Friday, March 25, 2011

That first time must have been a fluke

You know sometimes you have such a strong experience that it colors how you remember all subsequent experiences with the same person, place or event? Yeah, I think that is what Baby A's first flight did to my at Christmas time. She was a bit feverish from a vaccine shot, and slept most of the time. On the first flight to Frankfurt, then the one to Toronto, then in Toronto. A lot. No jet lag, really snuggly baby. I got a lot of sleep, as a result, and thought "Hey, my kid is a great traveler!"

Well, I think I'm ready to admit she's just a regular toddler traveler. Because after another long flight, I finally opened my brain enough to remember that apart from that first flight, she has screamed to sleep on every flight since. Ah, the power of positive thinking. It only took me 10 more flights to realize that. I guess it was good to have the illusion for the time being and it probably helped me more than anyone, to feel like it was going to be fine.

Not that she's a maniac on flights. But it is good to remember that if it isn't night time and the plane isn't all dark, and she isn't a bit sick, it will take a bit to get her to wind down, and that will include some crying. And making sure she eats enough fiber on flights is going to take a bit more work than I put into it this time.

Oh well. At least she can eat prunes straight out of the bag now.

As for the louder-than-necessary comments from the business man in back of us on the one flight she just drifted off to sleep on, about "the earphones don't work! when does the entertainment system come on so I don't have to hear crying?", turns out my baby is less of a whiner than you are. That is all.

Thursday, March 24, 2011

It'll do

Last night, while preparing for a big day today, I was frantically trying to get these programs made for our naming ceremony for Baby A. Since we aren't practicing Catholics anymore, and I'm not crazy about the state of the Roman Catholic church's handling of sexual abuse of children anyway, we aren't baptizing her. But we have guardians chosen and it is still nice to officially welcome a new child into her families. So we are doing our own ceremony. Short, hopefully not to corny, but still symbolic in some ways. I think it will be nice.

But there I was trying to get my new version of iPhoto on the Mac to hurry the hell up and load photos of her so I could use the cool card template to make an amazing (and oh so stylish) program. Yeah, well, this new version of iPhoto hasn't been playing nice with all our old photos. It may take until the next decade for this software to actually do whatever precious conversions of old photos it keeps assuring me I need. Whatever, iPhoto, you're bumming me out.

So there I was, getting more frustrated, feeling the time pinch of having to get to bed soon, Baby A's intestines decided that last night was the night to either get constipated or have loads of gas and the poor thing was screaming and writhing on the bed, us not being able to help much.

I'm running around the kitchen trying to get the cumin (I think) seeds boiled and strained to make a warm tea (in case it is gas), and soak the prunes in boiling water and then mash them up to make prune juice (in case it is constipation).

I'm thinking about how we'll even do damage control to those crib sheets (and walls, and floors) if she isn't actually constipated and I just fed her two whole prunes.

I'm cursing under my breath at the Mac and restarting the whole computer.

And finally, she settles on M's chest and then asks to go to her crib. We put some loose clothes on her and she drifts off to sleep.

I go back to the desktop, inhale, exhale. Blink blink. I open MS Word, pop one photo of Baby A I have from the desktop to the document. Put the text in, print out a bunch of copies, and I'm done.

Good enough, yo. That's all that it needs to be. And I get to go to sleep, instead of feeling that sinking "I'm not even 1/4 done yet" feeling I used to get at the beginning of a long night, way behind on my thesis writing in that last month. Phew.

Oh, and I'm happy to say, there will be no baby-poo Spilled Milk #4 photo. No explosion from the diaper area last night.

Tuesday, March 22, 2011

Spilled mik, #2 and #3



After the photo of the spilled milk came out so nice, I started taking a few others, of the things that might be called messes, that Baby A creates, but really are beautiful, too. Sure, they have to be cleaned up, but in a photo, to look at, later, when they no longer represent more work to be done, they're kind of nice.

I had one of my almost-out-the-door conversations with M this morning. Why is it that the sweet spot for interesting topics happens somewhere between the end of breakfast and the start of the commute? I guess it keeps things short, but there is an emotional space there that encourages those 7 minute chats somehow. Like the spilled milk photos, it is nice.

I was thinking about marriages and how you decide to interfere in someone else's or not. Ha ha ha. Just writing that pretty much argues for not. But what if there is some act of good will, that one person hasn't quite realized could make a huge difference to their spouse? That has to come first, that could shift the relationship ever so slightly, maybe to a place of more room and contentment. Yeah, ok, maybe that is just wishful thinking.

I like flowers, see. Not really bouquets of red roses, but I like fresh flowers, and I like them more than M realizes sometimes. (He knows this, by the way, including the not realizing part). And what if someone just reminded him to buy them a little more often. I mean, our marriage has survived, flowers or no, but would it have shifted things a bit, in a healthy way? At some tough time? Not an apology time (he knows you don't give me an "I'm sorry" bouquet - that it is just asking for trouble), but just some time when we were more rather than less out-of-sync with each other?

In other words, what is the role of all those guests who came to your wedding? To wait until you ask for marriage advice? To be there on the day and then leave you two to yourselves, only "butting in" when asked later? But by the time people ask for help it can be too late. We wait to do maintenance on our relationships sometimes. We don't even know we need a little push here or there, an anecdote about someone else's experience. Something we didn't even know we didn't know.

For instance, someone told M to take photos of me while I was pregnant and to tell me I was beautiful. And luckily, on top of that, M actually did believe it. He told me a lot. But he also did take photos. Sometimes just because he remembered the advice from another pregnant woman's husband. And it was nice. It was good for us.

Because we can't be everything to each other, or think of all of these things ourselves. Maybe that is the line, then, to suggest things to a person in a marriage, and leave them to decide whether to act on that or not. The idea might be a great one, but it remains in their hands whether or not they do it. And that is what counts in the end. It didn't matter that M didn't come up with the photo thing on his own, it matters that he took the idea and enacted it. Did the few seconds extra of effort to take those photos.

Huh. So do I say something to the spouse of a friend or not? I guess I'll have to see how I feel. Although spilled milk can make for a beautiful image, sometimes you need someone to buy you that new mop to make the clean up just that much easier.

Sunday, March 20, 2011

Sunday afternoon

A slight damp-cold day has turned into a beautiful spring, 55 F and sunny afternoon. My baby girl, poor thing, must still be sick, what with the phenomenal poo she had this morning, the small appetite and now going into her 4th hour of napping. She never does this. Not this long. And I heard another splurt from her (and the smell) about an hour ago and wonder when do I wake her up to just change the diaper so this doesn't turn into a rash, too?

Four hours. I've gotten a nap (I'm a bit sick, too, I guess, tired after a 2 hour nap and good night of sleep). M has gotten a nap. I'm writing in my blog on a Sunday with no babysitter in sight. I have a non-instant coffee. M and I have made some lists and decisions about something other than the next 2 hours. I've had a chance to sit with my Oprah magazine (can I tell you how excited I get everytime it arrives here? So American, without being all about celebrities and fashion and sex quizzes. And the book section practically summons my Kindle out of the drawer it inhabits.), and decide I'm not in the mood to read it. Yes, I'm sick, too.

I flip some colorful pages and wonder why the magazine has so many beauty product advertisers when it also contains so much "love yourself the way you are" writing. The writing I like, the ads make me a bit tired.

Crows and magpies sit on still-bare branches outside the living room window, so from the chaise that has broken free of the sofa and come to the corner, I can still see the city and the lake. In summer that won't be true, anymore. But then dinners, and afternoon baths, will provide all the contentment instead.

Four hours. I've watered the tulip bulbs that came home from Amsterdam. And I have a bit-too-hot bath tub waiting, bubbles and all, to clean that little bum when it wakes up. Sunlight warms my legs through the window. The door to the balcony is open for the pupper to come and go as she pleases on such a warm afternoon.

I hear a tiny cry. Time to go washa-wahsa.

Wednesday, March 16, 2011

Might as well get used to it: Spilled milk #1



The concept of motherhood continues to mystify me. But so did the concept of bride-hood, wife-hood, PhD-hood, etc.

The other night, baby A woke up at 11:45pm first crying, then when I tried to get her the binky and then the water bottle, things turned ugly. It was a full-on, arching back, screeching like being tortured 10 minutes.

I tried to hold her upright.

No good.


I tried to rock her.

Are you kidding me?

I changed her diaper.

Nice to be dry, but not the main problem. Screeeeeeeeeam!

M came in with a bottle.

Again, no thanks.

And then, in a mirror to the previous night when I had gone in and repeated exactly what M had tried but I was successful, M took her.

He held her upright.

Sigh.

He layed down in the bed with her on his chest.

Deep sigh.

Grumbling under the breath (this one was me).

I hate when M can calm her when I can't. This is the part of motherhood that I'm still figuring out. I think I was raised to believe that being a mother is about being the most comforting person for your little person. That I'm the one she is supposed to want when she's sick, sad, woken up from a nightmare (one of our guesses about those two nights), upset. That some of what I get back for all the patience and calm, for the playing and loving, is pole position when it comes to soothing. My smell, my voice and my body are supposed to be the best at this.

But that isn't how it works with Baby A.

Turns out, M has the perfect touch for rocking her - no one else can anymore. And for getting her to nap on his chest - that flight from Amsterdam would have gotten a lot quieter sooner had his chest been there.

And just as I come to terms with having my body back, now it is rejected in a very intimate way. By the little being I want it to help soothe. (Note to self: eat more, and gain back that weight, because obviously the slimmer you doesn't make up for this). There may be nothing that will change this.

So I have to rethink mothering again. Maybe go back to what I learned when no body (not a single one) could soothe her best - that my job as a mother is to look out for her and make sure she gets what she most needs and what best calms her. It isn't necessarily to be that one who best calms her, but to search out those people and things and situations.

Because if I keep thinking I'm supposed to be her go-to, and it isn't working, I'm going to feel pretty hurt. I tell you what, babies are a huge lesson in not taking things personally.

Tuesday, March 15, 2011

Yes, I believe I would like fries with that

There I was, with my tuna salad wrap, on the tram heading home. Once again, I was eating lunch too late and I was starving. Three teenagers, two girls and a guy, maybe 17 or 18 years old sat in the seats around me - the girls facing me, the guy next to me. The guy spoke just a bit too loudly as teenage boys sometimes do, and the girls both had the huge sunglasses and carefully done hair. Not a super snobby group, but not un-self conscious, either.

I ate most of the wrap, down to a final half handful of tuna salad, that had slid out of the wrap into its cardboard holder. Dang. I was still hungry and I wanted all my tuna salad, but I could clearly feel that there was no way I was going to go in there with my bare fingers. Not in front of Swiss teenagers. Not these teenagers.

I really shouldn't care. I've got a kid, I'm busy, I'm hungry, deal with it. But nope, I left that tuna salad where it fell and wrapped it, and put it back in my backpack. I'd be switching trams soon anyway. I could eat it then.

Two stops before mine, the teenagers got off. And across the way from me was a vision in "I could care less" - two twelve year old boys with Whoppers and fries.

The tram took off again. The boys were inhaling those burgers and fries with the kind of abandon I respect. If I were indulging in that meal, I'd want the freedom to do exactly the same. Fries flying on the floor, lettuce drenched in mayo dripping into the box. Fingers covered in awesome.

I pulled out my tuna salad remains, stuck my fingers in and, in the best of company, finished my lunch. When it comes to food and hungry, I'd rather be a twelve year old boy at heart. And wish I could say that of twelve year old girls, too. But I think they are already too worried about how they look, what other people think. I'm going to have to figure out how to avoid that as much as I can with baby A.

Then again, given that I am the one sadly stashing my tuna salad, and she most definitely gets into her food body and soul, maybe she's going to need to do her best to save my butt instead.

Monday, March 14, 2011

Yup. Its spring.



There it is. The rogue daffodil that has somehow made its way to our balcony garden and decided to flower before anything else is even ready. But that's just one of the signs.

The crocuses are blooming in our neighborhood.

The sky is blue and the high was 56 F today.

I don't freak out when baby A pulls off her hat anymore, but I still say no bare feet unless we're in the bus/tram.

My orange trench coat was warm enough, and I could have made due without socks myself.

The checklist is up in the elevator asking us all to turn off our balcony faucets so that water can be turned on again.

It is light outside when baby A wakes up now, and trust me, she's not sleeping in.

But really, just like with the shedding that is probably soon to be in full swing, the biggest indicator to me that spring is here....I shaved my legs (If only I could shed instead of shaving) after some 3 months of furriness. I didn't wear a skirt or shorts. But that doesn't matter. Its spring.

Friday, March 11, 2011

Amsterdam with a toddler

With all trips I've planned or just dreamt about recently, to moderately large towns, I start at the New York Times. They have a travel section called "36 Hours in _____" and I just Google that with the name of the city. This tends to give me a good overview of some things to try, and I usually find at least one restaurant recommendation or the like to try out. The toddler in our lives means I tend to skip all of their suggestions for after 6pm, but I like having one recommended thing to start with. This time, it was a restaurant called Pancakes Amsterdam! I think that it was actually called something different in the 2007 article from the NYT, but we found it and it was perfect.

It is in a charming area called the "9 streets", full of cute little boutique shops that furnished me with a beautiful pair of earrings and 2 dresses, too. Tiny place, lots of traffic, so we had to go down the street, found some coffee (that gift from the Northern European gods is discussed below), and came back 40 minutes later. They have crepe type pancakes, American style one, and all sorts of yumminess in between. We had one with bacon, leek and cheese, and one with coconut milk, bananas and coconut shavings.



That's Baby A happily decimating the bacon one. She then went on to pick the coconut shavings of the sweet one, which shows you how much her father loves her, given that he's likely to do the same. Very baby friendly, complete with IKEA plastic utensils, plastic baby eating tarps, and some kid books. The waiter kept cooing at Baby A, too. We liked it so much, that she and I went back there the day we were on our own before flying home.


Speaking of the coffee we went to get while waiting to have pancakes...There is the toddler, having a great time trying to catch pidgeons outside the best coffee I've had in years at the Dutch chain Coffee Company. This was actually our second Coffee Company visit, the next day, but the coffee happiness was pretty constant at all 3 shops we went to. The shops are all in bold colors and the place might look too corporate at first, but these lattes could hold a spoon upright while the espresso shots slowly dissolve it.



So, most important things (food and coffee) covered, next I'll touch on accomodations. A lot of the B&B's in the city were booked, or had a 2-night minimum. The hotels were wither really pricey or had so-so reviews on Trip Advisor (another site I rely on very heavily for planning trips. I spend a lot of time looking at the reviews). So my other new favorite travel site, AirBnB came to the rescue. I love this site. It is full of individuals renting out a room or whole apartment/house they own. Usually cheaper than a hotel. And the best part, as far as traveling with a kid, you can find a place with a living room space (for a little person to stretch her legs and unwind after hours in the stroller) and a kitchen. Some even have a washer/dryer in the unit! We stayed at one in Chicago over the holidays and loved it. The one in Amsterdam, from Mia, was also great. I was looking for a place in the Leidseplein area of Amsterdam after reading a review that it was surrounded by great little streets and shops, etc. Loved the place. There was a grocery store around the corner (also great for travel with kids, and the sort of thing people tell you about on their AirBnB listing), as well as a tram stop from the train station. So, try out AirBnB - I stick to listings that have gotten at least a few reviews and are good reviews. I stay away from listings (just like with TripAdvisor) that have mention of crazy landlords who flip out. For me, no amount of great reviews can buffer the potential of an unstable personality. Even more so when I'm traveling with my kid.



Ok. Those were the basics of a good trip. I just happen to love the architecture and vibe of Amsterdam, too. And just to be extra confusing, let me put the first part last. When we got out of the train station and I knew from Mia's text message (ooh, having a local cell phone, with a working Google Maps is really really really nice - I have a horrible sense of direction, and I like it better than pulling out a huge map that screams "tourist!" At least in Northern Europe I can fake it sometimes. Especially in tall-person Netherlands.) to grab the 1, 2 or 5 tram. I went into the tourist office across the street from the train station and bought a map (just because I don't like using them doesn't mean I won't), a TimeOut Amsterdam magazine in English full of food suggestions (I like food. Can you tell? Like, a lot. And I like finding restaurant gems even more), a transport card for trams and buses, and tickets for the following day to the Van Gogh museum. All before heading to our place for the night.





Turned out to be a great thing. I went to get take-out from a delicious Thai restaurant that was reviewed that month, for dinner that night in the apartment. We didn't have to bother with change for the trams. And best of all, the next day when we were trying to visit the Van Gogh museum quickly enough (in an hour, pick a few rooms and not try to see the whole thing) to get Baby A down for her noon nap, we went straight in without waiting in line to buy tickets. Fabulous. The museum itself was pretty roomy, even with a crowd so Baby A wandered and pushed her stroller while we took turns seeing the paintings in a room. She even practiced her new hands-folded-across-chest art critic pose once, which got a bunch of smiles. And the restaurant there had a decent selection of food for lunch for us. Sorry, no photos allowed in the museum, so none here.


And there you have it. Amsterdam with a toddler. In 24 hours, even. Oh, last thing, trains run to and from the airport every 15 minutes or so, many Dutch speak fantastic English, and M's bag got stolen on the train into Amsterdam a few days later, from the above-head luggage rack so although it is a charming town, it isn't crime free.

Thursday, March 10, 2011

I had it coming

Remember yesterday, when I couldn't say enough good things about Amsterdam? I mean, I even forgot about the cupcakes which were just one more selling point for me. Well, on his way to the airport to come home, M's work bag got stolen. Gah!

Phone, wallet, USB stick with last few presentations and passport were all in his jacket, thank heaven. But a new book for Baby A, the house keys, the mailbox key, and his work notebook were all in there. And we're talking professional job, complete with distractor guy spilling coins on the ground while someone else must have grabbed the bag from the luggage rack and gotten off in Amsterdam. Jerks.

So yes, I'm a bit cooler on Amsterdam, but not much. I mean, that is something that could happen in Chicago, Toronto, New York for sure, half of Europe at least. My mind went more to thoughts of why Switzerland isn't like that and what is the social cost of such safety. I mean, here if you lose this kind of thing, you get it back. Cash intact. Granted, not if it is stolen. But so far we've had many things returned to us that have lost their way. But there is still something about the society that doesn't feel as warm in connection with this phenomenon of things always being returned. Maybe the phenomena is due to fear of repercussions. That would make things less warm and fuzzy. People being nice to you so they don't get in trouble. Japan felt a bit like that, too. Safe. Very safe. At the cost of what, though? Meaning, is the safety worth whatever the cost is? Or would I rather live somewhere where my big city radar needs to be turned up a bit, but that is more vibrant perhaps?

Anyway, there it is. A stolen bag and a dog with an itchy skin condition upon our return home. Those pancakes sure were good, though. I'll leave the 24 hours in Amsterdam for tomorrow. I need to go call the rental company to report the stolen keys, and we're low on clean clothes, too.

Wednesday, March 9, 2011

Amazing coffee, and pancake restaurants everywhere

If the Dutch language doesn't have die/der/das articles, I'm moving. M and Baby A and I were in the Netherlands this weekend. What a charming place. And seriously, the coffee I got, in a low, round bowl, had all the makings of a Cambridge, Mass, Porter Square latte. I think M might have drunk 3 double shot drinks in one day just to try to fill up that amazing-coffee-shaped-hole in his heart.

Amsterdam found its way into my heart in under an hour. The old buildings, the people, the non-Swiss chewing gum stains, the pancakes. These people respect the pancake in all its glory - we had one with bacon, leeks and cheese, and another with coconut and bananas. Baby A made sure to get as much of the coconut one as her father would let her have.

Bicycles everywhere. We even got to rent one in Leiden where we were visiting friends and go around the extremely flat town on two wheels. A was quite happy sitting in the little baby seat on the front handlebars, complete with her own handles to hold.

The weather was good, for this time of year, I guess. But the fact that it was a damp cold, about 5 degrees colder than Zurich and I'm still gushing about the place means I must have really liked it.

It was my first solo flight with Baby A, and we did okay. She was with me the whole day, hung in there like a trooper in her stroller, and while she had a 15 minute screaming, pre-nap episode in the plane, I survived it. No glasses broken, and she finally stopped kicking and flailing, took her binky back, and passed out in my arms.

I also think we found just enough cool things to do in Amsterdam to make it a really packed but successful visit with a toddler. So tomorrow I'm going to take a page from how the New York Times does their "36 hours in...." travel series, which I always check for a new city I'm going to, and do one for 24 hours, with toddler, in Amsterdam. Pancakes, strong coffee, Van Gogh, and Miffy included.

Friday, March 4, 2011

The orange trench coat wants to go somewhere


I've been lusting after bright (not light) orange clothing items online for the last few months. There was this J Crew coat that I stalked for a while, watching the price go down, then realizing the quantities in my size had just done the same. Oops. It was a great coat and I'm sure I would have been an overall happier person wearing it instead of my mainstay black coat.

Just like I was sure about the orange H&M sweater today that I didn't buy, and the orange H&M trench coat that I did. There sure are a lot of orange coats that I'm not sure I'd be happier in on Etsy, too. Now the weather has to actually get a bit warmer so it can be a grey, rainy but not so cold day and I can brighten it up in my orange trench coat.

I am also frantically emailing all manor of B&B's and vacation rentals for an upcoming trip. I put this part off a bit too long, and there is not a lot left now. Although, yet again, AirBnB.com seems to have come through again. They list rooms, apartments and houses for rent all over the world. We stayed in one in Chicago that was perfect - a one bedroom loft apartment with a washer dryer and baby bed available. Free street parking. Close to museums and shopping. Great person doing the renting. Large cities have a lot of options on AirBnB, smaller cities, not so many. But with a toddler, it is nice to have more floor space, a fridge, a stove, etc.

But back to the coat that will make me happier (as well as prettier, more interesting, and way cooler). It really needs to warm up now, because I'm stuck being boring, bland, and tragically unhip right now. Ok, I'm mostly joking. But I do judge myself pretty harshly on a daily basis about things like this. I see those happier, better woman on the tram, bus, coffee shop, everywhere but in the mirror. And it isn't just about learning to feel good enough intrinsically anymore (although this should be the main goal). It is about teaching my daughter the same. I mean, she's absolutely adorable (and, conversely, can be a screaming demon) no matter what she's wearing. I love her just the same. And my husband. And my friends. Family. Pretty much everyone gets this pass from me but me.

That's not true. I can be brutal to women on trams and buses. In my head. But (have I written about this before?) I notice so many little details. Now, the step that follows, where I then connect those details to the person's worth, that's the part I'm trying to change. Because I'll always notice a lot. But it doesn't have to turn into America's Next Top Model in my brain.

The trench coat is very quiet at this moment. But I've promised her that even if I do find some hidden spring of confidence, she'll still be going out to see the sights soon. I mean, she's bright orange after all.

Thursday, March 3, 2011

I'd rather not spend $5000 on your painting, thanks.


I've been spending time on Etsy, lately. The website where people sell all sorts of handmade stuff. Great website, lots of things I've put in my "favorites" file, but only a few things I've ever bought. Anyway, this site is HUGE. Full of all sorts of great (and horrible) stuff. And pretty hard for me to navigate some things.

Like jewelry. How do you manage to do a web search on this site for "not ugly, tacky jewelry, and not stuff I won't like" ? There is a lot of chaff to get through for a few bits of wheat. I recently bought a great necklace from this seller.
But her crochet stuff is listed smack dab in the middle of a lot of boring crocheted jewelry. I can't even remember how I found her. I certainly didn't go in there with "crochet" and "necklace" in my list of search terms.

There are so many little gems of shops on Etsy, but it takes a lot of time to find them. Like this one with animal silhouette pictures and handmade stuffed animals. How cute is that?

And then there is the artwork. Original artwork. Thousands of pieces of oil paintings alone. Just for fun I ordered them from most to least expensive. Let's just say the $100,000 pieces are not encouraging. And that at almost every price, the naked woman's body art is....meh. And then at the $200 range, where I could seriously consider a purchase, again, some horrible stuff, and some cute things. One woman does a still life painting every day - I read about her in some magazine and accidentally stumbled on her page on Etsy.

I've moved from general oil paintings to still lifes, in the $100-$200 region. Not sure why, but I think I like the black and dark colors in many of them, with the surprise of orange for a piece of fruit, or sky blue on a bowl. I guess you need to go into Etsy with some pretty specific items in mind, and then it isn't so overwhelming.

(20 minutes later)

Ok, I went back to my still lifes on Etsy, and realized what I need to do. I searched on one type of fruit, I chose the lemon, and there they were. The super realistic, the too dark, the ones I thought were boring, the ugly, the intriguing. It was easy to find ones I liked and see what else the artists did. And it turns out many different artists do this "one painting a day" thing, and there are actually a lot of $35-50 still lifes I like. A lot. How cool.

Wednesday, March 2, 2011

Crying it out

When we first got the Pupper from the Human Society, we signed her (and, more importantly, us) for an 8 week training class. The head trainer was amazing, equally patient with dogs and their humans. The other trainers helping him liked dogs, but often got short with us humans. And really, the class was meant to train the humans to carry out commanding correctly. This class was a no yelling, no punishment class. All positive reinforcement. The basic principle was very simple and applied to every command:

1. Say (or hand motion) the command;

2. If the dog does nothing, you do nothing;

3. If the dog does what you wanted (perhaps coming by a gentle pull of the leash toward you those first few times), say "Yes!" all excited and happy as soon as the command has been executed and give a cookie.

A few years later, at a dog park in Tucson, the I saw the power of positive reinforcement used for a horrible purpose. A "trainer" was working with a man and his dog just outside the fence of the dog park, having the man yank the dog's choke chain harder and harder each time the dog misunderstood a command to heel while walking. Harder, harder, until I was close to an anxiety attack for the poor animal and the beautiful German Shepherd was cowering and whimpering. It was grotesque. And the "trainer" seemed to be having fun, calling out "yank! yes! yes! harder! good! good job!"

It was the first time I'd had the nerve to say something to someone else about their behavior and I managed some wavering "if you don't want to hurt your dog while training, the Human Society has great classes. This isn't training, this is abuse" the former directed at owner, the latter at "trainer." Of course the "trainer" got pretty upset with me, and I don't know if I got through to the owner. I was shaking, heart pounding.

Only later did I realize the irony of the situation - the dog had learned nothing through punishment and pain. The real results came from the positive reinforcement. The trainer was getting the owner to be more and more violent with his dog by applying the same principles our dog class teacher had - praise and encouragement. You can bet that owner would have walked away had the "trainer" said something like "you idiot, can't you even hold your dog right?" I wish I had realized that at the time.

Just as before, the dark side of positive reinforcement hit me this morning as I was reading a moms' forum about using the Cry It Out method, applied to kids who just kept crying and getting sick with despair. I've mentioned before the one incident where Baby A smacked her mouth on the crib and started bleeding which convinced me that Cry It Out just wasn't going to work for us - it went past my limit. I'd rather have a kid that wakes up more often than a bloody kid. And just like with that dog, I don't think Cry It Out works on all kids, and that it is harmful to keep using it no-matter-what. That can just land certain parents and kids in a traumatic place.

But these books, be they about Crying It Out or other parenting techniques that encourage us parents to do things that make our kids cry, bleed, throw up, get so upset...they are doing the same damn thing. Using positive reinforcement on us the readers, the parents ("Keep at it! Nothing comes easily! It's okay for kids to cry! You're a better parent for doing this!") to get us to do things to our kids that may not be where we wanted to be. That put our relationship with our kids in conflict. That encourage us to stop listening to them, in lieu of listening to some author who does not live in our house with our child.

I know, sometimes we have to say "No" and kids will cry. A lot. But I'm realizing that I want to be a whole lot more skeptical about books and blogs and "experts" who prey on my desire to be a good parent to encourage me to do things that make me uncomfortable.

Tuesday, March 1, 2011

Somedays you're the windshield...

Like this past weekend, with its gelato and fresh pastas with end of season truffles from a private chef. Latte machiattos from steaming machines.

And sometimes, you're the bug.




I'm spending more of today's time on labeling this blog finally.