Explaining Christmas

My family raised me in a non-religious household, despite a Jewish AND somewhat Christian lineage. So we celebrated numerous holidays along with the rest of America, learning a bit here and there about the traditions that started them. And then I went to a private, Catholic high school where I got the bejezzus scared out of me the first time my peers collectively bellowed the appropriate chants during mass. What was this whole religion thing and am I missing out on anything?

Since then I have taken some classes about different world religions, attended synagogue, other churches, meditations and done some more readings. While I have deduced that an organized religion does not align with my beliefs, we have created a spiritual household where we pray before we eat, try to meditate, and regularly give thanks for the blessings we have received. Yet we still celebrate some of the religious traditions adopted by Americans, such as Easter, Hanukkah, and especially Christmas.

Now that Cali is 22 months and very aware of her surroundings, we are now finding ourselves explaining these traditions. I dig deep into the cobwebs of my memory to extract some story I can relate to her about about the Virgin Mary and baby Jesus, the three wise men and some myrrh. I then find myself adding a little bit more that I've lovingly picked up during my bout at UC Santa Cruz about how Christians traditionally celebrate Christmas, but that American companies have capitalized on the holiday and now people find themselves exploiting the spirit of giving they search for sales at big box stores like WalMart (that not only exploit the American worker with the highest percentage of worker suits than any other company, as well as lead to the demise of many small towns) and giving something that has no real thought or meaning to loved ones that has been made by children in China versus handmade by local artisans. Cali looks at me with a wrinkled brow and repeats my last phrase of "made by China." Sweet. Glad that is what stuck.

It's just who I am; I can't tell her just the standard American explanation of these happenings. I feel like I am not telling her the whole truth. So Cali is getting the regular description along with the DVD version of "the makings of." And so the Santa Claus figure has two explanations. 1.), because he freaked her out since she was scared by our postal worker who has white hair, a white beard, and only one eye and 2.), so she learns what the other kids learn about Santa. Telling her he is not real, but is a make-believe character to help us think about the spirit of giving helped mellow her apprehension of some white-haired, jolly man coming into the house unannounced. Further explaining that the postal worker with one eye is just a nice man who had an accident is NOT Santa also helped calm her. And once we went to our first Christmas party of the year where she received many presents, the whole "Santa brings presents and he is good" thing really stuck. Now she is waiting for the 25th day of December for Santa to come bring presents to good girls.

It's fun playing along, yet weird deciding what to say. And so I have embarked on this journey explaining what I know to my daughter in the most gentle, truthful, and playful way I can. (Though it does leave me dreading the talk about "did you ever drink at parties, Mom?")

Tantrums and the two's

Shizer! My daughter is good at a lot of things. She is just under two and she can already draw faces, say the ABC's and count to 20. I'm impressed. But what she is really good at is throwing a tantrum. In fact, if colleges gave scholarships to toddlers based on the passion they show in a tantrum, my daughter would have a full ride and a master's degree paid for.

No one believes me though. They see those hazel eyes, those adorable cheeks, and the cute "I want that, please" look that she has been practicing regularly. When I tell people she's a screamer, they think I am crazy. And for the most part, she is a good girl. But once in a while, (or should I say once a day), the "please Mommy" and "no, Sweetie" end in a whirlwind of screaming, thrashing and ear-piercing "no's" that leave my husband and I no choice but time-outs.

And so time-outs are a regular happening in my household. We count to three and then say "Okay, you can have some time for yourself in time-out." As we bring her into her room and place her in her crib we try to explain why she is having a time out. We leave her with a few books and dolls and tell her we will be back in three minutes after she has some time to get out her anger. We explain it's okay to be angry, but not everyone wants to have it be part of their experience so she can do it by herself. And while it pained me to do it at first, listening to the helpless cries and yelps, I now find that she quiets faster and listens more when we ask her if she needs a time-out. Previously our tactic was to sit close by and be there for her, but she would just hit, thrash and continue on for over 15 minutes. When she starts to freak out, we now say, "that is not how we communicate in this family. What do you need and what is a better way to ask?" Since she has a large vocabulary and knows a lot of sign language, she can usually explain the problem. When she whimpers, we reiterate that whining is not an effective way to communicate or get what you want. Simply ask nice and say please.

Maybe this is too disciplined or too loose... I don't know. But it works for our family (so far). And I prefer it to being hit or the ear-piercing screams (which had oddly seemed to contribute to my husband's hearing loss more than his pre-baby guitar playing).

Illustration: "Wahhhhhh" copyright 2009 Sara Zimmerman

I used to have a memory

Pre-baby I had a memory. And I thought I had a good one. For instance, I could juggle a hectic day filled with phone calls, to-dos, and deadlines and not miss a task and then rock out in my band with over 30 memorized songs. Now, post-baby, my memory has gone to the dogs.

I didn't really notice it for awhile. I thought the arguments with my husband over who said what and who did this and that "remember?" were reminiscent of the same ones we've had year after year after year. It only came to my awareness recently when I joined the band again.

I mean it's one thing when you ask the guitarist "how does this song start again?" But it's another when you have to ask prior to EVERY single song. I have now realized that I have to result to my drummer back-up plan of using notes. I use notes all day long with my graphic/web design/illustration business. In fact, my husband even linked my iCalendar with my cell phone with notes from my email so I can't loose them (no more excuses). So I think the song notes will help. The only issue is that drummers rarely write music notation so now I have to remember that.

Compromise

I think back on it now on how concerned I was that my child not have any pesticides enter through my bloodstream. Oh, the good 'ol days. That was back pre-recession. Now I do my best, but can now only afford to buy organic so much. At first I felt horribly guilty, that I was feeding her poison and was contributing to farmland soil degradation, etc. But as someone I respect so much told me, "aim to do things at the standards you want 80% of the time- any higher than that will drive you to insanity." So, that said, as novel as organic American cheese is, we're now settling for regular cheddar. And as a past acupuncturist argued: "conventional cheddar is better than organic American- one is milk-based, the other is oil-based." All in all, this whole motherhood thing has taught me a lot about making compromises: that 1.) sometimes my high standards have to be shelved so our family can actually eat and 2.) it's okay be choosy about the compromises I am willing to make so that I can still maintain integrity but also have some fun in the meantime.

Weaning

"Am I pregnant again?" The thought raced through my mind last week as my hormones raged and I yelled with insurmountable anger at my husband. I had heard that my hormones would go a bit bonkers when I stopped nursing, but I had no idea how bad. And neither did my husband, hence why he decided to push my buttons after a long day of working. So I worried that maybe the explosive anger was due to a different boost of hormones. Yikes!

I wrote a friend and asked her about weaning and the roller coaster of emotions that goes along with it. She confirmed that my heightened sadness, hastened anger, and crying "because I love my daughter so much" was something she too had experienced during this time. To reiterate her point and to help prevent me from wasting money on pregnancy tests, she sent me a few links of blogging mommies who too had similar experiences. After reading, I felt a lot better.

But, two weeks later, I still feel a bit sad. I'm sad mainly because my daughter has grown up so darn fast and I will never get those 20 months, and all the love and cute experiences, back. Still flushing out hormones, I project the future. I imagine her at 13 rolling her eyes at me in embarrassment saying, "Moooooommm!", like I did to my heart-broken mom. I imagine her driving off in her first car, leaving me worried when the minute hand passes curfew. And I imagine myself watching her go off to college, all grown up and independent, no longer needing me to help in any way, shape or form. Ultimately, that's how it goes. But I definitely have loved this time of watching her mimic how I brush my hair, dance around to silly songs, and give me the biggest hugs known to humans. I guess all in all, I am the one that is growing up too, learning to be not only a helper and teacher to my little angel, but guide her along the way and to be okay with it as it is dealt. Nevertheless, I think these couple of weeks of sad spells is my body's way of accepting this benchmark in our family life.

Yosemite with a toddler

"Mommy, mommy, mommy, mommy!" From the back seat, my daughter quickly yells out my title again and again, in a whiny, high-pitched voice that pierces my ears, sending shivers down my spine. The amazing speed at which she can sling together the "mommies" is purely astounding, yet stirs up the nastiest frustration known to woman. "WHAT?!!!" I angrily mutter in return at my bored daughter, who simply wants to get out of the car and the uncomfortable car seat restraints. From the driver seat, my husband looks at me as we both sigh and think to ourselves, this is going to be a looooooong trip.

I continue to envision that my daughter will follow in my and my husband's footsteps of being outdoorsy, and in love with nature, extreme sports, camping, and the peacefulness of it all. And at 19 months, with her fondness for wiggly creatures, climbing anything semi-vertical, love for dirt, and general ease with being in a backpack for miles upon miles, we decided to take her along on our 5th year wedding anniversary trip to Tuolomne Meadows in Yosemite National Park. Yet with two hours to go and miles from the park entrance, I was already willing to turn back. The repeated shouts of "mommy" and melt-downs were almost enough to abandon the trip altogether. However, somehow we placated her needs with unusual toys of straws, cups, and string while the thoughts of granite, the smell of pines, and clear blue skies somehow helped us through it.

As rock climbers, my husband and I had been to the climbing-mecca of Yosemite many times. In fact, it was where my husband proposed, where we got married, where we hiked with our daughter when she was 6 weeks old, and where we took her camping for the first time when she was 6 months old. Yet, ever since my pregnant baby belly grew beyond the safest point of my belt on my climbing harness, both my husband and I have not really climbed. It's one of the things we haven't yet figured out how to do safely with a toddler as well as without a babysitter. So this visit to Yosemite was more to be among the granite and to enjoy the scenery with our baby girl.

After finding a level camping spot for our truck where the three of us would sleep in a make-shift bed under the shelter of an average camper shell, we enjoyed some overly cheesy quesadillas followed by some decadent chocolate. We attempted our regular bathing and nighty-night routines with so-so substitutions of baby-wipes and reading the same few books over and over by headlamp. Cali slept next to me on a 3/4 length Thermarest in my old winter mountaineering sleeping bag rated to -10 degrees (I didn't want a repeat of our camping trip last year where her little hand sneaked its way out of her bunting in the 35 degree weather. All I could think about was frostbitten fingers on my little baby!). Luckily she fell fast asleep when she hit the sleeping bag (must have been all the whining!) and we soon followed. For the next few nights, we slept in this arrangement, I nestled between my hubbie and daughter cooed by the swooshing sound of restlessness in sleeping bags and the deep breathing of my daughter.

"Mommy?" Cali woke us up nice and early somewhere just before daybreak. Sooooo glad were not in a tent- there's no reason for the rest of the campground to wake just because Cali is hungry. After a morning nursing, I attempted to dress within my sleeping bag where it was 30 degrees warmer than outside. If you have never tried changing clothes within the confinement of a mummy bag and low ceiling of a back of a truck, you may not understand just how difficult this feat is. After 20 minutes of twisting, grunting, and gratefulness to my regular stretching routines, I finally managed to get on enough clothes to make the 45 degrees more bearable, let alone a few strained muscles from the contorting. I layered Cali to the point it looked like we were going to the Arctic. In our layers, we played with dirt, ate some breakfast and started on our hike for the day.

We hiked from our campsite past Lembert Dome with Rob carrying Cali in an old-school Kelty backpack and I with a full pack of snacks and drinks. Ohhhhhhh. Lembert Dome is so beautiful. It was somewhat painful to skirt by this gorgeous granitic dome knowing we weren't there to climb, simply to hike and admire. After I wiped the jealous drool from my mouth, we hiked towards our second destination of Young Lakes. The September weather was absolutely perfect and Cali was extremely well-behaved during the roughest of the trails' ascent. After a few miles, she dozed off and we could hoof past the streams and meadows to an overlook of Ragged Peak. When she woke and had enough, we stopped for lunch amid the sweet pines and beautiful boulders. It was beautiful! It was so fun watching her run around, dancing with the pin needles in hand, grabbing sticks, throwing rocks, and telling us everything she knew. Despite our attempts to discourage Cali from touching marmot droppings, and the need to turn back sooner than planned due to some pre-blisters forming, things were going smooth. That was until we started back.

When we would stop, we all had a blast. Cali especially loved the granite and would hop, skip and dance on it. At the Tuolomne River near Glen Aulin she splashed and played in the beautiful waters. It was fun. And then it was time for the long hike back. Any outdoorsy parent will know that when you are miles into a hike and your kids starts freaking out, you have two options: 1.) continue the hike in a quickened pace and try to distract her with songs, pointing out familiar objects, or feeding her snacks OR 2.) submit to the shrilling demands and let her down to walk at a ridiculously slow rate where 3 miles feels like 16. We opted for option one AND two on both of our 2 days of hiking and despite our hearing loss and the frustration of resident animals accustomed to silence, we were able to hike over 17 miles. To lessen the melt-downs, we stopped regularly to play in the pristine water, let Cali hike small portions of the heavily-used trails, and hiked at a cheetah's pace when she was asleep in the backpack.

At the end of the days, we visited Tenaya Lake for swimming, snacking, and playing in the sand. Then we'd brush off and scramble up these perfect granite slabs. Cali impressed us by throwing a tantrum so she COULD go climb some more. That's my girl! She climbed up a climber's descent, which was something like a class 3. Rob climbed hovered over her as she climbed, monitoring her moves and recommending easier paths. She stopped in a few huecos (or "holes") and would just stare out to the floor 150' below. It was magical.

And that summed up how the vacation went. Things went smooth, and then there'd be a melt-down, some quiet time, then we'd be back at it, doing something amazing. In efforts to maintain authority and not succumb to a pre-two year-old's temper tantrums, we tried to calm her with distractions, changing up our activities, and mellow discipline. Though it was a bit stressful and was far from the "relaxing" vacation we planned, we found a way to all exercise outside together, enjoying the sights of Yosemite. (Though next time, I may beckon Baba and G-Pa for some babysitting so we can have a go on Lembert :).

A Mother's Love

Sometimes it blows my mind how much I love my daughter. I know, sounds cheesy. But really- people told me that I would love her like nothing else and I just blew them off thinking they were being overly dramatic (Mom, sound familiar?). And then, Cali was born with a calm expression on her face and I saw those little eyes, fingers, nose, and feet... I felt so much love for her that I could hardly contain it.

I thought I knew what love was love before. I mean, I love climbing, music, playing drums, painting, contemporary art, the colors orange and manganese blue, chocolate, my husband, good friends, my family... the list goes on and on. These things and people make me feel good and thinking about them makes me feel love. But then Cali came, and showed me an entirely new, almost alien love, that surpassed any ideas of what I thought a mother's love could be for a child.

Oh, there's times when the whining and temper tantrums make me want to put in earplugs and isolate myself behind shut doors. But the love never disappears: it's that intense. And then she does something adorable like blows me kisses, or says "Mommy's amazing," or inundates me with a slurry of hugs and my heart feels like it grows a few cubic feet during those seconds.

I am so grateful for that love- it makes me a better person and I get so excited thinking about being with her. And tantrums aside, she makes it easy, being such an incredible person at just 20 months of age. Thanks, Cali, for showing me how to love unconditionally like this.

Illustration: Babe in arms, by Sara Zimmerman Copyright 2009