Growing Out Of Babyhood

by Ajike Akande

A few months ago I took things up a notch and adopted a little “5 minute (makeup) face” routine.  I have come to truly love rosy cheeks and glossy lips, but I don’t spend the 5 minutes in front of the mirror applying makeup while trying to prevent my children, who are always crowded around me, from dumping multiple shades of blush on the floor, because I believe my beauty lives in a MAC bottle.  I quite like a natural look.  I spend the time because I don’t want the small children I see over the course of a day to be scared off by the dark circles and substantial puff around my eyes.  Quite frankly, it’s not pretty and there is nothing natural about it.  The puffy circles are the result of many years of having less sleep than required.  Sleep deprivation is not natural it’s real but it’s person-made.  Small, young person-made.  My point, because there is one, is that this morning, I should have taken a big pass on the five minutes.  I did some major weeping this morning a few hours after the makeup routine and I just ended up looking like a hot mess!   Here’s why…

This morning, being no different from other mornings I did the face thing and I was looking bright, cheery and totally on top of my sh*t, if I do say so myself.  Once all spiffied up, I packed up The Middles and The Littles to drive them (all of them) to school.  I was taking F-Jammie and Mr. Lee to their first day of Preschool.  For those of you who are just skimming this post, it bears repeating:  F-Jammie and Mr. Lee went to Preschool for the first time today.  Until now, The Littles have been left with one of three babysitters or family.  We have never set them free with other children without a grown person of their own watching over them. 

When they arrived at school and walked into their classroom, they were greeted by their super enthusiastic preschool teachers (You know, the kind of teachers who can smile through anything including a kid peeing their pants while they are holding them on their hip.)  At first my guys were pretty happy.  I told them that I would be back and left the room.  Unfortunately, I made the rookie mistake and stayed in the building - out of sight but in earshot.  When I heard Mr. Lee scream “No! Put me down! No!  I want mommy!” I lost it.  Really, really lost it.  Can we say, ugly crying?  I went over to the two-way mirror, (God’s little gift to the neurotic parent) and took a front row seat to view the movie Mr. Lee Has a Tantrum When He Realizes Mommy is Not Close By.  (Can we just pause and think about who would play the part of me?  Please post any thoughts in the comments.)  I watched him carry on while being held by a smiling, calm teacher.  I watched his twin sister, F-Jammie, follow him and the teacher around the room until he calmed down, which made me cry even more.  She was making sure that her brother was okay.  I wasn’t surprised; she is loving like that.  I felt proud that she showed so much compassion for her brother but also guilty because she felt as though she had to make sure that her sad bro was being taken care of while mommy up and left.  

 Finally the inside voice kicked in – “Leave woman!  Go pee alone, drink coffee while it’s hot, make and finish a phone call!”  I don’t often get time to myself in the middle of the day.   I left the school, still sobbing and called a friend to cry to her.  She reminded me that Mr. Lee and I are both ready for some time apart and that F-Jammie was born with her bags packed for university and her attachment to me is really about the snacks!  After the pep talk, I went for coffee and thought about how the phase of parenting babies is coming to an end.

We have been in the “baby” phase for years.  We never “saw the light”.  We were fortunate to be able to plan and have our children very close together.  Please note that these plans were made assuming that we would have one baby at a time.  Please also note that I am aware that we went for another round even after we had evidence suggesting that the assumption of one baby at a time was weak.  Point is, after asking, “What the actual f%&k were we thinking?” about a million times, we settled into the all baby all the time, way of life.  Seven years later, nobody is breast-feeding (Breast fondling – always; breast-feeding – never.)  Daytime diapers and cribs are a thing of the past.  Scooters are increasingly the mode of transportation and the stroller more often gets left at home.  Things are changing.  Praise God, things are changing.  Also, I totally hate change. 

After just over an hour, drinking hot coffee and thinking about my changing life, I went back to the school to pick up The Middles and The Littles.  These are the happy, suddenly older, proud-of-themselves, sibling-loving faces that came through the door. 

I have felt drained, the way you do after a good cry, all day.  The makeup has been wiped away by the waterworks and I can’t seem to lose the home-sicky feeling in my gut.  I guess the home-sicky feeling makes sense.  When we are home, we are surrounded by the familiar, what we are used to.  I am used to being a mommy to babies.  I have never had babies grow out of babyhood without another baby, two actually, to take their place.  I am losing a little bit of what is familiar.  It really is time, but I still feel a little home-sicky.  I wonder if my babies, The Littles, feel the same.

XO Ajike

P.S.  I am looking for excuses not to go grocery shopping the two mornings a week that The Littles are at school.  Who wants to meet up for hot coffee? 

School Is In Session

by Ajike Akande

Where I live, this is the first week back at school.  As a mother of many, including, three school-agers, it will come as no surprise that this blog post is about sending The Big and The Middles as well as Wife back to school.  I could share all the details of everyone’s first week, but wow, that’d be a snore fest so instead I am sharing a letter that I have written to The Big’s grade two teacher.  She will receive a copy of this letter shortly after I post this, so if you think it’s totally weird and inappropriate please let me know ASAP ‘cuz eeek, don’t want to be weirdo mom. 

Here it is…

Dear Ms. P,

You did it!  You survived the first days of the 2014/15 school year.  I stood back watching you on the first morning wearing your back-to-school best, doling out hugs - down low to the bigger, but still so little grade twos that you taught in grade one, and up high to the parents who were feeling excited to be sending their kids back to school in general but especially excited to be sending their kids back to you in particular.  You looked so happy and bursting with excitement about the fresh start that the new year offers.  I wanted to tell you that I recognize your bright expression and genuine joy to see your new and returning students.  I recognize it because that used to be me greeting bouncing kiddos and their parents.  Honestly, I felt a little jealous.  Don’t get me wrong; I know that day one is the beginning of a teacher-student honeymoon that if you’re lucky, lasts about three weeks.  Eventually the kids will stop being on their best behaviour.  So will you.  But the hugs, nervous energy and excitement are so real and truly set the tone for the year.  I am thrilled for all the members of the Room 22 crew.  I know that you will do all you can as crew leader to create a brilliant, safe, bad-ass (in the best way) community. 

Before you slip into the school routine, I want to tell you some things about my little dude who is in your class for the second time, this time as a big grade two kid.  Our Z absolutely ADORES you.  Some time around the end of July, he stopped accidentally calling me Ms. P!  He has been attending school since he was 18 months old and I have never seen him respond to a teacher the way he has responded to you.  His teachers have always enjoyed him and he has always been genuinely happy to learn with and from them, but with you, it’s different.  When you started teaching his class last January Z, almost immediately, saw himself in you.  You, a black (like him) woman with Caribbean roots, who loves music and dancing, hooked him right away.  You laughed at his antics and were charmed by his unbelievable ability to tell a good story.  You nagged him when he didn’t do his best (which was far too often) and sent home homework when he didn’t complete his work because let’s face it, he is more interested in being social than in completing math worksheets.  You consistently responded with genuine warmth whether you were disappointed in him or whether he “made your heart sing.”  You did this better than me and his mama.  He noticed and he appreciated you for it.      

I don’t think Z was aware that, once speaking to you and realizing that you somehow, even though you are not yet a mama, intrinsically understood how hard it can be to raise a black boy in North America at this time, I too felt comfortable with you.  I was relieved when I discovered that you would support my tough black mom approach as well as my insistence that my little guy has a chance to learn in a safe community with love, respect and fun (yes, fun) at its core.   

Our Z (your Z) is still squirrelly.  Seriously, seriously squirrelly.  He still doesn’t love the “learny” part of school.  He will talk your ear off and possibly drive you to drink!  The other kids will love him and think he’s hilarious.  This is extremely important to him so don’t be surprised if his perseverance and focus is most frequently exhibited when he is trying to entertain his classmates.  But if you bring your most dramatic self to the lessons you are teaching he will hang on your every word.  If you stay close by and be his anchor he’ll get his work done – eventually, because he doesn’t just want approval from his classmates, he wants yours too.  If you take dance breaks with the class and let him be your office runner he’ll still be squirrelly but he’ll get some of the movement that he craves. 

I know that teaching is one of the hardest jobs out there.  I know that your class is full of kids who need all sorts of things to make their days successful.  Z is one of many.  I also know that our boy will frustrate you.  You’ll want to raise your voice and send him out of the class.  You’ll want to complain to your colleagues about this very capable kid who doesn’t always apply himself and focus.  I know all of this.  I know because I know my Z and I have taught my share of Zs.  When your patience is low, tell him and then tell me.  I am always happy to discuss our little guy.  I’m happy to let you vent a little and then I am happy to make a plan to support him so that he can do better.  Your job is to support Mr. Z at school and it is our job to support him at home.  I believe that it is also my job to be one of the people who supports you in your efforts to support our boy.  I’m on your team.  You’re on mine.  We’re on his. 

This is going to be a long, maybe hard, hopefully awesome year.  In preparation I’ve purchased all the wine.  (Let me know if you need any!)  Alright, Ms. P here we go; let’s do this!

 

Love,

Ajike

Better Together

by Ajike Akande

It may come as a surprise to you, but when Wife and I decided to have a whack of kids, we didn’t think at all about what being one of many would mean for the children.  I know, this is hard to believe, but Wife and I are not of the thinking variety.  If it makes you feel any better, which it shouldn’t, we also didn’t give much thought to how much making (some of our beauties were created with a lot of expensive help as the absence of sperm wasn’t our only fertility issue) and raising a large family would cost.  It is not at all lost on me, that the fact that we could even make our babes without the stress of finances, says a great deal about our economic privilege.

Wife and I were kind of selfish in regards to creating our family.  We wanted ‘lots of children.  We love children and wanted the honour of helping them grow into the wonderful adults they were meant to be.  We wanted a house full of the energy that only small wonders have.  We have always felt that kids are the greatest blessing, a remarkable gift.  We wanted the honour, they would be our blessing and our gift.  Do you see what I’m getting at here?  Of course we thought we would be great parents and that children would do well be raised by us.  We thought we were right for the job.  I for one, was a SPWC (superior parent without child) prior to becoming an actual parent so naturally I assumed that I would be awesome at this whole thing and never make the mistakes that I witnessed others making while I was a SPWC.  (Little did I know I would create my own unique brand of parenting mistakes!)  The point is, we thought only about ourselves when it came to making our family.

Z, being the first little one that we brought home, enjoyed all the perks of being an only child.  Before our first set of twins were born, Z certainly didn’t ask for a sibling, but he certainly dealt well once Miss O and G-dog arrived. When he found out that he was going to get a little brother out of my last pregnancy, Z was thrilled but the girls were pretty neutral about two more little people joining our family of five.  The big sisters did not easily deal with the arrival of The Littles but I believe that they just weren’t ready.  Miss O was still receiving occupational and speech-language therapy and needed a lot of one on one time and G-dog, who developed more typically, probably didn’t get all that she needed in her early years.  In spite of Miss O’s significant needs and the more typical needs of our then four year old and other two year old, we tried for a fourth and got a fourth and fifth! 

We, along with close family and friends, have said at different times, that each of our kids probably would have done well as only children.  We are careful to say “done well” rather than “done better” because why criticize what truly cannot be changed.  What’s a mom to do with that?  It’s too late!  Whenever I talk to people raised in big families they always say how wonderful it was to grow up always having someone to play with and talk to.  Growing up in a big family means you’re never alone which, of course, means you are never alone. 

When Miss O was diagnosed with Sensory Processing Disorder (SPD) the occupational therapist explained that she needs a predictable and highly structured environment until she is better able to self-regulate when she is overwhelmed by sensory input.  Well, sorry about your family Miss O, best of luck achieving calm among the chaos!  Over the past few years, G-dog has grown so anxious about how people feel about her and I can’t help but wonder if being one of many is the cause of this anxiety.  She worries, more than normal, how much we love her, if we made an angry face, if her siblings love each other more than they love her, and even if grandparents and caregivers love her as much as the others.  It’s easy to get lost in the shuffle around here and some of our children seem to feel more lost than others. 

Z, being older and extremely self-aware, is able to talk about his feelings around being one of many.  Several months ago I took him to dinner and a movie and he said, “I love being alone with you.  If I was an only child I could be alone with you all the time.  Sometimes I like to pretend I don’t have any brothers and sisters.”  Then fearful that I would launch into a speech about how fortunate he is to have so many siblings, he added “But I really like all my little sisters and brother - especially Mr.  Lee!”  Given that Z is the only Silverman-Akande kid without a twin, I am so happy to witness the greatest love affair of all time, between the brothers. 

Like with everything, there are benefits and drawbacks to being one of many.  Because there’s no going back, we try to acknowledge what our kiddos have lost by having so many siblings, while preaching, loudly and often, how lucky they are to have each other.  We are desperate to build a team spirit among our basketball team sized brood that says “better together”.  Sadly, right now, their “better together” spirit is mostly seen when we are trying to get them to listen to us.  There is nothing more frustrating that five little buggers laughing in your face – together! 

We are on our second, weeklong FIT (family immersion time), aka family vacation, up at “Nanny’s farm”.  The children have been given two main rules for the week: 1.  Go outside and run in the fields.  Don’t go toward the road and don’t come back until you are hungry or someone is hurt.  Oh and stay together!  2.  Ask three, then me.  (This rule will be familiar to teachers.)  Need help to reach something?; Need help with your shoes?; Want a push on the swing?  Ask three, then me.  These rules are all about learning to take care of each other and to leave us alone!  I’m just kidding about them leaving us alone, but in truth we need want them to depend on each other and look out for each other.  I think a week with no schedule (How’s that workin’ for ya Miss O?) and wide-open space is a great start to project “Better Together”. 

We decided we were big family parents, without considering if we would have big family children.  We created this big family before considering what it would mean for our children.  A few years into each of our kids being one of five we are thinking and talking about how wonderful and how hard it is for them, not just us.  I get a lot of attention for being a mom of many but people rarely talk about what it is like for our children.  Given that we created this mess, I mean beautiful family, we should probably be the ones to start the conversation. 

What do you think?  Are you a parent of many?  What are your thoughts on this?  How are your little ones doing being part of a pack? Were you raised in a big family?  What were the best and worst things about your childhood?  I would love to hear about other people’s experiences.  Share your thoughts in the comments. 

XO Ajike