Making Do

We Pattersons are fashion forward.  When you combine that with my absent mindedness, well, interesting things happen.

Thanksgiving blowout and no change of clothes or diaper?  No problem.  A tea towel, some pins and a grocery bag will do the trick.  Not only is the fit flattering, the green tinge of the bag brings out the sparkle in Gen's eye. 

Is the topless model a little too immodest for you?  This diaper cover also comes in a mock overall style.

BTW - no worries!  We're not stupid and didn't leave her unsupervised with the bag.  It was quickly covered up with her clothes as soon as the photo shoot was finished.  A proper diaper was soon located.

Potty Post Number 2

See what I did there?  Number 2?  Yeah, I thought of it myself.

Okay. 

We have a new toilet!  The last one was fine, but never really flushed properly.  It was the normal size toilet. It looked like this:

This is not a picture of our toilet.  It's just one like it.  I just wanted to be clear on that.

The new toilet is in the bathroom right next to Graedy's room.  In fact, you might even call it Graedon's bathroom.  With the small toilet, Graedy would just get up at 2 am, do his business and be back in bed before he really awoke.  Now, our new toilet looks like this:

It's a very tall toilet.  It causes vertigo.  In fact, if we were to measure the distance from the floor to the rim of the bowl, it would be exactly the distance from Graedon's soles to his groin area...plus a half inch.  Just enough to cause problems, if you catch my drift.  I got him a stool, but I guess it's hard enough for a three year old to concentrate on aim without adding balance to the mix.

Now, Graedon has to run upstairs to use our other toilet.  The exercise is good for him, but slightly inconvenient in the middle of the night.

Our new toilet is tall....and if you were to measure it's height and compare it to the normal 29 year old female's shin length, you would immediately see that there is a problem.  It looks like this:

These are not my feet.  I think these are Jessica Simpson's feet.

I feel like a five year old in a waiting room.  I also tend to use the upstairs bathroom.

I've been searching for a solution to the problem, and I think I've got it.  They do it in Asia (and you know how smart and practical the Japanese are).  It's called the Squatty Potty.  It looks like this:

This is not me.  And, please note, she has her pants on.  You're welcome.

I kid you not, there has been research into this kind of thing.  Squatting to do your business is healthier because it helps avoid bloating, constipation, hemmorhoids and colon cancer as it promotes a more efficient and complete elimination.  Squatting in general is excellent for your pelvic floor and leg muscles.  And, it makes you happy.  I mean, just look at that girl.  She's ecstatic!

You might think I'm kidding, but check my bathroom next time you come over.  I am this close to convincing Richard to order one...and by this close, I mean the distance between the floor and the rim of the tall toilet. 

The First of Many Potty Posts

Rich and I had pie at the local truckstop last night.  As we were leaving, I visited the ladies' room.  I entered the room, turned right toward the stalls (which were all empty - I could tell because all the doors were open) and then swung left into the first stall. 

And, BAM!  I jumped out of my skin, clutched my chest and yelled, "Oh!  You scared me!"

There, sitting on the toilet was an old native lady wearing a beret, grinning a toothless smile.  "Heh, heh, heh," she chortled. "The door swung open on it's own.  Heh, heh, heh."

I just stared.  Her face looked like those dried apple carvings people make for Halloween.  I was so shocked at finding her there, and so puzzled as to why she didn't just reach out 6 inches from her knees and swing the door closed that I just said, "Oh." 

I turned away and went into the next stall.  The apple-face lady LOUDLY grunted and groaned the whole 30 seconds I was there (I was being quick.  I was extremely uncomfortable.).

It was weird.

I'll Be Back...

Yes, you've missed me.  I know you have. 

Life has sucked.  All the energy from my body and brain, and so I haven't attempted a post in a while. 

I'll be Bach.  I'll be Mozart.   (I know.  Groan.  My favourite joke.)

Birth

There's no way to properly give justice to a homebirth.  I was privileged to attend my second one last week (other than my own).  Although there is beauty in every birth, no matter what the setting, there is something special to a birth at home.  Something different.  Something...

It might be the decor.  The open flame of the candles (definetly a no-no at a hospital), the family pictures on the wall, the coloured towels and blankets to match the woman's personality.  The smell of supper in the air, fresh laundry, the absence of bleach.

It might be the people present.  The children eating cereal at the table, while they wait for the sitter to pick them up.  The quick visits of good friends as they deliver a meal and pop in "just to check".  The friendly neighbours who sit vigil on their porches, hoping to be the firsts to get the news that the baby has been born. 

It might be the staff.  The midwife's apprentice who quietly sets up their equipment around the room, nodding and murmuring encouragement as the mother moans and rocks.  The midwife who asks permission before taking vitals or checking dilation, always respectful of the family's privacy, and never assumes she has first dibs to the mother's body.

It might be the father.  The way he kisses and holds his wife, freely, unhindered.  A man in his own home, where he is comfortable, where he is on his own turf is a powerful thing to behold.  There is no questionning look at the doula to ask if it's okay to join his wife in the shower.  He knows, and he does. 

It might be the mother.  She wanders her home, she wears her husband's t-shirt, or nothing at all and it's okay.  And she knows it.  She doesn't seek permission to eat, or to kneel on the floor, or to walk around her yard.  She has built a comfortable home, the perfect home for herself and her family, and she takes full advantage.

It might be the baby.  The calm, wise expression as he gazes into his mother's eyes.  The cry, then the quiet of a baby who's first touch was from a woman he recognizes from the massages he received in the womb.  Or, perhaps, his first touch was from his father, or mother, who lifted him directly from womb to heart.

There's something about a homebirth.  There's something about a new family in bed together, counting toes and stealing kisses. 

There's just something about homebirth.

The Birds and The Bees

Sex.  If you just blushed and glanced really quick over your shoulder to make sure no one sees you read this entry, then this post is for you!  Hey, look!  Is that your mom that just walked into the room?

Just kidding! 

Seriously, though, I came across this article on the Focus on the Family website.  It's good.  It's really, really good.  As I was reading it, I kept thinking, "Oh, but they forgot this..." and then, there it was in the next paragraph. 

To sum it up - talk about sex with your kids.  Really.  It's important.  The fact of the matter is that sex is going to happen, is happening right now, and you need to address it.  Don't wait for the teenage years.  Your 12 year old boy that you think is too young to have "the talk"?  He's thinking about it right now.  And now.  A-a-and now. 

Your 6 year old?  She's got older cousins, or friends her age who (think) they know about sex.  They're not censoring on her behalf.  She's going to remember when they refer to her body parts as (and you can fill in the blank here, because I don't want to use slang  and attract the wrong crowd to my blog by search engine). 

Okay, so maybe you're homeschooling.  Maybe you don't have TV.  Maybe you only choose really, really good friends for your kids (?!).  Still, not a good excuse.  Where is sex?  Sears catalog (true story), grocery check-out, pregnant auntie, farms, radio, next table over at McDonalds, the Bible (whoa, what?  Yup, read it.) etc., etc., etc.

I don't agree with having "the Talk".  I think it should be more like "the Dialogue".  Sex education shouldn't be a class, or a program to be taken over a semester.  It starts at the first diaper change, continues at toddler bath time, preschool curiosity, grade school thirst for knowledge and on through the teenage angst.  Teach your kids through your actions & words right from the beginning.  Use real words.  No one would refer to a nose as a "sniff-sniff".  Don't refer to a penis as a "wee-wee".    If your 4 year old asks you how babies come out, don't brush him off.  If he's old enough to think up a question, he's old enough for a simple, age-appropriate answer.  Stammering and blushing and avoiding the subject will only teach him that sex is shameful and embarrassing.

The fact of the matter is that God made people.  After that, he left it up to them to make other people.  God didn't address Adam and Eve with, "Go forth and, you know, like, um, uh..."  God made sex.  God made it enjoyable.  He attached responsibilities and guidelines to it.  It's our job as parents to make sure our kids understand those responsibilities.

Read the article.  It's good.  It's really, really good.