New beginning

70 posts over four years.  That is what my first, timid foray into blogging accomplished.  Stories of my first two babies.  Stories of the development of "Lisa the mom", and the fading of "Lisa the hopeless neurotic".

Big changes have happened around here.  In September, I quit my paid employment, and our family made the shift to a single income household.  I am baking more, and spending less.  I am truly the primary caregiver for my kids, the keeper of the financial books, the maker of the home.

Tomorrow, I will be 30 years old.  I look forward to celebrating with friends and family, and to beginning my thirties as a new chapter of my life.

With this new chapter, I want to invite you to visit my new blog, 'Life Lived Richly'.  Like 'Swirls and Swings', the name was chosen to reflect the blog's purpose.  I want to step into my next decade with intention, and the blog will chronicle my attempts to live simply, mindfully, and joyfully.  I would be honoured if you followed my journey.

To everyone who has ever commented here, or followed the blog, or been touched by anything I have written, thank you.  Nothing makes me feel less alone than to connect with another soul through words.  Namaste.

Nursing mom

I have had the awesome privilege to experience nursing my kids.

Nursing helps me sleep. It helps me calm down my kids in a hurry, floods my body with feel-good calm-down hormones, and puts my sleep cycles in synch with my child's, so that their night-waking is less disruptive to my night.

Nursing keeps me in touch. I am hormonally, biologically in touch with my child. We are a pair. We are rarely apart and it is hard for me to leave them for any length of time. Listening to my baby cry is close to physically painful. I think that is by design.

Nursing has connected me to many other wonderful moms. I meet them at La Leche League and in attachment parenting groups. I sit next to them in nursing rooms, and on chairs in the church nursery. I join them in celebrating nursing, this natural and amazing gift, in person at events, and online, through facebook, forums and blogs. I stand with them through Human Milk 4 Human Babies. We are connected through nursing, and to most nursing moms, this is of profound significance.

Nursing keeps us healthy. My breastmilk is perfectly adapted to meet the nutritional needs of my baby. I make precisely the right antibodies that my baby needs to fight her cold. I protect us both from cancer, from obesity. I keep my baby hydrated, even when she is vomiting. I keep away her ear infections. I can treat diaper rash or an eye infection with a few squirts. And I burn calories every day to make it. Extra brownie, anyone? ;-)

Nursing is free and healthy, empowering and beautiful. I feel blessed to have experienced it, because I know not everyone does. I have been lucky. I have the support of my mother, husband, friends and La Leche League. I have the knowledge I needed to be successful, and the encouragement I needed from health care professionals. And I have been blessed with the stubbornness needed to persist in the face of challenge.

I have been bitten and scratched. I have been in tears over a baby who would not latch. I have woken up insane amounts of times in the night to nurse a fussy baby who would not sleep. I have had over-supply, under-supply and a painful plugged duct. I have been criticized for how, where and for how long I choose to nurse.

About all of these things I can say the same thing: Worth it, worth it, worth it.

To all the other moms who might want to nurse, I have just a little advice. Learn all you can. Meet other nursing moms. Believe your body was made for this. And don't give up. I can't promise it will be easy. But it will be worth it.

Scared milk-less

Milk sharing has been in the news somewhat, of late. Emma Kwasnica, renegade that she is, with the help of many other like-minded renegade mamas, has launched a global network, through Facebook, called Human Milk 4 Human Babies. The aim of the network is to connect moms who need milk for their babies, with other moms, who have milk that they can share. Boom. Done. Next.

This was about meeting a need. The World Health Organizations position on infant feeding is that if, for some reason, a mother is not able to feed her own baby, breastmilk from another mother is a better alternative than formula. Milk banks do exist that could theoretically meet this need, but there are some problems. First of all, there are very few of them, so the milk that they do have to give gets prioritized to very sick or premature babies - the infants that desperately need the milk. Secondly, milk bank milk is almost always pasteurized, which turns breastmilk from the living miraculous stuff that it is, into dead milk, losing much of it's value. Finally, it costs money to access the milk of many milk banks. So even if your baby is among the few that make the cut, and you are happy to accept dead milk, you may still have to come up with the cash to cover it.

The medical community is aware of how difficult it is to access human milk when you need it. This is why they do not often advise mothers to try this option. Instead, supplementing with formula is quickly suggested.

I do not intend here to go into why that is such a poor choice. Suffice it to say that there are mothers out there for whom supplementing with formula is not a viable option, or at least not one that they are comfortable with. So, do they have to? No other choice?

Breastmilk is not a scarcity! Many mothers have ample for their babies, and then some. People struggle with oversupply! It is also a vastly renewable resource - empty breasts will fill themselves again. It should not be so hard to connect people who need milk to people who have milk to give. And it turns out it isn't. But fear is alive and well.

As soon as someone (cough, cough, Emma) decided they were done waiting for the medical community to fix this problem, and opened up a way for donors and recipients to match up, there was massive push back. It must not be safe, right? People could have disease! You never know what they might be smoking in their spare time. That's just gross, anyways. I could never do it.

Really, all of the arguments against this wonderfully simple solution to a common problem sound the same to me as razor blades in apples at Halloween. Which has never happened, by the way. I dare you to prove otherwise. I doubt that there are all kinds of sadistic lactating weirdos out there, masquerading as concerned moms, handing out drug-laced breastmilk just for jollies.

Here are a few facts for you:

• Human Milk 4 Human Babies donors do not charge for their milk. There is nothing to be gained by donation, save the truly awesome global village feeling that you are helping to feed another's child.
• Milk sharing is done person to person. That means you meet that person you are getting milk from. You ask questions. You go to their house and meet their family. And you decide whether or not your baby eats that milk. You decide.
• This is not a new idea. Wet nursing has been done throughout the generations.

And, now a confession. I am sure this will cause your mind to reel.

My name is Lisa, and I have donated my milk to a stranger.

Woot! Weirdo! Better click through to the next blog, she has clearly lost it! But before you do, read just a teensy bit more.

I say stranger, in that this was someone that I had met over the Internet. But when she sat in my living room with her husband and new son, and we chatted while my similar-aged daughter cooed in her swing nearby, 'stranger' was not the word I would have used. We were just two moms. She had a problem, and I was in a position to help her out, in a meaningful way. I am so glad she was not too scared to accept my help. Donating milk was hugely rewarding to me, even renewing much of my faith in the spirit of community.

If only more moms were not scared milk-less. We don't always need to turn to the authorities to fix our problems. Sometimes, with a little courage, we can find our own solutions.

Second-child syndrome

About a year ago, a coworker of mine came back to work after completing her year of maternity leave with her second child. I asked her what it was like to be a mom of two. Her answer?

"It feels like I am a mom. Of two."


I think I know now what she meant.

There are two kids to dress, to feed, to keep clean, to get up with in the middle of the night. Two bedtimes. Two car seats. Two sets of wants and needs.

There are also countless comparisons to make as I try to avoid second child syndrome. Have I taken as many pictures this time around? What about videos? And where has that baby book gotten to? Am I giving her enough attention? Is she getting lost in the shuffle? Am I rushing her nursings? Her diaper changes? When was the last time I changed her, anyways?

Ah, the second child syndrome. My older brother was the second child in our family. A few years ago, while looking for photos for a family project, my mother realized she didn't have a single baby portrait of him. Any portraits of him under the age of three also feature my older sister, or are of the whole family. There aren't any of just him. It took her over 25 years to notice...

That speaks to the positive side of the second child syndrome: you really aren't paying as much attention. For me, this means I am really just too busy to drive myself mad overthinking every little thing. I don't count how many times I woke up during the night, or keep track of how often I sit down to nurse. Being on the go with a 3 year old means I use the baby sling more, and worry less. I am reading fewer parenting books, and am taking a stab at trusting myself.

I have come to realize that if I define 'fair' as 'the same', it will never be fair. Alexa doesn't have the same mom that Baby Nik had. Baby Nik had a vigilant, research-oriented, problem-focused, brand new mom. Alexa's mom is broken in. She's a little more relaxed, and a little less concerned with getting everything right.

So, I am definitely feeling like a mom. Of two.


There are two kids now, to hug, to kiss, to snuggle up with in the middle of the night. Two sweet little faces to photograph. Two sleeypheads to carry in when they fall asleep on the way home from Grandma's. Two sets of hopes and dreams.

Lucky me.

Brother Bear

In the early Berenstein Bear books, there were only 3 in the Bear family: Papa Bear, Mama Bear, and Small Bear. In "The New Baby", Small Bear makes his transition to Brother Bear. I love that his name changes, because it shows the significance of that birth in his life. His whole identity is affected.

Nik is definitely feeling the changes since Alexa has arrived. One of his new favourite games, pictured above, is to climb into her crib, sit in the baby bathtub with her new tummy time quilt, and play with the mobile. I'm not making a big deal out of it. He deserves to be able to say goodbye to Small Bear in his own way.

I have been lucky, actually, that his sleeping and bathroom habits have remained virtually unchanged since baby has been on the scene. I was prepared for a certain amount of regression, but so far, things have been good, and we are nearly at the 2 week mark. I was also wondering if he would be jealous of all the nursing, since he really only recently was completely weaned. It seems to be not a problem, though he does covet the lap time. "You put her on the couch, and I will sit in your lap," he says. Usually I will. After a quick cuddle, he is back to his own thing. Just checking, I guess.

His behaviour is another story. More whining, more boundary pushing, more rudeness in general. It is hard to know how much to ignore, and how much to respond to, and what response is appropriate. Does he need more understanding? More discipline? More attention? The most obvious increase is in bossy behaviour. I am guessing he is trying to control more to alleviate anxiety, but it is hard to remember that when he stomps into the room demanding another video, or computer time, or more chocolate milk in such-and-such specific cup. Unfortunately, my patience runs thinner and he gets crabbier as the day runs on.

Mornings are good. Alexa is happiest after a night's sleep, and will consent to being put down. I can get some housework done, which satisfies my need to accomplish. And Nik is calmer, easier.

The photo below was taken this morning. Happy, bright-eyed kids, snuggled in jammies in the morning light. This is what I want to remember from these first weeks.

The sweet beginnings of Brother Bear and Sister Bear.

My girl

The hospital called on Sunday night, and offered us a spot in LDRP if we went in for induction right then. We decided to take it, and sweet Alexa was born at 6:42 Monday morning. The labour was fast and furious, but I am proud to say that I birthed her without narcotics. We are home now, and she is nursing and sleeping round the clock. Longer birth story to follow, but I wanted to announce her arrival and share some pics!

Time will tell how Nik will adjust to Alexa's arrival. So far, it is a little overwhelming, and he has been checking in a lot. He is off to preschool this afternoon, which I think will be a good distraction for him.
Thanks for stopping by to see my little sweetheart!

Just look at him grow...

Nik started preschool this afternoon. It is a one room preschool, with two teachers, and maybe 15 other kids. It is not beautiful, but it is warm and welcoming. Nik was instantly at home.

I wasn't really planning on sending him to preschool until next September, but he started asking about it after hearing that his cousin went, and finding out about it from videos. Then, came the request:

"I want to go to playschool, Mom," he said at bedtime one night.

"Really? Are you sure? You know, moms and dads don't stay at playschool. Moms and dads bring the kids, and the kids stay with the teacher."

"No, I want you to stay, Mom."

"Well, that is not how playschool works. Moms and dads go home, and come back when it is done. Do you still want to go to playschool?"

"Yeah, I want to go to playschool, Mom."

"Mom isn't going to stay."

"Okay."

"Alright," I said, taking a big girl breath, "If you want to go to playschool, I will find a school for you."

And then I did. It came together much faster than I expected. A friend from church with similar values and parenting style recommended a preschool that is less than a ten minute drive from our home. I called, left a message, and the teacher called me back last Friday. She said he could start right away, so we started today. Boom. Done.

My head is spinning, just a bit. For the first time in motherhood do I understand what they mean by 'grow up fast'.

10 things

When Nik was born, I had no identity as a mother. I had parenting ideas, sure, but they were untested, and mostly revolved around teaching good behaviour. When it came to nurturing, nutrition, activity, sleep... I had no philosophies or ideals. I really didn't know what we believed when it came to raising children.

I am still far from having all the answers, but I believe I have made a solid beginning. When we welcome our second child, I will already know at least some of what is important to us, and what kind of parents we want to be.

So here is my list of ten. Ten things I've learned, ten pieces of advice for the me of almost 3 years ago, ten rules for a new mom... Everyone has their own ten, and my ten may be different a year from today, as I am sure it would have been different a year ago.

My Ten:

1. Do all you can to be able to breastfeed your baby.
2. Food from scratch is better than food from a box.
3. Anything you can reuse is better than something you throw away.
4. The best toys don't need batteries.
5. At night, do whatever helps everyone get the most sleep, with the least amount of tears.
6. Say 'yes' when you can, and say 'no' when you need to.
7. Yelling is never as satisfying as you expect it to be.
8. Example is worth far more than words.
9. Let them be little.
10. There's always time for a hug.

Listening

Drizzling rain, croaking frogs, the call of birds... I am in bed early tonight with my bedroom window open, letting in the smell of freshly fallen rain, and all the backyard music.

Ours is not a spacious country home, just a small half-a-duplex in one of the decidedly less cool neighbourhoods in the city, but we are fortunate to live on the edge of a development, with ditch and dirt path and grassland just beyond our backyard fence. It is land owned by the hydroelectric company, and they have built their towers all along it, holding up long stretches of electric cable, and as a result, I know it is in no danger of being developed into the newest suburb. A funny way to get a nature preserve, I guess, but when I hear the frogs and watch the red-winged blackbirds dart in front of the setting sun, I feel lucky to live just in this humble spot.

My favourite kind of meditation is just mindful awareness of sound. I remember doing it for the first time in sixth grade, with the classroom windows open, everyone listening for as many different sounds as they could. I feel my ears stretch into the distance, searching for every pin drop of a sound, and my mind clears of everything else.

Tonight, the frogs are stealing the show, but the symphony coming in my bedroom window is varied and rich for anyone with ears to hear. There is the hum of the far off industrial plant. Also, the roar of a distant train, punctuated by the whistle blow now, and again. These are the only sounds the survive even in the dead of winter, my constant companions. Now, in full spring, I also hear birds, many kinds of birds, but my uneducated ear does not know how to name them. A hawk is there, I think, and a robin... A Canada goose... Many others call, and while I do not know their names, my ear remembers their songs, heard many evenings before this one.

Dripping water hits the fence, leaking from the eavestroughs, long overdue for a cleaning. A squirrel screeches, a cat meows, and I hear the frogs, the frogs, the constant frogs... Only in springtime are they as loud as this.

As I listen, my breathing slows without effort. My mind feels emptied, opened up by the evening air. I wonder why I don't do this all the time. I know why.

I know how prone I am to rushing, to busyness, to always finding one more thing I should be doing, until I collapse into bed, exhausted by the activities of another day, making mental lists of everything I want to accomplish tomorrow. Moving through life at this pace hardly leaves room for these sacred moments. It hardly leaves room to breathe.

Tonight, I took the time to breathe, to listen. And I hear just one more sound: the small voice of my still-awake son, quietly singing to himself in the moments before sleep. A reminder of how to slow down, and why, and for whom. It is not just about me, anymore.

Time for two

Sometimes I feel like "hurry up" is my new mantra.

I am naturally a goal-oriented and details-oriented person. That is a lofty way of saying that if I make a To Do list, it is long, specific, and I desperately want to get everything done. This characteristic served me very well when I was planning my wedding. It meant I thought of everything, weighed the pros and cons of every decision, and my wedding day was just what we hoped for and disaster-free. When it comes to mothering, however, that drive and determination serves me less well.

Because I work part-time, I usually have high hopes for the days I spend at home. Do the groceries! Prepare nutritious meals and snacks! Do the laundry and put it away! Create a clean and peaceful home! Make time to be creative! Plan and orchestrate enriching activities for my 2 year old son! Oh wait, that's right... I have a 2 year old son.

If you have any experience at all with 2 year olds, you will already know that their priorities and agendas are not the same as, say, the adult's in their lives. They aren't concerned with schedules or with being anywhere on time. They only have one thing on their To Do list, and it whatever they are doing right now.

And so, as I try to get through the day to day with a toddler in tow, I hear myself:

"Hurry up Nik, we have to get to Grandma's now"
"Hurry up and finish your snack, so we can go get Daddy from work."
"Come on, we need to clean up these toys. It is time for supper right away."
"Hurry and get your shoes on so we can go. Come on, Nik!"

Mornings are the worst, but anytime that we need to make a transition can bring trouble, and the "H" word. And while I am hurrying, and thinking about what we need to do next, and where we need to be, do you know what Nik is doing? Living blissfully in the moment. I am hurrying to get to work, and he is noticing the shadows on the floor. I am hurrying to get to the car, and he is picking up rocks. I want him to hurry up and eat, and he is methodically dropping fish crackers through the space between the table and the wall.

On my worst days, I get angry. Clearly, he is just being this way to drive me crazy. He knows I need to get to the next thing on my list! He is being slow, making messes, running in the opposite direction JUST to be contrary.

But, on my good days, when I am blessed with a little clarity and perspective, I realize that I have the power to give him the gift of time. Time to look at the rocks in the driveway. Time to stamp in the too-deep puddle on the way to Grandma's. Time to be two.

Calm spirits, thankful hearts

Yesterday, I attended a nutrition workshop for parents. All the participants were from different backgrounds, had different household sizes, perspectives and philosophies, but for an hour and a half we were united by a common goal of improving how we eat. We were united by more than that, actually, because all of us had come to the motivation for making these improvements not for our own health, but for the health of our children. It was when we became parents that we wanted nutritious food in our fridges and pantries. But you have to wonder, if it is important to us to not fill our children's tummies with junk, why were we eating it ourselves?

I think a lot of people examine their choices much more critically once there is another little person in the mix. For me, having a child has brought into sharp relief the chasm between what I want and how I live. The space between that which I value, and that which I do, is much easier to spot when I am trying to pass a value on to my son. It seems the failure to practice what you preach is more obvious when you are preaching out loud.

So, consider the following:
My son is two and a bit, and extremely active. When we get into loud and stimulating environments, it doesn't take long for my little sponge to soak up that energy and start bouncing off the walls. At home, he can sometimes play quietly and with intention, but if we are in an open space with a few other wild kids, he is swept up in it so fast, and what starts as fun degenerates into throwing and hitting and running into walls in very little time. This behaviour is spilling over into our home life more and more.

I do my best to set him up for success. We go to the Children's Museum during it's slow hours, so that it is easier to be calm. We pop in at the mall's play place only if there are just a few children playing, and no one is jumping off the slide. We avoid the play groups where the kids play rough, ignored by their bored caregivers. At home, his toys are kept organized, in good repair, and at a manageable quantity. We play calm music, and limit TV. We try.

I also am always trying to encourage my son to be content with what he has. For example, he often does not want the snack I have given him, and asks for something else. Aggravatingly, if I give him the something else, he asks for a third thing. And then juice. No, make it chocolate milk. In the yellow cup, not the green one. No, the yellow SIPPY cup! And on and on it goes.

I try to teach him to accept and appreciate what he has. "Sorry, buddy, it is apple slices and raisans right now. Maybe we can have fish crackers another time. You like apple slices!" Maybe it is not the most effective approach, but once again, I try.

One day last week, Nik had a whole morning marinated in these attractive qualities. Running and throwing, and knocking things over into a big mess, and generally being wild, interspersed with the "Nothing I have been given is good enough" attitude for extra flavour. By the time I had wrestled him to the table for lunch, I was at the end of my rope. I didn't know what else to do, so I added a line to my short lunchtime blessing:

Our Father in Heaven,

please bless this food to the nourishment of our bodies and souls,
and this day to Your glory.
Please help us to have calm spirits, and thankful hearts.
These things we pray in Jesus' name, Amen.

I felt pleased with my word choices. A calm spirit and a thankful heart, yes, that is what I want Nik to have. But I prayed, "Help us"... That was not really intentional. I mean, I always pray the prayer in the collective person. I say "our" and "we", so I logically said "us" and "spirits" and "hearts", even though I meant it to be about Nik, and his running in circles and his discontent.

But by now of course you see where I am headed. If I wanted this so badly for him, why was I not living it myself. If I wanted him to avoid the junk, why was I eating it myself?

My spirit is most times far from calm, and my heart far from overflowing with thankfulness. If my son is a little sponge for agitated energy, it is only because he is a chip off the big sponge. Like him, when I am at home base, I do have moments of quietness and intention, but put me in a crowded room, and stir me up, and soon I am mentally running in circles, and verbally throwing out words I did not take the time to think through. And I think that my previous post, From mall to museum, shows that I also struggle with being content with what I have.

I am starting to realize that my wishes for my son are born of wishes for myself. They reflect the way I want to be, even though I so consistently fall short of my own ideal. Maybe that is why his wild and discontented behaviour gets on my nerves so quickly. It is hard to look into an unflattering mirror.

Like I do for my son, I try to set myself up for success in acheiving these goals of calmness and contentment. I practice some yoga and meditation, and have learned some breathing exercises to help me slow down and disperse my own anxiety. I play calm music, and when the weather is nice, try to get outside just to walk and listen to the birds. I do my best to count my blessings, to realize what I have, to curb my tendency to always want the next thing. I try.

I try because part of me believes that if only I read enough books, organize enough closets, spend enough time, etc, then my life will fall into place. Then I will be free from all anxiety. Then I will be confident. Then I will feel calm. Oh yes, it can all be mine if only I try harder.

But I am coming to recognize this pattern for the chasing after the wind that it is. Faster and faster I run after my all-important ideals, and, for all my trying, I never seem to get any closer to living them. If anything, I am more anxious and less content with myself after trying, than I was before.

I come to the end of my rope with myself, too. So now I am going to try something new. I am going to ask for help, and let go of the control a little:

Father in Heaven,

you know how much I am prone to running in circles,
and you know how often I forget to appreciate all that I have.
Please give me a calm spirit, and a thankful heart.
I don't want the junk for Nik, and I don't want it for me either.
These things I pray in Jesus' name, Amen

Conversion story

During my first pregnancy, my husband and I started spending a lot of time in the high-priced children's stores, more dreaming than shopping. I looked at the wooden toys, the patterned baby slings, the nursery decor, the Robeez booties... All the beautiful things I would buy if I had the money. (Many items did make it onto baby gift wish lists.)

During one such window-shopping trip, my husband got interested in a cloth diapering kit by Bummis. This one:

Cloth diapers? Really? That was not an option I had even been considering. I took a look at the kit, and gave it a, "Hmm. Interesting." and sort of hoped he wouldn't bring it up again. He did, but only to say it might be cheaper and maybe we should look into it. We didn't. At least, not for a while.

When Nik was born, we brought him home in disposables, and within a few weeks, we had our diapering product loyalties all figured out. Pampers Premium diapers, Huggies wipes. I loved the Swaddlers that Pampers made in their smallest two sizes. Other diapers were papery, and rough. Swaddlers were soft, almost... cloth-like. I was never enamoured with Cruisers though, although I still preferred them to every other brand I tried.

We played the disposable diaper game for over a year, complete with the coupon clipping, points collecting and diaper-chucking of all true diaper players. Every week we put another black garbage bag of stink at the curb for pickup. Even with our supposedly 'odorless' pail, Nik's room started to get that faint dirty diaper smell as we approached garbage day. With each box into the shopping cart, and each bag at the curb, I got more and more curious about the cloth diaper option that I had dismissed so out of hand.

Around the time Nik was 10 or 11 months, I started to meet moms online and IRL who were using cloth instead of disposables. Their diapers weren't the prefolds from the Bummis kit, though. And they weren't the raggedy cloth diapers that I had seen during my babysitting days, either. Their diapers were really quality items, dare I even say, cute! Still, I was hesitant. Nik was nearly a year old, and the cloth diapers I was coveting were expensive... Would it be worth it to switch this late in the game? I had so many doubts. I didn't know a thing about cloth diapering, and I already had the disposable routine down. What if I switched and hated it? I didn't even know where to go to buy cloth diapers. They don't exactly carry them at the grocery store.

Running to Internet research for help, I did find a local web store that sold a number of different styles and brands, but that didn't help much. I had thought the choice was between cloth and disposable. What I quickly learned was that 'cloth' isn't just one option. There are so many different styles of diapers, and different manufacturers, and even different accessories that you may or may not need, that even pricing out the differences in diapering costs for a year got very complicated, very fast. Then, when I started trying to figure out how to wash and dry them, and which detergent to use, I got so overwhelmed by conflicting advice that I let the whole thing drop. Disposables were doing the job. Why complicate things?

Another 3 or 4 weeks of putting that stinky bag of diapers out with the garbage pushed me over the edge, though. I logged on to the local web store I found, and just looked at what they carried. I decided an adjustable-size diaper would be most economical, so I settled on a pocket diaper with snaps, that you could size for babies 8-35 lbs. At the rate that I was changing diapers, I figured I would go through about 6-8 a day, so I wanted 24 diapers - enough so that I wouldn't be doing laundry every other day. And I did the math. The diapers, cloth wipes and detergent for a year came out to about $600. The disposables I had been using, plus wipes and garbage bags came out at over $700, even with the coupons I had been saving. I placed my web order, and we became a cloth diapering family when Nik was 13 months old.

I've never, ever regretted it. I used to switch to disposables for holidays, though, and have regretted that. Things didn't turn out exactly the way that I crunched the numbers, because spent more money on wipes, and accessories like wet bags, than I had planned, but because of cloth diapering I also switched detergents to something cheaper and more environmentally friendly, so I figure it's a wash. And speaking of wash, I have never really minded the extra laundry. It isn't like I have to go down to the river with a washboard, after all. I have high-efficiency front loader in my basement! It is also worth noting that I wouldn't switch my husband or myself to disposable underpants just to avoid the laundry...

Now, if someone even breathes in the direction of being curious about the cloth diaper option, I feel compelled to pull out a fresh diaper and show them how easy it can be. "Look at this cute, comfy, completely unscary cloth diaper," I want to say. "Think of the money you'll save, the garbage you'll avoid! Try it, you'll like it!" Then I realize that sounds a little like I am channelling Sam-I-am, and I tone it back a bit. I still tell them, though, because I wish someone had told me sooner. I love my fluffy butt baby.

Now is the time for Copperfield

Lately, I have been reading David Copperfield as part of my nighttime routine. My paperback copy of Dickens' illustrious work was found collecting dust one summer in a second-hand book shop at Winnipeg Beach. I was inspired to my $2.00 purchase by some vague feeling that it was virtuous to read the classics (or, at least, have them on your bookshelf). So, after 6 months or so of allowing the book to collect dust in my possession, I picked it up and actually started to read.

Though I've read Dickens before, it has always been of the shorter Christmas-themed type, so Copperfield's complexity came as a bit of a shock. With a dictionary within reach, I struggled to make sense of the unfamiliar language, reading chapter after chapter, until one day, after finishing the chapter XII, I came to a realization. David was off to seek his aunt, whom he had never met, out of desperate times that were a result of many hardships in his young life, and I didn't care. Not at all! He could get there, or not, and it would make no difference to me. This orphaned and abused boy had just been robbed, and was off on a long journey on foot, and I didn't have any interest in reading the next chapter. So I didn't.

Fast forward a year or so. Nik is born, and I am reading every baby care book and website I can find. His sleep problems begin, and that triggers another reading binge, starting with sleep solution books, and branching off into basic parenting philosophies. I am starting to make myself crazy with all this research. Then my sister lends me a book by Billie Letts, out of the blue, Where the Heart Is. It is a breeze to read, and I am done it within the week. Now, I have the fiction bug. I pick up A Wizard of Earthsea, one of Andrew's books on the shelf downstairs. More difficult, but thin, and it only takes me a few weeks to get through. Upon completing both books, I feel a sense of loss. I have really begun to look forward to my before-bed chapter, in the quiet of the evening, tucked into bed. The books just aren't lasting long enough.

And then I remember Copperfield. I remember how I felt it would never end, and how a month of reading it barely made a dent in the book. I realize that if I am looking for a book that will last, I need to look no further. So, I pull it off of the shelf, and pick up where I left off, at Chapter XIII. Soon I meet Betsey Trotwood and Mr. Dick, and watch Janet chasing the donkeys off of the lawn, and David is put to bed under Mr. Dick's sound advice, and I am hooked.

Now is the time in my life to read David Copperfield. Now is the time in my life where reading a chapter of such a long and formally-written book is a respite and not a chore. My intellect is challenged, and my need for quiet and still and uninterruption is met. Surprisingly, the book that I gave up on over a year ago is my sanctuary today. A good lesson to extrapolate, I think.