nuggets, 02/22/13: connection

My half-hearted determination to come on here at least once every couple of weeks did not work out this time, but I remain resolved and hopeful.

oh, the love of this boy for paper airplanes

Life is a bit full at the moment, even though nothing of particular import is happening. I have, for the past few months, felt an urgent need to seize the moment:

loving the three-ponytail look of late

I want to love on my kids every second of every day; I want to savor every minute of teaching Shakespeare's Sonnets and Macbeth to sixteen-year olds; I want to dance with abandon at Zumba at least once a week; I want to run, photograph, hike, read the ten books on my night stand (especially this one and this one and this one), and I want to be able to serve a warm home-cooked meal every night of every day.

throwing airplanes on top of Arastradero

Some days work out much better than others, but for the most part, we don't make too many compromises. The infrequency with which I visit this blog may be the main casualty of our days' fullness.

I don't often advertise parenting books on here because most of us don't like to be lectured on how to parent, and much of the time parenting books seem to be talking about somebody else's kids, not ours, anyway. The presumptuousness of saying (or hearing/reading), "here, honey, is how you get your three-year old to stop putting her head in the toilet and brush her teeth instead," often makes us want to grab the parenting expert by the shoulders and shake her hard until the afore-mentioned presumptuousness evaporates.

However, I make an exception to talk for a moment about this book, which I've been plowing through slowly over the past two weeks. A dear friend who just became a first-time mom asked me for parenting-book advice not long ago, so this one, Irena, is for you.

There are several reasons I like this book. First, it was recommended by my favorite new blogger, whose last three posts, especially the one from today, sum up most of my recent sentiments about parenting. Rachel Turiel writes as I wish I could write, and her fierce dedication to her children, along with her inimitable sense of humor, both humble and inspire me.

Secondly, I like Laura Markham's fundamental premise that when we parent our kids we are, first and foremost, parenting ourselves--that a good parent is one who pays attention to her own knee-jerk reactions feelings and who recognizes that modeling emotional self-control is the only way to raise compassionate, thoughtful human beings. This, I believe, is the only kind of advice that you can give to a another parent without presuming to know what it means to parent their child.

the tiny figure in the distance is Sava; he now walks faster and farther than all of us

Other good things about Peaceful Parent, Happy Kids:
::: like the authors of this book, which I have possibly mentioned before, Markham recognizes that "socializing" kids and making them "independent" at an early age is a myth promoted by a peer-oriented Western culture which devalues and underestimates the importance of caring adults in children's lives

::: as she eloquently puts it, "defiance isn't a discipline problem, it's a relationship problem." Markham believes that when our children lash out, act needy, irritate their siblings for no seemingly good reason, etc., they do it because their emotional connection to us is off-kilter. The way to repair that connection is not by punishing the child, lecturing them, counting to three (of which we plead plenty guilty), or putting them away in their room, but rather by getting down on their level, hugging them, empathizing, and giving them as much time as needed to reconnect in ways that they choose to reconnect. It's a tall order, I tell you, but it really works.

::: Markham also believes that while it is our job as parents to put limits on behavior, we cannot and should not seek to put limits on children's feelings. Telling my kid not to feel sad because her brother is going to a seven-year old's birthday to which she has not been invited is far less effective, it turns out, than telling her it's a bummer she can't go and that I wish she had been invited, too.

::: "In relationships, without quantity, there's no quality." Children need time with the people who love them, and closeness, as Markham puts it, is not a switch that can be turned on at a whim. It's a state of being that takes months and years of truthful, hard-earned emotional connectedness to cultivate.

:::
In other, more straightforward news. Our dearest neighbors and friends are back from the land of slow, beautiful living, aka New Zealand, and we don't seem to be able to get enough of them.

Raya and Phoebe have a whole new three-year old connection going on, which includes chasing peacocks

and chickens.

Not sure why it took us so long, but we finally visited Ardenwood, and now it is a favorite mid-week hangout.

We recently patted bunnies and ground corn to feed the sheep.

Various combinations of children also found various fences to climb.

We've liked going to a local public garden, too.

Neighborliness has also involved a whole lot of threesome and foursome wrestling and outside play.

Lots and lots of photos to follow, without a whole lot of comment, as they are just memories we'd like to hold on to forever. During a bike outing at Shoreline:

Sava enjoys the attention of two girls, and they are now just big enough physically to be able to tackle him quite effectively (plus, on all these photos, they are both wearing his old clothes).

It warms everyone's heart to be able to go out for half an hour before dinner and be able to witness this, spontaneously:

Though they are going to a new house, we are so grateful to have them within two-minute walking distance.

::: Raya remains obsessed with babies. No further comment necessary.

She also, of late, is really keen on riding her balance bike. With baby in the front, of course.

Speaking of bikes, we are now, finally, the family that drives down the highway with a bike or two or three perched atop a roof rack. Sava is able to ride long distances, and he is, for lack of more descriptive words, in heaven. I love how much he loves the quietude of these open spaces and the potential they offer to go there and ride and be happy by himself. I also love the combination in him of a contemplative soul and an active body that is intimately connected to the world around him.

Just last week, he and dad completed five full miles along the bay in what felt like less than half an hour. Weekend before, he and dad toured the marshes at Alviso,

while Raya and I toddled along and watched the train.

Later on that walk, one of Sava's classmates joined us for our monthly "hiking club."

The Bay, at this time of the year, feels like spiritual nourishment directly injected into our veins. I don't know how one can live in this part of the world and not visit these open spaces at least once a week.

:::
Lastly, as I scroll through photos of last weekend's outing to see the elephant seals at Ano Nuevo State Park, notes on
Stuff They Say
But before we get there, let me just note that going to see the seals was not our idea. While I think it is a spectacular thing for adults to witness, and we feel privileged to live so close to a protected area that serves as a haven to so many seals, the marvel of all of it is pretty much lost on children. Exhibit A: photo below; beyond them: a beach full of seals--adults and pups; in front of them: holes to dig and feet to bury.

It was a great hike and Raya impressed us by walking much of the three miles. Bob's encouraging presence was a help.

She also attempted, on more than one occasion, to fall to her death (or mortal injury), down any number of sand dunes. As Rado puts it, her "complete disregard for human safety" is astounding. So here goes.

She delights in little sententious sayings lately, as in:
Mommy, you can call butter and milk fat, but you can't call people fat. That's rude!
Has either of us told her that? I don't believe so. In fact, I can promise that we have not.

On another occasion:
Mommy, why are they called butterflies? Are they made out of butter?
In case someone's wondering, she loves butter. She is obsessed with butter. This is the child I can take anywhere, because she'll be happy eating dry bread and butter all day every day. Amen.

Bathroom talk at the table continues unabated, and while we put limits on it occasionally, for the most part we practice disregard as a cure for this peculiar malaise:
Raya: I am poop.
Sava: And you came out of me, right?
Raya: Yeah!

Sava could well be a poster-child for the Slow Everything movement. He does not like to be rushed through meals, does not like to be rushed through chores, does not like to be rushed through clean-up, and does not like to be rushed through homework. He doesn't even like to be rushed through doing his business in the bathroom. So recently, in an emotionally connected moment when truth seemed to flow between the four of us, he turned to his dad and me:
Mommy, tati, the only thing I don't actually like that you do is when you boss but you don't help.

Raya's classroom at school occasionally features a wooden rocking boat that also works as a bridge when turned upside down; it's a delicate business putting enough children in the boat so that it works as a see-saw of sorts but making sure that it does not tip over if overloaded. When I asked her one day recently how her day at school had gone, she replied cheerfully:
Good. I rocked a boat! There was conversation of heavy.

Sava is reading a lot. I have a lot to say on the subject but will leave it for another time. Lately, we've read several fourth-fifth-grade books, and in one, there was talk of Shackleton, the Arctic explorer, having to contact the British Government for help. When I asked him if he knew what "contacted" meant, he replied:
Like to email or something? 
Yes, he used the word "like," and he defined "contact" by a reference to email.

Raya had not one but two bouts of pink eye in the past month. When I asked her one night whether Rado had remembered to put in her drops and she said yes, I remarked:
He is a very good tati. Do you think he might be made of gold?
Raya: No, he's made of black! He's dressed all in black.

a seal pup sunning itself

Later, of course, pretend play with the dolls involved much talk of pink eye.
Mommy, Daisy had pink eye. She had two, actually. And then she had pink mouth! 
Daisy is her beloved bitty baby.

Speaking of babies, negotiations continue as to when Raya can get a "real baby." We're not talking a sibling here. In fact, I am pretty certain she knows that a sibling is the last thing she wants right now. She wants a real baby of her very own. Lately, we've managed to move the projected age for the happy event from nine to twenty-one. However, she is becoming preoccupied with other logistical conundrums, such as the gender of the baby and the presence or absence of a father:
Mommy, I don't know which one I'm gonna get [boy or girl]. I don't know who's gonna give one to me?? I want one when I am twenty-one!

 Sava is such a literal soul and yet such a poet:
The only time I like rain is when it's morning and I can see raindrops on the branches. It's as if there are diamonds on the trees and I really like it.

Raya and I watched a small chunk of Obama's State of the Union Address on my computer. After a few minutes of watching,
Raya: Barack Obama is nice. I wanna talk to him some day. I'm gonna call him on the phone. 
Another minute later:
Raya: Mommy, I wonder when someone else will get to talk. 
Me: I don't think anyone else will get to talk tonight, Raya.
Raya: In the morning, will somebody else get to talk?

On the way back from Ano Nuevo, we stopped for about an hour at our favorite Bean Hollow State Beach. Unlike the seals, which left the children largely unimpressed, the swelling ocean and the tiny lagoon, carefully channelled into a tiny river, kept them fully occupied.

Sava asked two big boys if he could join them in shoring up the "river,"

and Raya went through about three changes of clothes,

finally ending naked under her brother's big jacket.

Sava declared that the ocean had "warmed him up." Biggest event for him of the past month? Losing his very first baby tooth. It's a bittersweet moment for those of us reluctant to see him grow up.

Happy February, everyone.