Cat Skinner Club

Transitioning

Last night I slept for nine solid hours, yet this morning I’m exhausted. My eyelids itch, perhaps from my seasonal allergy to ragweed, (we seem to be growing it the way some people grow corn) or perhaps from the crying that ushered in my nine hours of oblivion. There are so many moments on my parenting journey where I truly don’t know what the hell I’m doing. The last two weeks have been prime examples of parental wtf.

I like our new school. It’s charming, and cozy, and grassroots. The teachers seem like good people, and they seem to be happy to be teaching. It’s almost the kind of school I would run, if I were crazy enough to try to run a school of my own. The joint was created by a fierce, passionate, no-effing-around kind of lady who was raised on an organic farm and Waldorf schooled through her formative years. She started the school mostly for her own kids, who were left without a decent place after a series of unfortunate events with other institutions. The head of our school wears glitter on special occasions. She’s my kind of lady.

Grassroots means this school is run mostly on a lot of our leader’s own steam. Her partner seems a wonderful support, and he’s very active in the community, but our community is small. The class sizes are small, which is both a blessing and a curse, at least for Ayla. She can’t “click” with any of the kids in her class, because I think they are a little less mature than she.

Her poor sister needs her own space desperately, and Hannah’s new friends don’t really have much in common with her often over-exuberant and in-your-face little sister. Ayla can’t figure out where to fit, and with all things Ayla this comes with much drama. The sadness and frustration obliterate any possibility of a better outcome. The suggestion that perhaps she try to initiate a new game with her peers, or perhaps roll up her sleeves and try to enjoy Barbie is met with outrage. I don’t know what to do, and my heart breaks to imagine her feeling lonely and out-of-place. She was so in place at our old school.

Noah is a mess. His second day at nursery seemed promising, but it’s been a losing battle ever since. He’s going full days for three days a week, but under the advisement of his teacher, we’re scaling back to half days until further notice. We drop him off, he cries, he wants to be held, and this continues for a full six hours it seems. His teacher can’t hold him because of a back injury, and because it’s pretty damn inconvenient when you’re trying to run a full daycare. This week, I didn’t feel confident leaving him there on Monday because his teachers seemed frazzled. On Wednesday his daddy took him, because he’s stronger than I am, and when I picked my little man up, he clung to me. He was shuddering and exhausted and seemed utterly defeated by the day. His teacher didn’t seem much better. I know how frustrating it is when he’s extra clingy, and on those days I get very little done. She has five other babies to take care of, and even with a second teacher there, I imagine it’s hard to move through the day if one of the kids is having such a hard time.

She informed me that he’d been “like that” all day. I wondered why they didn’t call me, to see if I might want to pick him up, but I said nothing to her. Maybe I don’t know what I’m doing, and the best thing is to let him figure things out on his own. That feels so wrong to me though. My senses are telling me otherwise. My senses are telling me it’s not okay to leave him there when he’s this upset because he’s not even two years old yet. It seems contrary to my instincts as a mother to leave him feeling so distraught, and frankly when even the teacher seems stressed out by this, it does not inspire confidence.

I’m not planning on having other children, so as far as I know, this is my only experience with transitioning to someone else caring for my baby. It felt good the first week to leave him there, even though he had some protest. It doesn’t feel good this week.  Are my emotions interfering with my ability to be rational here? Is his teacher burnt out and not up to the task of managing with confidence? Is he not ready to take these steps?

Our Waldorf community felt like a Utopia of gentle nurturing and loving, reassuring, confident hands. I’m crying as I type this because I miss that place so much. I so wanted to see Noah reap the benefits of such a beautiful environment, but our circumstances have made that impossible. I resent the hell out of our circumstances, and it’s incredibly hard to see a light at the end of this tunnel. Sure, I realize that Noah might have had an equally hard time adjusting to that school, but I knew it well and it felt really good to me.

Nekky tries to encourage me to be positive. He says the children will pick up on my positivity. I can’t find it when I feel like the mountain we are climbing to get back on top is forever towering over us. I want us to have choices. I want us to have freedom. I don’t want to feel stuck like this, and powerless to make change happen.

School seemed like a simple solution – with the kids there my time would be free to help earn. Perhaps it will all shake out, and I can contribute to our family in a way that we sorely need. If it doesn’t, if I have to keep Noah with me for another year, I don’t know what we’re going to do.

We have our health. That’s huge. We have a roof over our heads, and it’s a pretty spectacular roof. I am well aware that there are problems that are certainly worse than ours, but this is where I live and the reality of these challenges is all-consuming. It’s making me a horrible mother to my other kids, it’s making me a distant and angry partner. It’s making me the kind of person who doesn’t want to get out of bed in the morning.

I want my old life back. The fantasy where I thought we were living an urban life rich with art, and friends, and a fancy private school. I don’t even know who I am anymore, and I don’t like who I am becoming.

 

Daycare

This morning I left my almost two-year-old son with virtual strangers. True, they are paid professionals who are experts in toddler care. True, I’ve met them a total of three times, and they seem like warm, nurturing, careful women. True I’m paying the institution they work for to care for and educate all three of my children. None of this made Noah’s first day of daycare seem any less surreal.

He was a champ. He’d already had two classroom visits, one of them as recently as yesterday, so he got down to playing in the empty classroom straight away. His teachers arrived, and though he wasn’t necessarily thrilled to see them, he didn’t resist them either. Soon a couple of kids arrived too – one poor little dude who was really distressed. Noah regarded these new kids carefully, and then decided on bemused mild interest, at least in the distraught kid who my little angel laughed at. By this point he was totally lost in a menagerie of tiny plastic animals he discovered in an unassuming cardboard box, which he pried the lid off by himself thank you very much.

There was nothing to do but quietly slip away. My husband used the phrase “when you’re ready” as we quietly tried to decide on our departure strategy, but there really isn’t a point when I’ll feel ready to leave my little fella behind. I knew that a quiet and easy exit was the only way I could actually remove myself willingly from the building so I gave him a gentle little kiss on the top of his head, in that wonderful little hurricane eye where his hair swirls in a perfect sandy cloud. He barely seemed to notice, and then I was in the hallway, silently shedding tears.

Wasn’t it just moments ago that I was marvelling over the wonder of his perfect little fingers? How is he so big that he’s struggling to make sentences, demanding to do everything himself, and outraged by the indignity of a diaper change? How can it be that he’s able to move through his own day, doing his own things, without me by his side?

The pain and beauty of the exquisite feeling of setting him free to begin to discover who he is defies any words I have. My heart is in my throat, and I feel terrified by the possibilities of the world I’ve cast him into. We brought him here because we have love and hope in abundance, and now he is gone from under my wing. He is ready to venture out, little steps at a time. I’m not ready to let him, but I force myself to let go because that’s the whole point, isn’t it?

Go forth and be amazing my little man. Mommy will try to get her shit together and make productive use of this day. I may even try to have some fun of my own. Make friends, learn about the world beyond our bubble, begin to trust people we barely know because you have to. We all have to build that trust and have that faith that as we totter out into the big wide someone will always be there to guide us and keep us safe. Like your wonderful teacher, who folded me up in a big hug and let me have a little cry.

Jesus H. 3:00 can’t come soon enough.

Sex City Interview Alert!

August has been entirely spent with my family and dear friends. How lovely to have the time and the opportunity to build deeper relationships and watch all of our beautiful children play together. How is your summer winding down?

There’s so much to look forward to in September – a new school, a new schedule for me with more time to focus on my own work, and on building up my partners’ work projects. The next two weeks will be busy, but I want to drink up every little drop of what’s left of these lazy days with no agenda, so it’s just a brief little post today to share some news.

Tomorrow night, at approximately 11pm EST, I’m going to be doing a short interview on the CIUT radio show Sex City. I love radio, and I have podcast fantasies of my own, so I’m really excited. We’re talking about parenting as an openly poly family. You can tune in at 89.5 fm or via their website here. I think the episode will be available after the fact via the website too. Check out my sexy-sounding summer cold! It’s a live interview, so who knows what they’ll be asking!

I hope your days are warm and filled with laughter, good food, and great company. See you in September!

Kisses on your nose,

PB Mommy

My Letter to Stay-at-Home Parents

Dear Parents Who Stay At Home,

I realized something this weekend. We need permission to just be parents. Stay-at-home parents need to know that the primary focus of their lives – giving care -is valued enough that it’s the only thing we need worry about.

I am ashamed to admit the amount of time I spend feeling guilty for not writing more, keeping house more, offering to cook more, and especially earning money.

This shame soup bubbles and simmers and boils a steam of resentment that envelops my day and changes the climate of my interactions with the children, which adds more stock to the shame pile.

We need to hear it’s okay if we can’t or won’t maintain a schedule, keep up work, stay on top of housekeeping, and cooking. With the exception of work, none of those things bring me much joy anyway. I’m at my happiest when I can be spontaneous and flexible and just hone in on what the kids need and want without all of those other distractions. We need that permission from ourselves, just as much as anyone else.

For the month of August, don’t expect much from me. I’m usually leaving my phone on silent, I’m only answering email when I feel like it, which is basically never, I’m reading real books – mostly about farm animals and colours. I’m trying new recipes in the kitchen with my loves. If I’m writing, it’s old school style with a pen and a notebook. I’ll post later, when I can. When I’m not too tired at the end of the day, or like now, when I’m pretending to be in the shower. If you want to see me, talk to me, date me you’re going to have to figure out a way to find child care and catch me at a moment where I have energy and brain space because my priority until September is squeezing in as much time with the kids before they all begin school outside of their home.

Are you staying at home full-time while your partner works to earn money? I’m going to start this week by letting you know that you are incredibly worthwhile. You are saving a bundle of dough and other important resources by providing impeccable and irreplaceable childcare for your own children. In fact, yours is the most important job in your household. Give yourself a huge pat on the ass, and spend what little break time you get doing only the things you want to do. Everything else can wait until September.

This includes vacuuming, dusting, and shaving your nether regions, which I hope don’t require vacuuming and dusting.

Kisses on your nose,

x

 

 

Monday Morning Realing

It wasn’t a great start to the week this Monday Morning.

I woke up feeling super tired, but was otherwise in a good mood. The early hours, with my toddler bouncing up and down on my belly, eating a banana and watching the Lion King while I dozed, were pleasant. As the morning wore on and more people began to trickle down the stairs, my mood began to turn.

What was it? Was I feeling like I have no time and space of my own? Not even five minutes to wash my armpits and try to poop? This feeling is a frequent source of irritation, and I waffle between feeling ashamed of this (I should LOVE dedicating myself to my children) and feeling resentful (how, with three parents in our house, can I even feel like I don’t have enough time to take a leisurely shit?).

Was it the crop top my eight year old tried to wear to camp? Fuck you Disney tween programming and your stupidly inane and vapid role models. Was it the short tone and thirteen-year-old attitude she flung at me when I politely asked her to head back upstairs and put on her camp t-shirt. “I couldn’t find where you put the laundry!” Well excuse me, maybe you can go back to washing it yourself.

Was it the ridiculousness of our ten year old who wants to shave her armpits, forgets in the shower, and then insists on an adult doing it for her, interrupting all of the get-out-the-door prep we are trying to deal with? If you aren’t old enough to attempt the over-the-sink armpit shave, after being shown three times how to do it, maybe you aren’t old enough to shave?

Everyone and everything began to drive me nuts.

The baby wouldn’t let me put him down. Not for a second. I just wanted to get ready to leave the house and drive the kids to camp on time. Finally, I had to distract him with a particularly loud and obnoxious TV show that we’ve been trying to phase out of the house, so this profoundly irritating soundtrack became the backdrop to my shit cloud attitude.

Getting freshened up and dressed, I tried a re-set. Even a pretty dress didn’t help. I started slipping down the bottomless well of “what-are-we-doing-with-our-lives” and “why-isn’t-anything-happening-with-the-new-business” and I began to feel an equal amount of panic, resentment, and anger.

I loaded the kids in the car, with more than a few growls after tripping for the billionth time and scuffing the dainty white dress up shoes that the little women INSIST on leaving in the middle of the hall way to get trampled by everyone who walks by.

Gahhhhhhhhhhhh!

Then something happened, albeit slowly.

First, I was able to laugh at yet another unsuccessful parking attempt. I’m a bit hopeless at parking – I just got a novice driver’s license, and small maneuvers are NOT a forte.

Then, I was snapped into the present by the focused task of holding my son’s chubby little hand as he scaled the mini wall at camp. All the kids walk the top of the wall like a balance beam, and he was not going to be left out.

Then my heart began to soften at the sight of him tearing after the big kids, and the semi-terror that accompanies watching a toddler try to run. I felt the love seep in as his sisters delighted in the way his frantic run is only as fast as their normal walking pace. The love him purely, and effortlessly. He feels the same about them.

I took notice of the smiles and chuckles of everyone else watching them. Everyone who walked past, in this busy place, had a smile – even some reluctant ones. My little man is a joy-bringer everywhere he goes.

By the time I left the girls, I had hugs and warmth, and affection for them. I apologized and told them I was having a hard morning. It sounded ridiculous to me, because there really isn’t anything hard about my life, but yet I feel sometimes like I am suffocating. They said “That’s okay Momma, we understand.” I hated myself a little. I felt really small.

I took a deep breath. I decided to have a different kind of day.

Little Noah wanted to run, and so I unleashed him. He ran and ran and ran. He scaled the little wall. He climbed a big rock. He pointed at birds, and pretended to be disgusted by bird poop. I did all of those things too, treated to the singular focus and completely present experience of being almost two-years-old. After some play time, I buckled him safely in the car, texted an apology to my lover, and then began to drive.

Clean slate. Fresh start. Productive day.

I was feeling it, lifting from the fog of my own brain. Driving with pop tunes filling the mini van, enveloped in a real-life thick fog that had rolled in off the lake. By the time I parked the car, I was feeling good about the day, and the baby was napping happily, waiting to wake up at his grandmother’s house.

And then…

I had missed two texts. I had an email preview on the screen. I could see the phrase “we are so, so sorry.” I felt a rush of cold.

School friends from our Toronto life, good ones, great people. A dad. A brain tumor. Cancer. Emergency surgery. Two little boys. A mom with a heart as big as the universe. Awaiting Pathology. That goddamned phrase and everything that it has meant to me, and everything it will mean to thousands and thousands of you.

There are battles being fought every moment, in every corner of the world. Families are torn apart, children are killed. There are wars fought over land and god. There are struggles against poverty and hunger. There are battles for life and death even in the tidiest corners of our first world utopia. There are the battles we fight with ourselves, just to be decent people who aren’t caught in our own pathetic battle of self-pity and ingratitude.

What are you fighting? Is it worth the weight and the energy? Is it life or death?

Can you lay down your arms, just for a moment and see the world like a toddler? Is it beautiful? Is it filled with possibility and adventure?

Can you scale the wall, with a little bit of help, and make it to the other side?