Free-range Asheville kids
I wrote a column a couple weeks back about free-range versus helicopter parenting and was gratified to learn that some folks in Asheville have organized a free-range childhood enrichment coop. Read all about it here.
Also, don’t forget that I’m now updating beer news, local, regional and national, here, on my Brewgasm blog.
Happy back to school week, for some of us.
Here’s my column about this shortest, hottest summer ever. Yes, it has a climate change theme, but the naysayers haven’t come after me on this one. Yet.
Today’s my boy’s ninth birthday. Which kind of surprises the hell out of me. He’s currently building Darth Vader’s Tie Fighter out of Legos, wearing only plaid boxer shorts, and lecturing me about word use. I said, “It’s hot as Hades.” He said, “Mom, Hades is a person not a place. He’s the god of the underworld. You mean it’s as hot as the underworld?”
How did this happen?
Just for fun, here’s a repub of his birth story, which I wrote here five years ago. Because it’s gory and messy and painful but has a happy ending.
Enjoy:
I was 41 weeks pregnant with my second child. We had no air conditioning, it was the hottest part of summer, and my young daughter wanted to sit on my nonexistent lap.
The three of us sat on our sun porch watching a video that Enviro-spouse had gotten at the library called, “1,2,3 Timeout: Disciplining your Child” or something like that. I remember thinking, “What am I doing, having another one?” The video, while potentially helpful, was cheesy, poorly produced, and NOT a good distraction from the contractions that had started a few hours before.
I had been to the hospital at midday, as I thought my water had broken the previous night, but it had not. In fact, my midwife seemed to think that little was happening, although I was sure I’d lost my mucous plug. A mucous plug is a pretty memorable thing to have slide out of your body.
When not dealing with the needs of our firstborn, E-spouse spent that afternoon and evening following me around the house with a piece of paper and a pen, recording the timing and duration of my contractions. I could have done it myself, but he seemed to need a relevant job.
Around 10:30 p.m., we called E-spouse’s Dad to come sleep at the house with our girl and we went to the hospital for the second time. Despite the fact that I think of myself as a pain tolerant person, I did not do well with labor. Of course, both my children were born with E-spouse’s cranial girth. Our firstborn was so stuck in my pelvic girdle, that, after 30-odd hours of labor, we opted for a C-section, which turned out to be a good decision. The child is now six and wears the same hat size as I do. Luckily, she seems to have inherited the brain power that one would hope accompanies said cranial girth. However, she has most likely also inherited my pelvic girdle, which means, that without surgical intervention, she may be a genetic dead end.
At the hospital, we discovered that, despite the fact that I thought I was in hard labor, I was only at two centimeters and 50% effaced, so we were SENT HOME. My midwife took pity on me, however, and gave me a pill, which she said would enable me to sleep through a good part of my labor. She said that, on the street, this drug was a high-priced, powerful narcotic, but it wouldn’t harm the baby. I gulped down the pill. She gave E-spouse another one, as she said, “Just in case…”
To this day, I’m convinced that she gave me a placebo, because, said high-priced narcotic gave me absolutely NO pain relief nor did it enable me to sleep. An hour after we got home, I woke up E-spouse and demanded the second pill, which again, had absolutely no effect. I spent a couple hours pacing around the house and moaning.
By 1:00 a.m., I had become a screaming, raving lunatic. I told E-spouse to get the midwife on the phone, tell her to meet us at the hospital immediately, and to have a f***ing epidural ready and waiting. I think, at one point, I actually screamed, “F**k natural childbirth!”
As we raced to the hospital, I commanded E-spouse not to stop and not to hit ANY bumps in the road. That proved difficult, but he did try, especially since I screamed every time he ran over a pebble.
When we got to the hospital, I realized that we would have to walk through the Emergency Room, which, at this time of night, was packed with people. I made E-spouse stop just outside the door while I leaned against him and had a contraction, then we literally jogged through the Emergency Room, just making it into the hospital proper, where I fell onto E-spouse and had another loud and immobilizing contraction.
It turned out that I had dilated to 5 cm and was 100% effaced, so my midwife was not surprised that the drugs had not had MUCH effect. Try NO effect. I spent the next hour screaming for an epidural, but no one could seem to find an anesthesiologist. He finally arrived just after I vomited all over my husband.
I got my epidural, but it somehow only took on ONE side of my body, so I felt like the several large knifes that were being thrust into my pelvis each time I had a contraction had merely shifted to one side. By the time we got the epidural working, it was 5:00 a.m.. I was at 7 centimeters and exhausted.
After a few hours of much-needed rest, I started pushing–at around 8:30 a.m. Pushing was the fun part. The drugs had worn off enough so I could use my muscles effectively, but not so much that the knifes returned. So, E-spouse held one of my legs up in the air, the nurse held the other, two midwifes hung out between my legs, and everyone got to be a cheerleader. An hour and a half later, the poor baby’s head was in the birth canal, but going no further (we’d already forgotten about the first kid’s birth, seemingly). So in comes the doctor with the Hoover-matic–which kept sliding off the baby’s head with this loud sucking noise. Finally, the Hoover and I managed to get the baby out.
The midwife threw this wet, bloody, screaming baby onto my chest, while thrusting a pair of scissors into E-spouse’s hand. He stared at them for several seconds before he realized what he was supposed to do.
After severing the umbilical cord, E-spouse yelled, “It’s a boy.” Our boy. E-spouse cried. I cried. The baby cried. The nurse pulled a knit hat over the huge purplish Hoover-matic bruise on the baby’s head. He was absolutely beautiful. He still is.
We’re all familiar with the bane of family vacations: packing and unpacking. Here are a few of my stories on the subject in my weekly Mountain Xpress column.
In other news, I’m happy to be here. I realized the other day that it’s been almost exactly one year since a blood clot was discovered clogging a vein in my leg. Last August through December, I experienced the most serious medical intervention of my life thus far. Like most folks, I’ve had several brushes with mortality, but this one shook me hard, probably because it required months of treatment and lifestyle changes (I couldn’t exercise or drink alcohol, for goodness sake).
Here’s a column I wrote about the experience and about explaining my illness to my kids.
Anyhow, once I got the all-clear from my hematologist in January 2010, I thanked the goddesses for life and health and started making some changes. I lost weight and went back to exercising regularly. A few months after that I jumped on the Crossfit wagon and started one of the most intensive and strenuous exercise programs of my life.
I also made some mental shifts. I decided to work on living more in the moment–excepting and embracing new experiences as they come and working not to stress out about either past mistakes or future challenges. This, of course, is the hardest part. I can work my body til I’m too tired to move, but changing habits of mind takes a helluva a lot more work. Some days I’m better at it than others, as always.
But, mostly, I’m glad to still be here.
I knew this column might create a little controversy…because being a role model for your kids pisses some people off. Sigh.
In the much more fun than working out category, I’m helping run a beer naming contest for Asheville Brewing Company on my other blog. Other WNC Brews News here.
Kids running through Splashville in front of Asheville’s City Hall. Slippery fun.
Makes this mom nervous. Just saying.
What’s happening in your worlds? Other than heat.
This week’s column for Mountain Xpress is all about paranoia and emergency preparedness. Two of my favorite subjects.
Short excerpt:
If I personally were to tip toward a specific personality disorder, it’d most certainly be paranoia.
I’m convinced that there’s lots going on out there in the world that’s being kept from me and you because…who knows why? Recent events such as the Gulf oil spill and Russian spies in our midst only bolster my conviction that there are many hidden conspiracies.
And while I’m not yet making myself an aluminum foil deflector beanie (though I have checked out the online instructions just), I’ve decided that some basic emergency preparedness for my family might calm my nerves.
Happy Monday, y’all.
Puppy in a basket. Because nothing’s cuter.
Forgot to link to this column because I had a week off somewhere, and I got confused.
Anywho, here it is. Here’s the lede:
Are you a “helicopter” or “lawnmower” parent? Or do you identify as a “free-range” or “slow” parent?
I’d prefer not to be labeled either as a machine or “slow” (my intellect is at least average, thank you very much). Nor do I want to have the same label that’s slapped on the organic chicken breasts at Ingles, though given the above options, I suppose that one best describes my parenting style.
Y’all chime in.
Yep. Sometimes the solution to a problem causes another problem. Read this, then go check your sunscreen labels.
Writing about how fricking pissed off I am about the emotional trauma this huge enviromental disaster is inflicting on our kids and their future. Feeling ill. Chime in, y’all.
Yeah, I’m a hypocrite. As are most parents. Here’s my column this week about the subject.
And just because I’m guessing you might need a cute young guy offering you a beer…
This week, my column for Mountain Xpress is about some cool female elected officials in Western North Carolina who are following Michelle Obama’s lead in the effort to conquer childhood obesity. You go, women!
Read all about it here.
And then, for a lighter moment, go to my Brewgasm blog and tell me what you’re drinking tomorrow.
Happy Memorial Day, y’all.
