I come from a long line of self-sufficient folk. Some hunters, some farmers, some breeders of livestock, some fishermen, some foragers, sometimes all wrapped into one. Perhaps it came from coming of age in the Great Depression and remaining poor, passing those frugal and resourceful qualities onto your children. For whatever reason I’ve always been fascinated with self-sufficiency.

Even in this era of consumerism and affluence, while sitting at my kitchen window typing on my laptop which resides just above my dishwasher and to the right of my espresso maker I sit here dreaming of my colony.

I can visualize the spots in the front yard where I have plans for plums and apple trees and caned raspberry bushes.

I have a view of various spots in my backyard where the pea starts are struggling up through this unforgiving spring weather - some days sunny and mild, some days rainy and all too many days of sleet and hail mixed together. I see chard and kale and carrots coming up. I see flowers peek out of the strawberries and falling from cherry trees. I see leaves start on the blueberry and huckleberry bushes and rhubarb just beginning to venture up. I see spots for corn and beans and tomatoes once the soil warms some more.

I see the spot where we began driving the well into our hard clay soil which works as a marvelous plug that prevents water drainage into the soil, allowing the high water table to pool and the rainwater to collect in the reservoir. An old cistern pump lies waiting for us to finish driving the pipe down lower so the kids can bring up water for the plants in July when we need to water them on a regular basis.

I also see the spots where I’ve left room for a future hen house - in Seattle we are allowed 3 chickens even within city limits but no roosters. I’m ok with that. I’ve also left a spot for a bunny hutch. I dream of fresh eggs and rabbit legs to go with herbs and vegetables fresh from my garden.

I dream of someday living outside the city limits so I can have a cow and some goats for fresh kefir, butter, cheeses and crème fraiche for my berries.

Perhaps Mrs. G will let me be the cultivator of livestock and farmer of fresh foods in her Women’s Colony. It’s a wonderful image to hold. For now I’ll just keep dreaming of summer and fall bounty, fresh eggs and homemade cheeses. And maybe I’ll head to PCC so there is actually something in my refrigerator when my husband comes home.

As Earth Day approaches I am hearing a lot of buzz about living green. Sort of like close to Valentines Day when you start seeing jewelry, chocolate and floral commercials everywhere. We always try to do things the green way but the buzz around Earth Day is making me realize that most people want to be green and just don’t know how to begin. Like our diet, green has been a journey we took step by step. To begin I find it helpful to read the Lorax to preschool-aged kids and explain everything to them. They will be appalled at what’s happening to the planet and constantly keep you on track should you stray.

We started by selling our bigger house and buying a much smaller one with more yard. By buying a fixer rather than building something new we were “re-using” existing resources. We then replaced all the appliances and toilet (that’s right, one toilet) with new high-efficiency ones. We decommisioned the old oil tank to remove any future chance of oil leaching into the water table. We installed a combination of gas and radiant heating. We replaced the original single pane windows with new double pane ones. We installed a fan in the attic to remove hot air in the summer then insulated the whole house. We updated the electric and replaced the fixtures with newer ones and high efficiency bulbs. We planted 17 trees in the yard, deciduous ones directly on the south side of the house so they would let light and warmth in during the winter months and then screen the windows and roof in the summer months. We bought rain barrels for watering the new trees.

I breastfed exclusively - no need for plastic bottles or formula made from dairy industry by-products. We cloth diaper. I wash them myself but you could further reduce water use by using a diaper service. When we do use disposables I use Seventh Generation or G Diapers. I now only buy natural products (toothpaste, lotion, shampoo and underarm deoderant). We try to share baby gear, kids clothes and toys between our circle of friends. I try to buy wooden toys made from renewable sources like rubber wood.

I try to buy minimal processed food, opting instead for items in the bulk bin. We eat a lot of oatmeal and granola for breakfast in place of cereal. If I do buy processed food I only buy the natural brands. I also try not to buy canned items since metals are non-renewable and many cans are lined with unsavory chemicals that leach into the food. We have a farm-share (CSA) from a farm that is both local AND organic, not to mention they use sustainable farming practices. That will be the new buzz word you’ll be reading about in a few year’s time. My dollar is my vote and the only way to get corporate America to make changes in the food industry.

Likewise for cleaning products. I use Bon Ami and Ecover cleansers, otherwise baking soda, vinegar, or dish soap. I remember my grandfather teaching me to clean the bathtub just before those Dow Scrubbing Bubbles came out. I remember whining “I wiped it and it’s not coming off, how do you get it clean?” His response was “Elbow grease, kid.” That is something we seem to have lost in the last 30 years - elbow grease does the same thing that many toxic chemicals do and it will help you stave off those lunch lady arms. The biggest trick is to not wait a month before cleaning the toilet bowl or shower. It will take a quick 2 minute rubdown in the shower if you do it a few times a week and you won’t need anything other than the same soap you use to shower. And as far as bar soap goes - I use Dr. Bonners or Kiss My Face. It’s soap, not a beauty bar. It is designed for cleaning rather than foaming and smelling pretty. You’ll notice the difference right away.

We have switched to all chargable batteries as well. It’s a big committment initially because they cost more and you need a charger (or several for different sizes) but once you’ve replaced all the appliances and remotes in your house you don’t need to keep buying batteries. And don’t throw your old batteries in the garbage! They contain lead, mercury, cadmium and other elemental metals that don’t disappear. They end up in the water and soil if not disposed of properly.

And speaking of things that never disappear, I do not buy from online stores that use styrofoam packing material and I do not buy takeout food from places that use it either. Not only does it contain an estrogen mimic, like BPA in plastic drinking bottles but it never breaks down. It get smaller and smaller but it never goes away and ends up in the food chain by starting with fish and birds. We all have stryene in our bodies, like it or not.

Now speaking of things in our bodies, I only cook with stainless steel pans. No more caphalon or teflon for me. I know manufacturers say the new generation non-stick pans aren’t toxic but trust them once shame on them. Shame on me is not in my future, at least as it concerns coated pans.

I’m not sure if this one counts because it’s not necessarily my choice but my showers aren’t as frequent as they used to be, or as long. That is mainly because I have small children who cry and swing from the shower curtain or throw items into the shower and try to climb in with me. Likewise I don’t wash my car frequently. Think of all the water I’m saving! And since I have two small boys I make them bathe together in a tub that is no more than 1/4 full. In the summer we try to frequent wading pools rather than filling up a blow up pool for ourselves, or I let the boys run through the sprinkler while we water the grass in the backyard. The front yard we let yellow in the summer to save water.

Before we make purchases I try to check craig’s list to see if we can find a used one somewhere. I don’t do this for any plastic or painted kid’s toys because of the safety issues but it’s a great way to buy a couch or rug and the flame retardants are just that much more aired out the older the item is! Another great place to look for used and free items is zwaggle.com. You can also periodically take a buy nothing challenge. Try to go a week with only buying groceries and gas. The next time try to go a month. If you are able to do this on a periodic basis you will have made a huge environmental impact.

As far as mail goes we cancelled all magazine and newspaper subscriptions and any mail order catalogs. It helps keep down on recycling and I find I’m much less likely to buy things - a double whammy.

We sold the Jeep and bought a diesel. My husband is very committed to biodiesel fuel, although I have my reservations. I’m opposed to mono-crop farming and genetic modification and both of those things are used to create the grains from which alternative fuels are made from.

The most difficult thing for me has been giving up Starbucks. They tout that they are committed to fair trade and the environment but sadly they only have one blend of coffee that is shade grown and fair trade. Instead I keep trying new roasts of coffee beans that are both fair trade and shade grown but I haven’t found one yet with that beautiful Starbucks bite. I’ll keep trying though.

Things that I am working on - being less of a consumer (my weakness is the kids and the yard), buying more local things at much higher prices - handmade clothes, locally made lotions and soaps, growing more of our own vegetables in the summer and riding the bus more with the kids. The challenge is getting home from our travels by naptime with all of our gear.

Books I admire that inspire: Animal, Vegetable, Mineral by Barbara Kingsolver. It will make you think seriously about the choices you make.

Happy Earth Day!

I’m describing myself but I’m also talking about my favorite breakfast here. I’ve tried buying granola from boxes, bags and bulk but it’s just not crunchy enough for me, or roasted enough for me, and it almost never has the bite it needs from a splash of molasses.

I remember reading once that homemade granola was so easy to make and so incomparable to any bought granola that you would never go back, and you know I never have. I hope to pass this on to you as well.

BurpRag’s Crunchy Granola

Preheat oven to 350 degrees F.

In a large bowl mix together:

4 cups old-fashioned thick cut organic oatmeal
2 cups slivered almonds
2 cups unsweetened coconut

In a small bowl or directly in the measuring cup add:

1/2 - 3/4 cup canola oil
1 cup honey
2 T blackstrap molasses

Stir well.

Pour the liquid ingredients over the dry ones, mixing well until thoroughly incorporated.
Bake on a parchment-lined cookie sheet for 40-45 minutes stirring every 15 minutes. Allow it to cool slightly then break it up. This stores well in a sealed container in the pantry for at least 4 weeks, although it doesn’t last that long in my house.

This granola can be used to make granola bars, fresh fruit yogurt granola parfaits, or as a quick topping to baked fruit (simply bake fruit & sugar in a corning baker then top with granola).

Cloth diaper we do butt sometimes the poo, oh the poo, oh the poo oh the poo and doo doo…

With Chicken Little I was somewhat militant about cloth diapering, which meant that I frequently was carrying soiled stinkies around with me because I needed to take them home to wash. It meant that my diaper bag really only had room in it for, well, for diapers. When Toddler was born I softened a little. I’m still committed to reducing my environmental footprint but overnight we use disposable. If we have a sitter we use disposable. And if we have a lot of errands to run we use disposable. At first my goal was to use no more than 7 a week but lately we’ve been on the go a lot and I noticed our disposable diaper consumption has increased. I’m starting to save up some garbage for the next week because the can is already full.

So last week I finally broke down and tried G Diapers. They are an interesting concept. The filling looks like the huge maxi pads of my teenage years that fit inside a trim little cover. They contain fewer chemicals than other diapers (although any filling that can absorb that much liquid cannot be entirely natural) but they break down in 50-120 days as opposed to 500 YEARS. That’s right, I said 500 years. That is how long it takes a regular disposable diaper to breakdown. Let alone the added “landmass” we are created in refuse. If we could only take that garbage landmass and add it back to the eroding coastline we are experiencing through climate change but I digress.

One interesting thing about the G Diaper is that it’s flushable. In order to flush it you tear open the outer cover of the pad and shake out the inside material. I tried this with great trepidation the first time but it flushed ok. My trepidation was rooted in the fact that we are a one crapper household, baby bjorn potty notwithstanding. While we were renovating the bathroom I went for 3 days without a toilet while 6 months pregnant so I’m a little nervous when it comes to doing without functional plumbing.

Tonight Toddler threw me a curveball in his G-diaper and for some reason I didn’t just toss it in the garbage. Without thinking I started ripping the outside and tried “shaking” the inner contents out without losing the smeared on contents, or the contents of my stomach. Of course I was holding the insert by the cleanest edge I could find, trying to pull the inner section out. The closer I got to the unsavory section the more stubborn and rooted the insert became. It was halfway out and I reasoned that what with swirling around in it’s little whirlpool it should finish coming out on it’s own so I gave it a flush. It looked like it flushed just fine.

About an hour later my husband approached me, tactfully asking if I knew of any reason the toilet might be overflowing. Well, there was one I could think of. The toilet was hopelessly plugged, even after about 10 minutes of furious plunging. Suddenly my husband remembered that the natural alternative to certain death for all wildlife as we know it Drano and Liquid Plumber also worked on toilets. He shook a little into the bowl and 10 minutes later it was completely unclogged. The particular brand we purchased is called Earth Enzymes but there are other natural enzyme products out there as well.

And the Earth Day moral of the story is (1) be sure to follow all directions when someone is telling you how to flush a large bulky object down your toilet and (2) always have a backup plan, or Earth Enzymes on hand just in case.

Monday night BurpRag had a chance to meet someone she really, really admires, and it wasn’t the Dalai Lama who was also just in Seattle. Although at the last minute there were a million reasons why BurpRag could have just scrapped the whole thing and stayed home she went anyway and wandered around Post Alley in the driving rain trying to remember where the heck The Pink Door used to be. It’s still in the same place it turns out, unlike BurpRag’s mind.

Bossy, of iambossy.com fame was one of the sweetest, most unassuming, warm, charming and gracious women BurpRag has ever met. And the best part of the whole evening was getting to know some ultra-cool, uber-talented and fun female bloggers in BurpRag’s home town. Many of them even have kids the same age as Toddler and Chicken Little.

And that was Bossy’s whole point to this road trip - to bring bloggers together physically. In this age of personal anonymity and indifference, the phenomenon of blogging has brought so many people together online. Why can’t we all be so interested and compassionate of the people we deal with on a daily basis?

Thanks Bossy, for taking the time to impact so many of us. We hope you make it back this way again.

4 year old to self: HELP! I can’t get this trike turned around on the carpet. I need to get it to the wood floor and I need you to do it for me.
Self to 4 year old riding trike in the house: How did that tricycle get in here?
4 year old: I think the dog brought it in.
Self: Never mind. Just get off of it, turn it around with your hand and push it off the carpet.
4 year old: I can’t do it, I need you to do it for me.
Self: You can try to do it and then next time you’ll know what to do. I know you can do it.
4 year old: I can’t!!!
Self: Just try.
4 year old: No, you do it for me.
Self: Then you’ll never learn how to do it so you can help yourself when I’m not available.
4 year old: I don’t care, I want you to do it for me.

Self suddenly remembering a conversation with Cricket of GNC Web Creations:
Self: Cricket, I need some help getting my web traffic up. Can you help me come up some high traffic phrases that fit my audience?
Cricket: Smiles (always smiling at me she is), I’ll show you how to do it and then you can do it yourself.
Self: I’ve scratched my head so long it hurts, I’d really like some help thinking outside the box.
Cricket: Read these articles and check these forums, they will give you some ideas. Also look at these web groups. Keep trying! You’re doing a great job.
Self: You mean you won’t help me even if I pay you?
Cricket: Because I truly care about the success of your business you really need to learn how to do it yourself. Now go back and re-read every post word for word so you can start fishing.

Back in the day we were quite the DINK fun-loving partyers (doesn’t everyone have home brew tapped off the kitchen sink?) But things change when you have kids. Especially when you have kids who are allergic to sleep and want to stay up and play all night. We do still occasionally entertain and this St. Patrick’s day was one of those occasions because Burp Rag’s husband makes a black and tan like nobody’s business. The party was lots of fun with kids running wild and toys everywhere. We were busy cooking and talking.

I had thought Toddler was playing in his brother’s room with the other kids when someone brought it to my attention that the bathroom door had been closed for at least 20 minutes with no response from within except the loud sounds of splashing and plunking. After calling through the door several times I timidly opened it to find Toddler, completely soaked and dunking toys and toilet paper happily in the toilet. He had wrapped some Schleich animals in toilet paper mummy-style and been bathing them in the sink. Apparently the toilet was full.

After cleaning up him and the bathroom I returned to the party. Not more than 10 minutes later someone told me they had shut my bedroom door to keep the kids out and that it now wouldn’t open. Chicken Little overheard this and started shouting “My blankies are in there and I need them RIGHT NOW!” Finally after 5 minutes of escalating hysterics his father trudged down to the basement for the toolbox.

This attracted most of the male species at the party. They all grabbed fresh beers and huddled together around the door. We’ve lived in this 1940’s era warbox cottage for almost 4 years now and sadly this is the first time our bedroom door has actually been closed.

So there they all were, rubbing their chins and discussing options. I tried not to listen because the testosterone was way too high for my comfort level. Occasionally words would drift down the hallway. I remember hearing things like “bobby pin” and “credit card”. Although the door knob was off the door still wouldn’t budge. When I heard “running start” and “shoulder blow” I went to the far end of the house and focused my attention on consoling Chicken Little.

Loud banging ensued and lasted about 30 minutes. In the end they had to remove the door jamb which my poor husband had spent last summer lovingly puttying and painting as part of our put lipstick on a pig home restoration project.

Loud cheers and more beers. Chicken Little emerged triumphantly clutching a handful of blankies, his trusted friends, once baby burprags with days of the week on them. It just might take us until next St. Patrick’s day to entertain again.

You may not agree with this post but here’s how I feel today - curmudgeon. I remember when spirit meant how loudly you could cheer at your high school pep rally. These days it’s a label we are supposed to give to our children who, when I was a kid would have been labeled oh, I don’t know, say spoiled brats. I can say that because I’ve got one.

Now I’m the kind of person who always thinks there is a solution to every problem if you research it enough so I’ve read all the books and I’ve watched Mr. Rogers. My copies of Positive Discipline and Raising your Spirited Child have so many stickies hanging out they look like fringe blankets. Neither of them was really that helpful for me. I really felt like Spirited Child will be helpful once we make it through the preschool years but that still feels a long ways off, even though we are fast-approaching 5. That is the when one of the sleep therapists I spoke with early on told me he would start to mellow out so I have hope that if these books don’t help then simply waiting it out will.

The book that helped me the most was called Living with the Active Alert Child by Linda S. Budd. It seemed more real to me, more down-to-earth and more applicable for the illogical world of the temperamental toddler even though it goes through the school years as well. Spirited Child covered a large range of kids - most of them seem to have spirit. Active Alert Child for the most part nailed Chicken Little. The very beginning of the book contains a short questionnaire:

Does your child have seemingly unending energy?
Can your child attend to a task?
Does your child wake up a lot at night or have difficulty getting to sleep?
Does your child seem to need very little sleep as an infant or toddler?
Would the last word from your child’s mouth be “I’m tired”?
Does your child seem to “wind up” over the course of a day; that is, the energy seems to build upon itself?
Does your child’s memory of details amaze you?
Is your child quick or bright in certain areas of learning?
Does your child have an unending fount of “good ideas”?
Does your child want his way most of the time and have difficulty accepting a “no” answer?
Does it seem as if your child tries to be the “boss” of your family or her friends?
Did you miss the “terrible twos” in your child’s development because you never experienced anything else?
In new situations is your child more uncertain or fearful than others?
Is your child intensely emotional - very happy or very sad- with little in between?
Does your child experience a pattern of moods - from positive to negative and back again - that seem hard for him to control?
Is it difficult for your child to play alone, especially up to age six or seven?
Is it difficult for your child to determine how to be a good friend, that is, she either sits and watches others or tries to be the boss?
Does your child think he is just terrific or totally stupid with little ability to believe that he might be just average or okay?
Do other people say they have no difficulty with your child?
Do you sometimes wonder if your child has “read your mind”?

If you answered yes to the majority of these questions you probably have an Active Alert child. The fact that your child has spirit is a given. The fact that you have spent up until now pulling your hair out, struggling to be the parent you want to be and considering different punishment methods is also a given. You win the Active Alert Child award! Double points if you have not eaten the child yet.

What I like best about Linda (I feel like I can call her Linda since I bought her book) is that she acknowledges how difficult the strain is on the entire family and treats the family like a unit. She is still very warm and fuzzy (”your child is not difficult, parenting them is”) where I say call a spade a spade but the book is dedicated to practical strategies to help you cope with your active alert at the same time understanding you also may work full time outside the home, have other siblings who also need your attention, and need to primp your active alert for the real world.

Spirited Child does some of this as well and I don’t mean to knock it by any means - I know it’s saved the family lives of millions of children. It just didn’t resonate with me in the way that Active Alert did. Linda described my then toddler to a “T” and had I read it while he was a baby it would have described him then too. Spirited Child focused more on older preschool and school-age kids and presented a wide range of spirited personalities. It was more like reading a general horoscope in the newspaper. You can see some things may apply to you but so many of them either didn’t or were just too general they didn’t apply at all.

What got me thinking about this book was looking at a picture I snapped of Chicken Little yesterday at Grandma’s. Didn’t your grandmother have motorized riding toys for you to play on? No? I was thrilled to death my Grandmother always had a peppermint lifesaver for me when I visited but times have changed dear readers…As I looked at this picture it struck me how rarely I see anything but either incredible joy, deepest sorrow or darkest anger on this sweet face.

I’ve been very frustrated with Chicken Little lately - my 4.5 year old son who not only still has colic (only when awake), is allergic to sleep, and cried and screamed so much we not only missed the terrible twos but never knew when he was teething. I know people with teenagers say this is nothing yet - but they have reprieves during school hours and as my husband points out, they are that much closer to college.

I guess it’s time for me to re-read Linda again and maybe give Spirited Child another shot. I’m not yet the parent I want to be but I’m trying!

Chicken Little attends a fabulous Montissori that we all love. One of the highlights several times each year is bringing PJ home, a traveling bear complete with suitcase and clothing. Today it was Chicken Little’s turn again.

He obviously watches too many superhero cartoons because he says things to me like “Now Mom, you’ll get what’s coming to you” on a regular basis but it was interesting watching him with PJ. Normally he runs through the house ready to fight bad guys where they may be hiding. PJ seems to have created a kinder, gentler Chicken Little.

He insisted PJ get dressed because it was too cold in the house (this despite that Chicken Little usually runs around wearing only his underwear and socks - the underwear at my insistence). He then proclaimed that PJ needed some shelter and a bed. He spent at least an hour coloring a cardboard box and positioning PJ in it. And then the whole rest of the afternoon he spent wrestling PJ from toddler’s sticky clutch, both of them shouting “MINE, MINE!”

At bedtime Chicken Little happily climbed into bed with PJ without crying or whining once. Amazing. PJ, we’ll miss you when you go back to school!

Chicken Little got a great Valentine’s Day surprise - his grandmother mailed both he and his brother cards with Starbuck’$$ gift cards inside. Of course we had to put his card in the Spider Man wallet which he wanted to carry but then decided that it should go in the diaper bag until we got there so he didn’t lose it.

The whole way there he talked about exactly what he was going to order. “And mom,” he kept telling me, “I’m going to order all by myself without any help from you.”

When we got there Toddler and I hung back while he grabbed his vanilla milk and looked at the window case. It was lunchtime so he knew he had to get real food, not just a cupcake. He ordered a bacon egg and cheese biscuit. Apparently the pressure was so great he forgot to get his treat. Here he is paying (which the lady had to prompt him to do he was so nervous about the ordering process.)

“Nuts” I heard him mutter, “I forgot to get my treat. That’s allright, I can do it later.” Giggle from the cashier behind hand. She looked at me and asked if I wanted anything. “Oh I’m not with him” I said winking.

“Mom, this is so cool!” he said. “I can go to Starbucks anytime I want and get as many treats as I want!”

“How are you going to get there?” I asked. “I’ll take your car when you’re asleep.” So now I need to remember to hide the keys at bedtime.

Here he is just outside the door carrying his self-purchased booty:

“I sure love Grandma” he said later. “Do you think we could go to her house later today? It’s ok if she’s not home, we’ll just pick up the toys before we leave.”

We miss you Grandma!

On the car ride home from preschool I asked Chicken Little what he did today. This is what he said.

“We were playing Scooby Doo. Joseph was the bad guy and Brigette was Scooby Doo and I was Fred.”

“Really” I said. “What bad guy was Joseph?”

“He was Crazy Poop Man.” He said.

Knowing that my son was the ringleader I can’t help but wonder what his teachers must think of me.

Sometimes I just need to tell myself that. Especially when my husband is out of town.

Sunday’s child I would never eat:

However, Wednesday’s child is on the menu:

And he’s never even heard of Billy Idol.

Chicken Little suffered his first real loss today. The pair of underwear that he loved the most has finally bitten the dust.

Dash underwear were what finally convinced him that he needed to potty train. He really believed that if he had them on he could run faster. They were always the ones he would grab first.

If he was running he would occasionally stop, regardless of place or company, and drop his drawers to check which underwear he had on. If they were his Dash underwear he would shout “Good!” and get a sudden burst of speed. If not, he would mutter “Nuts, forget it.” and stop running.

We started out with two pairs and one of them I secretly retired long ago. The last pair I decided to retire tonight. You can see why. I gave Max the news with the seriousness and sensitivity the situation required. He bawled openly for at least ten minutes.

I considered briefly if a good mother would have given Dash some sort of ceremony. Would that help him move on? I played taps on the kazoo and that seemed to cheer him up. Hopefully he’ll be feeling better tomorrow.

Don’t you just love knowing the exact moment your toddler is pooping? Happily playing one second:

Suddenly concentrated on something:

I don’t know why burprag has so many blog entries about poop lately. I guess it’s the next evolution in motherhood. The entire first 12 months I spent getting spit up on. I wish I could say the change was refreshing!

I know what you are thinking, how many poop and barf stories could I possibly have.  Or perhaps you’re wondering why I would want to post them online.  Well misery loves company, my friend.  This is a cautionary tale because I feel that I brought on “the incident” by my own arrogance.  I taunted the poop gods. So read on lest you commit the same error.

When Chicken Little was about 8 months old I hired a college student to come and watch him for a few hours a week, in part so that I could work on my website but the real reason was to avoid eating him out of frustration.  It was a much deserved break. 

One day I was chatting with Stacy and she told me that when she was a baby she used to poop in the tub.  I told her that Chicken Little had never once done that.  I laughed, nay, scoffed at the very idea. I kid you not, that very night he did it. 

Horrified, I looked around and found nothing I could use to scoop it out with.  The trick with scooping poop out of water is that you need to do it quickly before it begins to disintegrate.  In a panic, I used my bare hands.  I scrubbed them, the baby and the bathtub clean after that.

The next night he did it again.  The third night I brought a yogurt container in and sure enough he did it again.  Chicken Little continued his little practice well into toddlerhood.  At one point I bought a fish net to keep in the bucket with the toilet brush.

Since then I’ve learned not to say my kids “never do that” aloud.  I don’t even spell it out for someone.  I never thought I would be superstitious. I never thought I would be a lot of things. But then I had Chicken Little, notorious tub pooper and very nearly only child.

You know, just like a normal person does.  First I set everyone up with breakfast shake and bowls of oatmeal.  Super Why was on PBS and it’s Chicken Little’s favorite show with animation compelling enough to engage Toddler for short periods.  It was foolproof. 

I ran in the bathroom and jumped in the shower, closing the door enough to block the drafts but not any sounds of loud crying.  Sixty seconds later Chicken Little burst in.  “Mommy, did you know that P rhymes with T?” he shouted excitedly.  Yes, actually, I did.  “And they both rhyme with C?” Wow, now that I didn’t know.  “Why don’t you go see what else you’re missing?” I said “And don’t forget to close the door just like it was when you came in.”  By now all my warm air was gone.

Thirty seconds later he was back.  “Mama, I need you to help me take my shirt off, I have to go POOP!”  he sang.  I reached out of the shower curtain to help with the shirt.  My son is as quirky as a Seinfeld character.  For some reason he can’t sit on the potty with a shirt on and he hasn’t yet mastered quick shirt removal. 

Ten seconds later I heard a low “uh oh” almost under his breath.  “Mama, something just fell in the potty” he said slowly.  Cautiously I asked “what was it?”, trying to decide if I really needed to get out with shampoo still in my hair.  “It might have been a toy” he said.  “I thought the rule was you don’t play with your toys on the potty” I reminded him, thinking of the time I had to reach my hand into a full bowl to fish out a Playmobil person. 

“Well it wasn’t my toy,” he told me “so I thought it would be ok.  It was Ben’s airplane.”  (I’ve changed names to protect the innocent, and also in case Ben is reading this post.)  Realizing the airplane would be too big to be flushed I climbed out of my nice warm shower - shivering, shampooey and still hopeful that the airplane was at this point the only thing in the potty. 

But it wasn’t.   Now I’ve had my share of experiences doing hand-to-hand combat with poop, Chicken Little having been a notorious tub pooper. However, on this particular morning I was finding it difficult.  I closed my eyes and plunged my hand in.  Luckily it landed on the toy and nothing else.  I threw the toy into the sink and began scrubbing my hand and forearm furiously.  The toy I would bleach later.  

I helped Chicken Little finish up and get dressed but by then all the commotion had attracted Toddler’s attention.  I tried to slink back into the shower but I’d been spotted.  By the time I had rinsed the shampoo out of my hair the toddler had hurled at least 3 books, 2 stuffed animals and all his and his brother’s blankies in with me, not to mention that the bathroom floor and Toddler were completely soaked. 

I gave up any dreams of shaving my legs, exfoliating or conditioning my hair.  Ah yes, a quick shower.  Just like a normal person.  A mom can dream, can’t she? 

But it wasn’t a reflux thing. 

You see, we went to Target and as we passed the $1 stand at the front of the store there was a lone Spiderman backpack with a shaft of light from the heavens illuminating it so that Chicken Little saw it right away.  After that there was no question that it was meant for him.  It was destiny.

He begged me to put it on him in the store but I told him we had to buy it first.  He begged me to put it on him in the car but I explained to him that wouldn’t be comfortable, or safe for that matter.  As soon as I opened his door he made me put it on him by refusing to walk in the house unless he was wearing it. 

The whole car ride he spent digging through the box of car toys that is sandwiched between the two carseats and finding things that would go inside.  By the time made it home he had thought about all the toys he has inside that can go in it as well. 

He ran in the house and exchanged the contents, then came back out of his room and asked me to help him put it back on again.  Then he ran back into his room and emerged grasping his Spiderman costume from Halloween.  We had to take off the backpack, put on the costume and then put the backpack on again. 

“Mama”, he said, “when I go to college I can put a real phone in here and all my books.  Then when I come home I’ll give you a big kiss.  Or maybe Toddler, I’m not sure who I’ll kiss first.” 

I laughed at first but then when he looked down to re-arrange the contents of the backpack again it hit me just like it had the first time we read The Giving Tree together by Shel Silverstein, or Brundibar by Maurice Sendak, or worse yet I’ll Love You Forever by Robert Munsch.  He really would be moving away one day.  And then I cried.

As much as he is a pain in the rear I cannot imagine my life without him.  I know it will happen, in fact I want it to happen.  I don’t want him to be one of those 30 or 40 year old single guys living with his mom and dad.  Or worse yet a 30 or 40 year old married guy living with his mom and dad.  But it saddens me just the same.

He will grow up and have his own life and have no further use for me until he has kids.  And that’s the way it needs to be.  That realization is what helps me to still carry him around, even though he is 2/3s as tall as I am.  I think of that while I snuggle in bed with him to help him fall asleep, even though it means I can’t start working until 9:30 at night.

One day he will have no further need for me but today he does and I relish every minute of it.

Since potty training, my husband has been joking that the next milestone to look forward to is college but for me it’s been getting Chicken Little’s attention span long enough to read chapter books together. 

He’s never been that interested in books.  He enjoys being read to when I make him sit down and listen to a story but it’s not his first choice of things to do.

For me, however, books were my saving grace.  I knew how to read long before I started school.  Once I had mastered my letters individually I spent painstaking hours sounding out each letter, using both hands to cover up the words on either side of the one in question so they wouldn’t distract me, and closing one eye so I could really concentrate. 

They were hymn books mostly.  We spent summers playing in a park that bordered a church.  I would sneak in to escape the heat and hide in the back row with the books. 

By the second grade I was reading adult non-fiction and my mother bought me undereye concealer so the teacher would stop asking about my sleep habits.  You see, I am a bit compulsive and have always had a hard time stopping something until I have completed it.  I would frequently stay up past midnight reading. It was a bit of a disappointment to me then that Chicken Little didn’t share my love of books.

For some reason this week I decided that I really wanted to begin reading chapter books to him.  I bought a copy of James and the Giant Peach.  I also saw a series called “The Magic Treehouse” which was very short, organized in brief chapters, and had an illustration on just about every other page. The subject matter was things like dinosaurs and pirates.  If anything was going to get him interested in chapter books that was the stuff. 

We started that night on the dinosaur one.  He eagerly looked at all the illustrations and waiting anxiously for Toddler to take a nap so I could read to him.  At first he found it difficult to sit through the paragraphs of text with only one illustration to look at.  He wriggled a lot and I could tell his mind was moving on to other things.  But he stuck it out.  We made it halfway through before Toddler woke up.  At bedtime that was his book of choice.  It was much easier for him this time and he lay quietly while we finished the book.  When it was done he told me, “Mama, I just love it.  Can we read another one?”

So the next day we started on James and the Giant Peach, which is substantially longer and has fewer illustrations.  I read it aloud to him while he worked on an art project.  I read it dramatically.  When I read the part of the strange man who gives James the magic bag I made my voice creak and leaned in to him.  Apparently it was too realistic because he implored me not to read like that anymore.  But I could tell it got him hooked.

We read 42 pages that day and he is waiting anxiously for the chance to continue it.  I could not be happier.  I know we’ll have challenges in the years ahead as we transition from parent reading to self-reading but I can’t help but think if I get him hooked on the adventure and unlimited fantasies that books can create now it will only serve to motivate him.  Sort of the same way he potty trained because he felt that his superhero underwear helped him to run faster and jump higher.  Whatever works, right?

There really should be a PA group - Playmobil Anonymous that is.   If you haven’t started down the Playmobil road yet DON’T.  Yes, I know those people are cute with their happy faces and movable arms, legs, hands and heads.  They come with incredibly tiny and realistic accessories that keep my kids entertained for hours.  Forget about simply encouraging imaginative play - they actually create it.

Grandma started it all buy buying Chicken Little a pirate ship for his third birthday.

Never having been exposed to pirates, he really wasn’t quite sure how to play with it. But I knew. It was fun just making the crew climb the rigging up the crow’s nest, attaching Captain Hook’s good hand to the wheel, hanging one member from the rigging with the grappling hook and putting the rest of the crew down below to eat.

The problem is once you open up that first box there is a mini catalog inside showing both you and your child all the extra accessories that go with that playset. It’s suddenly not good enough that you have the excavator and driver with removable hat. You need to get the backhoe. Then you need the dump truck so that when the tractors have filled their scoopers with kidney beans from the pile on your living room floor they have somewhere to put them. Then you need to get the cement truck so that you can churn them around and pour them out. Then Chicken Little begged and pleaded with me to buy him the porta potty so the driver could take a potty break. “But if we don’t get it they’ll have accidents in their pants!” Something near and dear to his heart so of course I obliged him. But that wasn’t enough either. He cried and cried for the office so they could manage their job site. My husband finally put his foot down.

So we started on castles and knights instead.

Now almost two years later our house is swimming in Playmobil but each piece is a cherished and well-played with item. It probably helps that we have a small house so the rule is only 2 large things out at once. That keeps everything special and fresh.

Chicken Little still reads the catalogs and pines for the things he doesn’t have. We had several long discussions about how Santa knew daddy had said absolutely no jail with breakout bars for the bad guys. It was tempting to hide it under the tree and risk daddy’s secret wrath but I held true to the PA creed. I will not buy any more Playmobil, I will not buy any more Playmobil, I will not buy anymore Playmobil. Just maybe though craigs list doesn’t count?

My son Max is chicken little.  For him, the sky falls at least 20 times a day. 

Perhaps I packed the wrong type of cheese stick or suggested we do the wrong thing.  It could be that I put the toothpaste on for him instead of checking to see if he wanted to do it himself.  And then again maybe it’s just that it’s winter instead of summer and he can’t ride his tricycle naked with a popsicle in hand. 

First he screws up his face and pulls out his lower lip, raising his eyebrows at the inside corners.  Then he starts in wailing “Not X, I wanted Z!!!!!”.  Then he sobs so loudly, squeezing out real tears that you would swear I had just told him he needed to find a new place to live.  The sobs are so loud and last so long that you can’t get a word in edgewise. This happens pretty much all day long, although it peaks at bedtime. 

All efforts to dissuade him from this behavior have so far been utter failures.  An early behaviorist warned me that punishment wouldn’t work on his personality type, that we should be patient and he would mellow out around 5.  I’ve asked him before why he cries when he never gets what he wants for crying.  He says “I just can’t make myself stop.”

Around 19 months old he was in therapy for Sensory Integration Disorder. It seemed more like insurance-paid play time then real physical therapy but we learned some great parenting techniques and a little bit about human development. Between birth and 3 months old is when an infant learns to self-soothe. Max’s reflux was not under control until he was about 4 months old. I’m sure he learned nothing about self-soothing at all. I’ll always wonder if that shaped his personality so that his initial response to everything is to be so intensely contrary.

I know all the modern parenting books tell me that I need to embrace his personality - even Mr. Rogers says he loves my son just the way he is - but it’s not easy.   As we get nearer to 5 I’m waiting for “the change”.  In the meantime we keep continuing to nurture his loving, playful side and try to let everything else slide off. And I’m collecting some great footage of tantrums to show his future prom dates.