Uncle Montague's Tales of Terror

I've been obsessively perusing the Kidlitosphere--so, so many blogs and neat sites out there for children's book junkies like me.  What a delight to come across Crow Toes Quarterly, "a playfully dark arts and literature e-zine and limited-edition print magazine for children ages nine and up."  Yum.  

In the review section of their site I found this little gem: Uncle Montague's Tales of Terror by Chris Priestley.  Complete with Edward Gorey-inspired illustrations, these stories set in Victorian England are loaded with classic gothic goodies including demons, ghosts, evil objects, and the wages of sin, but they are presented in a freshly imagined way.  


The book is framed by the device of a central story involving a boy named Edgar (Poe homage, certainly) sitting in the artifact-crammed study of his Uncle's resplendently creepy mansion and listening to the stories behind various objects in the room.  Each chapter breaks from its tale and returns to this firelit space to transition to the next story.  A sense of mystery about the uncle and his connection with the tales he tells grows as the book progresses and propels reader interest until the final chapter discloses all.  


I wonder how easily average middle-readers might become engrossed in this book.  The setting and so much of the richly detailed texture & vocabulary might be too foreign to pull them in.  But I tell you, I'd love to be friends with any child who prefers this aesthetic to the more accessible Goosebumps series.  And honestly, I'd rather write for this sort of child as well.   


Yes, the stories are scary: more creep-factor than hakem/slashem gore, simple blood versus viscera.  As this author understands, it is the anticipation of harm which piques fear rather than the gruesome end.  No! Don't open the door to the basement--don't do it!  is much more chilling than the inevitable splatter that follows.


An interesting question is whether or not the victims in these tales deserved their fate on some level.  There was no explicit moral imperative connecting the tales, no didactic be a good little boy or girl or you might just get hacked to pieces.  In some cases simple curiosity tempted mischief which led to a world of hurt; one protagonist was a petty thief and seemingly deserving, while another was merely a social outcast who was haunted by the ghost of an innocent murder victim.  One theme which particularly struck me was the presence of disconnected or even removed parents, begging the question of just who is to be punished, if anyone.  The boy seduced by the spectral presence in "Jinn" is completely clueless about ethics and social norms, and his much preoccupied father blames himself for the child's death.  Perhaps if he'd been a more attentive and connected father the boy might have had enough sense to avoid trouble.  Our protagonist Edgar is similarly neglected and is kept from a grisly end only by the grace of his Uncle's protection.  Perhaps the nitty gritty of the horror, the horror within the gothic is the evident lack of moral absolutes in our world.  The wicked are sometimes punished, but so are innocent bystanders.  In this world none of us can remain cozy with the delusion that being good equals being safe from harm.

Eidi by Bodil Bredsdorff

This was a sweet little story (second in The Children of Crow Cove Series) that would appeal to the Waldorf-minded for its simple spirituality, seasonal awareness and setting within a traditional Western European environment.  There is a spot of violence, as our heroine gets clocked something fierce by the town's drunken lout and she rescues a child from abuse and neglect.  Social conservatives might object to the open acknowledgement (without condemnation) of children conceived out of wedlock.  Overall, there is an endearing quality to these characters who demonstrate loving kindness for one another, respect for nature, reverence of landscape, and joy in the process of making a living and the pleasures of childhood.  

Schooled by Gordon Korman

A nice thing about being a fan of middle grade and young adult fiction is that the novels can often be read in a matter of hours.  Since Charlie was born, I’ve been able to read nonfiction, which is easy to set aside and return to, but engrossing adult novels remain a problem.  Last one I read was Jonathan Strange & Mr. Norell and I so did not want to leave that world.  For several days I carried guilt over resenting my dear child’s intrusions while I gobbled up that yummy story.

When I sat down with Gordon Korman’s Schooled, my intent was to read only a few chapters but the story was so likeable, well paced and witty that I was unable to put it down until I finished the book.   The gist is that Cap (Capricorn) Anderson attends public school for the first time during his grandmother’s hospitalization after an accident on the hippie commune of which they are the only remaining residents.  As part of a traditional school lark, this “clueless” boy who was raised in isolation is thrust into the role of eighth grade class president for the purpose of entertaining the student body.

Korman paints Cap with tenderness and irony while narrowly avoiding the trap of making him into an iconic deity or empty stereotype.  The boy has garnered a degree of spiritual wisdom and the naivety of a “holy fool” archetype, but he’s also an adolescent with human desires and fallibilities.  Chapters are narrated from the perspectives of alternating characters in a way that manages to retain the reader’s engagement and add a measure of multi-dimensionality to the characters; at least none are expressly vilified.  Indeed, Schooled provides ample opportunity for learning, as the title references not just Cap’s induction into the mainstream world, but the self understanding and transformation which touches everyone who plays a part in this humorous juxtaposition of classic hippie idealism in the twenty-first century.

Contrary to popular opinion around here...

...I am not a punching/kicking bag, a climbing rope or a swing; an entertainment coordinator, personal valet, repairman, or vending machine; nor am I an unlimited source of information about plant and insect identification & classification, anatomy & physiology, lexicography, or the location of miscellaneous lost items, particularly those simply described as "thing" or "it."

Where the Mountain Meets the Moon by Grace Lin

Those who are fairy tale inclined know that when a story begins “Far away from here, following the Jade River, there was once a black mountain that cut into the sky like a jagged piece of rough metal.  The villagers called it Fruitless Mountain because nothing grew on it and birds and animals did not rest there” (1) the ending will bring a renewal of fertility and abundance.  But it is the story in the middle that counts to the reader, and in this fine novel the art of story itself matters a great deal indeed.  More than entertainment, history and wisdom, stories here are a source of vitality.  In contrast to the dreary landscape, our heroine Minli has a pink-cheeked glow specifically because of the stories her father tells: even his own “black eyes sparkled like raindrops in the sun when he began a story” (3).  I’m a huge fan of this kind of meta-storytelling.  This book charmed me from start to finish.

Grace Lin weaves a loving homage to her cultural inheritance with these layers of story beautifully rendered in words and illustrations.  Seemingly disparate characters—a dragon, a tiger and the elusive Old Man of the Moon—and plot  lines are delightfully tied together by the end of the book.  It struck me as the sort of work that might have gestated within the author throughout much of her life.  The execution was flawless. 

While I enjoyed this year’s Newberry winner, When You Reach Me, I found more “classic” potential in Where the Mountain Meets the Moon (which received an Honor).   Library hound that I am, I don’t purchase many books these days, but this one’s on the to-buy list.  The illustrations are plentiful and chapters are short enough that I’m cuing this as one of the first novels to read aloud to Charlie.

Butterflies at the WNC Nature Center

Above: yes, the wings on this poor butterfly were damaged. (not by us)












Left: Butterflies mating--something I'd never seen before.

Monkey See, Monkey Do

Caps for Sale: a Tale of a Peddler, Some Monkeys and Their Monkey Business by Esphyr Slobodkina  is a classic that was first published in 1938, when apparently fifty cents was a reasonable price for a hat.  Charlie and I enjoyed listening to Miss Patty read this at our local library a couple weeks ago, and the other day he caught a glimpse of the book on the shelf and was eager to hear the story again.

In case you're unfamiliar, the plot is quite simple:  a peddler carries a stack of various colored caps upon his head.  He naps under a tree and then wakes to find monkeys wearing the caps they have stolen from him.  Every attempt to get the monkeys to give him back his caps results in the monkeys merely imitating the peddler's angry gestures, and when he throws his own cap to the ground in exasperation, he inadvertently succeeds in retrieving his merchandise.

It's no wonder that young children continue to enjoy this story. The appeal lies not only in the illustrations and simple, humorous plot; they get the joke more than one might think.  Certainly preschoolers identify on some level with the silly mimicry of the monkeys.  And it isn't much of a stretch to see how the peddler's reaction to the monkey's mischief (and his inability to win their compliance) mirrors the way in which we as parents often react to our children's misbehavior, and the limitations of coercive "discipline" techniques.  The joke is really on us.

Modeling is understood to be one of the most effective educational strategies, and it makes sense because children naturally tend to imitate what they see around them.  The findings of a couple recent studies support this idea.  It was publicized some years ago that regular reading to children is not not in itself enough to ensure their success as fluent readers; a "literacy rich home environment" was a more predictive factor.  (Sorry I was unable to find the source.)  Similarly, forcing children to eat so many forkfuls of veggies per meal is less likely to produce healthy eaters than simply setting a good example by eating well oneself.  A 2004 study found "that a positive parental role model may be a more effective means to facilitate change than parental attempts to impose control over their child’s food intake."  Interestingly, active coercion & manipulation resulted in less compliance and greater likelihood of negative issues with food and body image.  "Do as I say, not as I do" is an approach bound to fail, and the energy expended on the attempt to control children's behavior might not only be a waste but instead produce unintended consequences.

I'd never suggest that parents can be responsible for their children's behavior, through a failure of role-modeling or otherwise.  Every day my son finds some way to remind me of the limitations of my control over him.  From my perspective, that is as it should be--he is his own person, after all.  But I've often found that it helps a great deal to take a hard look at myself before judging him too harshly.  How often his words and behavior mirror my own.  Just this afternoon, I explained to him that it was time to get ready to go.  "When I'm finished with this," he insisted.  We needed to accomplish a task before being a certain place at a certain time, a concept not fully grasped by a three-year-old, so I might have pulled rank as the parent in charge and responded with, "No, we need to leave now," followed by action to direct him out the door.  But his words echoed those I uttered myself earlier, when he wanted me to stop reading an article and read a story to him.  If I want him to exhibit consideration and patience when my wishes and needs are of interest, then I need to demonstrate the same respect to him.  If I want a child capable of compromise, I need to show him how it works.  Neither of us will get what we want all the time, but that's how life is.

The peddler, by being slow on the uptake, was lucky to get his hats back at all.  Though compliance can't be guaranteed, as parents we can be more likely to foster cooperative relationships with our children through conscious self-awareness.

At the Park

Top 10 Parenting Books

I'm a sucker for countdowns of this sort, and you tend to find all sorts of them with the end/beginning of the year. Plus, I've been a major slacker with this blog, so it is about time I posted. So, if you are shopping for yourself or another parent-to-be, here's my take on the best of the overwhelming glut of parenting books on the market. (Not that I've read them all, and my biases are clearly evident.)

#10--The Baby Book by William and Martha Sears
I almost took this one off the list. For one, this article makes some excellent points. Also, the idea of seeking advice from the dominant male doctor parenting "guru" (formerly Spock, now Sears) was deservedly scoffed by Jean Liedloff in The Continuum Concept. But this encyclopedic tome was co-authored with his wife Martha, and no one can deny that their parenting experience is impressive. With loads of information about infant development, this one's a reliable reference which I found myself turning to again and again when I found myself questioning, "Is this normal?"

#9--The No Cry Sleep Solution by Elizabeth Pantley
Gotta have a sleep book, right? And this one has loads of gentle techniques for the Attachment-minded parent to get more sleep without resorting to the unsavory cry-it-out method. (Told you my biases would be clear.) I'm a firm believer that sleep is more a product of a child's unique temperament and physiology than anything else, and I have to admit that nothing I tried produced the holy grail of sleeping through the night. Frankly, I moved to a place of acceptance regarding my restless co-sleeper a long time ago, but if you're looking to feel in control and "do something" about your child's sleep, there's plenty in here to try, and a lot of solid information about sleep in general.

#8--Learning All the Time (or anything else) by John Holt
My plan is for unschoolers to take over the world. Seriously though, John Holt is a wonderful advocate for children's rights to respectful treatment and honoring their independent thinking. Whether or not we choose to homeschool, as parents we are our children's first and most influential teachers, and Holt's child-led approach is the best foundation for a vibrant and inspired life of learning.

#7--Unconditional Parenting by Alfie Kohn
This one's more for theory than practice, inspiration rather than action. Kohn makes a strong case against behaviorist models of parenting (think carrot/stick or gold stars/time outs), arguing that punishments and rewards lead children to focus on how their behavior affects themselves, versus others. He offers a framework for an alternative way to work with our children, rather than doing things to them. This one's already moved to "classic" status, influencing some of the more recent books out there.

#6--Everyday Blessings: The Inner Work of Mindful Parenting by Jon and Myla Kabat-Zinn
Parenting and family relationships in general have been for me the most powerful center for spiritual growth. Even if you aren't a Buddhist, you'll find here the motivation to slow down and take the time to be present and deeply engaged with your child, which is nourishing and rewarding in itself.

#5--The Womanly Art of Breastfeeding by LLLI
This is the one book I wish I had read before my son was born. It's the standard introduction to breastfeeding and reference for solving basic, common nursing issues. As many families come to understand, breastfeeding is more than a feeding choice; it is easily a style of parenting in itself, encompassing sleep, discipline, nutrition, lifestyle and more, which you'll find expanded upon in this book.

#4--The Natural Child by Jan Hunt
The heart of Jan Hunt's parenting philosophy might well be her "Golden Rule" of parenting: "Treat your child as you would like to be treated if you were in the same position." I find her insightful essays to be a source of inspiration and reaffirmation of my parenting values. You can read a bunch of them and many others also here at The Natural Child Project.

#3--Naturally Healthy Babies and Children by Aviva Jill Romm
An essential tool to educate yourself and support your child's health and wellness, it is my go-to book for herbal recipes to battle congestion, alleviate the crankies, etc. Aviva Romm's books are a huge help in learning to trust the body's wisdom and healing process.

#2--How to Talk So Your Kids Will Listen and Listen So Your Kids Will Talk By Adele Faber and Elaine Mazlish
A classic for good reason, this book was an enormous help to me when I was teaching young people of various ages. Drawing upon principles of nonviolent communication and active listening techniques, the book is full of specific strategies for engaging cooperation, resolving conflicts and fostering healthy and loving family relationships based on mutual respect. The cartoon examples throughout make it easy to glean and revisit the ideas when you are short on time and attention span (as many parents so often are!).

#1--Raising Our Children, Raising Ourselves by Naomi Aldort
I have to admit that this is the most recent book of this sort that I've read, but it quickly became my favorite. Aldort's psychology shows a strong Buddhist influence, not in the religious sense, but in terms of stepping back from judging our children's behaviors as "good" or "bad" (there's an acknowledged anti-behaviorism solidarity with Kohn here) and granting our children space to experience life in their own terms and process their emotions with support from us if needed but certainly without our active "management." So many parenting books offer philosophies that seem so simple, yet we find ourselves falling short of our parenting ideals again and again. Aldort's S.A.L.V.E. formula is a useful tool in understanding and changing our patterns of reacting to behaviors we find bothersome. The first step she advises is for us to stop and be mindful of the initial script that starts running--a script which is heavily influenced by our culture, our own childhood experiences and (mostly irrational) fears. Once we let go of that and give ourselves a little reality check, we can connect with our child in the present moment and respond with mindfulness and intention, often employing that good stuff from book #2 above. At first glance, one might think she advocates a lax, child-centered approach veering on permissiveness, but in fact she's clear on the point that we aren't here to tailor circumstances and our responses so that our children feel or act "good" all the time. Rather, by learning to accept and "be with" our children's anger and sadness, they are more likely to move through their feelings and let them go instead of escalating into more socially unacceptable behaviors. When children are respected as individuals instead of coerced or manipulated so that their behavior meets our (and society's) expectations, they are more likely to respect others in turn. Makes perfect sense to me.

Apologies

In case I have any returning readers out there, sorry for the lack of posts. Any time for thinking, reading & writing has been directed to school work. I'll make an effort to post more than once a month though!

Review--The Snow Leopard

THE SNOW LEOPARD by Jackie Morris

I picked this up during our library visit last week. It's the sort of thing I'm drawn to: a story set in the Himalayas is likely to have spiritual overtones which resonate with me. And this one exceeded my expectations.
The illustrations are lush with mood and emotion. They evoke a melancholy which transcends mere sentiment, a quiet sadness rooted in an awareness of suffering and the transitory nature of life.
The text was no disappointment either. The mythic and haunting nature of this story is accented by the dreamy, poetic prose, rich with sensory details. The complex, densely imaged phrasing did not capture Charlie's attention for long, but I imagine at a later stage in development he will be captivated as I was by the breathtaking and lovingly crafted words and images in this book.

A Dream & Anticipation

In my final cat-nap stretch of sleep before crawling (literally--our current co-sleeping bed arrangement is funky) out of bed this morning I had a vivid dream. Charlie and I were at a little farmer's market. I think he was on my back in the Ergo. There were eggplants of all shapes and sizes, ranging from the usual dark purple to lavender/white in color. And I think there were mushrooms growing here and there. Many people were crowding around the wooden bins where the eggs were. There was a mess of broken eggs and empty cartons. We were there especially to buy eggs and I was upset when some folks grabbed the last bunch. "I need them to feed my family!" I pleaded. I don't remember the exact resolution of this part--as dreams go we were moved into a dormitory type room with a wood-framed bunk/loft type bed. It was a small space--all wood paneling, and filled with debris like dried leaves, mushrooms, cobwebs, bugs, etc. It was somewhere I had stayed before and I was excited about being there and sharing it with Charlie, and I eagerly picked up a broom and vigorously began sweeping away the webs and clutter. I woke up with a good feeling.

Even without the online dream dictionary (here's one to check out), it was easy for me to understand this one. After nearly ten years I am going back to school to complete my Master's degree in English. When I left the program I had two incompletes and an unwritten thesis, and I was in a difficult place emotionally, having opened the door to search for my birth family and dealing with some powerful feelings which surfaced. I also had no idea what I wanted to do with my life. While applying to Ph. D. programs that final semester, I realized my motivation for a career in academia was driven by a need for external validation (college professor=worthy/valuable person) rather than a love for the work itself. Truth is, my real motivation to read and learn was not about love for the work of interpreting literature, but to better understand myself and my place in the world. I hated writing papers; the critical part of my mind went into hyper-drive and writing was an excruciatingly constipated process. In fact, this blog is the first time I've been able to enjoy writing in all these years. In school, despite a progressive-minded department, I could not write freely and creatively for myself; instead, I needed to meet specific criteria, and do so well enough to merit the almighty A. Now I'm a lifelong unschooler and much happier.

For a time my mind was in a lachrymose haze, unable to complete a coherent paragraph, much less write the papers to finish my degree. And soon I was overly preoccupied with making a living; we were dirt poor and needed to get on our feet financially. I almost went back to school while we lived in New Mexico--both jobs I had there required teaching certification, but I just couldn't afford the tuition. And we got the itch to move back east, where I worked my way up the ladder in retail and Shad enrolled at UNCA to finish his degree. Then came Charlie. School was nowhere on the map.

Once in a while I thought about looking into completing the degree. I assumed it would be more work and more money than I would be able to manage. I even revisited my thesis research to see if writing it might be a viable option, but the idea was overwhelming, and I'm no longer the same person who started that project, so how could I finish it now with any coherency?

While it wasn't something I would brag about, I was at peace with the situation. After all, lacking the piece of paper did not mean I lacked the education. My time in grad school, coupled with my experience teaching, was invaluable--as painful as that time was, it was essential to the process of finding myself and becoming a secure and more confident person. I had no regrets, even without the formal closure of a diploma in hand.

Then through toddler fun I met Jessica, who encouraged me to look into teaching at the local community college where she is an adjunct in the English Department--a flexible job in which she managed to avoid expensive child care for her son. I loved teaching, and found myself with enough motivation to inquire about completing my degree. I only need one class, which I can take here and transfer to my alma matter for credit.

So it's all coming together, and I'm a bit surprised by how excited I am to be clearing out those dusty cobwebs inside myself and steering my life in a new direction (eggs) which I had not anticipated. The mess with the eggs in my dream likely reflects my anxiety over getting registered at the last minute--I've called admissions more than once to make sure there is no glitch holding up my entry in the system. I'm not one who likes to wait until the last minute, and I'm concerned that the class I want might be full. But these issues should be resolved this week. And the presence of the vegetables just confirms for me that this change will be a nourishing one.

What a pleasant feeling to have these images floating around my mind and to detect an almost crisp quality to the air this morning, and to notice some leaves gathering at the trunk of the Ash Maple in the backyard--suggesting that autumn will be here before long, and change is good.

Review--Sensational Meditation for Children

SENSATIONAL MEDITATION FOR CHILDREN by Sarah Wood Vallely

Last week Charlie and I had the pleasure of attending a party at our friend Sarah's home to celebrate the release of her book. It was a well-attended, family friendly event, with a fun castle-shaped bounce house, and fantastic food. I met Sarah when she gave a presentation on meditation at Stroller Club last summer, and a few months later I saw her work with a group of young children at a children's health event hosted by my chiropractor friend. Remembering how engaged the children were, I was eager to read her book to learn more.

Sarah's writing reflects her years of experience, solid background knowledge and her love for working with children. There's plenty of information here to develop a good understanding of the various purposes and benefits of meditation for anyone, and children in particular. With your appetite whetted, she then presents detailed, easy to follow, step-by-step instructions for a variety of child-friendly meditation exercises. These sound like a lot of fun, with titles like 'Fudge Swirl," "Inside Friends," and "The Happy Tree." I especially liked the way the meditations are grouped thematically in chapters titled Clearing My Mind, Healing My Body, Renewing Spirit, and Finding Out Who I Am. Woven throughout are specific suggestions and exercises to connect with your child and ways to make the most of the meditation experience through art and writing, among other ideas. The final chapter offers guidelines and inspiration for creating your own meditations.

This book is a great tool for parents, educators and anyone working to connect with children, to help them open their minds and souls to possibility and higher self-awareness, and not least of all, their imaginations! Please go to Sara's website to purchase her book and to learn more: http://www.sarahwood.com/

Review--The Breastfeeding Cafe

THE BREASTFEEDING CAFE by Barbara L. Behrmann
May be enjoyed by nursing moms, moms-to-be and anyone interested in cultural issues surrounding breastfeeding and motherhood.

This is one title I picked up with birthday money (thanks Gram!), and it was hard to choose, with dozens of books on my "save for later" space in my Amazon.com checkout cart. What an enjoyable read! With a structure intended to reflect a conversation among mothers, Behrmann skillfully weaves together a myriad of voices from a wide range of cultural, economic and educational backgrounds, from women who have nursed children through age five and beyond and others who were unable to breastfeed due to medical issues or lack of information and support. She describes her intention with this format: "Telling our stories is an act of power, of taking control of our own life, of helping other women in theirs. It is, above all, a starting point. My hope is that the stories in The Breastfeeding Cafe will give women the courage and permission to dispel myths, reveal secrets, and be honest." (292) There is both vibrant emotional connection and thought-provoking academic perspective. Pretty much every conceivable aspect of the topic is touched upon. The last chapter, "Where Do We Go From Here?" will rouse your inner lactivist: she clearly outlines specific societal changes needed to improve breastfeeding success in America--things like mother/baby friendly care for birth and the postpartum, better education for health care providers (whose ignorance is frequently responsible for sabotaging nursing relationships), truly family-friendly labor policies, including an actual paid maternity leave, and other actions the need for which is well documented within her collection of narratives. Inspiring.

In Breast We Trust

Recently, I had one of those uneasy conversations which played over and over again in my mind afterward, and I wish I could go back and edit my response. A well meaning person asked, in genuine curiousity and without intended criticism, if my son would be able to develop self-soothing behaviors and coping mechanisms as long as he was "placated" at the breast whenever he was upset. I stumbled through a defensive response, citing arguments for the psychological soundness of breastfeeding past infancy, how by age five most children will have a variety of internal coping mechanisms, and how children I know who were breastfed responsively have grown into very secure, indepentent individuals, etc.

It was the word placate which shook me. Sure, it was used innocently enough, but the connotation is one which in my mind evoked the image of me thrusting my breast into my son's mouth whenever he gets disagreeable. Here's something that will stop your whining--pop! There's also the suggestion of the s-word: spoiling. That by placating him with the breast I am allowing myself to be manipulated, or that I'm reinforcing my son's neediness by giving in to his demands by nursing him, as they say--on demand. Again, I don't suspect these notions were suggested by the questioner, but they are common assumptions in our bottle feeding, baby scheduling culture.

A more fitting response would have been to clarify that my son is not placated at my breast, he is nurtured. Nursing provides him not only optimal physical nourishment, but emotional sustenance. It is a safe haven for him, a place where he comes to center himself, to process his experiences and recharge his batteries. Unlike the child who may smirk with self-satisfaction once his manipulations have been rewarded with a formerly taboo object (the sweets he was whined for, as an example), the child soothed by nursing returns to his activity like one rising from meditation--calm, with focus and once again able to act from the better part of his nature.

Unlike anything I've ever experienced in my life, breastfeeding my son feels intenseley and inexpressively right. The urge to meet his needs this way is prompted from deep within and acted upon peacefully, without question, with no trace of hesitation or internal conflict. I imagine many moms who have responsively breastfed their little ones well into infancy and beyond touch upon this deep feeling of inherent rightness. This may be one inspiration behind lactivism and breastfeeding support efforts, just as I imagine a similar feeling inspires the natural birth movement. It's something which is extremely difficult to convey to those who have not experienced it.

Of course, I intended the title of this post as a little joke. It is not in the breast but our children in whom we need to place our trust. I have complete faith that in time Charlie will find other sources of emotional nourishment, other ways to center himself and cope with life's challenges. He learned to walk and talk. He wants to be able to do things for himself. He will wean. He will sleep through the night and someday he will even prefer his own space. Our time spent nursing may serve as a bedrock within him--evoking that place of safety, a deep well of comfort and love which he can always draw upon as needed.

Review--Wild About Books

WILD ABOUT BOOKS by Judy Sierra, Illustrated by Marc Brown
May be enjoyed by children ages 18 months-- about 9 years

In the first major compromise of my parenting ideals, I bought a DVD for Charlie to watch: Chicka Chicka Boom Boom by Scholastic. What began as a cute infatuation with The Simpsons (Charlie would point to our DVDs of the series and shout, "Dooh!" his approximation of Homer's ubiquitous "D'oh!") sparked concern as Charlie grew more imitative. Not eager to see him grab a stuffed animal by the throat and growl, "Why you little..." I found an appropriate distraction with "Boom Boom." We both enjoyed the animated version of Wild About Books (one of seven stories on the disc), so I found a copy of the book.

Book lovers will especially appreciate this story, which involves a librarian bringing her bookmobile into a zoo and igniting a passion for reading and writing among the inhabitants. There is a dedication to Dr. Seuss on the last page, and the rhyme and meter evoke his style without being overly derivative. The writing and illustrations are playful in a way which makes you feel the artist and author found much pleasure in their work; there are little jokes and allusions peppered throughout which may be appreciated on various levels, such as waterproof Harry Potter books for the otters and a penguin scribbling, "The Iceman Cometh." My favorite part is when the insects write haiku, with the scorpion giving out "stinging" reviews: the dung beetle writes, "Roll a ball of dung--/Any kind of poo will do--/Baby beetle bed," to which the scorpion responds, "Stinks."

The illustrations are whimsical and engaging. Charlie loves the hippo who has a big grin from being awarded the "Zoolitzer Prize"--he will turn back to that page and look up at me with the silliest, squinty-eyed smile. This is one we will enjoy for quite a while.

Gorgeous Breastfeeding Video

Many moods of popsicle eating

The Birth of Charles Thelonious

So, I'm a fairly voracious reader, and while I was pregnant I spent most of my free time devouring info online at places like Mothering.com or reading books like Birthing from Within, Spiritual Midwifery, etc.  I knew years before getting pregnant that I wanted an unmedicated birth experience for myself and my baby, and I planned a home birth with New dawn Midwifery.  My ideal vision was Leboyer inspired: to be in the dimply lit, calm, quiet, comforting space of home, perhaps staring at the trees outside the window while I drifted into labor land, and my son would make a peaceful transition from womb to world in water.  And I accepted that it most likely would not happen as I expected--maybe the water wouldn't work for me, and who knew what manner of positioning or caterwauling would be needed in the process.  I resolved to be open and my biggest concern was not the pain management, but surrendering control.

Having learned from my midwives and online sources like spinningbabies.com the difference fetal positioning can make in labor and birth, I began regular chiropractic care with Nancy who specialized in working with pregnant women.  From 28 weeks along through the rest of my pregnancy I saw her twice a week.  I took vitamins and fish oil supplements, Floradix when my iron count dropped, and drank strong infusions of pregnancy tea (red raspberry, nettle, etc.).  Given my demanding work schedule I did not eat quite as well as I wanted, but I kept a pretty healthy diet.  The one thing I didn't manage was regular exercise--I was simply too exhausted from work to take walks; I just wanted to lay down.

A change in management at my job tripled my already high stress levels, and that's my guess why my systolic pressure escalated in the last months of my pregnancy.  (Testing for pre-eclampsia was negative.)  Then, about two weeks before my estimated due date, I caught the worst flu I've ever had in my life.  Nothing stayed in but saltine crackers--I could barely keep down water--for ten days or so.  I lost five pounds was worried the baby was not getting enough nutrition.  My husband fell ill too, and for a while our home was a disaster, our recovery was slow.  I went on maternity leave and prepared for the arrival of my mom and sister and niece Emma.  My blood pressure was still high, so the caution flags were raised.  

Friday, December 15th 2006 was my due date--fairly meaningless in my opinion, since I never remembered the exact date of my last period.  I'm preparing to leave for the airport when Jan from New Dawn calls to inform me that she had an ultrasound scheduled that afternoon.  Because we were planning a home birth, the consulting OB wanted to be sure I didn't have a closet case of pregnancy induced hypertension.  So I pick up my family and drop them off at my house with hugs and kisses and we'll catch up later and Shad and I speed off to Mission Hospital for the appointment.  The first thing the technician says is that the baby was breech.  I thought she was joking!  He had been in a great position for months.  But earlier that week I did have a strange and intensely painful sensation of pressure moving up my spine--that is probably when he flipped.  And at that week's check up, Kirsten did have a harder time picking up his heartbeat, like it was not in the same place.  So there we were--surprise breech and my fluid levels (which took the technician a good 20 minutes to measure) were low at 4--too low for the doctor to consider a version.  We left with orders to return that evening for a non-stress test and were told the c-section would be done that evening or first thing in the morning.  From this point I felt that things were set in motion and I was no longer at the wheel.

I was in shock, and I wanted to spend time with my family, so we went out for dinner.  Emma was probably a little stir crazy from a long day of travel and she spilled her coke all over me.  It was a welcome diversion--we all laughed.  I just couldn't get my mind around the situation.  I had done everything I could to prepare for a natural birth--I had been SO determined to NOT have a c-section.  How could this be happening?  

After dinner we went for the NST, and the baby was fine.  I was having regular Braxton-hicks contractions, which I would have never felt if we hadn't watched the monitor.  It was just a slight pressure--like a rubber band snapping but without any sting.  I wasn't dialated or showing any signs of labor, so they sent us home with instructions to skip breakfast and be in by 6am to prep for surgery at 8.  

I suppose I was just too stunned and still too drained from my illness to take action.  I could have asked for more time to just see if he would turn despite the odds.  Nancy would have been happy to perform the Webster-technique.  I might have set up an acupuncture treatment--I knew about using moxa on the pinkie toes to turn breech babies.  I could have even tried the breech tilt described in Birthing from Within.  But instead, I sat there in a daze and surrendered to it.  That's just where I was at the time.

Poor Shad was coping with shock himself--he had an hour of sleep that night at best.  I managed to get in only about four hours.  We were not prepared to be in the hospital, so we hastily threw a bag together and I armed Shad with a list of "demands" like no Hep B, no circ, no artificial nipples or supplements, breast only, etc.  The fear of surgery was setting in and I fretted over how well I would bond with the baby, since plans for the optimal skin-to-skin and delayed cord clamping were out.  But oddly I also felt peaceful--surrendering to the "accepting things I cannot change" part of the serenity prayer, and when Jan arrived she commented on how well I was handling things.  Of course, part of it was that I was still numb, but part of me felt that this was somehow meant to be.

The staff at the hospital were considerate, and I liked Dr. Sherr who was to perform the surgery, especially when I found out his children were born at home.  It felt like he was in my corner somehow.

Jan was assisting with the operation, and she held my hands as the spinal block was set up.  I was terrified, but it was just a tiny prick and cold feeling, then nothing.  The room was blazingly white--floors, walls, ceiling, everything, but there was some natural light, which I appreciated. I felt better once Shad was able to be at my side--he was freaking out a bit I'm sure, but he kept it together and was so sweet and supportive.  Once things were underway I remember not feeling well.  I must have reacted to the medication, and I'm pretty sure my BP crashed.  Shad said I turned gray at one point.

We didn't know we could have a CD playing for the birth and there weren't any in the car which felt right to me, so I agreed to listen to a guitar lullaby one they had in the operating room. Right before Charlie entered the world the song "Simple Gifts" played--a song which is near and dear to my heart. "Tis a gift to be simple/tis a gift to be free/Tis a gift to come down where you ought to be/And when you find yourself in a place just right/Twill be in the valley of love and delight./When true simplicity is gained/To bow and to bend we shan't be ashamed/To turn, turn will be our delight/Til by turning and turning we come round right."  I remember feeling so comforted and happy to have that spiritual tune welcome my little guy.  (Although as I write this I'd say the turning bit is ironic!)

We heard an irate screech and Jan announced, "What a handsome little fellow!" and Charlie was held up over the curtain and Shad cut the cord.  I could not move to get a good look at him, and it still saddens me that all I saw before they cleaned him up was an arm and a leg.

Shad asked if I needed him or if he should go be with Charlie, and I told him to go, absolutely!  I wanted Charlie in his father's arms since he could not be in my own.  It wasn't long before he was brought to me.  I remember his little pursed lips opening and closing and wishing I could nurse him even though I wasn't sure how.   I felt so helpless with my arms in restraints and unable to move.  But I spoke to him and could not take my eyes off him.  Those moments are fuzzy in my recollection--these intense shakes started and I didn't feel fully present in my own skin for some time.  Somehow I did have the presence of mind to request that our placenta be kept for us, so we could plant it later to honor Charlie and this special time we shared in one body.  

We settled down in recovery and despite my continuing convulsions, Jan and the nurse managed to get Charlie latched on for his first of countless nursing sessions.  Soon my mom and sister came in to see him.  I felt touched my the tears in my sister's eyes as she saw Charlie for the first time.  Then my in laws had a turn to share in the joy.  I was the only patient in the recovery room and we had the royal treatment, with the nurse bringing ice chips and answering questions.  Before long we were wheeled into our own room and the exhausting, sleepless weeks of life with a newborn began.

Ironically, my son's birth being the opposite of what I had intended was just the introduction to motherhood that I needed.  Being the sort of person who searches for meaning in my life, I took away from this experience a spiritual lesson which has changed me deeply and made me a better mother as a result.  There was a moment when Shad returned to the hospital room after a needed break and he told me of a strong deja vu feeling which prompted a memory of a dream with the image of the antique dresses framed in the foyer by the elevators.  This, from someone who is not remotely new-agey, inspired chills.  At the very least, Charlie's last minute acrobatics may have been his own way of determining how he was to be born.   And so, while I continue to take seriously my responsibility as a parent, educating myself, being conscious and informed, I also realize than I am not "alone" in this endeavor--Charlie's life is also nourished and supported by our family and friends, our culture, and in the grand scheme of things, the universe.  Who knows what myriad of influences and experiences will shape his unique, individual process of becoming? It is certainly not all up to me!  My desire for control and tendency toward perfectionism have been strongly tempered by this understanding, and, if I daresay, I have gained a measure of trust and learned to let go.

OK, so I am not a hook-nosed old lady...

straddling a vaguely phallic bird.  And I'm not much for writing in meter & rhyme.  

Frankly, I was stumped by what to title this blog.  How do I sum up what I am attempting to do here in a few choice words?  What am I attempting to do here besides have an online presence to sell Barefoot Books (see link below)?   Then, as I was going through my shipment from Barefoot Books (they are great, check them out), I came across this passage in the introduction to Clare Beaton's MOTHER GOOSE REMEMBERS:

As the carrier of the Hindu goddess Saraswati, who presides over the learning of language, music, and the literary arts, the goose has been associated with the power of speech for centuries beyond telling.  (Tessa Strickland, publisher of Barefoot Books)

Loved the idea, so we have a blog title.  Another reason the goose image drew me was a fondness I have for water birds.  Back in my college days a friend asked me, "What is your favorite animal?" to which I replied, "the blue heron."  "And what do you like about it?" was her next question.  This was harder.  They are solitary, you don't see them every day and they frequent lakes and streams and seem so serene and wise standing meditatively in the still water.  "Well, you just described yourself," she said.  It's a fun little game which generally works--try it.  

So, putting aside the obvious differences, the goose fits the bill (he he), and captures the essence of my purpose here, which is to share my love of books and discuss what I'm reading, and to find moments of calm reflection within my busy mama life.

(Go Barefoot!)