Glad That Week Is Over

If you read my blogpost last week, you may not be surprised that I am totally exhausted and deeply in need of some rest and sleep.  Now that our little twins are in big kid beds and no longer nursing, it takes hours to get everyone to sleep at night and I am, most definitely, a hormonal mess.  Let’s just say that things got ugly this week. 

Last week we bought a new van; so much to my surprise, I am now driving a fancy 2013 Dodge Grand Caravan.  In beige.  Go ahead and chuckle.   As if it’s not bad enough to be driving a minivan, it’s also beige!  And folks, if the minivan is a-rockin’, please come a-knockin’ as there’s probably a kid having a tantrum inside because the laws require that they be buckled into a car seat!  Anyway, the week got off to a good start.  The kids were excited about the new van with a DVD player and bets were placed on how long before the bacteria content on the floor of the van reaches frightening levels due to the amount of food on the floor.  What could go wrong?

On Tuesday evening, a.k.a the evening I lost my mind, Wife picked up the new wheels.  Because I had misplaced the special part of my brain reserved for reason, I lost it on the kids over the dinner and bedtime hours, for having the nerve to be kids, and then Wife and I had an epic, but brief, angry exchange.  Why sugarcoat it?  There was yelling and swearing.  So in an attempt to win the award for being the most dramatic participant in a marital disagreement, I stomped to the front door of our house and announced that I was leaving (Really I was just going out but leaving sounds way more dramatic).  

Unfortunately, in the middle of my tantrum, I had to ask Wife for the keys to the new van.  (Should you ever find yourself needing the assistance of your opponent during a fight, consider postponing the fight!)  This is when things got a little comical.  She hands me something that resembles a fob and trying very hard to remain in control and angry I say, “And what the hell am I supposed to do with this?!?”  “That’s the key!” she spits back at me.  “This?  This stupid thing is the key?   Fine!  Good-bye! ” 

 

This is what I use to start my car/spaceship!

At this point it would have been totally understandable if one or both of us burst out laughing but we were already invested in our fight, so I stormed out and went to the car.  Once I got into the massive beige minivan, I checked to make sure Wife was not watching from the window because I was a little embarrassed by my behaviour and it took me a solid two minutes to figure out where and how to insert the “key” to start the car!  I then spent another minute looking for the gear shift and the lights and then actually jumped when I put the car in reverse and the screen on the dashboard lit up with a live action video of me reversing.  A rear camera is a bonus feature on cars these days but they are totally weird!  I felt like I was angrily running away from home in a spaceship!  Vans have really come a long way, baby! 

My week didn’t actually get much better after Tuesday evening’s Oscar worthy performance.  On Wednesday, instead of spending the 30 kid-free minutes I had before school pick-up being still or drinking tea or reading, I decided to make an emergency run to the closest barbershop that I could find.  And that, my friends, is how I ended up with Bobby Brown’s haircut circa 1987!  

My lovely son, who frequently plays the part of image consultant, made me feel better about my haircut.  When I asked him if it looked “manish”, he looked at me like I had temporarily misplaced reason (which I had) and said, “Mommy, there’s no such thing as boys’ haircuts and girls’ haircuts.”  Right.  Good point.  The take away from Wednesday?  Do not get an emergency haircut from an unknown barber and be grateful when your kids are way smarter than you! 

I had hoped that I would reign in the crazy for Thursday, but that was not meant to be.  I sobbed for the entire drive to the kids’ school in the morning (not safe) and was still crying as I tried to say good-bye to them in the office in front of the Late Slip Lady.  The principal called me into her office to calm me down and reminded me that punctuality isn’t everything.  I’ve decided not to tell the other frequently late parents that she was so understanding, as she regularly reads the riot act to all the latecomers. 

By Friday I was so emotionally exhausted that I spent most of the day sharing sugary treats with the kids in the name of Valentine’s Day.  While I am still in need of sleep and rest, I am adjusting to the change in hormones.  In closing, I would like to thank the friends and family that rode my special roller coaster last week.  You are the real heroes of the week of February 10^th!

XO Ajike

No Nursing, No Cribs...Sh*t Just Got Real!

Big changes are afoot at the Silverman-Akande ranch!  As of last Saturday, February 8, my exactly 2.5 year old twins have been refused entry to the milk bar.  I just couldn't take it for one more day.  My breast, a.k.a the milk bar, had become a stand-up, dance-at, always open spot to check in, soothe a broken heart or a stubbed toe and re-hydrate before running off on the next emergency toddler adventure.  They fought over sides and positions.  They broke my jewelry (and sometimes my spirit) and became rude and bossy about where milk should be served and how convenient access should be – “Don’t put my milky away mommy, I will be right back!”  Rude!

So last Saturday when I couldn't stand the feeling of their sharp little fingers kneading every part of me, I told them that they had to say goodbye to “milky” and that they could have milk in a cup or juice and as many cuddles and hang-outs in the carrier as they wanted but no more milk from mommy.  They whined and cried and have tugged at me and asked for milk several times over the past few days, but we’re done.  

We went cold turkey, which is probably a bit cruel, but I am not exactly a slow and steady kind of person.  And while I don’t remember how I dealt with the feelings of my older kids when they stopped nursing (yes, even Z who is adopted), I do remember that they were also made to stop nursing abruptly.  My big guy nursed from about 6 to 17 months and stopped on the night I started injectable hormones to try to get pregnant. 

The girls nursed for 22 months until I was 6 weeks pregnant with the Littles and started bleeding.   I don’t know how we got through it – how I made it okay for them.   When F & L cry for milk and I bribe them with a cookie or juice, I feel so awful and think “Is this really necessary?  Shouldn't I just continue?”  But I can’t because I always said that when I started to resent nursing, I would stop.  No little one wants resentment flavored milk.  It’s probably curdled!  Ending our nursing relationship is the right thing to do but I still feel sad.  These are my last nursing babes.  It’s the end of a stage of my life and I am not that into endings.

 

The possible up side is that the world will finally find out what I am like without serious lady hormones coursing through my veins.*  I have been on fertility drugs, pregnant or breast feeding since September 2006.  That is 7.5 years!  I realize that I’m not breaking any records, but I am so excited to learn if my raging anger quickly followed by extreme bliss is related to my hormones or if it’s just the joy that is me!  I imagine Wife is also very curious about this.  To be truthful, just wearing a proper, proper bra and having my breasts rest much higher than my waist, which is wear they've been hanging out for years, is enough to shift my mood! 

 In response to the end of nursing, or just to keep life interesting, Mr. Lee thought that he needed quick access to me and learned to climb out of his crib this past weekend with great precision.  Sure, the first attempt landed him on his head but he is not one to shy away from a challenge so he kept practicing until he was a smooth escape artist.  Figuring that one day he would try to escape while half asleep and really hurt himself, we decided on Monday to take down the cribs.  I once read a blog post by a mom who referred to bedtime as a game of whack-a-mole.  This could not be truer in our house.  Wife and I quickly move through our tiny hallway returning escaped children to bed for a good hour and a half after “lights out”.  The twins – set one and set two, refuse to stay put at bedtime.  I am certain that we have successfully dealt with this in the past.  The girls went through a phase when they stayed in bed but they are smart, and realize that there are good times to be had at bedtime.  It is after 9 pm before the last emergency bathroom trips are taken and fetching of necessary toys and singing of various renditions of classic kids’ is done and the kiddos are too tired to continue their antics.  And in case you are like me, and measure time in cups of coffee (AM) and glasses of wine (PM), by 9 pm I am about 2.5 glasses of wine in and am pretty much ready for lights out myself. 

So the Littles are in new phase of "littlehood" and we are along for the ride.  I suspect that there will be crankiness – theirs and ours, from lack of sleep for a while as well as frustration – mine, from having to come up with alternatives to “milky” for solving toddler problems .   As the title of this post suggests, sh#t just got real! 

XO Ajike

*I use the term lady hormones in reference to myself, fully aware that this terminology would not be appropriate for all of those who have the same hormones running through their bodies. 

*http://momastery.com/blog/2012/05/22/whack-a-mole/

Reasons I should have been a mom 30 years ago

Last week I found out that I’m anemic.  Not a big deal, Easy to fix.  I’m actually relieved because I was beginning to worry about my sluggishness and complete disinterest in my children and their needs.  There’s been a lot of “Mommy’s just resting her eyes.”  Sadly, discovering the cause of my complete lack of energy does not actually give me anything more than an excuse.  So, while lying on the couch watching my littlest ones destroy the house, I started thinking about how parenting 30 years ago, even with anemia, would have been better for me.  So here is my list, so far, of reasons I should have been a (middle-class, urban, North American) mom 30 years ago. 

1.        Snacks – Part A.  Thirty years ago children didn’t have “snacks” that were held in traps.  Thirty years ago children hardly had “snacks” at all.   Snack Traps are special containers that have a flexible rubber lid with slits so that small children can stick their hands in and pull out a snack without spilling the itty bitty crap all over the stroller/car seat/ couch or whatever ridiculous place kids insist on eating.  Unfortunately the flexible rubber lid with slits is annoying as all hell to most children so they either shake the container like maniacs spilling the snack everywhere or they ask you to remove the lid – usually while you are driving.  (Don’t even get me started on “emergency” requests I get from my children while I am driving and the subsequent cry fest when I explain that I can’t actually address their request.) 

2.       Snacks – Part B.  This is how “snack time” went down in my house when I was a kid…  “Mom, I’m hungry.”  “There’s fruit in the fridge.”  That was it.  That was the conversation.  Done.  Any kind of food storage container in my house was big enough to hold a meal.  They were FOOD containers, not snack containers. 

3.       Car seats.  Remember when kids didn’t have car seats?  I love safety.  I really, really do.  “Safety First!” I always say.  BUT I do not like being responsible for my children’s safety.  Children don’t care about being safe.  They care about asserting their feelings and strength – usually when you are trying to get them into their car seats.  Children who need to be put into any kind of restraint are freakishly strong.  The only way to deal with this is to be freakishly stronger.  I have wedged my knee between my kids’ legs and used my forearm to bend them into their seats.  I am not proud of this.  That’s not true.  I am totally proud of this, because I win...which brings me to my next point… 

4.       Children’s Rights.  I am all about the rights of the child.  I really am.  I am not joking here.  That stuff’s for realz.  BUT when I was a kid, adults were adults and kids were kids.  My parents didn’t offer me choices, they gave me directions.  I followed them or I didn’t follow them.  If I didn’t follow them, there was hell to pay.  I knew that going in, and I generally did what I had to do to avoid negative consequences.  “Because I said so” was an acceptable reason and when I protested a parental decision, my mother would say, “The good Lord gave you parents for a reason!  Until you can make good decisions, I’ll make them for you!”  I have said these things to my children.  The difference is, 30 years ago, I would not have received the same looks that I get today when people over hear me.     

5.       Parenting books/blogs/websites/social media.  This topic requires an entire post.  Let’s just say that if a parent is looking for a way to feel bad about themselves or question much of what they are doing as parents OR if they are looking for a whole lot of other parents who subscribe to their particular parenting approach, they just need to hop online.  I realize that I am now writing about parenting on this blog, so I’m either contributing to the problem, or providing validity for others by sharing my particular brand of crazy!  Thirty years ago, you chatted with your neighbours about parenting, not a whole bunch of people you’ve never laid eyes on. 

6.       Baby & Child Gear.  There’s just too much and it’s just too fancy.  The baby/child gear industry is expanding because parents are perpetually looking for ways to better manage their lives and because we will believe anybody who tells us that a particular product will make things so much better.  I know this.  I have been separated from my money daily since we started thinking about having kids!  I currently own 6 baby carriers and a double decker quad stroller that I am not tall enough to see over!  Thirty years ago, gear was simple.  There weren’t a thousand different versions of every “must-have” baby product.  Baby gear was utilitarian.  I think I would have liked that.

Look, I’m happy to be parenting with all the conveniences and all the information about kiddos at my fingertips, but I’m pretty sure that things are more complicated than they need to be.  I would have totally rocked parenting 30 years ago.   I just know it.  No snacks, no car seats, and no on-line parenting advice…think of all the time I’d have!  Just sayin’! 

XO Ajike

Raising Little Activists

When I heard about Nelson Mandela’s death last week, my mind was flooded with memories.  I remembered being about 8 years old, standing in a sea of adults gathered in my home during the 1986 Toronto Arts Against Apartheid Festival.  I remembered seeing my father throw a South African apple in the fruit section of the supermarket, declaring that as long as the supermarket supported South African apartheid, he would not shop there.  I remembered seeing Mandela at Queens Park in 1991 and exactly where I was sitting in my grade nine history class when I heard that apartheid had ended.  I remembered sitting, as a teacher, with my grade one and two students in the gymnasium of Nelson Mandela Park P.S when Mandela danced into the gym for the school’s renaming. 

The struggles of black South Africans and the life of Nelson Mandela was my first introduction to social justice, activism and most importantly the idea that we (all of us) belong to each other.  My parents were the first people to teach me that my voice could be powerful and that my actions can make a difference.  Mandela’s death and reflecting on my own development has caused me to question what kind of example, if any, I am setting for my own children. 

Before I had kids, and I was an S.P.W.C (Superior Parent Without Child). I imagined taking my children to protests and marches and singing freedom songs instead of lullabies.  Stop laughing.  I really thought it would be like this. I wanted to raise baby activists.   I thought their first words would be “solidarity forever!”  I thought they would chant “What do we want?  Justice.  When do want it?  Now!” with great enthusiasm and true understanding.  In reality, it’s more like “What do we want?  Snacks!  When do we want them?  Five minutes ago!”

I started strong with little Z.  He was a chill little guy and we had ‘lots of time to just be together and talk.  When he was a toddler Obama was elected.   Little Z was obsessed with him.  In his toddler-way, he knew why his winning the US election was so significant.  In toddler-eeze we explained racism and change.  I believed we were raising a baby activist. 

With the arrival of our twin girls, my focus went from raising compassionate children who have a sense of justice for all and the ability to recognize their own struggles and the struggles of others, to my own struggle to get through the day!  I became less concerned with what was in their heads and hearts and more concerned with the head count at the end of day when they were, God-willing, asleep! 

I realize that most people don’t formally teach their children to be good, caring people, but they demonstrate goodness and talk about our place within our smaller and larger communities and how well, we belong to each other.  I’m pretty sure that I mostly demonstrate frustration and in all honesty, I spend very little time actually talking to my kids.  I spend a lot of time corralling, directing, redirecting, and yelling at my kids.  Sure there’s a lot of playing, tickling, reading, but not much talking.  Z had a different kind of mommy from the mommy the younger kids have. 

Z still asks a lot of questions and shares ideas.  His world is much bigger than his siblings so he has greater opportunity to be exposed to and learn from others.  He also has unique identities in most situations.  Our boy is often the only adopted child, the only child with two moms, the only dark skinned black child, the only gender fluid child, and the only capital Q, drama Queen!  I think, although he couldn't say it yet, he knows that just being who he is, is a political act.    He is always looking for acknowledgement that while who he is may be unique and can be hard, his individual identities are not unique to this world. Right now he’s as self-absorbed and sometimes unkind as any other 6 year old, but I feel (hope) he’ll grow to speak up and to seek answers.  When he’s not focusing on styling his new faux hawk (Why on earth did I agree to it?!) or practicing his dance moves or planning for the school talent show in June, I think he is beginning to get what’s going on in the world. 

As for the rest of our kiddos, I don’t know yet.   Maybe the next time they are staging a protest at the kitchen table because I am not producing the right food at the right speed, I will explain to them that their collective anger and determination, although totally insignificant in comparison (ahem, Kanye), reminds me of the collective determination of black South Africans during the 50+ years of apartheid.  Maybe this is a stretch.   I trust they’ll figure it out eventually.  For now, I stand on guard, by the snack cupboard, watching them grow and hopefully, incidentally, discover that we belong to each other.   Who knows, maybe their big brother will teach them. 

xo Ajike 

The Hurt, Confusion & Disappointment of My Adoption Process

For all my readers, fans, and folks who come here for our usual Monday Motivation, today let me warn you there is no motivation. I pride myself on being honest, maybe sometimes too honest with my audience so here it goes! 

This adoption process has emotionally wiped me out. There I said it.  It has been an emotional roller coaster. The paper work exhausting, the meetings, the doctor's appointments, the fingerprinting, the waiting to "pick me" routine can drive anyone crazy.

I have had two false starts. Recently, selected by a birth mother who was having twins. I was ecstatic and as much as I told myself to not get emotionally drawn in or attached i did. I saw these children they were mine! My friends and family rallied around, everyone was excited and so supportive.  We all wanted these children!

 

I wanted them. Needed them.  And just as I was getting use to the idea that in a few short weeks I would be a mother, that wish was snatched away from me. (* For reasons too personal to talk about ) But the unfortunate and final outcome was that the twins did not happen. I "allowed" myself 24 hours to grief and told myself I couldn't afford the luxury of becoming an emotional wreck there was too many things to do. So i pulled up my big girl panties and soldiered through!

I then found a sibling group and got very excited about them and knew in my heart that these were my children. Yet again fate intervened and they were not. Again I was faced with the harsh reality that motherhood had eluded me once again. Yet I tried to march on and be brave. Cried in private.  I recited my affirmations, prayed about it through my tears. Trying to not let this defeat me, or shake me. I tried to not let all these bottled up emotions overwhelm me ....

However, yesterday I got a call from my homestudy worker that my file was accidentally shredded! Nearly five months of time consuming paperwork gone!  I needed to resubmit all my paperwork and the homestudy had to be rewritten which again would take up more precious time that I don't have.  I would not be considered for birth mothers until my homestudy was "completed." More precious time. More waiting! I just broke down in tears ate a bar of chocolate, a bag of chips and headed to bed! Yes I'm an emotional eater! 

So today I'm giving myself permission to sit with disappointment, hurt and anger and know that it's ok. As womyn sometimes we don't allow ourselves the full moment to acknowledge our true feelings. Sometimes we need to just unapologetically cry. Yet instead of crying we march through and keep going!  We put the super womyn cape on and start flying. But today I decided to take my cape off and just say I'm hurt, disappointed, angry, EXHAUSTED and I'm taking a time out!