His hand in mine

He held my hand.
The finale of my trio of babies.

We walked.
Not too fast, not too slow. 

I mostly listened.
To his stories about life at school. 

I stayed curious.
Asking questions to understand his heart. 

I relished in the gift of time.
Being present with his words as we walked. 

Nothing else to do.
Nothing else on my mind. 

Just my baby.
His hand in mine. 

He let go, more than once.
Worried someone would see him.

But he always came back.
Hand in my hand, smiling broadly.
The classic twinkle in his eyes.
My son, eight years later.

Time has never moved so slowly,
Yet passed so fast,
As it did tonight.

Just my baby.
His hand in mine.

Protecting their roots

This year is really stretching my parenting muscles, as my oldest is now eleven. I find it hard to navigate his lived experience with him, as childhood has amplified, as far as I can see.

Children are growing up faster.
Exposed to infinite amounts of knowledge much earlier than I ever was.
Technology is glued to their every day.

Kids are still making mistakes,
but now it's captured on cell phones.
Posted to social media.
Repeated when they don't learn from their mistakes.

Friendships aren't enough to satisfy.
Children yearn for followers.
Online gaming communities.
The social thumbs up.

It's an incredibly fast-paced world for little brains.
More often than not, it's too fast for mine.

And I think to myself,
if cell phone and social media streams can suck the life out of me some days,
bait me with nonsense and trolls,
leave me feeling more worried and angry than before I scrolled,
why on earth would I allow my son to navigate it, now?

Why would I permit 24/7 access to a world of overwhelm?
I've come to feel very strongly otherwise.
It's not yet time to plug in.

He needs family dinners.
Snuggles on the couch.
Time to read, play lego and shoot hoops in the driveway.
Teamwork and leadership at hockey.
Freedom to navigate the library.
Hours spent in nature.

He does not yet need to plug in to a hurting world.

Sample it, sure...

Let's discuss politics.
Trauma.
Death.
Cancer.

Let's explore ethics.
Injustice.
Addiction.
Homelessness.
Sexuality.

Let's learn about mindfulness.
Love.
Peace.
Religion.
Friendship.
Family.

But I've come to believe that my children deserve time to grow.
Engage their own experiences.
Observe life.
Explore.
Before plugging in.

I believe that my children have the right to explore their personal boundaries.
Find their own passions.
Think critically.
Learn.
Before plugging in.

I believe that my children need time to relax without technology.
Play without structure.
Worry less.
Love.
Before plugging in.

I want my son, and all my children, to feel grounded in themselves.
Content to be exactly who they are.
Able to observe the motives of others.
Free to make peaceful choices.
Connected to nature.
Full of faith.

I want them to grow roots in life's natural experience. 

So for now, they won't be plugging in.
There will be no cell phones.
No social media.
Only moderated gaming, tablet use and internet search.

They'll sample it all, absolutely.
We'll discuss, explore and learn.
But they will not plug in.
Not yet.

For now, I'm protecting their roots.

End of an era

It happened today.

I set our infant car seat out for garbage, expired and worn.

I really didn't think the garbage man would take it, but I knew it was time to come to terms with not requiring it any longer. So I set it out there.

I was hoping someone would pick it up and take it, even though it was expired. Maybe someone could repurpose it, recycle it, memorialize it for me.

I didn't expect the garbage man to take it.

Then, as the kids and I ate lunch, the garbage truck pulled up.

And he took it.

He took the infant seat. Threw it into the back of his truck and drove off.

Whoa. The tears began flowing. I scared the kids even.

I tried to explain it, how hard it is for mommy to see them grow up so quickly. I tried to tell them I was just sad that time keeps passing and they keep getting bigger.

Then Nolan got it. "Mom, I understand. You are sad because we all sat in that seat right?"

Yup. Cue the tears again.


 Postscript: My nephew used this seat also, between Brooklyn and Ethan, here's a photo

And in a flash, she turns two.

Today we had a 'pretend birthday' party for our youngest, precious little girl Brooklyn. Pretend because her official birthday is a few days away, real in every other sense of the word. Seeing her so happy to be surrounded by her family and friends, opening gifts and looking at her Dora cake got me thinking about how far she's come....

The summer before I got pregnant, I went on my first trip to NYC. Sitting atop the classic red, double-decker bus sightseeing around the city I began to notice the signage everywhere - Brooklyn. I remember pulling out my phone, considering the cost of messaging my husband and deciding it was worth it. "If we have a daughter, we should call her Brooklyn" I had said, I just thought the name was so beautiful.

That fall we were fortunate to conceive. Fast forward to the 20 week mark, we found out we were having a  girl. Elated, the name game began. We both agreed to not share our short list with family or friends, we knew how opinionated others could be so we essentially left it up to our son Nolan to figure it out. We spent weeks asking him to say "Abby", as I'd always envisioned a daughter named Abigail. After about six weeks we felt like it was getting old, instead opting to hear him say "B".

Before we knew it, my husband Jay had nicknamed the baby "Dodger" (get it?) and we spent the last trimester of my pregnancy secretly laughing every time someone said we must have chosen Abigail. We knew she'd be a Brooklyn, without a doubt.

The day she came into this world, my heart skipped a beat. Many parents of one child worry that they couldn't possibly 'have room' to love another. Quite honestly, the moment I laid eyes on her my love grew tenfold and my life changed forever.

Brooklyn was a very fussy baby. I remember the first night she was born barely sleeping because she was crying and seemed uncomfortable. I remember thinking, I don't recall Nolan being this way, in fact I think I had to set my phone alarm to wake myself up to feed him. Not the case with my little princess. Little did I know she was going to be a bigger handful than I imagined!

Brooklyn Amelia Isaak. Ten days old, taken by her very talented Nanna 'Fire Truck.'

I took a trip down memory lane this week (thanks facebook timeline) and found these old status updates, they basically tell the story:

"Wonders if you've found my patience? I lost it, can't seem to find it... hmm..." - August 2010

"Colicky baby makes Pam go something something... crazy? Don't mind if I do... "- September 2010

"Is totally and utterly exhausted. Done. Well done. Overcooked." - September 2010

"Endured two hours of steady screaming until Brooklyn's first two teeth broke the gum line this am... dear God help me if this happens every time!" - September 2010

"Knows Brooklyn would win the award for loudest, most deafening screams... after hearing hours I've it, I'm utterly convinced... and I'm pretty sure I've lost my ability to hear properly" - September 2010

"Would like to drop kick infant colic and immunizations in the mommy-daddy button... over and over and over again..." - October 2010

"Has enjoyed an exceptional weekend... to be topped off with an early dinner out with Jay... thanks Michelle, Joel and Addi and Sama and Grandpa too! After a weekend like this, I still don't want more kiddies, but I can definitely see the light at the end of this very long colic tunnel :) - October 2010

"Was told today by two perfect strangers that I have a smiley, happy girl. It filled my heart with such joy... we've come a LONG way in 8.5 months..." - February 2011

I walked around, Brooklyn spawled across my forearm, for the first five months of her life. It was insanity. Complete insanity. I spent most days crying, most nights angry with her and most weekends fending off requests to 'get back to normal and get out of the house' because mentally and spiritually I was drained to the point of exhaustion. I felt robbed, I rarely enjoyed her company and lacked the bond I easily established with her brother.

Suffice to say our first year with Brooklyn was one of the most difficult, life changing events to date in my life. I worry more. I sleep less soundly. I panic over things I never cared about previously. Colic has a funny way of changing a person, it's definitely not just something you 'get over'.

Fast forward again and we're celebrating her second birthday. A Dora-themed bash, it was simple yet incredibly enjoyable. She was very delighted by her cake, and even more so by her new gifts.

Here's a picture of Jay, Brookie and I after singing Happy Birthday. I promise she was happier than in this photo!



Now a smart, hilarious two year old, Brooklyn is nothing like her former infant self. She is a confident risk-taker, and a naturally caring and nurturing little girl. Her smile in infectious, her laughter is like sunshine and her hugs, oh her hugs will melt your heart. She completed my life in a way I never thought possible, allowing Jay and I to confidently call ourselves a family.

She's often my shadow, calls out for me at least a thousand times a day and shares with me the very same bond I share with my almost four year old son. My, how times have changed.

I really couldn't be more fortunate. I really couldn't be more in love.

Happy Birthday baby girl, daddy's little 'munchie'. Mama loves you very much.
xo







PS: As an afterthought, this article really spoke to me in the midst of Brookie's colic. A worthwhile article for everyone who ever dealt with colic “Our Son Got over Colic, We Haven’t: The real damage in dealing with a crying baby” http://www.babble.com/baby/baby-health-safety/colic-dealing-with-crying-baby-harm-to-parents/ A copy of this article is safely tucked away in Brooklyn's memory box, although I hope she never needs to read or sympathize with it.