I wish I’d managed to write this days ago, but my work has got me hopping like crazy!

Halloween was perfect this year. It felt like such a treat to have it on a Saturday night because we could really enjoy ourselves.

Friday night before Halloween we enjoyed a great meal of pork chops, sweet potatoes, and greens and then carved our jack-o’-lantern. Parnasus and her son X joined us for the carving fun, and I finally hung up the groovy felt decorations we made the day before. This year Lucas managed to carve his own pumpkin, and made a graveyard scene showing headstones and a creepy hand coming up from a grave (What?).  Asher’s jack-o’-lantern was perfectly smiley, just as he requested.

We spent about five hours on Saturday figuring out our costumes. Lucas knew he wanted to be Christopher Robin from the A. A. Milne books. How impossibly cute is that? It was an easy costume to create. We added long socks and some suspenders made of ribbon and dug out my old Winnie the Pooh doll my childhood. I knew there was a good reason to save it all these years!

Thanks to Eden’s suggestion, Ian and decided on Peter Pan and Wendy costumes. I used to have the perfect white nightie, but I turned my wardrobe upside-down and didn’t find it. Fortunately, I had a white summer dress that I combined with a white blouse to make a nightgown. A pretty blue bow in my hair was about all I needed to complete the look. Ian easily transformed some cheap, green shorts and a green shirt from Target into a Peter Pan outfit with some judicious dagging. You might say we were a pretty literary bunch this year.

Grandma and Tolly Dog, who had been away for a month in Tahoe, came home to come out trick-or-treating with us. Ian’s sister Kellie and her boyfriend Matt came along, too. Kellie took this terrific photo of all four of us.

Unfortunately, despite many attempts at finding a costume that Asher would tolerate, we failed. We offered him all kinds of options, which he would agree with at first, but then refused to actually put on. He had talked about being Thomas the Tank Engine and a “big dragon with big teeth,” but in the end, all we could get him to wear was a “super-guy” cape.

Most of the evening, Asher wouldn’t go up to the houses, but stayed back with his family. Those who answered Lucas’s doorbell ring usually sent a piece of candy out to Asher with Lucas or me. Asher finally got up the courage to approach this house and did it properly. He seemed pretty proud of himself after that.

The trick-or-treating was a great success and my kids brought home way too much candy. We went out pretty early in the evening so we could get to the Pumpkin Path at Sacramento Waldorf School at 7 p.m.

The Pumpkin Path was wonderful as always! The children (and their parents) were guided by their Angel Guide along a windy path through the school that was  lighted by jacks and luminairies. They saw skits of toymakers, magic scarecrows, a fable about the lion and the mouse, the race of the hare and the tortoise, singing fairies in the glen, a contest of strength between the sun and the wind, and more. At each station the kids were given a trinket, toy, or edible treat. The best part about the Pumpkin Path this year was the way Lucas guided his little brother, helping him over tree roots in the ground or up and down steps, staying by Asher’s side so he wouldn’t be scared in the night. It was so heartwarming to see Lucas take care of Asher in this way. And Asher gleefully trooped along after Lucas. Last year, we carried Asher through it. This year, he went on his own.

We rounded out the evening with a party at our friends’ house. It was a perfect Halloween!

Many clever and passionate people have written about their feelings and thoughts on the anniversary of 9/11, about what happened on that awful September day in 2001. I don’t feel like sharing the impact that day had on my life and worldview, though it was profound and I will never forget those feelings of fear and grief. I do not wish to focus on that.

I would just like to share my small act of big faith.

On the evening of the anniversary of the terrorist attacks, I boarded a small domestic flight to Santa Barbara, having left my children in the loving arms of their grandparents, and flew through the air with my knitting and my Kindle to keep me company. It was a short, sweet flight, with no hiccups or security difficulties or excessive waiting. My stuff was x-rayed and I walked quietly through the metal detector. Nobody asked me any questions about my bags; I didn’t check any.

It wasn’t until the next day, when I was rummaging through my purse, that I realized I had accidentally smuggled a pocket knife aboard the airplane. It was in my purse, as usual, because a pocket knife is a useful tool to have. But I didn’t remember I had it and nobody noticed it, not even the technician manning the x-ray.

I don’t know how to feel about this, except to be somewhat amazed at how life is always in a state of entropy, even after a massive, shattering upset. Things go back to normal, despite our personal transformations.

We drop our vigilance. We continue with our plans, despite the alarms. We carry on.

I’m not feeling too great about how things went with Lucas yesterday afternoon. I feel like I ought to know better. I ought to have defused the situation before it escalated into the fight it was. Thing is, Lucas’s behavior is basically bipolar lately. He swings rapidly from adorable “I’m a flower fairy and my magic flower wand will cause all your flowers to bloom beautifully, Mommy” to … well … what I described last night. He went from being totally fine and companionable to hitting me in zero seconds flat.

To all of you who read that and sympathized with me (well, or with Lucas), thank you. I can sum up parenthood by saying this: every day, I wake up and try, try again.

Quoting from Your Six-Year-Old to validate my own experience and remember what’s going on with him:

“Your typical Sx-year-old is a paradoxical little person, and bipolarity is the name of his game. Whatever he does, he does just the opposite just as readily. In fact, sometimes just the choice of some certain object or course of action immediately triggers an overpowering need for its opposite.

“The Six-year-old is wonderfully complex and intriguing, but life can be complicated for him at times, and what he needs most in the world is parents who understand him. For Six is not just bigger and better than Fve. He is almost entirely different. He is different because he is changing, and changing rapidly. Though many of the changes are for the good—he is, obviously, growing more mature, more independent, more daring, more adventurous—this is not necessarily an easy time for the child.”
…

“One of the many things that makes life difficult for him is that, as earlier at Two-and-a-half, he seems to live at opposite extremes. The typical Six-year-old is extremely ambivalent. He wants both of any two opposites and sometimes finds it almost impossible to choose.”
…

“One of the Six-year-old’s biggest problems is his relationship with his mother. It gives him the greatest pleasure and the greatest pain. Most adore their mother, think the world of her, need to be assured and reassured that she loves them. At the same time, whenever things go wrong, they take things out on her.”
…

“At Five, Mother was the center of the child’s universe. At Six, things have changed drastically. The child is now the center of his own universe. He wants to be first and best. He wants to win. He wants to have the most of everything.

“Six is beginning to separate from his mother. In fact, it is this quite natural move toward more independence and less of the closeness experienced at Five that makes him so aggressive toward her at times. On the other hand, his effort to be free and independent apparently causes him much anxiety. He worries that his mother might be sick or might even die, that she won’t be there when he gets home from school.  And in his typically opposite-extreme way, one minute he says he loves his mother and the next minute he may say he hates her.

“It’s not hard to understand why this strong emotional warmth toward and love for his mother, which occurs at the same time he is trying to learn to stand on his own feet, causes him much confusion and unhappiness. It is fair to say that Six is typically embroiled with his mother. He depends on her so much, and yet part of him wishes he didn’t.”
…

“But, rather sadly and touchingly, often when the child has been at his worst, once his temper calms down he will ask, “Even though I’ve been bad, you like me, don’t you?” Or, somewhat inappropriately, at the end of a very bad day a child will ask his mother, “Have I been good today?” It is an interesting fact about child behavior that the less praise and credit a child deserves, the more he wants and needs. The very difficult child needs a great deal of assurrance that he has been good. 

“We must remember that a Six-year-old isn’t violent, loud, demanding, and often naughty just to be bad. There are so many things he wants to do and be that his choices are not always fortunate. He is so extremely anxious to do well, to be the best, to be first, to be loved and praised, that any failure is very hard for him. 

“He is, part of the time, demanding and difficult because he is still, even at this relatively mature age, extremely insecure, and his emotional needs are great. If, with tremendous patience and effort, you can meet these needs, nobody can be a better, warmer, more enthusiastic companion than your Six-year-old girl or boy.”
…

“The child of this age is really a very vulnerable little person, very sensitive emotionally, especially when he is being good. Very small failures, comments, or criticisms hurt his feelings. But if he is being naughty, once he gets started on a bad tack, he may seem almost impervioust to punishment. That is why he needs so very much protection and understanding from his parents.”

It was a fine day today. Except this time, I’m being facetious. It was fine up until about 3:15 or 3:30 when Lucas completely lost his mind. You see, I wanted to put Asher down for a nap, but Lucas wanted to play with Asher instead. So, naturally, Lucas started hitting and kicking me. Of course. That’s what you would do if I tried to put your little brother down for a nap.

I took Lucas by the arm and led him to his bedroom, saying something to the effect of “It is not OK for you to hit and kick me. Now you may go to your room. I will be putting Asher down for a nap now.” Lucas tried to punch me nearly all the way to his room, until he went limp and collapsed on the floor. So I bodily pulled him into his room and repeated my message. Then I closed his door.

Much screaming and gnashing of teeth ensued. In and out of his room he went; every time he came out, I put him back in his room. At one point I held him really close so he couldn’t deck me. That’s when he spit at me.

And that’s when I lost my temper. I shouted. I even said “fucking,” as in “YOU WILL STAY IN YOUR ROOM FOR THE REST OF THE FUCKING AFTERNOON!”

I left, went to soothe Asher, and quickly realized that Lucas had won. There was no way in hell Asher was going to relax enough to go to sleep now. He was crying and fussy and confused about all the drama. Of course. That’s how you would feel if I tried to put your big brother into his room for being a shit.

So, I just lied there beside the baby, listening to Lucas’s tantrum run through its predictible phases and thinking how pissed off I was that he took us to this place and, damn it, I should have handled it better. Somehow. See, there’s really not all that much you can do to a child when he decides to be an ass—that is, there is not much you can do if you’ve already decided that spanking isn’t right. Lucas may not be a big kid yet, but he’s plenty powerful and when one of his blows connects—damn! It hurts. I thought about how convenient it would be if there were a lock on his bedroom door so I could ensure that he stayed put, but then I remembered a friend’s story about how her parents used to regularly lock her in her room.

The screaming changed from “You’re a mean mommy! I hate you!” to “I forgive you, mommy!” to “Do you forgive me now, mommy?” Eventually he got quiet and miraculously he did not leave his bedroom. I peeped in after a while and saw that he had turned off the light and gotten into bed. Another time I noticed the door open a bit, but saw him still inside.

He stayed in his room for an hour and a half. That’s the longest time out ever. I felt I had to make a lasting impression—it is unacceptable for him to hit and kick and spit at me. If it happens again, he will stay the rest of the day in his room, until 5 o’clock comes and he can apologize to me and then explain the day’s events to his father, who doesn’t take kindly to news of Lucas beating on me.

When I finally let Lucas out at 5 p.m., he was all sweetness and roses. He apologized profusely and clearly explained to me what behavior was unacceptable and why he was in trouble. He seems to have gotten the message. 

It’s been a long time since he pulled this type of shit with me.* Somehow, turning 6 has made him insane. Fortunately, the book (Your Six-Year-Old: Loving and Defiant) says it will pass in about six months.

* Since he was 4, I think.

http://www.dooce.com/2008/05/02/newsletter-month-fifty-and-fifty-one

Quoting from Dooce, Newsletter: Month Fifty and Fifty-one (The author is speaking to her daughter in a newsletter she writes every month since 2004—except for month fifty—about criticism she receives from readers who think it’s wrong for her to write about her child on her website):

“Will you resent me for this website? Absolutely. And I have spent hours and days and months of my life considering this, weighing your resentment against the good that can come from being open and honest about what it’s like to be your mother, the good for you, the good for me, and the good for other women who read what I write here and walk away feeling less alone. And I have every reason to believe that one day you will look at the thousands of pages I have written about my love for you, the thousands of pages other women have written about their own children, and you’re going to be so proud that we were brave enough to do this. We are an army of educated mothers who have finally stood up and said pay attention, this is important work, this is hard, frustrating work and we’re not going to sit around on our hands waiting for permission to do so. We have declared that our voices matter.

“These are the stories of our lives as women and they often include you, yes. …
…

“I will not be discouraged from continuing to document the beauty of life with my family or supporting them with an income from doing so. Leta, some people will one day try to convince you that what I’ve done here is some sort of sickening betrayal of your childhood, and what those people fail to recognize is that I am doing the exact opposite. This is the glorification of your childhood, and even more than that this is a community of women coming together to make each other feel less alone. You are a part of this movement, you and all of the other kids whose mothers are sitting at home right now writing tirelessly about their experiences as mothers, the love and frustration and madness of it all. And I think one day you will look at all of this and pump your fist in the air.”

EDIT: I wrote this post late last night and I’ve been thinking I must add to it. I must add a little about why I do it. I write about my kids and my feelings about my kids in the hopes that someday they will know who I am. That I am human and full of flaws, and still beautiful. That I start every day with hopes and good intentions. That I strive for goodness and warmth, honesty and love in our family. 

If that bus with my name on it claims me before my sons grow up enough to remember me and our experiences, I hope that eventually, they will read what I have written here and know I loved them imperfectly and completely—in the very best way I could.

Lucas, you are six years old today! Six years ago we held you in our arms for the first time. You were tiny; only 6 pounds and 8 ounces. You had lots of dark, dark hair and a wrinkled up face and red skin. We dressed you in mismatched baby clothes—because you surprised us and we didn’t have all the new ones laundered yet. Somehow, we were so focused on the birthing, we forgot that at the end of it, we’d have a baby and a photo op. Somehow, you were both early (two and a half weeks) and late (productive actual labor didn’t start until 48 hours after my water broke). We danced you into this world; we tranced you into this world. When you arrived, you cracked open the sky and all the light of heaven flowed into my life. 

This is not your birthday letter; I need more time to create that. This is just your birthday post, to say “Wow. We’ve made it so far!” Today was stormy, intense, wonderful, aggravating, and sweet, just as six promises to be. I’m looking forward to learning all the amazing and soul-splitting things you have to teach me this year.

Happy Birthday, Star Child. You are the whirl in my whirligig, and you’ve got me spinnin’ right ’round. I love you to the moon, all the way past Pluto, through the next hundred galaxies and back again.

My baby is SICK! He developed a barky cough on Sunday during the night. Monday he was clearly sick and had a slight fever. Monday night and in the wee hours of this morning he was miserable, struggling to breathe, unable to sleep and crying without making much noise—just a hoarse, pathetic, croaking sound. The doctor’s office couldn’t see him until 3:30 today. His pulse-ox was pretty good—96. I hate the diagnoses where “supportive care” is about all anyone can do. They did give him a single-dose oral steroid, which I don’t much like but I know how awful not breathing feels and I want him to get whatever relief they can give. Otherwise, humid air is about all we can do for him. Poor baby is sad and clearly miserable. They said, “Keep him comfortable and happy.” Crying and agitation will make him feel and breathe worse. He is a far cry from happy.

http://www.kidshealth.org/parent/infections/bacterial_viral/croup.html
Signs and Symptoms

Croup is characterized by a loud cough that may sound like the barking of a seal and may be accompanied by fast or difficult breathing and sometimes a grunting noise or wheezing while breathing.

At first, a child may have cold symptoms like a stuffy or runny nose for a few days and may also have fever. As the upper airway (the lining of the windpipe and the voice box) becomes progressively inflamed and swollen, the child may become hoarse, with a harsh, barking cough.

If the upper airway becomes swollen to the point where it is partially blocked off, it becomes even more difficult for a child to breathe. This happens with severe croup. With severe croup, there may be a high-pitched or squeaking noise when breathing in (this is called stridor). A child will tend to breathe very fast, and the stomach or the skin between the child's ribs may seem to pull in during breathing. The child may also appear pale or bluish around the mouth because he is not getting enough oxygen.

Symptoms of croup often worsen at night and when the child is upset or crying. In addition to the effects on the upper airway, the infections that cause croup can result in inflammation further down the airway, including the bronchi (breathing tubes) and the lungs.

Contagiousness

Croup tends to occur in outbreaks in the winter and early spring when the viruses that usually cause it peak. Many children who come in contact with the viruses that cause croup will not get croup, but will instead have symptoms of a head cold.

Diagnosis

Doctors can usually diagnose croup by looking for the telltale barking cough and stridor, the squeaking sound on inhaling. They will also check the child for fever, cold symptoms (like a runny nose), or a recent viral illness, and ask questions to find out if the child has a prior history of croup or upper airway problems.

If the child's croup is severe and slow to respond to treatment, a neck X-ray may also be taken to rule out any other reasons for the breathing difficulty, such as a foreign object lodged in the throat or epiglottitis (an inflammation of the epiglottis, the flap of tissue that covers the windpipe). Typical findings on an X-ray if a child has croup includes the top of the airway narrowing to a point, which doctors call a steeple sign.

Treatment

Most, though not all, cases of viral croup are mild. Breathing in moist air seems to relieve many of the symptoms. Doctors will also sometimes treat with steroids, which helps with the airway swelling.

One way to humidify the air is with a cool-mist humidifier. Having your child breathe in the moist air through the mouth will sometimes break a croup attack. Or try running a hot shower to create a steam-filled bathroom where you can sit with your child for 10 minutes. Try cuddling and reading a bedtime story while doing this to help calm your child.

Sometimes, during cooler months, taking your child outside for a few minutes can help break the attack because the cool air can shrink the swollen tissues lining the airway. Parents can also try driving the child in the car with the windows down to bring in cool air.

If your child has croup, consider sleeping overnight in the same room to provide close observation. If you are not able to break your child's fast breathing and croupy cough, call your child's doctor or seek medical attention as soon as possible.

Medical professionals will need to evaluate your child if the croup appears serious or if there's any suspicion of airway blockage or bacterial infection. Medications such as epinephrine or corticosteroids may be given to reduce swelling in the upper airways. Oxygen may also be given, and sometimes a child with croup will remain in the hospital overnight for observation. As with most illnesses, rest and plenty of fluids are recommended.

Duration

The symptoms of croup generally peak 2 to 3 days after the symptoms of infection start. Croup resulting from viral infection usually lasts less than a week.

Complications

The vast majority of children recover from croup with no complications. Rarely, some children will develop complications such as ear infection or pneumonia.

This one is mostly about her new puppy. Dooce cracks me up.

http://www.dooce.com/2008/01/15/daydreaming-palm-trees 

And presently, Asher is attacking the computer with a toy hammer. It’s 3:35 p.m. and I need a drink.

Asher and I had our first Mommy & Baby class today.

It’s really called Parent Child class, but I suspect it will be all mommies. Only one other pair was there as the class is still forming, but Peggy and Willow seem nice. The teacher is called Teacher Marie. She is intense, warm, strong, experienced, and has a lovely singing voice. I think we are going to enjoy our Tuesday mornings in the class. The babies played. The mommies and teacher chatted. We had a snack. We sang songs. We walked to the farm and visited the sheep and the llama. On the way, we watched the 3rd and 4th graders playing on recess. Asher liked the new toys in the classroom—all wooden and beautiful, many handmade. He liked the rattles and the dollies and the wooden animals and gnomes. He really liked a surprising item: metal disks from the ends of frozen juice tubes. They made a fantastic sound when they crashed into each other. The teacher said, “Yeah. I know. Funny, eh? These are some of the most popular items in the whole classroom.” Which, I gotta tell ya, was full of thousands of dollars worth of heirloom-quality toys. Kids are weird, and yet, I understand completely why these metal disks were so interesting to him.

He really loved Willow, a six-month-old. He wanted to touch her face, especially her nose. Asher can be a bit rough because he doesn’t know better, so I spent a lot of time right next to him trying to keep him from bopping her in the head.  One of the things Asher loves to do at home is look at his books full of pictures of babies. And here was Willow—a real baby in the flesh!

One of the things that mommies do, especially when they get together, is to share tricks of the trade, and figure out where each one stands on the GREAT PARENTING SPECTRUM, which basically goes from Attachment Parenting/EC/Waldorf/Organic/Raw/No TV/Hippy/Drives-a-Horse-and-Buggy on the far left and Traditional/Authoritative/Pro-spanking/TV/Junk Food/Republican/Drives-a-Hummer on the far right. So conversation meanders gradually through all these areas of choice. “If you do organic or all organic …”; “Well, I stay home …”; “He has been using the potty since …”; “We have a family bed …”; “I try to carry my baby …”; “These cloth diapers are so nice because …”; “I really have a problem with soy …”; “Back when I was raising my kids, I nursed ….”; “My poor husband was fed solids so early ….”; “This product is so good because …”; “I sew her clothing myself …”; “My mother made …”; “We avoid plastic …”; “Isn’t silk the most vibrant, warm fabric…”; “The infant and baby woolens are best…”; “Are you aware that you can get this here?” “It’s easy to make it yourself at home…” “We grew spelt…” ect., etc. 

This exercise is tedious because it happens among all moms that I’ve ever met. In one sense, it’s a competition: Who is the Best Mommy? Who is the Best “Natural Parent”? Which is extreme bullshit. But in another sense, it’s a way of feeling each other out so that you don’t say the wrong thing to someone or hurt someone’s feelings and possibly undermine their confidence as a parent. It’s a way to learn about new things that you’ve never tried or never heard of before. It’s also a way of vetting potential friends. Weird.

If we hadn’t done this sort of thing this morning, I might not have learned that the teacher lived on The Farm in Tennessee (and a sister community in Kentucky) during the 1970s and worked as a nurse in the clinic—with Ina May Gaskin. Interesting times, indeed.

We’re finishing eating lunch. 
Asher clearly has to poop. 
He is covered in pesto sauce: oily and dotted with bits of basil leaves.
I clean him up, but just barely.
I rush him to the potty.
We’re in time.
He does his thing.
From the backyard, we hear screams of agony.
It’s Lucas and he’s hurt himself.
I leave Asher on the potty and run outside to Lucas.
He is crying and limping.
He is dressed as a cowboy.
He tripped over a garden hose and fell and hurt his knee.
I pull up his pant leg to survey the damage.
No biggie: no blood.
I tell Lucas that we’ll get the booboo bag (ice-pack thingy).
I hear another scream and crying.
I rush back to Asher.
He has crawled off the potty toward the bed.
He is wedged between my bed and his co-sleeper. 
His bare bottom is hanging down and he's grasping onto the edge of the bed.
The potty is upturned.
I pick up the baby and place him on the changing table pad.
I look over at the co-sleeper.
It has Asher poops all over it.
I clean Asher’s bottom, dress him, and put him down on the floor.
He is fine now.
I clean the co-sleeper.
I clean the potty.
I clean my hands.
I clean up lunch.
I ask Lucas how his knee is now.
He says it is all healed.
I scrub the poop off Asher’s talking teddy bear.
I clean my hands again.
I sit down at the computer to write this.
Asher is chewing on the cord.
Cowboy Lucas is being eaten by a 5-foot-long boa constrictor.
It is a perfectly normal afternoon.
The End.