Tag Archive | children

Are you Elsa or Anna? What Frozen says about depression.

We received our pre-ordered* copy of Frozen yesterday, and now that my kids have now watched it about 87 times, I fancy myself somewhat of an expert on the movie. Based on personal experience, I also fancy myself somewhat of an expert on depression. This post is whence the twain shall meet.

Ben and Molly are overjoyed to receive their Frozen DVD

Since Frozen was released in theatres, it has been receiving quite the buzz – I’ve heard about it being an amazingly feminist movie – Disney finally redeeming itself for decades of Princess culture. I’ve heard that it’s allegory for gay pride and/or propaganda for ‘the homosexual agenda.’ I’ve heard from people who refuse to watch it until they stop hearing that goddamn song 8 times a day. I’ve heard from people who love that goddamn song so much that they sing along to it 8 times a day (*cough* me *cough*). And I’ve heard that it’s a piece of irritating garbage with half-rate singers, cheesy melodies, and the worst Princess-related story-line Disney has ever written.

My take on the movie itself? I’m a fan. I enjoyed the music and Disney’s deliberate send-up of its own patriarchal history of damsels in distress, handsome princes on white steeds, and true love at first sight. There was a cute blink-and-you-missed-it nod to diversity with a presumed 2-dad family and a neat twist on the usual moustache-twirling villain. Like so many children’s books and movies though, even with those giant leaps forward it still barely squeaked past the Bechdel test and there wasn’t a person of colour to be found (but no ethnic caricatures, so baby steps, right?).

Now we get to the part of the post about depression – the part that I start hyperventilating every time I think about writing. In so many ways…more and more each time I think about it…Frozen provides a perfect metaphor for depression. Beyond that, Frozen manages to provide dual perspectives – showing us a view of depression from both inside and out.**

Are you an Elsa or an Anna – Or maybe both?

We don’t all get literally shut away in our rooms and directed to not let anyone see how we feel, but the messages are all around us, every day:

Snap out of it. ••• Boys don’t cry. ••• Put on your big girl panties. ••• Man up. •••This too shall pass. ••• It could always be worse, right? ••• Behind the clouds, the sun is shining. ••• Every cloud has a silver lining. ••• Tomorrow is another day. ••• What doesn’t kill you makes you stronger. ••• Take it like a man. ••• Don’t air your dirty laundry in public. ••• It’s all in your head. ••• Life’s not fair. ••• Time heals all wounds. ••• Into every life a little rain must fall. ••• Pull yourself together. ••• Try and think about something else. ••• Fake it till you make it. ••• Smile and the world smiles with you, cry and you cry alone.

Like Elsa, many of us with depression are expected to have our ‘moments’ in private, hiding away and telling ourselves over and over, “Don’t let it out. Don’t feel. Don’t let them see,” until we have mastered the knack of acting like regular people, at least when it matters. And when you’re depressed you want to do that anyway – it’s exhausting out there! Like Elsa shut up in her room, I had a mantra in high school – I sang Simon and Garfunkel in my head, over and over – “I am a rock. I am an island. And a rock feels no pain. And an island never cries.” I still get knots in my stomach when I hear that song or even think those words. “Don’t let it out. Don’t feel. Don’t let them see. Don’t feel. Don’t feel. Don’t feel.” Out and about, of course, you do your best to fake it – act normal, keep up with your schoolwork, get good marks; “Don’t let them in. Don’t let them see. Be the good girl you always have to be.”

When depressed, many people, myself included, engage in self-destructive behaviour, either because it gives you an outlet – a real reason, a tangible excuse for all those feels in your head that shouldn’t be there because there’s nothing really wrong, or because it can blunt those feelings, if only temporarily. Many people are also carers – If you spend all of your energy looking after the people around you, you just don’t have time or energy to think about yourself. Bonus points if they are dealing with real actual problems that are worse than your imagined ones so you can tell yourself you’re upset because you’re worried about them!

And like Elsa, for many people there comes a point when it’s just too hard to keep up that façade. Something brushes past your desperately clinging fingers, and all those emotions finally burst out. And often that’s followed by a sense of relief and calm – when you hit rock bottom, you finally have the freedom to be yourself. You don’t have to answer to anyone. You don’t have to pretend anymore. And it doesn’t matter what people think – You are perfectly okay the way you are, and they should just leave you alone and let you be. You’re not hurting anyone, right? It doesn’t concern them. You can build your ice castle up around you, shut the world out and be yourself by yourself.

But as we saw with Elsa, depression doesn’t just stop at being sad. Depression is a selfish illness – and before you react to that statement, please hear me out, because I’ve got the damn thing, so I’m pretty comfy owning that statement. When I’m depressed, I’m pretty effing selfish. When you’re depressed you’re irritable, rage-filled, irrational, unable to enjoy ordinary enjoyable things; you can’t sleep; you sleep too much; you’re lazy and unmotivated – and those traits don’t just impact you. They impact everyone around you. Recall Ben’s, “other kids’ parents play with them, but you don’t.” When you’re depressed, you don’t have the motivation to play with your kids, to tidy your house, or to keep your temper at the best of times, let alone when your kids or spouse are getting to you.

JD Bailey, Honest Mom, has written about the scariest part of depression – the rage. This is a fury that bursts out of you, uncontrollable and terrifying in its intensity. You feel it building inside of you – heart pounding, jaw clenching, until it gets to a point where it’s unstoppable and suddenly you’re lashing out, verbally, physically, mentally. Not everyone experiences the rage, but if you do it’s terrifying – for you and for the people around you. This can be the point for a lot of people when you realize that you need help. Up until now, you have held it all in and let yourself believe that it’s not affecting the people around you – but the first time you create that giant snow monster and set it loose on people, screaming, “DON’T COME BACK,” (or “JUST EAT YOUR DINNER,” or “WHY WON’T YOU JUST SLEEP?” the impact on those you love becomes undeniable.

There was a meme sweeping Facebook last week starring Eeyore:

Image from http://www.strongmindbraveheart.com/10-things-depression/

It urges us to accept people with depression as they are, warts, unhappiness, and all – and I agree, up to a point. It is important to let yourself, and your loved ones, feel. If you need to grieve, grieve. If someone is hurting, don’t tell them “It could be worse,” or “Pull yourself together.” People need space to be upset, to be sad, to be angry – but there is an extremely fine line between supporting and enabling. Poor Eeyore – his friends patted him on the back, helped him find his tail, and rebuilt his house of sticks when it got blown away, and I’m sure he really appreciated it. But he was still sad. And at some point, probably one by one, they said, “Oh, screw it, I guess that’s just Eeyore,” and they still let him tag along, because they didn’t want to be mean, and they let him just be his depressed self. And Eeyore was still sad.

And it might not have helped, but then again it might have, if one of them had said, “Hey Eeyore? I know it’s not really any of my business, and I’m not judging you, but we’ve found your tail and fixed your house and it just seems like you’re hurting a lot and you’re never really happy. I care about you and I really want to help you get the help you need.” And maybe Eeyore would have said piss off, which is fair, and hopefully that friend would have said, “Okay, buddy. I’m here though whenever you’re ready.” But maybe Eeyore would have had a good cry on that friend’s shoulder because finally someone got that he was sad, and he didn’t even know why, and he did want to figure out how to stop it, and then maybe he and that friend might have started Googling some options.

Frozen had a happy ending. The much more difficult ending would have been the one where Anna, out of self-preservation, has to let go herself – letting go of guilt and walking away, understanding that whatever that other person decides to do, it is not up to you to change them. There can come a point, in loving someone who is depressed, when you have to love yourself more. I’ve done it. It wasn’t easy and it wasn’t pretty, but it was hands down the best decision I ever made.

Elsa needed Anna, because by herself, she didn’t know that she wasn’t okay, and Anna stepped up and, against all odds, reached out, again and again. People with depression need Annas. It’s hard to do it on your own – first because you don’t always realize that you need help and after that because even when you realize it, that help is not easy to get. Even when Elsa pushed her away, and even when Elsa hurt her, she kept reaching out, until finally Anna was able to break through Elsa’s self-involvement, to show her that isolating herself wasn’t protecting anyone, and that even though her actions were affecting her loved ones, they loved her and wanted her, warts and all – but only the warts she wanted to keep.

Elsa kept her powers – the magic that was integral to her personality – but got the help she needed to be able to control it, not be controlled by it. Her power no longer called the shots. People with depression can be pretty awesome. We often have wicked cool senses of humour – Elsa created Olaf, didn’t she? Scratch the surface of many very funny and talented people (The Bloggess***, and pretty well every other humour blogger in the world) and comedic actors, for example – and you’ll often find depression. We tend to be realists and are pretty comfortable with our own warts…and maybe a little too comfortable pointing out other peoples’.

If, like Elsa and Anna, we find that happy ending, we don’t become different people – we’re generally the same dry, sarcastic, realistic people as before, just a little easier to live with, and finding it a little easier to live with ourselves.

~ karyn

*Pre-ordering? Not actually a thing. You order. You don’t pre-order. Ordering is when you say, “Can I have this when it’s ready?” Pre-ordering would be saying, “Can I have this when it’s ready to be ready?” or something. Like pre-registering – what the heck is that? What do you do when you pre-register? You say, “Sign me up for that thing I want to do! Here’s all my information!” You know what I call that? REGISTERING. Yeesh.

**For another take on Frozen and depression, walk the plank over to Domestic Pirate for a powerful post on how Elsa and Anna represent the two warring voices of depression in her head.

***Seriously – if you haven’t read Let’s Pretend This Never Happened yet, you need to. You will ugly cry and laugh hysterically at the same time. So…uh…like my friend David recommends, try to avoid reading it in public.

Princess Molly’s Princesuccessful Day of Princexcess.

Mar10

Once upon a time, in a far away land, lived a beautiful young woman, her handsome husband, and their spirited 2 year-old son. They lived a humble and unassuming life and were happy together, just the three of them, but they all harboured a secret desire to welcome one more child to their family.

They wished and wished, and faced many trials along the way, but at long last, that wish was granted, and the couple told their precocious son that the mommy had a baby growing in her tummy. He was delighted and declared, “It’s going to be a turtle, and I’m going to name it Dora!”

After the longest pregnancy the woman had ever experienced (literally, since the aforementioned little boy made his appearance rather earlier than expected), the big day finally came. The expectant couple dropped the little boy off with his grandparents, packed their bags, and headed off bright and early to…

…IKEA.

After a calming meander through the furniture-filled halls and a quick bite of breakfast for the father-to-be, they made their way to the hospital where they celebrated International Women’s Day 2010 by welcoming the future first female benevolent dictator of the world.

On meeting her several hours later, her brother quickly got over his disappointment at her lack of turtle-ness and accepted his parents’ over-ruling of his name choice in favour of Molly Elizabeth…

…and the rest, as they say, is history — or at least it will be once she makes it!

The End.

(Oh, right — as for the titular Princesuccessful Day of Princexcess…) Boy, oh boy — Let a doting father of a princess-obsessed birthday girl loose in a bedding store, and the results are…well…

Perhaps it could be best expressed as a word problem:

If Train 1, carrying a load of cotton candy, leaves Station A at 10:30 AM traveling 100 km/h, and Train 2, carrying a load of Bazooka Joe bubble gum, leaves Station B at 10:45 AM traveling 115 km/h, and they arrive at the junction at the same time and collide with a tanker filled with Crush brand Cream Soda and a truck loaded with costumes for a preschool ballet recital, just exactly HOW pink will the resulting explosion be?

Or a tongue-twister:

How much pink could a pink thing pink if a pink think could pink pink?

Or a haiku:

Spring breeze wafts cherry blossoms
Soft scent fills the air
The perfume suggests a hue.

I give you: Princess Molly’s Royal Bedroom

Text reads (clockwise from left): “*Gasp* I LOVE it!!”
“I never had a Princess lamp before!!” and
“Wait, mommy! I have to put on my Princess dress before I can go in!”

The answer to all three of the above questions is This. This is how pink. Pink to the power of THIS MUCH.

In all fairness, who could resist?

And in the end, Ben couldn’t resist either.

Anyway, my Molly Monkey, five International Women’s Days have now come and gone in your life, and you have grown up into a headstrong, self-aware, independent, gutsy, and all-around fantastic four year-old with those excellent leadership qualities that your paediatrician predicted in your first year.

I know that you will grow up to do anything you want to do, and mommy, daddy, and Ben and all the rest of your family and friends will be there to support you and cheer you on, whether it’s fulfilling your dream of becoming a princess geologist, or traveling the world to watch you compete at the elite level of the winter sport you plan to invent, “Skeleton but then you slide down a huge, huge jump and fly way up in the air and do flips and somersaults!!”

Actually, y’know what – let’s stick to world domination. It’s probably safer.

~ karyn

Magical Parenting

Mar5

You know how every once in a while the stars align: You are struck by inspiration, have the means to carry it out, it goes off perfectly, and you create this completely magical moment for your kids?

Ben lost a tooth the other day at school – I found out because I got a phone call from the office. “Nothing to worry about, but Ben lost his tooth today…and then he…uh…lost his tooth today. So he might be upset when he gets off the bus,” followed by a second call 5 minutes later – “Tell Ben that Miss M and Mme H were on their hands and knees searching on the floor and we found his tooth!!”

He came home yesterday with the tooth in a tiny green treasure chest, and (being Ben) questioned how the tooth fairy would get it open – “Will she be strong enough? She’s pretty tiny…” and then, after some thought, he concluded that she would use her magic.

I believe I have in the past touched on my feelings about glitter, or as I like to call it, the herpes of the parenting world.

A little while back my mom came home from a trip with some clothes for Molly – heavy on the sequins and tulle; y’know, totally not Molly’s style, right? – and gleefully announced, “And the lady in the store gave me this – Fairy dust!” Eyeing the pot of impossibly fine loose pink glitter like someone had just handed me a sack full of wolverines on methamphetamines, I said, “Seriously?” and immediately banished her from my home for all eternity.

But last night, as I insomniacally completed advanced sudokus in the bathroom, I thought, “Oh. My. God. Pink glitter + opened treasure chest = tooth fairy magic.”

Ben didn’t notice right away, so I said, “Ben, were you and Molly playing with glitter? There’s glitter in this box.” Ben (slightly panicked) said, “No! It must be from school! *long pause* ….or…..*whispered breathlessly*….it’s fairy dust.”

With eyes as wide as ping-pong balls, he pinched some in his fingers and sprinkled it on himself, then whispered, “I lost my tooth. And I won my Spellathon!” put his arms out to the sides, teetered on his tippy-toes, and fell over.

He looked disappointed for a second, and I said, “Ben…did you…did you just….I thought I saw you float for just a second there before you fell.” Ian shot me a worried look of, “Are you sure about this?” Ben said, “I did? Really? I did!!” and dashed out of the room:

“Molly!! MOLLY!!! The Tooth Fairy left FAIRY DUST behind and I put it on me and thought happy thoughts and I FLOATED FOR JUST A SECOND!!!!!!!”

Magical.

Text reads: “Sprinkle some glitter when the tooth fairy comes…and your child will be floating on air!”

~ karyn

Love Hurts

Feb12

I broke my toe making Valentines cards.

No, wait…I can’t really start there. You need more context than that. I broke my toe because of my ovarian cyst, which is not complex, just misunderstood, like me in high school.

Actually, I’d better go back a bit further. Really, it all started because Ian bought those damn Valentines treat bags at the Liquidation World closing sale, so when it comes down to it, I blame the economy. I broke my toe because of the economy. Damn you, Stephen Harper!

Love Hurts
or; that time I broke my toe making Valentine cards

I’m feeling a little bit pulled in all directions lately, mostly because of things that I have taken on myself and therefore for which I have only myself to blame…the new job*…the old job**…the old chair position***…the new chair position****… For the most part I’ve been managing to keep my head above water, and this Sunday I finally got through the stressfullest bit, which was chairing the church’s Annual Meeting. By the grace of…well…chocolate (true story!) I made it through and it was pretty successful, if I do say so myself.

Between my own work and extracurriculars, and Ian’s work craziness (transitioning to new ownership by a much bigger company with very different corporate style, meaning even longer hours and more travel than before)…and the fact that my beloved first car Spunky (RIP) bit the big one last week, necessitating a day of car shopping…&tc…&tc…suffice it to say, my house is a disaster, we are subsisting on the leftover party-sized pizza we brought home from church on Sunday, and Ian is away yet again.

On top of that, Ben’s moods and behaviour have been a complete nightmare lately, Molly’s behaviour hasn’t been much better, and I’ve also been having this fun crippling abdominal pain which turned out to be my not-so-complex bloody ovarian cyst (literally bloody; ‘haemorrhagic,’ technically).

So this morning, when I really should have been working my little medical transcriptionist heart out, I confessed to my wonderful support group of invisible interweb blogging friends that when I learned I had this (originally wrongly described) complex cyst, a small part of me couldn’t help but wish that it was just a little more on the complex side. Nothing terminal of course; just maybe serious enough to put me out of commission just long enough for it to be socially acceptable to expect people to come in, clean my house, look after my kids, and cook me a couple of nice dinners.

Well, there went the morning – we laughed, cried, commiserated, laid the groundwork for a proposed tropical paradise sister-blogger-wives commune, and I’m pretty sure conspired to transport questionable substances across state lines. It was just what I needed. My friend Lizzie over at Considerings calls these sorts of people her ‘lifeboats’ and that’s exactly what I needed and exactly what I got (Mel, Jenn, and David, that includes you too).

Thus refreshed, I looked at the clock and realized that it was well beyond when I needed it to be and I still had to get to Ben’s school to pick him up for his doctor’s appointment to talk about stopping the medication that was hopefully the source of the drastic mood swings and anxiety that had made him particularly difficult to parent lately.

And it was at that very moment that I thought to myself, “This is the perfect time to make Valentines!”

A few weeks ago, Ian took Molly to Liquidation World to check out the store-closing sale and impulse-bought thoughtfully purchased several items, including very reasonably priced cellophane Valentine treat bags. Now under normal circumstances, this would have been perfectly fine – welcome, even – but given my fragile mental state in the context of the tornado of crazy that is my life right now, these GOD-DAMN TREAT BAGS have become the apex of my stress mountain – the one thing in my life that should be so absolutely simple (Use them. Don’t use them. Toss in a lollipop and call it a day. Pretend I can’t remember where I put them. So many nice, easy possibilities!) but instead has become the thing on which I have fixated ALL of my stress because I simply cannot allow said stress to affect the delicate balance of all the other balls I am just barely managing to keep in the air.

Saturday night, at Walmart: I need chocolate for the Annual Meeting (put chocolate hearts in cart). I should pick up Valentines for the kids (start looking at Valentines). Princess Valentines that come with bracelets – check! (put in cart) Angry Birds? No, Ben did Angry Birds last year. Bugs with sticky bug cling things – that works (put them in basket). Wait, then I have to get stuff to put in the treat bags. Okay…heart stampers (into basket). Pencils (into basket). I should get candies. More chocolate heart candies? But I don’t know if they’re peanut-free (look through all Valentine candies for peanut-free symbols, then reject them all on the basis of price anyway). But if I’m getting stuff to put in the treat bags, I shouldn’t just get the Valentines that come with useless crap that’s going to get thrown out anyway. I could get the cheaper Valentines that don’t come with things (put away other Valentines). Okay, so Princesses without bracelets for Molly. Jake and the Neverland Pirates for Ben? (put in basket). I don’t know though…he likes Jake, but I don’t know if he likes it enough for Valentines (put them back). Maybe I should let them choose their own cards (put the Princess ones back too). I really wanted to do that Pinterest thing with the fish candies. I wonder if they have them in the regular candy section (go all the way back through Walmart. Don’t find fish candies). I could check the dollar store. Actually, I could get stuff for the treat bags there too (put it all back and just buy the chocolates).

Monday afternoon: Take kids to the dollar store and pick out candies to put in treat bags. Foolishly mention to Ben that I had wanted to find banana or fish candies to do a Despicable Me or undersea-themed Valentine. Ben decides to hand draw all of his Valentines with minions and sea creatures. Molly wants hers to have princesses and rocks.

Monday evening: Second guess doing treat bags at all. Do I really want to be THAT mom?

Tuesday morning: Decide to go to the bulk food store after Ben’s appointment to look for banana or fish candies. Resolve (again) to be THAT mom.

Tuesday lunchtime: Decide that NOW is the appropriate moment to make a test-run of Despicable Me Valentine cards, on the off chance that we do find banana candies at the bulk store (but they won’t be individually wrapped. I would let my kids eat them, but I don’t know about all the other parents. Is this just a waste of time and effort? Are half of them just going to wind up in the garbage? Do I really want to be THAT mom?)

And that is how, as I ran back to the craft corner to get the black marker I had forgotten when I brought the rest of the craft supplies to my desk to make a test batch of Valentines before I raced to pick Ben up in time for his doctor’s appointment, I came to catch my foot on the leg of the couch and collapse in a writhing, gasping, broken-toe-gripping heap on the floor.

The Valentines turned out well though!

Minion Valentines

*In December I started working as a copywriter for a communications company. It sort of fell into my lap in the form of an offer I couldn’t refuse; Just as I had started to wrap my head around the fact that I was enjoying this whole writing gig and could maybe potentially see myself entertaining the possibility of vaguely dreaming about doing it professionally, the husband of an old friend called and said, “Hey, any chance you want a job as a copywriter?”

**I work from home doing medical transcription, which basically means I can type really fast and my spell-checker knows a lot of words you’ve never heard of.

***A year ago I unwittingly became chair of the Worship Committee at my church. Easy-peasy.

****And then I became chair of the whole shebang. Less easy-peasy.

Not your mama’s toy shopping tips

Nov13

‘Tis the season!! As the ground turns snowy and swathes of red and green appear in the dollar store, our thoughts turn to the joyous season of giving.

Dollar Store in October. No joke.

To help you with that giving, I have been carefully poring over toy catalogues to compile a list of my top 10 essential Christmas shopping tips. I really hope that you find them helpful!

10 Essential Toy Shopping Tips, straight from Santa!

Top 10 Christmas Shopping Tips

(according to a national retail toy catalogue)

Tip #1:

For the little boy in your life, pirate, castle, race car, tool kit and train play sets are always appropriate choices. Don’t accidentally buy one for your little girl, though. She would much rather have a pretty pink purse, baking set, realistic shopping cart, or vanity unit with light – the 5-minute auto shut-off means she won’t get into the habit of primping for too long, and her future husband will appreciate that, amiright? Pair that with her very own vacuum cleaner and cleaning trolley and look at her go!

Collage of catalogue pages. Thought bubble reads, “This thing’s gonna crap out any second and I’m not even half done.”

Tip #2:

Boys love science, so look for a telescope, chemistry set, microscope, or any of many other assorted science kits with only boys on the boxes. As I’m sure you realize, girls aren’t really good at that sort of thing but they do like to make pretty stuff, so you could try the rock-tumbling kit; maybe she’ll even learn something while creating earrings, necklaces, or keychains! For even more creativity without the distracting science focus, consider any of a wide variety of craft kits.

Collage of catalogue pages

Tip#3:

Looking for something a bit bigger? Little girls really like to sit and draw, or even just sit passively and look pretty, so consider a art desk or a pink princess castle playhouse for her. For her brother, how about an activity gym or superhero-themed real go-kart? Those boys really like to get active while their sisters watch! Remember, they’re never too young to start internalizing appropriate gender roles, so consider an infant-sized kitchen play-set for Baby Susie or sports centre for Little Johnny.

Collage of catalogue pages. Text reads, “Binary Internalized Gender Roles: The Gift That Keeps On Giving!”

Tip #4:

For toddlers and preschoolers, you can’t go wrong with a classic child-sized kitchen play set. It used to be that these were only for the little girl in your life, but we’ve come a long way, baby! Now you can get realistic-looking toy kitchens so that boys and girls can play together – think how much fun your kids will have reinforcing gender stereotypes when she washes dishes while he barbecues, or even better, as she fixes him another sammich while he scarfs down the first!

Catalogue page. Speech and thought bubbles read: “How are the dishes coming babe?” “Just fine, sweetie!” “Asshole.”

Tip #5:

Little girls love to play dress-up and then look at themselves in the mirror, so the only question is: Table-top or full length? (Or how about both?)

Catalogue page. Thought bubble reads, “I thought I wanted that chemistry set, but boy was I wrong. Thank goodness Auntie Sue went with her gut!”

Tip #6:

Outdoor toys like sleds, battery-operated cars and other ride-ons are always a hit! If you want your daughter to participate make sure she has a brother or little boy friend who can take the controls because you know what they say about women drivers…

Collage of catalogue pages. Text reads: “I mean, women drivers – It’s just not worth the risk, right?”

Tip #7:

Building sets are also an excellent choice for both boys and girls. The manufacturer makes it easy for the consumer to ascertain which sets are appropriate for boys or girls by selectively gendering the character figures that are included. Your daughters will love building the sets and then grooming horses, pampering pets, hosting sleepovers, or running a bakery with Andrea, Emma, Stephanie, Mia, and Olivia, while your sons will enjoy flying planes, fighting bad guys, and performing open water rescues while identifying with male pilots, lumberjacks, forklift operators, police officers, superheroes, and coast guard members!

Collage of catalogue pages

Tip #8:

What little girl wouldn’t love a baby doll to cuddle and care for or a little girl doll to be her best friend? With a wide variety of doll furniture and other accessories available in a vast array of shades of pink, your little mommy can dress, change, bath, and feed her little baby to her heart’s content. Since statistics show that the vast majority of little girls are white or just slightly tanned, you will easily be able to find a doll that your daughter can relate to. As the catalogue suggests, “Celebrate her uniqueness” with the gift of unintentional irony! Playing with dolls develops nurturing, caring, and empathy, which is wonderful for girls, but of course we don’t wish to encourage those traits in boys, which brings us to our next tip –

Collage of catalogue pages – in fact, EVERY SINGLE page in the doll section. Text reads: “CELEBRATE HER UNIQUENESS WITH ACCIDENTAL IRONY” and (pointing to tiny inset photo) “Look! A Black person! Thumbs up to this retailer for representing diversity!”

Tip #9:

Boys love violence! Luckily there is a wide variety of toys available to feed those urges, including boxing sets, guns, and ammo. For your little Katniss, consider a pink/purple gun, bow, or crossbow – and so you don’t have to say it, the little “Rebelle” logo will remind her every time she sees it that it’s not quite socially appropriate, now, is it?

Collage of catalogue pages

Tip #10:

Finally, if toys aren’t really your game, consider furniture. Is your little one outgrowing his crib? Why not get him an awesome toddler bed that looks like a sports car, train, or pirate ship? If you have a daughter, you’ll have to think of something else since a hollowed out fairy princess would be kind of creepy. (Aside – How is it that no-one has made a disemboweled tauntaun toddler bed yet?? Mattel? Little Tikes? This is cross-branding GOLD. You guys will definitely want to get on that. I expect a 10% royalty on every unit sold.)

Catalogue pages. Thought bubble reads, “This race car is cool and all but a hollowed out tauntaun would be SO much better.”

Special bonus tip #11:

Be aware of the way that toy marketing influences as well as reinforces gender roles. Don’t buy into the marketing gimmick that tells you that you have to go to the separate “girls” section to get a pinkified version of the same familiar toys. Companies aren’t doing it because research has shown that there is a qualitative difference between “boy” stuff and “girl” stuff. They’re doing it because they know they can get you to spend your money twice on the same damn thing.

Listen to your children. Let them develop their own likes and dislikes – don’t let the toy companies do it for them. If your daughter asks Santa for a 44-piece tool kit while your son wants an Easy-Bake oven, congratulate yourself on doing parenting right. (I still use that tool kit – thanks again, Santa!).

The social construction of gender is a cyclical process – advertising doesn’t create those constructs, but it doesn’t try to undermine them either, because retailers make money by giving us what we want to see: Little white girls playing with dolls and boys driving racecars. They think that we won’t be as likely to buy it if they catch us off-guard with something that doesn’t seem quite right, so they (and we) continue to force our hockey-playing girls and our Strawberry Shortcake-loving boys back into those boxes that society has built for them over and over until eventually they decide that they might as well just stay there.

Let kids be kids, not gender constructs. The next time you see a toy catalogue with 9 pages of little (white) girls playing with doll stuff and not a boy in sight, take a cue from Santa Ben and shout it out, loud and proud:

“That’s a STEREOTYPE!!”

Collage of photos of boys and girls being themselves

Please Note: This is not a sponsored post. All artwork, unless otherwise noted, remains the property of the original photographer. My observations are based on my analysis of trends seen in toy catalogues and do not refer to any specific retailer or manufacturer pictured.

Eating My Words Instead of My Treats – Halloween Safety Part 2

Nov1

You may have noticed that I titled my previous post “Part 1.” Part 2 was supposed to be a snarky look at the rest of the usual Halloween safety tips flipped around like that “How to Prevent Sexual Assault” meme (“If you see an unconscious woman, don’t rape her”) to put the onus on the grown-ups: So “Put reflective tape on your costume so cars don’t hit you” becomes “If you see kids in costumes on Halloween night, don’t hit them with your car, or better yet, don’t drive your car on Halloween night if you don’t have to.”

I know, I know – it needed work, but in my head it had potential.

Scary Jack-O-Lanterns. Text reads: Eating my Words Instead of Treats

Then my best friend’s mom went and died unexpectedly on Sunday night and suddenly not only did I lose all ability to think in terms of funny but all of my previously hilarious lines about there being no good reason to drive around on the one night of the year when you know there are going to be lots of children crossing the road suddenly became really assholey. An afternoon funeral, as it turns out, is a quite compelling reason for a large number of cars to be on the road at just such a time.

So instead of that post, I want to recognize my friend Jenn, who has faced an unspeakably horrible situation with an unimaginable amount of grace and courage. If you happen to have a few extra dollars burning a hole in your pocket, consider making a donation to Lupus Ontario in honour of her mom.

And now for some gratuitously adorable Halloween pictures:

Ben holding his pumpkin Doppleganger

The instructions from Farmer Charles on Molly’s school field trip were to select a pumpkin that looked like your head, so Ben brought him that one for inspection.

Ben and Molly and I “carved” pumpkins with the help of Ian’s power drill*, several chisels, and our 8 year-old neighbour Rebecca – air quotes because mostly Ben rode his bike and Molly supervised Rebecca’s pumpkin-gut-scooping. Rebecca very kindly helped Molly draw her pumpkin faces and Ben did his own.

Clockwise from top left: Minion pumpkin, scaaaaarry pumpkins (ooooOOooooOOOooo), and Ben holding the “pumpkin doorstop”

Ben: “MOMMY!! I WANTED TO USE THE KNIFE!! Our Halloween safety rules from school said, ‘make sure a grown-up is WITH you when you carve it,’ NOT, ‘the grown-up should do it FOR YOU!!”

***

Rebecca: “I’m trying to make it look like a kid drew it.”

Me: *raises eyebrows*

Rebecca: “I mean, a LITTLER kid.”

***

Ben: “How do you make a SCARY pumpkin face?”

Molly: “You say, ‘OooooOOooOOOOOooo,’ while you draw it.”

***

Me: “OW!”

My brother James: “Careful. That’s probably sharp. It is a chisel, you know.”

Me: [redacted]

***

Ian: “Oops.”

Me: [also redacted]

Close-up of the minion head, the reason for the “oops.”

And finally, my split-personality minion Ben (heralded by the grade eights at his school as “OMG THE BEST COSTUME EVER”*) and Molly, who was, “Uh…Pinkalicious. No, a fairy. No, a fairy princess. No, a pink princess fairy. No, Pinkalicious dressed as a fairy princess with a pink tiara. No, not Pinkalicious OR a fairy OR a princess OR a pink fairy princess – AGNES from Despicable Me. No, NOT Agnes. A pink fairy princess with fairy wings but NOT Pinkalicious dressed as a fairy. No, a fairy princess. But not with fairy wings. Just a princess. Rapunzel.”

Minion(s) Ben and Rapunzel Molly

~ karyn

*Next year, jigsaw.

**For the DIYers out there – the minion costume is a collapsible laundry hamper from IKEA, purple and yellow felt, mason jar screw-top lids, purple tulle, denim overalls, black pleather pants** cut and pasted to be overalls, 2 pairs of kids shoes, gloves, and various other bits and bobs. I cut the lid out of the hamper and cut arm holes. Everything is secured with staples, safety pins, and/or hot glue (no sewing required). Ben is dressed as a minion underneath as well with overalls, yellow sweatshirt, and a crocheted minion hat courtesy of the fabulous Ingrid at Loveable Stitches (full disclosure: I’m also at Loveable Stitches. Check us out!)

***Size TWO pleather pants that I found second-hand at Once Upon a Child. WHO MAKES PLEATHER PANTS FOR TWO-YEAR-OLDS?? AND WHO BUYS PLEATHER PANTS FOR THEIR TWO-YEAR-OLD???****

****Okay, fine. Yes, *I* would probably buy pleather pants for my two-year-old. Are you happy now?

No Razorblade Apples For Us, Thanks – Halloween Safety Part 1

Oct29

‘Tis the season – in my opinion, the MOST WONDERFUL TIME OF THE YEAR!! (I absolutely LOVE Halloween!!).

There are, in fact, those who believe it’s possible my family goes a little too far when it comes to getting into the spirit of the season. There was that one year when I guess the neighbourhood kids found the combination of the front lawn graveyard complete with body parts sticking out of leaf piles (perhaps occasionally replaced by my big brother who would jump out at people) PLUS the Blair Witch Project stick figures hanging from a porch roof a LEETLE intimidating, as evidenced by the distinct drop in the number of trick-or-treaters, usually around 400-500, to about…uh…3. (We heard whispers at other houses of, “Are you going to that really SCARY house? I’m staying away from there!!”) Reluctantly, we toned it down a touch after that….

Now I focus my energy on my pumpkins and their costumes…oh, and of course, carving my jack-o-lanterns too!

This year we’ve gone with a Despicable Me 2 theme for Ben and Molly:

Of course, with Ben at “big kid school” now, with the season comes a crash course in Halloween safety. Don’t get me wrong – I’m all for safety but the emphasis on CHECK YOUR CANDY AND DON’T EAT ANYTHING THAT’S LOOKS STRANGE OR IS OPEN OR IS NOT PREPACKAGED OR IS HOMEMADE OR IS PURPLE BECAUSE SOME NAMELESS FACELESS STRANGER WHO IS ALSO YOUR NEIGHBOUR COULD BE GETTING HIS OR HER JOLLIES OFF FOR UNKNOWN REASONS BY PUTTING ANTHRAX OR RAZORBLADES* IN IT.

Are Evil Minions Putting Razors in Your Apples? Halloween Safety – Part 1

Yes, stuff happens, and there are creepy strangers in the world, but for the most part, we are coming to realize as a society that “stranger danger” has been blown way out of proportion and that the greatest dangers to children in terms of being deliberately harmed stems from those people closest to them.

As such, I have gone with a strategy with Ben and Molly of emphasizing talking openly with trusted adults and not keeping other people’s secrets. They know that they can talk to me and Ian about anything without judgement, and they can ask us any question and we will give them the best answer we can. They also know that they do not have to keep a secret that someone else, especially an adult, asks them to, and again, if in doubt, they can talk to us.

When Ben came home from school talking about these Halloween safety videos telling him not to eat any opened or homemade treats because they could be tampered with and to get his parents to check all of his candy, I had two concerns:

First, the emphasis on poisoned treats creates anxiety around a danger that is statistically insignificant while ignoring the true hazards (Hello, choking hazards? Allergies?).

Second, giving the child all of these rules to consider places the responsibility on him or her instead of on the grown-ups (“I know I’m supposed to get my parents to check it, but as long as I take out all of the broken packages and homemade treats, I can eat ALL THE THINGS!! Woo hoo!”).

I reframed the rules to fit our family’s paradigm (Oh yeah: Two 50c child studies words FTW!):

“I think what the video was trying to tell you was to make sure that you ask a grown-up before you open any of your treats.”

“Why?”

“Lots of reasons: You could be allergic to something; it could be a choking hazard for you or Molly; it could be dirty or have germs on it or have gone bad; like the video showed you, someone could have done something to it that could hurt you, but that doesn’t happen very often at all; and of course you could get sick if you eat too much of your candy all at once. That’s why you should always show your candy to a grown-up, like me or daddy, and ask us for permission first before you eat any of it.”

When it comes to raising “street-safe” kids, an open line of communication with a trusted adult is far more effective than unnecessary anxiety around non-existent shadowy strangers.

The most important safety rule of all, whether it involves eating Halloween candy, keeping a secret, or meeting that nice boy you’ve been chatting with on Facebook, is Always. Ask. First.

~ karyn

*Seriously. Do they even make razorblades any more? I’m trying to picture someone concealing a Lady Bic or a Schick Intuition in a caramel apple and it’s just not working.

The Straight Poop on Potty Humour

Oct21

I believe very strongly in teaching my kids to use appropriate behaviour and language at all times. There is no room in Team Pickles for potty humour and poop jokes, and if my children veer into bathroom humour territory, I gently admonish them and remind them that

What do you mean, no-one’s buying it? I’ll have you know that we don’t stand for that sort of…

All right, fine. Maybe I’m not as consistent as I perhaps should be on the whole potty humour thing…but y’know…sometimes…shtuff happens.

The Straight Poop on Potty Humour
(Or, I think my credibility just went down the toilet)

Yesterday when Ben declared that he was about to have his third (3^rd!!) poop of the day, I foolishly led us down the rabbit hole of poop jokes (my apologies, Ben’s teachers!). It started out so innocently:

“Ben, you’re the poopiest guy I’ve ever seen! I have never heard of anyone pooping as much as you! You’re like the pooper of all poopers. If you were a dinosaur, you’d be a Poopasaurus Rex!!”

*giggle giggle giggle *

“If you were a tropical fish, you’d be a pooping tetra!”

*giggle giggle giggle *

“If you were a lunch, you’d be…pooperoni and cheese!!”

*giggle giggle giggle *

“If you were a breakfast you’d be cereal with poopghurt!!”

*howls*

“If you were a dinner, you’d be spaghetti and poopballs!!”

“If I were a book, I’d be I Have To Go POOP!!”

“If you were a Dr. SEUSS book you’d be The Cat in the Hat Goes Poop! Or Horton Hears a Poop!”

“Yeah! And it would be by Dr. POOPS!”

“If you were a Treehouse show, you’d be Franklin and Poops!!”

“Or Thomas the Tank Engine and Poops! And if I were a Disney Junior show, I’d be Stella and Poop!”

“If you were a song, you’d be I Knew You Were Poopy When You Walked In.”

“If you were a breakfast cereal, you’d be Froot Poops!”

“If I was in a band I’d be a poopcussionist!!”

“If you were a musical instrument, you’d be a poop organ!!”

“Or I’d play the BAGPOOPS!!!”

“If you were a pizza topping, you’d be…”

“POOPERONI AND CHEESE!!!”

*total collapse*

Sorry, mom…

~ karyn

Two roads diverged in a wood, and I —

Oct1

The High School Reunion: Words to strike fear in the heart of some and instill joy in others, and for me evoking a confusing combination of anticipation and dread.

My yearbook photo and comment. Text reads “On High School Reunions, Happiness, and the Road Less Traveled.”

I agonized over whether or not to go to my high school reunion this weekend. From a purely logical perspective, there were compelling reasons not to bother. Most of the people I was close to then I’m still in regular contact with now. The rest of my graduating class are for the most part very nice people but as we were fairly indifferent to one another in high school, I can’t imagine that having changed now…and in the cases where that has changed, it feels vaguely disingenuous – You’re hugging me? We hug now? Okay... <awkward>

I know I’m being unfair to the many of my classmates who actually are genuinely happy to see me and catch up. The bigger issue is that this whole reunion thing, in my irrational and emotional brain centre (let’s call it the “emoshgula”), is all tied up with all the internal and external markers by which we measure “success” in life.

I went to an all-girls’ private school that prides itself on its students’ measurable achievements both during high school and after graduation. The currency of success during my high school career was high marks, and with those I was flush. Much to the chagrin of my math and physics teachers, I took my academic prowess and poured myself heart and soul into Bachelors’ degrees in Child Studies and Social Work (Click here for appropriate sound effect).

As if that wasn’t bad enough, I then turned down early acceptance to an MSW program in order to become…horror of horrors…a stay-at-home mom (again, this requires a sound effect). In that world of titles and initials – Dr., Esq., M.Sc., Ph.D., Patron, Benefactor – Karyn Pickles, SAHM doesn’t feature highly in the alumni communiques.

***I’m going to interrupt myself for a moment for a very brief discussion of privilege. In this post I am describing, from my own perspective, the world that I inhabited in my middle and high school years and that, to a lesser extent, I still inhabit. It is a world of enormous privilege in which each and every one of us carried a huge invisible backpack containing, among other things, the knowledge that 1. We had the means to attend the university of our choice, as long as we produced the necessary grades; 2. Those grades would be reasonably easy to achieve with the extra help and tutoring available to us; and 3. Our university applications would be supplemented by the rich extracurricular offerings the school offered, ironically bolstering our chances of earning the scholarships that most of us didn’t actually need. It is a world that is unfamiliar to the vast majority of the North American population, let alone the world. This is not to belittle my fellow graduates’ hard work in earning those prestigious titles, but to acknowledge that we were very fortunate to have the head start and freedom to choose the paths that we did.*** <climbs back off soapbox>

Where I have found myself in life is for all intents and purposes the antithesis of everything that my high school prepared and expected me to do. It doesn’t even register on their scale of success because they have no rubric for joy and self-fulfillment.

The trouble is that while I know that I wouldn’t change a thing, as soon as I walk through that high arched doorway, all my self-confidence drains away like Bastian passing through the gateway to the Fountain of the Water of Life. (This is a obscure reference but it’s oh so very fitting. Here is a link to a really trippy website where you can clear up any confusion or just close your eyes and be transported straight back to the 80’s. You’re welcome!). I passed under that archway and was immediately once again the introvert who used cutting humour to hide the fact that she had zero self-esteem, and I giggled self-effacingly in response to questions, and answered, “Well, y’know, I have my 2 kids and I’m kind of a mommy-blogger…” twirling my hair like Cher in Clueless (okay, if we’re honest, I was more like Tai, pre-makeover).

Afterwards, as I exited the highway and head for home, that confidence came rushing back and I regretted the lost opportunities to reconnect as my authentic self. Even more than that, I was furious with myself for being so dismissive of my life choices when what I should have said was,

“I’m doing great! I have the two most amazing kids. I’m on a couple of boards of directors and I’ve really gotten into community theatre and music. I work from home and write a parenting blog (here’s my card!) and I’m just venturing into selling some of my handmade clothing and accessories (you should definitely check them out)! Funny, eh? It sure isn’t the path I would have imagined for myself [an undisclosed number of] years ago, but I couldn’t be happier. So what are you up to these days?”

I included 3 quotes in my graduating yearbook comment:

“Love is something if you give it away…you end up having more”

“Two roads diverged in a wood, and I — I took the one less trodden by, And that has made all the difference.”

and “Second to the right, and straight on ’till morning.”

Full text reads: Senior- Chamber- Double Quartet- Sr. Choir 93-98, England 94 & 98. “Love is something if you give it away… you end up having more.” All my Love to my family, friends and [redacted]***. It’s been a year of beginnings, and endings, and other strange and wonderful things. “Two roads diverged in a wood, and I — I took the one less trodden by, And that has made all the difference.” Bye [school name], it’s time to fly — Second to the right, and straight on ’till morning.

They may have been cliched****, but at the risk of sounding sappy (TOO LATE, SCREAM MY LOYAL READERS!) boy howdy, did they all prove true.

~ karyn

*Yes, I did misquote Robert Frost. I apologize. I’m as upset as you are.

**No, I did not misquote J. M. Barrie. “Star” is implied but not included.

***If there are any teenagers reading this, please take this one absolutely crucial piece of advice: I don’t care HOW much you love him/her. DO NOT mention your high school boy/girlfriend by name in your yearbook. You’ll be splitsville by Thanksgiving. I know, I know, not YOU two. You are TOTES soulmates just like R-Patz and whatshername, or Taylor Swift and One Direction, and you’re going to be together forever. Still, just to be on the safe side, leave out the name. Say, like, “My one [sparkly] true love,” or something. Just trust me on this one.

****NB: Of 112 grads I was the only Robert Frost that year compared to 3 “shoot for the moon ’cause even if you miss you’ll land among the stars”***** on one page – that was an unfortunate coincidence of alphabetical order.

*****Yes, of course I counted.

Let Sleeping Babies Lie (no matter how uncomfortable they look)

Sep24

When it comes to Team Pickles, babies, and sleep, our luck has been pretty even.

Molly asleep in her crib (in a manner of speaking). Caption reads: “Let Sleeping Babies Lie no matter how uncomfortable they may look!”

Actually, when it comes to EVERYTHING, our luck is pretty even. My friend Catherine once said of Ian and I that we have the most luck of anyone she’s ever met. The problem is that on any given day we have no idea if it’s going to be GOOD luck or BAD luck. One day we’re winning a top-of-the-line trampoline because of a tongue-in-cheek Facebook post and the next we’re burning down our apartment 6 days after our wedding (true story – I’ll post about that some other time).

But I digress.

Ben was an easy sleeper pretty much from day one. Like any newborn, he woke in the night to eat, but by about 4 months he was easily sleeping through. To make things even simpler, he would sleep anywhere and everywhere – in the car…in the stroller…in his highchair…in the middle of the floor if that was where he happened to be when he got tired, and he slept so soundly that I used to clip his nails while he napped.

Case(s) in Point: 3 of the many “Ben sleeping in random positions” pictures

When he was a toddler, his afternoon routine was lunch followed by a bottle in his highchair, after which he would immediately fall asleep and I would recline the highchair, turn off the kitchen light, and go down to the basement to work for a few hours while he napped.

Bedtime was just as easy – if we were the slightest bit late starting his bedtime routine, Ben would bring us a bottle, grab our hands and beg, “Bed? Bed now?”

Molly, on the other hand…Oh, my Molly-Monkey…Baby Molly was the complete polar opposite. Molly woke up frequently to feed, and the frequency increased rather than decreased with age. As a newborn, Molly would only sleep in her swing or in Ian or my arms. For her first three months, I slept on the futon in her room with her swaddled in the swing beside me. Every morning I would carry the swing downstairs to the family room so she could nap in it there, and then Ian would carry it back upstairs for the night. I perfected the art of transferring her seamlessly from my arms into the swing while it was rocking (the trick is to start rocking your arms to match the motion of the swing before you put her down, then slide your arms out from under). She slept fitfully, waking up at the slightest noise or change in atmosphere. The sounds of a sneeze used to send her into orbit.

If at this point you’re thinking something like, “OMG I wonder if she knows that babies aren’t supposed to sleep in swings I’d better comment and tell her that it’s not recommended,” please rest assured that I’ve had that same conversation with many a Public Health nurse and that I’m quite comfortable with the decisions I made.

Around 3 months, Molly (my future Olympic gymnast) discovered that she could, while tightly swaddled, somehow flip herself over onto her stomach and wriggle backwards out of the swing. The first time I heard a “thud” and found her on the floor in front of the empty swing grinning, I thought it was a fluke, but by the third I had to concede that the days of her sleeping safely in the swing were over.

Photographic evidence of swaddled 3-month-old Molly deliberately wriggling out of the swing

She transitioned (unhappily) to the crib at night, waking about every half-hour to hour, and during the day would nap for a half-hour to an hour at a time, but only in my arms. My work productivity suffered significantly, but on the flip side I got really, really good at online euchre.

One of the very few known photographs of baby Molly asleep

Finally we hit a breaking point around 7 months, which, probably not coincidentally, is also when my PPD starting hitting pretty hard. Molly wouldn’t sleep for more than 45 minutes at a time and had no predictable sleep schedule. I was a zombie and Ian wasn’t much better.

Completely at the end of my rope, I did what I always do in these situations, and I went to Chapters, sat on the floor in the “Parenting” section, and flipped through books until I found one I liked. The book I selected was Healthy Sleep Habits, Happy Child, by Dr. Marc Weissbluth. As with most, if not all parenting books, this one has its supporters and its detractors, so all I can say is that without hyperbole, this book literally saved, if not my life, at least my sanity, marriage, and relationship with my children.

Healthy Sleep Habits, Happy Child
(cover image from amazon.ca)

What I really like about the book (which we took to calling “The Book” – bolded and capitalized) was that Dr. Weissbluth does not offer a one-size-fits-all solution; instead he describes different infant temperaments and sleep problem and offers suggestions tailored to your needs.

Babies like Molly are described as suffering from extreme fussiness/colic. He notes that it he adds the “extreme fussiness” designation because not all of these babies experience the level of crying that would be deemed “colic”, but instead experience “an unsettled, agitated, wakeful state that would lead to crying if ignored by parents.” (p 142). This certainly described Molly as an infant!

Dr. Weissbluth’s overall theory is that most children are not getting as much sleep as they need, and the more overtired they get, the more difficulty they have falling asleep, compounding the issue by building an ever-increasing sleep debt.

For all infants (and really, all children) he recommends watching for “drowsy signs” (such as decreased activity, slower motions, quieter, calmer, yawning) to determine the optimal time to put them to bed. Actions such as fussing, rubbing eyes, and being irritable or cranky actually indicate overtiredness; if the infant is showing those signs, she is already overtired and will have more difficulty falling asleep.

For sleep-training a fussy/high-needs/colicky infant like Molly, he recommends the admittedly controversial “cry-it-out” method – putting her down in her crib when drowsy and then leaving her alone to fall asleep. “Cry-it-out” is not for everyone, but I was willing to give it a shot, since responding when she cried was clearly not the answer.

Dr. Weissbluth also makes a point that resonates with me given my educational background in psychology and behaviour management: The only thing that graduated crying methods such as Ferber’s (in which leave the infant for longer and longer periods of time before responding) teach the baby is that they have to continue crying for longer each night to get a response. You still eventually reach the point where you have to let your baby cry-it-out indefinitely; all you have done is prolonged the agony for both of you.

So Cry-It-Out it would be: We picked the night, and for the first time in her 7 months, I put Molly down at the first “drowsy signs,” much earlier than usual, still awake but calm, and left the room. She cried, and I cried, but I didn’t go back in, and 17 minutes later she fell asleep and slept through the night for the first time EVER.

The next morning she woke up in a fantastic mood, and bolstered by this initial success I put her down for three Dr. Weissbluth-recommended naps – a morning nap, an afternoon nap, and an early evening nap – the next day, and I’ll be damned if she didn’t fall asleep instantly and sleep for 2 hours each time.

Seventeen minutes, I tell you. Seventeen Dr. Weissbluth-approved minutes, and I had a different baby on my hands.

Molly remains a difficult sleeper, which will probably never change. Our paediatrician points at poor sleepers (*ahem* myself included) on both sides of the family and says we may have lucked out with Ben but we were pretty much guaranteed at least one terrible sleeper.

Any change to the routine derails her sleep habits. Travel is a nightmare – we can basically count on her being awake until after we fall asleep and eventually collapsing out of sheer exhaustion. When we went to Germany last year Ian and I took turns – every night one of us stayed with Molly while the other ate dinner with the grown-ups. If one of us didn’t stay upstairs with her, she would scream for hours, waking up Ben and her cousins.

After that 2 week trip it was another 6 weeks before we could get her to go to sleep without one of us sitting with her and at least another 6 weeks after that until things were completely back to “normal” – please clearly visualize those as mimed air-quotes, because Molly’s “normal” is anything but.

“Normal” sleep for Molly goes in cycles. She will go for a couple of months with no problems, then wake up crying one night, and if we go in to soothe her, she’ll wake up twice the next night…then 3 times…then 5….until we do a night or two of crying-it-out to “reset” her back to…again that funny little air-quoted word “normal.” But at least that normal is a far cry (so to speak) from what we experienced in her first year, and for that I am immeasurably thankful.

Of course, it can’t last, can it?

~ karyn

PicklesINK

Parenting. Learning. Caffeinating.

Tag Archive | children

Are you Elsa or Anna? What Frozen says about depression.

Princess Molly’s Princesuccessful Day of Princexcess.

Magical Parenting

Love Hurts

Eating My Words Instead of My Treats – Halloween Safety Part 2

No Razorblade Apples For Us, Thanks – Halloween Safety Part 1

The Straight Poop on Potty Humour

Two roads diverged in a wood, and I —

Let Sleeping Babies Lie (no matter how uncomfortable they look)