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My lazy-ass parenting, justified by SCIENCE!

August 9, 2016 by Sue Campbell

Hammock time is better than bath time.
Hammock time is better than bath time.

Whether it’s supervising playdates, trotting off to soccer practice or packing adorable bento box school lunches, modern parents are expected to run their asses off. The list of things a “good” parent is supposed to do gets overwhelming fast.

In the nine years I’ve been a parent, I’ve learned to say, “Enough already!” I’ve let certain things slide and steadfastly refused to feel guilty about it. Turns out, some of my laziness may actually be scientifically supported as good for my littles.

Science is catching up to what many of us have suspected for years: trying too hard as a parent is bad for your kids. May I present five ways we can all quit trying so damn hard, and actually help our kids in the process.

  1. Back away from the bathtub: We don’t go in for this bath-as-part-of-bedtime routine at our house. My mother may look at me sideways, but my kids get baths just once a week. Actually, it’s even less frequent for the baby. I simply don’t have the energy to manage a bath every night with all the soap inspection, drowning monitoring, and clean up it entails. Now science tells me that I’m totally justified. Frequent bathing can increase skin irritation and even increase a kid’s risk of eczema. There is simply no need for kids to bathe everyday. Up until puberty, that is. Then washing the stink off regularly becomes very, very necessary. But by then they can do it themselves.
  2. Forget early reading: Ten years ago, I would not have bet on this one. But now that I have a daughter in a Waldorf school, I can truly say delaying reading until age seven is brilliant. And the data is catching up with this attitude, even as (sadly) mainstream education is now headed in the opposite direction. Turns out, there’s no scientific basis for the push for early reading. Rather than increasing their skills, it can lead some children to have anxiety around reading, as they are not cognitively ready for the challenge. Read to your little kids often, but don’t force the ABCs before age six.
  3. Stop with the structured activities: Some parents run around on weeknights and weekends from soccer practice to ballet to trapeze lessons. Not me. I realized early on that my little introverts need downtime and tons of time for free play. Not to mention the thought of driving all over town on such a hectic schedule makes me crazy to even think about. Turns out, I’ve been doing their executive function a big favor. Recent research shows that kids who spend less time in structured activities perform better on tests that demonstrate planning and decision making skills. Parenting in the seventies had some issues (baby in a basket in the front seat anyone?), but they got at least one thing right: setting the kids loose to simply play by themselves is critical to their development.
  4. Quit with the cleaning: Put the mop down, friends. I’ve been a working mom throughout my kids’ lives. When we’re together, I’d much rather spend the time rolling around on the floor with them, playing dress up or reading stories than making sure my house is immaculate. Research on the “Hygiene Hypothesis” says that children today may not be exposed to enough germs. Apparently, without clear enemies, the immune system gets bored and starts attacking itself. No bueno.
  5. Make tucky-time earlier: Though you can justify being lazy when it comes to the items above, there’s still plenty of parenting work to be done. The good news is, you can knock off early. Experts have recently increased recommendations for the amount of sleep kids need. Children under 5 need anywhere from 10-17 hours per day, depending on their developmental stage. And many kids aren’t getting enough. Maybe it’s on account of all those weeknight lessons and then having to go home and hop in the tub before bed. Since you’re not doing that nonsense anymore, send them to bed at 7:00. Then reclaim some time for your smart, lazy self.

 

This post was lovingly sponsored by my Patreon supporters (you can become one, too!). 

Filed Under: Life Lessons

25 Ways Your Baby Will Punk You

July 26, 2016 by Sue Campbell

 

  1. 13603252_10208620279738361_8591472815211493029_oWake you up by puking on you.
  2. Wake you up by gently and repeatedly kissing you, at 3:30 a.m.
  3. Sleep on you for 3 hours after being up all night, preventing coffee and peeing.
  4. Gleefully scatter all the cloth diapers you just washed, folded, stacked and re-committed to using because you don’t want to saddle her generation with landfills full of Huggies.
  5. Play in the fridge on a hot day and break all the eggs.
  6. Classic: Discard a banana peel on the floor for you to slip on, further tweaking your back, which is distressed from carrying her everywhere.
  7. Reach into your mouth and steal food out of it.
  8. Give you food from her mouth and without taking “no” for an answer.
  9. Refuse to nurse unless she is simultaneously and mercilessly twisting your free nipple with her sharp little Velocirapter claws.
  10. Refuse to hold still for Velocirapter claw trimming.
  11. Send gibberish Facebook messages to your coolest childless Facebook friends.
  12. Pretend like she’s never even seen a book, much less been read to, when your in-laws are visiting.
  13. Flash you the “all done” sign in baby sign language the minute her father returns home for the evening and scoops her up. Translation: “You’re dismissed. My fave is here now.”
  14. Find every stray choke-able object (hair ties, coffee beans) just moments after you’ve “child proofed.”
  15. Immediately soak through her diaper after you’ve put her in your favorite outfit.
  16. Dump your tepid coffee onto the couch. Your precious, tepid coffee.
  17. Pull down your shirt and latch herself to your breast as you walk across the front yard to check the mail.
  18. Reliably giggle in a manner befitting a viral Youtube video, until you hit ‘record’ or try to show someone. Then, stoneface baby.
  19. Reliably do ANYTHING until you attempt to record it or show someone.
  20. Cut teeth.
  21. Start babbling at the top of her lungs while perched on your hip the moment you get on the phone.
  22. Create 87 loads of laundry before lunch.
  23. Suck on your smartphone until it blue screens.
  24. Take an epic poop seconds before it’s time to leave the house.
  25. Make you love her unconditionally, despite the fact that she makes every day a literal and emotional obstacle course.

This post was lovingly sponsored by my Patreon Supporters (you can become one, too!). 

Filed Under: Complete Nonsense

Dear Nora, It’s Monday and You’re Gone

June 8, 2016 by Sue Campbell

IMG_6561Dear Nora,

It’s Monday and you’re gone. I just dropped you off. Daddy and I won’t see you again until Wednesday. That’s the first time you’ve been away from both of us for that long. Daddy came to school to surprise you and give you a proper good-bye. It was just what you needed.

You gave hugs and kisses and bravely boarded the bus.

I made sure the driver of the charter bus was sober and appeared competent. He looked like the kind of guy who’d be able to concentrate on his driving with a bus full of boisterous third graders behind him. So that’s good.

I took a deep breath and watched the bus pull away. You’re heading for three days of fun at a farm with your entire class.

I know you were a little bit worried about being away. I’m so glad you told me you were nervous, so I could tell you that’s totally normal. On the drive to school when I asked you, “What if one of the parents just wouldn’t let their kid go?” and you said, “That would be terrible!” I knew you’d be just fine with the short separation.

You did a great job taking responsibility for your packing. And thanks for reminding me of all the things I would need to take care of while you were gone (putting the chickens away at night being first and foremost).

You wondered if Alma would miss you.

We all miss you.

I miss you and daddy bickering at the dinner table about your legs kicking him because you wiggle so much. I miss our talks about Harry Potter. I miss the pictures you are constantly drawing and the characters you event. “Serpentina” might be the coolest name I’ve ever heard.

I miss you pestering me to read to you. I miss you reading to me. I can’t believe how good your reading is getting. I know you think you have the Chamber of Secrets memorized, but you are reading it when you’re reading aloud to me. I can tell. You’re figuring out every word. You’re learning the magic reading and it will be your treasure forever.

Think of all the great reading time in the hammock you’ll have this summer. School ends next week!

We need to start making our fun list. Trips to the library and farmer’s market, for sure. What else?

Your teacher sent photos from today and all the kids look so happy. I thought there was a photo of you, it was kinda blurry and small.  It turned out to be Zella. I could tell because she was wearing sneakers and you hate sneakers. You wore your Chaccos.

This afternoon I ate two hotdogs.  They were Whole30 compliant, but they had too much sodium and I got the salt rages for a few hours. Or maybe I was just cranky because I missed you.

Love,
Mom

 ***

Dear Nora,

It’s Tuesday and you’ll be relieved to hear that daddy and I remembered to close the chicken coop last night. “All six in the mix,” as you would say. Our hens are safe from predators for another day. I haven’t collected eggs yet, though. I’ll do it before you get back.

Last night, Daddy decided to try to sleep in the big bed with Alma and me. Alma kept kicking him, and he gave up about 10:30 and went to the upstairs bedroom. Does Alma kick you during the night? I never hear you complain about it. You’re such a heavy sleeper, maybe you sleep through it.

Ms. Blaser sent more pictures today and I saw you! Well, I saw the back of you, in your blue shirt and your straw hat. You were in a line of kids hiking on a trail. From what I can tell, the place you’re staying at is beautiful. Maybe if you still want to be a farmer when you grow up, your farm will look something like that. A big white house and lots of pasture.
Don’t worry, Alma is not walking steadily yet. And we’re not making her practice. We’re waiting for you. (But, of course, I was kidding when I said I’d yell at her if she tried.)

Guess what I’m wearing today? One of your dresses! I’m behind on laundry (as usual) and I found one of yours in the clean pile. It’s a Tea Collection one, the one I got you this spring that matches Alma’s. It’s pretty ridiculous on me, as I’m sure you can imagine. It’s shorter than I would normally wear. But it’s fun to wear it, thinking of all the times you wear my dresses. And I like trying to imagine if you’d be angry about it or not.

How are you already big enough that we can wear each other’s clothes?

It’s later in the day now and someone sent me a picture of you, just you, on your trip. You’re holding a bit of wool fleece and it’s a close up of your beautiful face. You look hot, happy and a teensy worn out. You know I’m a crier, so you know what happened next.

I’m missing you in the best possible way, knowing you are right where you should be, right when you should be, and looking forward to seeing you again.

I thought of a few more things for our summer fun list:

  • Finish making our dolls
  • Make pompom animals
  • Open swim at Sellwood Pool

I got a little work done on the revision for Martha and the Boys today. I’ll read you what I have when you get back. That’s another thing we can do this summer, you can give me feedback on the re-write. I’m realizing any good revision is a big revision. If you can revise it too easily, you’re probably not making a big enough improvement. At first I thought this new idea would be easy to work into the story, but now I see it impacts so much. All the feelings of the characters are changing as a result of making the mama cat belong to Martha. I think it’s going to be a much better book when I’m done. Especially with advice from you and daddy and my SHEG group.
That book couldn’t have been written without you. Being your mom has made me grow and try things I would never have imagined ten years ago.

I think I know another series of books you might like. It’s called A Series of Unfortunate Events and it’s about orphans. It’s just right for a girl who says she doesn’t like “games about cute hamsters who live together in harmony,” but rather, is “the person who wants to play violent orphans on an abandoned ship.”

Alma was a bit fussy this afternoon. Maybe it’s the down-(milk)stream effect of yesterday’s hotdogs. Or maybe she’s missing you, too. I’m giving her lots of water and hugs. So we’re covered both ways.

Love,
Mom

 ***

Dear Nora,

It’s Wednesday morning and my first thought when I opened my eyes was “I get to pick up Nora today!”

My next thought was, “I wonder if Ben made coffee.”

Then, “I have to pee, but this baby is attached to my breast.”

Alma refuses to wake up today. Perhaps she just plans on sleeping straight through until it’s time to pick you up? Unfortunately, she can’t. I’m teaching my last handwork class today, so she’s got to go hangout with Peach for a few hours.

During my class with the second graders on Monday, all the kids were ohh-ing and ah-ing over the big fake tattoo on my arm. Let’s do another one this weekend. And, yes, I know I still owe you two dollars for it.

Hopefully, I’ll get another good story or two from my classes today. I’m quite sure I’ll cry. Especially saying good-bye to the second graders.

Right after that, I get to go pick you up! The ships are coming in today for Rose festival. Fingers crossed we don’t get stuck in traffic.

I’ll take good care of you tonight. You’ll probably be pooped out. You might be cranky. You’ll definitely need a bath. You’re an introvert, which means big social happenings like this need an equal amount of down time to recover your energy. It’s important to make quiet time for yourself. You’re getting good at figuring that out on your own.

Daddy and I give you hugs and snuggles and good food. And an early bed time. You’re welcome.

See you soon.

Love,
Mom

This post was lovingly sponsored by my Patreon Supporters (you can become one, too!). 

Filed Under: Growing Pains

30 Before 40

May 29, 2016 by Sue Campbell

celebration-16302_1280I turn 40 on June 28th.

Not, I’m not freaking out. I rather like getting older.

But I am feeling the need to use a landmark birthday to do some special things.

These things fall into 2 categories: Getting My Shit Together Things and Doing Fun Things.

So, in these 30 days before my 40th birthday, I’m setting myself 3 challenges that fall into the Getting My Shit Together category:

  1. Meditate everyday. For at least 1 minute. I know, the bar is low. I’m okay with that.
  2. Exercise everyday. For at least 5 minutes, but ideally, take a nice walk or do yoga. Again, the bar is intentionally low.
  3. Do the Whole30 challenge. This is the highest bar I’ve set. Especially challenging, as school will be out soon and we’ll be taking a short trip to Crater Lake in mid-June.

The fun category? The aforementioned trip to Crater Lake. And I’m toying with the idea of getting an Apple Watch. I’m sure there’s a whole post I could (and maybe will) write where I go into how I’m going to justify this.

I’m squeezing all this in amongst caring for a 14-month-old, a nine-year-old, and work for my writing clients and revising my novel (again).

I figure one of three things will happen:

  1. I’ll succeed and become completely blissed-out and self-actualized.
  2. I’ll succeed, but become completely smug and insufferable to those around me.
  3. I’ll fail and learn something.

Wish me luck.

Filed Under: Big Themes

No Big Deal

May 6, 2016 by Sue Campbell

1063960_10203970541457810_8488065736477809134_oI place my heels in the stirrups and turn to my husband, forced to admit, “I stole your socks.”

“I see that,” he says calmly, staring at my argyle bedecked feet sticking out of the hospital gown.

It’s New Year’s Eve and we’re in a triage room of the Labor and Delivery unit. I am twenty-six weeks pregnant and I am bleeding. Again.

The first time I started bleeding was Thanksgiving Day. After sex, Ben went to the bathroom to clean up and came rushing back to the bedroom.

“Sue, you’re bleeding,” he said, his voice without any breath behind it. I turned on the lamp and looked at the sheets.

I felt no pain. My mind flashed to what might lie ahead. The blood and the sobbing. The sad explanations to well meaning people.

That Thanksgiving night, over the phone, the on-call doctor talked me off the ledge, explaining that bleeding after intercourse was common during the second trimester, since there is so much increased blood flow to the cervix. My bleeding slowed, then stopped.

In short, it was no big deal.

The next day, just to be safe, my own doctor put me on pelvic rest; which is the medical term for “You’re not getting any for a while.” This is a particularly cruel fate for a second trimester pregnant woman.

But now this, waking up on New Year’s Eve, bleeding for no apparent reason. This time, the on-call doctor sends me to get checked out. This time, it feels like a big deal.

The young resident doctor deploys her speculum. I squeeze Ben’s hand. Hard.

We get the best possible news under the circumstances: I have a large polyp on my cervix. There’s no danger to the baby.

The older attending doctor explains, a bit too excitedly — and with hand gestures — that after the baby is born they can simply twist the polyp off.

So, it’s gross — but again — it’s no big deal.

I’ve been working with this concept all year, this idea of “no big deal.” Most evenings, I collapse into bed and put in my earbuds.  I listen as Pema Chödrön explains why Buddhists — and lapsed Catholic wannabe Buddhists like me —  train themselves not to make such a big deal of everything.

Every little bump we encounter in our day to day lives is a big deal: traffic, a head cold, an overcooked burger, a bad boss. We loll around in our troubles. We meditate to learn not to fan the flames.

But, oh! How part of me — the miserable, gestating part — wants to make things a big deal! Doctors make a big deal of my pregnancy at the “advanced maternal age” of thirty-eight, an even bigger deal of my complicating factor of type 1 diabetes, and, biggest of all, being pregnant with twins and losing one of them at just nine weeks.

This bleeding polyp — before I knew what it was — made me fear both babies were lost.

I get surges of emotion — grief, anger, adoration, gratitude — that flood me and leave me exhausted. But the core me — the sane me under the enormous belly — knows these are merely hormonal typhoons, and keeps reaching for the big rock of rationality and calm.

No big deal. It’s become my mantra for those times when I don’t get my own way. If I had my way, I wouldn’t have been pregnant again. Then I wouldn’t have been pregnant with twins, but what did I know? Because when we lost one of them, that news had me collapsed and screaming in my driveway, sobbing and clinging to my husband and I didn’t stop until every grieving moan within me was released.

When my breathing finally slowed, I said to myself, “Hey, so you made a big deal out of it, that’s no big deal. Happens to everybody.”

Many women suffer miscarriages between seven and nine weeks. Many women who are pregnant with twins never know it. One twin vanishes before the first ultrasound glimpse into the womb.

It does help to know I am not alone. “Other people feel this,” Pema says into my ear. Reminding ourselves of this is what she calls “thinking bigger.” It’s easy to think bigger when looking at my ever-ballooning belly. I remind myself I’m suffering through all of this — like so many women before me — for good reason: a healthy baby.

No big deal. It’s one hell of a paradox. Feeling my feelings, even plunging into the pain, but then zooming out on my own life to see the larger landscape. Having something bad happen isn’t a big deal and it doesn’t make me special, it makes me human. Other people feel this.

I breathe into my big round belly. No big deal. I can minimize the emotional pain this way. But I hope I’m not spiritually advanced enough to minimize the joy when this baby arrives. I still want that to be a big deal.


This post was lovingly sponsored by my Patreon Supporters (you can become one, too!) and featured in the live celebration of motherhood, Listen to Your Mother – Portland on May 5, 2016.

Filed Under: Big Themes

Let’s Try Something New

January 11, 2016 by Sue Campbell

12495156_10207233099259716_8862480558428474924_nMy children turned me into the writer I always wanted to be.

When I was childless, I was pretty damn lazy. That first kid, a daughter, lit a fire under me. I had to show my girl how to live your dreams.

So I started a mommy blog. Eight years later, I have a second daughter (still an infant), my own freelance writing business with a small stable of clients, a completed kids’ novel, a literary agent and a second book underway.

Hot damn!

But it turns out, I have very little will leftover after the paying the bills with words to stay in touch with my mommy blogging roots. Which sucks, because I think my blog has been the place I’ve done some of my best work.

I’ve sold parenting pieces to big sites (Scary Mommy, Mamalode, etc) but I have a few problems with doing that. Most of them want your copyrights. And most of them want pieces that have a very specific tone.

And I have a specific tone of my own. I’m not loving selling pieces of my innermost mind told in a tone that’s not entirely mine. And for a pittance.

So I’m trying an experiment based on the principle that money creates a deeper engagement and accountability.

As a professional writer, I bust my ass to please my clients.

As a reader, I engage more deeply with content I’ve paid to read. I’m not saying that’s right or wrong, it just is.

Things with dollars attached tend to get more care and attention from makers and consumers.

So I’m putting aside my midwestern humility and asking you this question:

If something I’ve written at Mommy’s Pen has spoken to you, would you be willing to pay a buck or two to read another thing like it?

The most I’ll blog is twice per month. And that’s my stretch goal. Once every month or two is far more likely. Either way, I promise not to run you into the poor house by suddenly becoming a hugely prolific blogger. And I promise not to just spit out some trash so I can hear a cash register sound in my head. I’ll work hard to post something worth reading. Right now, I’m itching to write about Nora’s developmental phase: the nine-year-change. This is a Waldorf concept that I wish more parents knew about. It’s a big deal.

I’m hoping you’ll throw in a buck. I’ve got some public radio type ways to thank you if you do.

Here’s where you go to pledge.

But even if you don’t support me, I’m hoping you’ll look through http://Patreon.com and find an artist whose work makes you shout, “Yes!” and support them instead.

Patreon is a fantastic tool helping artists make the art we humans so desperately need. And you get to play the role of patron of the arts! Go ahead, dress up like Lorenzo de’ Medici if you want. I won’t tell.

My humble thanks for your consideration.

Sue

Filed Under: Blogging

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What kind of blog is this?

This is a blog for PARENTS. True, the writer, Sue Campbell, writes books for kids. But this blog is for grown-ups. It has some swearing and would be super boring for kids. Except for the swearing.

The PODCAST is for KIDS and PARENTS. In fact, my twelve-year-old daughter is my co-host.

If your kids like Sue's books, send them over to suecampbellbooks.com where there's some kid-friendly content. EVEN BETTER, join the mailing list. You get stuff for grown-ups and printable stuff for kids. And sometimes there will be super ill-advised giveaways or coloring contests for free books.

MORE ABOUT SUE: She makes an ACTUAL LIVING from writing words and marketing books and lives with her husband, two daughters, six chickens and one messy house rabbit in Portland, Oregon. And yes, Portland IS that weird. She really couldn't be any luckier.

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