Summer Shenanigans!

Ah, summer.

School is never actually out for us, since we home school, but we take the summer days to dive into that good old unstructured, unplanned fun.

This year we are in one of our nomadic spells, so we are traveling a lot. The kids really enjoy hotels and museums, which is great because that's exactly what they'll be seeing as we make our way around! We have trips planned from now until the tail end of August, which is epic because I feel like I've been in the house all year.

The kids have been asking a lot about what I was like as a kid, and what I was into. They are interested in what I ate, read, watched, and played as a child, and I'm doing my best to recreate a lot.

My babies are city kids. They're being brought up in a subdivision with tree-lined streets and a clubhouse. They each have activities, ranging from tot soccer to swim class, so they are always busy with something. In addition to that, they travel a lot with us, so there's really not much time for them to do the stuff I did as a kid.

Read:I didn't do soccer or music lessons in the summer. I played outside. I drank sugar and caffeine and ate grease and cheese. (Not literal combinations--just illustrating how health conscious I was not!) I ran in the sprinklers and jumped in the pond to swim, and I did all of that pretty much every day. I am an 80s baby, so I had Surge and Clearly Canadian when I wasn't drinking Hi-C or tap water.

Somewhere in my quest to be the best damned parent I could possibly manage, I forgot to give them the simpler parts of my childhood, things that didn't really cost money but still helped make my little life really nice. I have enjoyed giving them the best of everything we could--schools, food, travel experiences! But hubby grew up on an island, and I grew up on a farm...

...and our kids have mainly only read about those places.

I'm making it my mission to take them to my hometown, the little town in Alabama where I got my roots and wings. I hope some of the places I used to frequent are still around: the parks and playgrounds, the schools I attended, the little restaurant and ice cream stand I used to get my double scoop from every Thursday afternoon. While I'm sure some of those places have since closed, I still want them to know those places.

I guess as I get in touch with my own roots and try to untangle the beginnings, I'm searching too for things to pass on. I don't want my childhood to be a mystery to them, because it wasn't all traumatic. In fact, the vast majority of it was darn near idyllic! I grew up in a really cool rural area, where I could play freely and enjoy fresh air and sunshine.

My kids are growing up a lot more sheltered than I, due to the times, but I don't want them to have fear. They need to feel the sun on their backs! They need to wake up, go down to the pasture, and run wild until lunch time. To catch turtles and frogs, and make tree forts and obstacle courses.

So...

...our summer shenanigans begin.

Pump Tips!

Namastè!

So...as you know I'm a pumping mama. (Three years and counting for two babies, give me my propssss!)

Many times, I share pics and posts and the number one thing I'm asked is, "How do you do it?!"

Pumping is hard work. Unlike breastfeeding, you aren't attached to your baby. It's a machine, and it's a weird feeling. It's not exactly the stuff brelfies are made of, know what I mean?

But I have some tips and a hack or two to make it a little better.

1. BE CONSISTENT.

While yu needn't have a set time and duration for each sesh, you di need to be consistent. I always set my pump seshes around how my babies ate. Tiger Lily, for example, is a 12-3-6-9 eater. She's always been really punctual about it too. So, after her nursing sesh, I pump. Or I'll let Hubby give her a bottle and pump while he feeds her.

2. BE FLEXIBLE.

You have to be willing to concede a wish or two sometimes. The ultimate goal is feeding baby, even if it doesn't go exactly as you envision.

3. GET GUIDANCE.

Even as an exclusive pumper, we can still benefit greatly from a consultation with an LC.

4. Don't get taken in by the latest trends.

You don't need teas, cookies, special diets, or certain Gatorades to produce milk. You just need consistency and determination.

5. Consider a hand pump.

I own two manual pumps--a Medela Harmony and my favorite, the Haakaa.

I can't really think of much more, because there's not any magic involved and the only way to have a good pumping experience is to create it. You orchestrate how it goes. 

Growth Charts

Tiger Lily is very petite.

Despite nursing around the clock her first few months, she never seemed to grow all that quickly. She finally put on a delightful chub, but her height/length ticks along at a snail's pace.

According to the charts, she's in the 4th percentile,

But I tucked my manners away for a second and said, "Fuck those charts."

The charts don't measure how she's hit every milestone ahead of schedule despite being sorta diminutive.

The charts don't measure how she eschews typical snacks but devours mango and avocado with big girl gusto.

The charts don't measure how she manages to keep up with her brother and sister despite her small stature.

Hell, the charts never revealed anything, except that 96% of the kids her age in Georgia were growing faster than she.

Before she got a medical all-clear, I was concerned about those charts, y'all. I used to bug our pediatrician because I was terrified they would want her on formula (I am against formula for my babies because I make plenty of milk!), or that they would insist she needed medications or interventions with no guarantee she would ever grow to their prescribed rate.

She probably won't grow as fast as we would like.

We also won't be terrorizing ourselves with those damn charts.

Note: As long as a child is thriving and meeting the milestones in their pace, the charts are merely a tool to compare their growth in relation to the growth of other children in their age range and/or local demographic. They're not iron clad. They also don't take into account breastfed babies, who actually tend to be leaner than their formula fed counterparts.

Stash Pics?!

Namastè!

I'm sitting in my little pump space. I have my chair, my sparkly pump, and my craft of the day--a learning journal for Brother Bear.

Today I had to bag and freeze the milk from yesterday and the day before, and it's 120 ounces!!! My kiddo's stash is remaining steady, and I'm beyond proud.

As a breastfeeding mom--three years in, thank you kindly, with an average of 200K ounces donated per year!--I know the pump doesn't represent anything except another bottle.

It doesn't measure my ability.

It doesn't measure my strength as a mom.

It doesn't even measure my milk, as no pump removes 100%!

But when I look in the freezer or deep freeze, I can't help but feel proud. My body does this, with no magic food or drink. I don't have superhuman powers. I don't even have a ton of support, aside from my mommy friends and a few blogs.

It's amazing to me, and because I'm cataloging every step, I take pictures of the stash. I take pictures when I donate and clear it out. I take pics when I restart. I take pics when it's a burgeoning mother lode.

As I share my journey, I also share my pictures.

And then the weirdness starts.

First off, when I see a mom rocking it, I congratulate her. I don't get any stronger by shaking another moms foundation. I don't make more milk for my baby by taking cheap shots at another mom's stash. And yes, I truly think a stash of 4 ounces is just as important as my current stash of 400 ounces.

Why?

Because I recognize and appreciate the work that goes into even one pump session.

What I don't really get is, why a photo of my success triggers a snapshot of another mother's failure.

It's a picture. It's one mom's journey. Looking at that picture of her journey should not effect negative feelings toward your own!

Three Year Olds... BE BUGGIN'!

My little boy bear is now in the heavy part of three-ness.

Knee deep.

Either I don't remember very well, Princess girl's three, or I have blocked it out because it's a painful reminder that regardless of how well you care for a kid, they will still turn on you. Like, in a heartbeat.

Right now my kid loves all things Dad.

Dad must cook.

Dad must do bathtime.

Dad must drive.

Dad must read the stories.

Dad must get the first hugs and sugars of the day.

Dad must...

...be a frickin' unicorn because His Royal Threeness has an entire come apart if I attempt any of the aforementioned.

That's daily if you lost count, because I'm home with the small humans all day while Dad brings home a larger chunk of proverbial bacon.

In general I'm fine with the Dad preference. He's a boy after all. It isn't like he wants to paint his nails and put together outfits from our Pinterest boards. My little boy bear likes the same stuff his dad likes--tools, cars, and using tools on cars.

I am all in with his burgeoning desire to learn everything. I love going through his know book and talking about the things we see on our adventures ands jaunts around the cities we visit.

I was not equipped for his periodic come aparts though.  *insert cracked face*

Three-year-olds be buggin'!

When Politics Creep Onto the Table...

Unpopular opinion time.

You were warned...

As much as I refuse to discuss politics (or the series finale of America--potato, potahto), I follow them very closely. While I have never required my friends to think exactly as I do, I do enjoy being around humans who think, period.

I don't hold a person's political views against them any more than I hold my daughter's inability to sleep through the night yet against her. People--and Tiger Lily--do just what their brains and development allow them.

Politics have been creeping onto my table for a while now.

I'm married to an immigrant. Allow me to spill the beans--we don't get ANYTHING free. Not healthcare, not food sramps, not WIC, NOTHING. There is also no free money given to him just for being here.

(Also...the cost of naturalization is steep. I actually plan to go into detail about that next post.)

We are not religious. Our beliefs align with being good people, and we believe strongly in taking care of family, community, world.

We don't believe government has any place regulating a woman's body. As long as Georgia has collapsing bridges and buckling roads, soldiers sleeping under the bypass, and teachers relying on EBT to eat despite educating our literal future, my ovaries and uterus should be the last concern of the powers that be.

We understand that this country is NOT a theocracy (i.e., a society ruled by religious doctrine) therefore a person's faith or lack thereof does not make them superior nor fit to hold office. In fact, it makes overly religious quite unfit, due to inability to separate Sunday school from Monday government.

...and I have never ended a friendship over politics.

I have ended friendships over sickening beliefs that Black and Brown lives are worth less.

I have ended friendships over the belief system that create division based on religion--since America was originally founded for religious freedom of the Pilgrims, explain why their descendants have issue extending the same courtesy???

I have ended friendships over hypocrisy. You cannot vote and align with racist policies and then coo and fawn over my kids, because my family is exactly what racists hate and fear most--we are educated, upstanding, financially stable Black and Brown humans who have the nerve to effect a positive atmosphere wherever we are. Race mixing, successful underdogs?! The nerve of us!

I hope I didn't lose you--unless you needed to be lost. In that case, good riddance!

Age Differences AGAIN: I'll Just Sit By Myself, Sheesh!

Namastè.

Ah, age differences.

If you're new to the party, I always seem to have a weird age difference thing impeding potential mom friendships. I'm either the youngest mom with the youngest kids or the oldest mom with the youngest kids in most settings.

This weekend I got a chance of a juncture! (Not really lifetime, more like chance of this particular point in time.)

I was at the May Day festival. Perhaps it's a Southwest Georgia thing? I don't know. But anyway, I was in the place, double stroller and tween queen in tow. I actually made what I thought might be some cool connections. No person is an island after all, and even if I am happy spending time with me I do still enjoy the company of others from time to time.

I actually lived in SWGA before, so the associations I was with aren't entirely new.

The vibe was weird this time though. Like, uncomfortably so. We got our requisite festival food--including my first ever smoked turkey leg!--and walked around a bit. Because I have small fries, and my tween queen isn't old enough to be out unchaperoned, we broke camp early and headed back to hubby's temp stay. (He maintains a small house in SWGA, and when we visit that's where we stay.)

"That's why I don't have small kids."

No, you don't have small kids because they grew into  big kids.

"I wouldn't want babies at this age, I'm trying to be free."

Did I ask you to have my babies, because that's not exactly how this works.

"I don't know how you do it, being tied down all day to that baby."

Well, my hope is that she won't toss me in a nursing home later?! People with kids are usually pretty tethered to those kids, I don't know, because the kids need their parents!

Made me ILL. Like, really aggravated, and I'm not even sure why. Aside from the audacity to throw shade when they legit drool over my babies and want to babysit all the time, they don't make much noise. I don't hang out with them with any regularity.

Even when I hang out with my age group, I'm the odd one. *chuckles*

Since I prefer to hang out with my kiddos anyway, this doesn't count as an L.