But it's there, just sitting in my collective unconscious, eating at my sole. I'm living with an enormous, blown-up, supersized superego.

Am I the only mom that has horrible, awful dreams that I am neglecting my child? Am I the only parent who has night terrors on a regular basis that my child is hurt, sick, lost, or in pain?

These dreams only add to my inability to leave Avery with anyone besides someone who I trust more than my own self. They contribute to my anxiety about ever even thinking about leaving him overnight, anywhere, anytime, with anyone.

I have this innate fear of experiencing the loss of my child, and I'm sick of trying to understand it.

I finally get my baby to sleep through the night, and now I'm up at 2 in the morning in a cold sweat and whimpering.

What a mysterious paradox motherhood has presented me with... I had a baby, and at the same time, I turned into a baby myself.

Delayed Gratification

I never thought I would be one of those adults that would preach to younger generations about how much different times were when I was a kid. In fact, I specifically remember being thoroughly annoyed when teachers and other grown-ups would mutter phrases such as, "Kids these days", or "Back when I was growing up, kids were taught to mind." The reality of the matter is, every generation is different, because they're growing up in different times. People evolve just as the environment surrounding them does.

However, I must say that there is one thing that concerns me a little bit- and that is the fact that everything that I once had to work for and wait for, is just magically there for this new generation, right at the tips of their fingers.

I was listening to a conversation the other day on NPR (yes, I've learned to embrace the idea that I enjoy public radio sometimes more than the 200+ stations SIRIUS offers- yet another thing I thought I'd never enjoy as an adult). The conversation was regarding the idea of Delayed Gratification, which I believe is perhaps the most concerning epidemic in the scrutiny of the upcoming generations. The main topic of the conversation centered around the idea that the newest generation has adapted this immediacy when it comes to most things in life that past generations used to have to wait for. It's like that DJ BoBo song, "I know what I want, and I want it now." This phenomena is perhaps mainly due to the evolution of technology.

We have access to merely anything via the Internet- no more long lines at the toy store for the Sally Secrets doll at Christmas time, or a 3 week search at a yard sale for the classic picture book that's no longer in print. Personalized items, such as LL Bean backpacks with our initials printed on them, or pencils with our names engraved down the sides just aren't cool anymore. Mothers no longer get together to craft personalized birthday party invitations, or call up their great aunt for a casserole recipe. The convenience of the Internet has allowed us to leave behind the days of crafting, searching, and most importantly, being resourceful.

Technology and the Internet has made the world extremely convenient, but within this convenience, lays a dangerous and growing issue with today's youth. We are no longer raising children who need to be resourceful, but rather children who need instant gratification at their immediate fingertips.

Now that I've lived 2 and a half decades, I can say that there were many things I not only had to learn as a child, but there were also things that I had to wait for. Although at times it seems like waiting was annoying, out of this frustration came great virtue such as patience, gratefulness, more thorough satisfaction and that sense of delayed gratification. I think anyone can attest to the fact that there's much more value found in things that have been worked for and waited for. Our culture is now centralized around the idea of everything being convenient and immediate.

So on my long ride home from class the other night I was thinking about this delayed gratification theme while I was listening to NPR. I came up with a top ten list of things that I had to wait for as a kid, that are right at our fingertips in the present time.

10. Caller ID. Who's on the end of the other line? There's no longer any wonder when that phone rings- we know exactly who's calling. And what's even better, is that we get to choose if we want to talk to them. When I was a kid, I had to pick up the phone and just be surprised. Maybe it was my grandmother. Maybe it was my friend. Maybe it was a person from the church trying to convert me to their religion. You just never knew. Now, I find myself asking, "Do I want to talk to this person right now?" Luckily though, as a child I developed the skill of engaging in forced conversation- I know how to talk to someone even if I don't want to talk to them, thanks to the lack of Caller ID.

9. Facebook. Or any other social networking sight. When I was a kid, I had to ask someone what they were doing, or how they were feeling. I didn't get an update every few minutes. And also, photo albums were something that sat on coffee table to share with friends who visited- not with a 400 person buddy list. And when I saw someone from high school that I hadn't seen in years, I'd say something like, "Wow, you look so much different," instead of, "I love your facebook pictures of your baby, and your little puppy, and your wedding photos, and the 14 different styles of hair you've had throughout the years, and the pictures of you dancing on the bar, and in your bikini, and your crazy ex-boyfriend, and your ugly college roommates, and that picture of you doing a keg stand in Puerto Rico."

8. Registries. Just the whole idea of them, whether it's for baby showers, weddings, or whatever. When I registered for my baby shower, I not only got to communicate with everyone on exactly what I wanted, but I got to sneakily check what had already been purchased every day online (let's admit it, the people who claim they don't do this are lying). I still acted surprised at my shower when I received the items, but I felt like I really missed out on that true element of surprise that comes with getting gifts. There's a piece of me that just wanted people to put their own thought into choosing a gift for me, because it would have made it that much more special.

7. Spell Check. When I was a kid, I not only had to learn to spell, but it was crucial in my success as a student. Now, when I write a paper, I don't even know if I'm spelling a word wrong because the computer automatically corrects it before I get a chance. The same with grammar. The same with handwriting. Unfortunately, someday our kids will still need to fill out job applications, and hand-write things like bank checks and holiday cards. Although spelling and GUM is still taught in school, it's arguable that kids don't get quite as much practice is this area due to convenient word processing programs.

6. Texting. Or Iming. Or even E-mailing. I used to have to deal with talking with someone face-to-face, or at least over the phone. I had to learn how to read body language, and tone of voice, and all of those other non-verbals. I couldn't stop and think about what I was going to say and carefully word it before I actually said it. I couldn't say something, then erase it, then re-say it the way I wanted. I had one shot. If it came out wrong, I had to deal with the consequences. No hiding behind a computer screen for me- human interaction wasn't quite as digitalized in my time. One thing that worked in my generation's favor, however, was that there was no saved history of our conversations, just hear-say, and fading memories.

5. TiVo, or DVR. When I turned on the TV, I just had to watch what was on. Sometimes I had to wait until 7:00 just to watch Full House. If I missed my favorite show, I just had to take the loss. Maybe I'd see it again as a rerun, maybe not. I didn't get to record it, and fast-forward through the commercials. And furthermore, I couldn't pause it to get up to go pee. I had to wait for a commercial. However, from growing up with only live TV, I became interested in television that I never would have watched in this day and age, just because there was nothing else on, and no option to watch what was recorded.

4. GPS Systems. Even Mapquest. Nope. Not when I learned to drive. I just had to follow someones shitty directions. But at least I can say that I have the problem solving skills to find my way home no matter how lost I get. I know pretty much all of the back roads in the state of Vermont from getting lost. It was always a stressful but educational adventure.

3. Dictionaries and Encyclopedias. I have a whole collection of them sitting on my book shelf collecting dust. If I need to look up a word, I type it into a word program and hit "Apple D". And if I need to find information on something, I look it up on the Internet, because we all know how notable Wikipedia is (sarcasm). If my child gets sick, I don't need to go to the library and research symptoms of diseases and disorders, or even ask an experienced mother. It's called WebMD. No more learning how to sort things in alphabetical order (this goes for phone books, too). No more card catalogs, or Dewey Decimal systems, or categorizing by theme. It takes too much time. Just look it up in a search engine.

2. Digital Photographs. No more wonder in waiting to get a roll of film developed. In fact, I now take several of the same pose until I can see that one has turned out okay. I must say that I love my old photo albums of candid, less than perfect pictures of people. You can tell when a photo was taken before the age of digital cameras, because a head will be chopped off, or a person will have a piece of broccoli stuck in their teeth. I do need to mention, though, that I don't love that my photos are being shared with the world on social networking sights within moments of when they were taken. The only ones I can control are the ones that I've taken.

1. Ultrasounds. This has got to be #1 on a top ten list. My mom didn't know my gender before the big day. If that's not a surprise, what is?

I love the convenience of all of these things. And I do believe that our children have adapted to the evolution of all of this technology quite well. Perhaps the Internet has plagued the 21st century youth like alcohol and drugs took over my generation, and the many generations before me. Maybe it's dangerous, and maybe it's an epidemic. Maybe it's nothing to worry about at all. I just hope that somehow our youth will still be able to enjoy the anticipation of waiting, and the idea that patience is a virtue.




P.S. And Downloadable music. If I liked a song, I used to have to spend about 15-20 bucks on a CD. And before that, it was about 12 bucks on a tape. Yes, a tape. I'm that old....

My cheesy love story

As part of Valentine's Day, I love to hear cheesy romantic stories about the way people met, how they fell in love at first sight, how their love blossomed into a wonderful marriage, and how they go on to have beautful children and fairytale lives together.

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I also think that the people who tell those stories are liars.

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I'll tell you the real truth. There's nothing too original about the way Josh and I met. We were set up by a mutual friend, who happened to also be one of Josh's ex-girlfriends of years ago. The first time I saw him, he was ordering sliced Turkey from me when I worked at the deli counter at White's Market.

The first time we ever exhanged words more than, "Can I get a pound of turkey, please?" was at this trashy dive bar in Lyndonville, Vermont called the Packing House. We were introduced, played pool, went on a couple of dates, and the rest is history. It really isn't too much of a love story, but it's the reality of how fate and circumstance came together in both of our favors for once.

So about 1 week after we met, I moved in with him (yes, I know this isn't typical). Then we went through a whole lot of shit, in fact probably more relationship foes then you could ever, ever imagine. But we survived it (to the left is us after 1 year of trials and tribulations).

Then we got a cat. Then we got a dog. Then we got a 60" HD bigscreen TV (just for all you white-trashers out there). Eventually we combined finances, took several dives deeper into debt, and bought a house together.

Then, we got engaged. Here's an eventful story for you. 2 summers ago, my engagement ring came in the mail. I thought it was going to be a book I had ordered from Amazon, so I opened it and discovered a Zale's box. I thought, wow, they must have sent this package to the wrong address. So I opened it, and realized it was an engagement ring. Then I closed it to pretned like I didn't open it.

My clever trick didn't work.

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So anyway, despite missing out on the peak experience of getting engaged, we were excited nonetheless.

So I started planning our wedding. Then about a month later, I peed on a stick like I always do just to confirm that I wasn't pregnant, an it turned out positive. So then I took another test, and another, and another. And they were all positive. So we used common sense, and made the general assumption that I was pregnant. Wedding plans were put on hold.

Now, a year and a half later, we have a 9 month old baby, and a wedding that still needs to be planned. So despite the chaos of both os us working full time, trying to pay the bills, raising a baby, me being in school full time, and Josh having the responsibility of managing a restaraunt at all hours of the day, we still somehow find time to love eachother. Sometimes we fight like crazy people, but I suppose nobody can get along all of the time.

So Josh is someone who I not only admire, but deeply respect. He experienced a childhood so greatly different from mine, and was thrown into this world with all odds agaisnt him. But somehow, he came out not only a survivor, but a succesful career and family man as well. He's a wonderful father, nothing less than an an amazing lover, and an extremely talented manager and businessman to say the absolute least. Who knew I'd meet the one man with enough strength to smack poverty's viscious cycle down, and overcome vicarious trauamtic life events like it's what he was put on this earth to do. He certainly demonstrates resilince in the face of adversity at it's absolute best.

4 years....

There's lots of things I love about him, but perhaps what I love most is that he's everything that I am not. He's a thinker and a problem solver. He has a large amount of common sense, and little tolerance for bullshit. He's got patience that astounds me, and an acceptance for ignorant people that amazes me (he's managed a McDonalds for 10+ years now... enough said.)

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Other things Josh has that I lack: Coordination, oragnizational skills, the ability to say no to people, financial management skills, impulse control, assertion, self esteem, a keene sense of character when evaluating personality, a large amount of pride, an appreciation for the "rough" people in this world, responsibility, a sense of obligation, ambition, a direction in life, tolerance of prejudice, acceptance of those who don't know any better, and lastly, a sixth sense.

Yes, you heard me. A sixth sense. He literally has an ability to see things in ways that most people just can't.

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I want it. I *lust* that piece of him.

If there's one thing he's taught me, it's to be thankful for everything we have. Our house, our child, our health, our lives, our families, our friends, and most importantly, each other.

So I have to take a moment to tell the world that I am ever so thankful for him. I'm so thankful that in all of our differences, there are similarities that we do share. We share empathy and altruism. An unconditional love for our pets and our son. We even share s soft spot for strays- that's in regard to both animals and people. And can I also just mention, that there's finally a man who agrees with me on how to raise a child? And that cleaning never takes priority over a good movie, or a nice long nap?
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So what else can I say? There's not too many people who love someone as much as I love Josh. I'm darn lucky!

The Second Birth of Christ

From living and working in the Northeast Kingdom of Vermont for over 8 years now, I've quickly learned that Income Tax Return Season can be closely compared to Christmas. In fact, it's like Christmas time all over again, 1 month later. It's probably more widely celebrated than the holidays that fall right in the midst of the season- such as MLK Jr. Day, Groundhog Day, President's Day and perhaps even Valentine's Day. Because in this region of the Northeast, the day that one's tax return comes in, marks something very similar to the second birth of Jesus Christ.

In past years, I've enjoyed getting my lump sum of $500-$800 back in income taxes. It was always a relief to be able to pay off some bill, or get ahead on the mortgage, or go to the mall and buy a few new work outfits. A few years ago it couldn't have come at a better time- we were were able to afford an emergency surgery for my cat that saved his life (yeah I get that it would have saved me 800 bucks to have him euthanized.... I mean it when i say I LOVE my cat). So I guess I always liked the tax return, who wouldn't? But it wasn't until this year that I realized what Income Tax Return season was really all about.

Usually we file our income tax via some program on the Internet. This year, since we had Avery, and had bought a few large items to write off as work expenses, we decided it would make more sense to go to HR Block. Let me tell you, it didn't only make sense, it was a godsend.

When the tax lady made the announcement on exactly how much Josh and i would receive in tax return money, my jaw dropped. It was literally like winning the lottery.

I won't share with the general public exactly the amount we got back, but I will share that I finally get the reason to celebrate. I now know, in the month of February, why people are all of the sudden purchasing brand new cars, and taking vacations to Florida, and wining and dining at expensive resturaunts, and buying themselves brand new wardrobes. Because when you are single with dependent children, like a lot of people who live in Northern Vermont, tax return time is really, just nothing less, than the Second Birth of Christ.

Lactation

*Click to enlarge....

Alice's Definition of a Lactation Consultant: A person or professional, usually a registered nurse, who is trained to secretly guilt post-partum mothers into breastfeeding exclusively by providing radical and sometimes false information regarding the benefits, necessity and urgency of breastfeeding an infant until 12 months of age.

Human Lactation is never something I thought about much until I became pregnant. In fact, I associated the word with cows more than I ever I did with humans. So when my mid-wife asked me at one of my prenatal check-ups if I was planning on breastfeeding, I thoughtlessly responded "Yes".

Then I researched it. There's no denying that human milk is not only the most natural, but best source of nutrients for newborn babies. It provides protection and antibodies that cannot be replicated in any man-made substance, supplement or formula. Also, the act of breastfeeding itself serves as a bonding experience between mother and child that cannot be matched by any other life experience or encounter, and is vital for the future growth and development of the child.

So I was sold. When my mid-wife asked me that million dollar question, it was like Alex Trebeck 20 years ago on Jeopardy, "Is that your final answer?" Yes ma'am, it is, no questions asked.

What a god damn naive response that was. How ignorant was I to not even think about researching the other side? There's plenty of women who don't breastfeed. What about them? Are they just uneducated? Do they not care about their babies' health and well-being? OOOhhh.. let me just pass judgement on them real quick while I make my end all decision overnight.

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So after Avery was born, reality spoke. Breastfeeding is hard. In fact, it's probably one the hardest thing s I've ever done. It was more challenging than the 9 months of pregnancy, and the birth, and pretty much everything in life. And it was stressful, too. The most stress I have ever, ever been through. But somehow I survived it.

I'm ecstatic to say that I still nurse today. It's been 9 months, and I'm darn proud. It's an accomplishment for me. I went through hell, without an ounce of support from any F***ing Lactation Consultant, either. In fact, all I had was my boyfriend Josh, and my mother for a very short while, to provide a helping hand and words of encouragement.

So for the first 2 weeks of Avery's life I nursed every half an hour 24 hours a day. This is no exaggeration. My milk came in 12 days after I gave birth. The oh so wonderful (sarcasm) lactation consultant sent us home from the hospital with sugar water to feed Avery from a syringe instead of formula. She warned us that if we ever even tried to give him a bottle, pacifier, or any type of liquid other than breast milk through any other feeding mechanism other than my nipple, then I could count out all possibilities of ever breastfeeding. What a lying sack of shit she was.

Now an experienced mother, I know. I know precisely the following:

1. Formula isn't poison. In fact, it's come a long way. It nourishes babies very well. There are plenty of babies, in fact the majority of babies out there who were fed just formula, and they are absolutely, totally healthy and thriving.
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2. I am not a walking, talking, breathing pacifier. And if I give my baby a pacifier, it does not make me a lazy mother. Babies have an internal need to suck; it provides comfort for them. Thanks to the discouragement of my lactation consultant, my baby never took a pacifier.

3. Nursing 18-20 times a day (a 24 hour period) is too much. It's not needed. It means that either your milk hasn't yet come in, or your baby is just sucking without getting any milk. It's too much stress for the mother, and if the baby is getting milk, it's way too much milk for him.

4. If your milk doesn't come in within 4 days after birth, you need to provide your baby with supplemental formula in addition to colostrum. It is normal for babies to lose 4-10 ounces of birth-weight within 2 weeks post-partum... but not half their birth weight.

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5. Fact: The U.S. has the shortest post-partum lactation and brestfeeding duration period in the world.

Another Fact: The U.S. has the highest rate of women who return back to the work force 6-12 weeks after birth.

6. If breastfeeding is causing a woman so much stress that she is having a hard time recovering from childbirth, interacting with her baby, and coping with post-partum baby blues, then it should not be continued. It isn't worth it. It's more important for the mother to be healthy, so she is ready and available to take care of her baby.

Let me just give you a brief synopsis of my story. I breastfed Avery from the get-go. I barely slept (not longer than 20 minutes at a time) for the first 2 weeks after he was born.

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All.he.ever.did.was.nurse.

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Then, on the twelfth day of this hell, I realized that my milk hadn't come in yet. So I called the lactation consultant. She said to just keep on trying to nurse, and to make sure to steer clear from formula.

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Eventually my milk came in and Avery nursed and he was healthy and... whatever. He would have been just as healthy if he had a few bottles of formula.

So anyway, 3 months later I went back to work.

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I had no other choice but to pump.

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I pumped from August until December. I pumped in my work office. I pumped in a janitor's closet when I couldn't pump in my office. I missed a crisis meeting on a client because I had to pump. I pumped in a bathroom stall at an exercise facility. I pumped in several dressing rooms at the mall. I got walked in on by 4 of my students on 2 separate occasions. I pumped in a hotel room at a work conference 6 times a day and got charged 150 bucks for it. I pumped in the break room at a taco bell (they had a super nice manager). I pumped in a vacant classroom at Dartmouth university at a training, but got questioned by two separate professors. I pumped in the Principal's office during NECAP exams. I pumped in the emergency care office at Burke Mountain Ski Resort. I pumped in the part-time faculty office at Johnson state College. I pumped, trying to cover up, but in front of 4 employees at a staff meeting in the middle of a public restaurant.

By Christmas break in December, I finally decided that I was done pumping.

I gave my daycare provider a canister of formula, about 16 different bottles, and said 'Have at it!"

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The lactation consultant gave me absolute hell.

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I concluded, from all of this.... until you have lived my experience, I dare you to say a word....

Like I said earlier, formula isn't poison. And the day Avery took his first sip of formula, was the day an enormous weight was lifted off my shoulders. My sole came back. My mind came back. My body, for the first time in about 16 months, felt like it was its own again. There was no human solely dependant on my own well-being and nutritional choices. It was the most liberating experience of my life.

I still nurse. In fact, Avery nurses about 4 times a day.

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Let me tell you, I love the nutrition and bond that nursing provides. And I love how it's the ultimate comfort for Avery- the whole world could be crashing down around us, but as long as he's nursing, he would feel totally safe and secure. It's given me a great and wonderful power that no other caretaker can provide for him.

But there's something I could love more than nursing::::::

Not pumping....

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I cherish it

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And to all of the lactation consultants out there, I just need to say... I'm a breastfeeding mother, but I'm also a counselor. From only experience do I know... prosperity finds it's routes in celebrations of accomplishment and success, not in guilt and shame. Leave me and my child alone. Let.us.be.

A Teachable Moment

A Teachable Moment, in my definition, is when an unplanned opportunity arises to teach a student a valuable lesson. Perhaps in better words, it is the educator's rendition of a Kodak Moment.

So I stumbled upon a teachable moment by chance today, and ended up with a meaningful piece of poetry as a souvenire.

In lieu of Valentine's Day, I gave the 5th graders an assignment to write a poem about someone in their life who they love or care about. The poem had to include description using the 5 senses, as well as "emotion vocabulary" (something we've been learning about throughout the year in my class). So for all the teachers out there who know about lesson plans (which is certainly every single one of them), the goal was to demonstrate the ability to understand and communicate emotion in a written format. In essence, the poem had to represent one's feelings towards another, in a way in which we don't communicate typically, but rather emotionally.

But the lesson didn't go as planned. In fact, who am I kidding, it never does.

It just went. But this time, it actually went better than planned. This does not usually happen.

All educators out there can relate to the dire neccesity of example. When you give a written assignment such as this one, it is important to also give an example. Too bad Shel Silverstene couldn't help me out this time.

So this morning, I entered the building and realized that I had 20 minutes to come up with an example poem. I threw something together about my son, trying to encompass all of the elements that the assignment was going to require. I know not reading self-written things over before you read them to a class is a bad idea. But I didn't have time. And quite frankly, even if I did have time, it was just a damn example.

That's why it caught me by surprise when my eyes filled up with tears while I was reading the end of the poem to the class. I had to pause for a moment just to kill the lump that developed in the bottom of my throat. It's proof that the post-partum baby blues never really do go away.

After I finished reading, the silence that was shared amongst those 5th grade students and I was like nothing I've experienced before. It was a moment where a bunch of 10 and 11 year old children were able to connect with me on an emotional level, and finally the relationship between the teacher and student seemed a bit more authentic.

For the first moment ever in my interaction with students, I was the vulnerable one.

As a counselor, opportunities to share tears of joy and happiness with your clients are usually very rare. It doesn't matter the population- students, adults, inmates, divorcees, whoever. People generally don't enter a counseling relationship because they're happy inside. I spend the bulk of my time with students resolving conflict, or discussing behavior issues, or dealing with anger and sadness. It is rare that we invest any time in the good feelings. Almost to the point where I've forgotten that they still exist. And it is almost never that I disclose any deep feelings about myself.

So the teachable moment was on me. And for once in my 4 years of teaching I reached the goal of my lesson without delivering an ounce of classroom instruction.

Although unedited and far from polished, I decided to leave my poem just the way it was.

A Poem for Avery

Avery is deep blue eyes

And rosy red cheeks.

He is a bright dimply grin

With two bottom teeth.

He is Goodnight Moon

On a rainy summer night.

A bubble bath full of water toys

And a cuddler bundled tight.

Avery is the scent of baby laundry soap

And Johnson's syrupy shampoo,

A Kenny Loggins lullaby,

And the return of Winnie the Pooh.

He is green beans and oatmeal

Stuck to the kitchen floor.

A singing lit up mobile

And an innocent little snore.

Avery is a talking teddy bear,

A bottle full of milk,

A pile of grown out clothes,

And a skin as soft as silk.

He is a rocking chair at 2 a.m.

A jungle monkey bouncy seat

A screecher and a squeeler,

With a voice so soft and sweet.

Avery is discovery and inspiration

he is comfort and admiration.

He is curiosity, and great tempatation.

He is hard work, and some frustration.

He is hope and he is faith.

He is nerves and he is fears.

He is excitement, he is exhaustion.

He is laughs and he is tears.

Avery is the dream of yesterday,

But today's pride and joy.

He is happiness and he is love,

He is forever my baby boy.

The 3 Z's

This weekend was a pretty good one, I suppose. My boyfriend's sister has 3 kids who I absolutely adore. I call them the three Z's. Isaiah, 10 (yes I get that his name starts with an I), Zeke, 7, and Zoe, 5. We all know now that Josh and I aren't married, but they still refer to me as Aunt Alice. I try to see the 3 Z's as often as I can, which isn't all that much because they live an hour away from me. But this weekend, their newly single mother had crazy work hours and no childcare, so I offered to have them come stay with me. Oh what fun we had... (that's in a semi-sarcastic tone).

So life with 3 children in my home in addition to my own child is nothing less of a riot act. It's wonderful preparation for the years I have ahead of me in raising my own son, as well as great prevention of any future pregnancies :-) After dealing with several conflicts over who's turn is first, taking about 13 temperatures, icing various and random wounds and bumps, and picking chewed gum off the carpet in my guest room, I've concluded that there are some crazy people in this world.

Those people are the ones who stand by the Holy Bible phrase "children are a blessing from god." They're kidding themselves.

A message from Alice's New Testament: "Children are a telegram from hell that's informing you to abstain from sex for the rest of your life in order to remove all possibilities of procreation."

Don't get me wrong. I love the three Z's in small doses. In fact, the three Z's are great in pairs... Isaiah and Zeke, Zoe and Isaiah, Zeke and Zoe... but you add a third one into the mix, no matter which one it is, and you find yourself in the middle of a chaotic turmoil that is pretty damn close to topping the world's worst natural disaster to-date (I'm sure the Haitians would be contesting this statement, as would I if I were in their spot :-(....)

So anyway, despite the chaos, we survived the weekend, and had a little fun in the meantime. On Saturday we went ice skating. I thought this would be something fun and low cost to do. it turned out to be just as much work as it was fun.

So the three kids got their snow stuff on, an I bundled Avery up and put him in one of those little pull sleds for babies. He really enjoyed us pulling him down the sidewalk despite the fact that I became a psycho-freak about him falling out of the sled, so I made Zeke crawl behind him in case he started to fall out. Kudos to Zeke for crawling down 3 blocks of sidewalk.

After about 30 minutes of tying the ridiculous laces on ice skates (Hey Volcom brand, ever heard of Velcro???) we finally made in onto the ice. Zoe lasted 1 minute until she fell. Zeke knocked his head off the ice about 10 minutes into the ordeal. Isaiah (mind you, the oldest) insisted on leaning on these crates to keep his balance. Not surprisingly, he lasted 2 hours on skates, not falling once, and holding on to the crates for dear life the entire time. Cautious but smart kid.

So after that we made the long walk back to my house, where Zoe and I made these cute Valentine's Day Cards. They were supposed to resemble little elephants with heart ears.

They turned out more like a "maybe, maybe not" type of Valentine. Maybe it's a kid with really big ears, or maybe it's a hound dog. Either way, we had fun making them.

I tired to get Zeke and Isaiah to be interested in making little owls that said "I'll owl-ways be your friend", but they weren't interested. Darn boys.

Then Saturday night we played this game Josh got me for Christmas called Pictureka. It was pretty fun, although for those of you Pictureka players out there, how do you play it with several children? How do they decide upon what's really a kitchen utensil, or an item found in water? Categories are hard with smart and thoughtful children, mainly because anything can be justified. A giraffe can be considered a water animal, because there's a rare possibility he might end up in a body of water someday. Ughh... reasoning is worse than the triumpth of winning games like these.

Can I also just say that this weekend I learned that any dinner time dilemma can be solved with a box of Kraft Mac and Cheese and a few cut up hot dogs? Processed food is the heart of pre-teen meal preparation. Without it, parents would be burdened with time consuming casseroles and starving children.

So anyway, I had fun with the 3 Z's this weekend, despite my trek over Jay Peak in blizzard like weather to bring them home. I think Avery liked having them here as well. He loves other kids... and something about cousins brings this unspoken comfort and acceptance that you just can't find anywhere else.

Love kids, love family, love Winter... despite the chaos, a great weekend.

A not so brief introduction

So last week I thoroughly explained who I am not. After ruling out the possibility of my life even closely resembling that of a reality TV star, you're probably still a bit curious to find out who I actually am. So here's
my humble attempt to shed a little more light on my ordinary life.

I live in the northeastern region of Vermont- a little dot on a state road map known as the Village of Orleans. Someone is yet to explain the difference between a village and a town to me, but I've come to the assumption that it has something to do with municipality, or lack thereof. So assume what you will about the Village of Orleans.

At the intersection of School and Liberty Street in the village of Orleans, sits an 100 year old 3 bedroom white house on a half acre plot of land. That's my house.

Posted on the front porch window is a white-trash like BEWARE OF DOG sign in bright orange letters, referring to a medium sized beagle who's harmless but barks at a floating leaf at any given moment throughout the day. That's my dog. His name is Sebastian, and despite the barking phycho he is, we still love him at the end of the day. Even if he takes up 70% of my sleeping space in bed at night, and chews up anything in the vast vicinity of his reach, there's a special place in my heart for him. After all, he was my first baby.

Well, my first baby until I had my first real baby- you know, the non-canine type that you carry in the womb for 9 months(well more like 10) and push out the chute. That's Avery, my little 8 month old bundle of joy who I never imagined could possibly get into more trouble than my dog. I can set 100 toys in front of him and he'll go after the 1 thing that isn't a toy- usually something like a chord or a small piece of paper. So my child who is mainly interested in things that could possibly strangle or choke him keeps me really busy all of the time.

I find it so ironic when people say, "oh you must be so happy now that you have a baby".

In reality, the baby has you.

I think it's safe to say that becoming a mom is a humbling experience for most first-timers out there. People talk about it all the time, they try to warn first time moms about how much work it will be. But the real truth is, nothing can really prepare you. No experience in life can emulate just how consuming a baby is, because there's just really nothing out there that compares to it.

One thing I've noticed is that people rarely mention that amidst all the sleepless nights, messy diapers, and crying spells, that you'll love it. Becoming a mom is the most overwhelming thing I've ever been through, but there's absolutely nothing I love more. It's hard to explain, the love that I have for my child. The only clear statement I can really make, is that I finally understand how much my own parents love me. All the moms out there know exactly what I mean.

So I could go on and on about babies, love, motherhood and how it's changed me as a person, but that's a whole different blog that I'll save for a whole different day. Because believe it or not, I'm more than just a mother! (I remind myself of that constantly, just so you know).

I'm also a counselor by career. I work at 2 different local elementary schools, and when I'm not doing that I'm in graduate school trying to learn how to be a better counselor. You won't hear many people say this, but I actually really like my career and my profession. It fascinates me, the insight that most young children (or older children) have into their own lives. I always have told myself that someday when I have more time (which I've now concluded will be never) I will write a book about their stories.

I guess I like working with kids because they're more open and forgiving, and far less quick to judge themselves, or others for that matter. Perhaps they're yet to be shaped and hardened by the challenges and reality of life in its increasing years. But something about that lack of wisdom, and the magical thinking that comes along with being a child brings me back to a state of mind where I'd like to remain forever. I often have to remind myself that unfortunately, I've become an adult.

So counselor by career and mom by life I suppose. Oh and by the way did I mention that I'm also a single mom? I never considered myself one, but the Federal Government and the Department of Health do. So does the local school system and its administrators. Once again, that topic is a whole other blog in itself.

I have a wonderful boyfriend, and only because I hate the word Fiance--- let me just say that if it ain't the English language it's too sophisticated of a term. And to answer the ever so common question: Yes, we were engaged before I got pregnant, and No, we're not getting married just because I had a baby out of wed-lock. But we are indeed getting married- August 7th to be exact! Planning my wedding is another project that I've been enjoying lately!

Oh and I should also mention that his name is Josh and that I love him to pieces. It doesn't always seem like we love each other, but we do!

So that's me. Oh and I have a cat too, his name is Angel (to the left). I named him that because for the first year we had him we thought he was a girl. Angel's a better name for a girl, but it still fits.

Okay, so that's me. Well, at least a brief (or I guess not so brief) introduction.