On a recent weekday, my four and half year old visited two museums, a nationally recognized library, dozens of ancient and diverse trees, several historical markers and a 40 degree north latitude marker. Admission was free on all accounts and nothing was crowded.
Where were we? The Ohio State University Columbus campus.
The backyard season has begun. We are outside planting, mowing, and lounging almost every afternoon and weekend. With the advent of so much time in our own corner of nature, we are witness to the wonders of birds, plants, and more everyday.
Peas climb trellises seemingly overnight. Strawberries ripen too. Juncos give way to robins and swarms of sparrows. Bees return, pollinating herbs, vegetables, and flowers alike. Life begins and thrives.
Yet at the same time, It is impossible not to notice the other side of life.
A few nights ago, I asked my daughter whether we should go out to a restaurant or stay home. I was vying for restaurant because I didn't want to have to clean up dishes.
"How about a compromise?" she asked. "We'll make a restaurant at home."
I rarely say no to her compromises because the act of offering one is something I want to encourage. So restaurant play began as it has many times before.
My husband and I will eat almost anything once. We grow and serve a wide variety of fruits and vegetables as they come into season. Humanely raised meat of many kinds and eclectic grains accompany our meals. Ethnic foods make the rounds in our meal plans too.
But my daughter doesn't eat them.
Like so many kids, Lil munched up on orange peppers, tofu, mango, asparagus, broccoli, and more as a toddler. She tried food of all flavors, at one time enjoying sucking on raw limes.
Now, this is what she *might* eat: chicken and fish with no brown or colored bits, meatballs or sausage with no offending flavors or textures, milk, kefir, yogurt, rice, pancakes, waffles, some kinds of potato chips, plain pasta, whole wheat bread, pretzels, carrots, apples, dried cranberries, and bananas. If we count worthless unhealthy food, the list expands to include cheesy chips like cheetos, corn chips, chocolate anything, lollipops, and several other candies. Note: backyard fresh eggs from our chickens are not on the list.
I received this text from my mother last week: "Grandma's colon is just fine." My mother accompanied Grandma for a regular screening. Though possibly an entry into 'strangest text received', I was glad to know that nothing was wrong.
For my grandmother's first colonoscopy, I attended with my mother. (Mom had a broken arm and needed some assistance herself.) I was there when the doctor showed us pictures of the inside of Grandma's colon.
Yay, I have seen the inside of a colon! If only we were all so lucky!
I have a 'drop in anytime' policy at my home. Friends and family
usually call first, but our door is always open. Some call it chaos
but I like the busy-ness of having people over regularly. A different
kind of intimacy develops among 'always welcome' relationships.
This past Tuesday, a day when eight more inches of snow covered the twelve already on the ground and many were not venturing out on the streets, the open door became a revolving door.
First, my jack-of-all-trades artist friend Leonard (affectionately known as Krash or Uncle Leonard) drove in from Cleveland to drop off some female torso mannequins. I don't need them for anything particular but he came across them in a warehouse and thought I might like them. I do.
"Are you going to have more?"
I hear it from family, neighbors, and well meaning relatives who want more babies to hold. I get it from the grocery store clerk, the dental hygienist, and story time acquaintances at the library.
The questioning started when my daughter was around one year old. They waned a bit when she was a raging tantruming two and a half year old. Now the intrusion is starting again as my daughter looks to be about kindergarten age.
I respond, "no". Sometimes I joke with the truth, "nah, my husband is fixed."
The deeper truth, that I have an only child by choice, is not shared very often. Most people do not understand making that choice, but more importantly, they do not need that information.
What if I was struggling with infertility? What if I could not afford another child? What if my husband had left me and I did not want to parent more children alone? For any of these reasons, and many more, asking a parent of a single child when the next one was coming could reopen wounds already blistering on the surface.
It hurts even me. It feels invasive to ask me about the deeply personal choice of family size. Does a questioning cashier really want to hear how the first year of my daughter's life was a personal hell? How I felt like a walking zombie most of the time and I never want to experience that again? Does the pharmacist want to explore my guilt that conception and pregnancy were simple for me when so many
"I'm afraid he will," I answered. I just told my four year old daughter
that her friend's father was very sick. I shared that even though he had
surgery just a month ago, the doctors couldn't fix his body. She said
"His mom is going to be really sad." I agreed with tears in my
eyes.
The truth is, this whole family will experience sadness I cannot even imagine. The mother is eight months pregnant. The father has cancer that had him hospitalized for over a week in early December and was just re-diagnosed as terminal. The four year old and two year old boys were unable to see him in the hospital due to H1N1 risks and now witness him receiving hospice care at home.
My daughter asked if his arms still worked. I told her that they did and that he can hug his sons any time he wants. He can still talk and tell his family how much he loves them.
Now, I find myself in a place where I have dozens of friends. I am supported in my parenting and personal growth by friends in the Columbus Attachment Parenting Village. I chat with other moms from my daughter's preschool, the School for Young Children. I knit once a week with a group of moms in the evening. At least once a month I go out with mom friends for coffee, drinks, or dinner without our little darlings.
I should not feign surprise. I know exactly where she heard that phrase: PBS television. At the end of every SUPER WHY!, Caillou, and FETCH! with Ruff Ruffman (my girl's favorite), a business or nonprofit is credited with their sponsorship.
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