Housecleaning. Your house will look the same whether you pick up toys twelve times a day or just once after the kid has gone to bed; save yourself the trouble unless someone you need to impress a guest. Who wants to nag a kid about cleaning up all the time? Easier to do it yourself later. (In her book, Naomi Aldort advocates modeling cleanliness, talking about it as one of your values, and children will eventually feel interested in joining you.) Sure, I clean the kitchen every morning, but that’s something I do for me. On the other hand, we sweep and mop the floor a lot around here because my kid thinks its fun. One kid with a brush and a bucket of sudsy water means that Lazy Mom gets to read a magazine while the girl has a blast Snow White style.

Free-Range Parenting. This is the ult in laziness. As long as I can see my child, it’s fine (and at home, audio range suffices). I give her as much space as possible to explore and play. Is this support of her cognitive development which also fosters independence, or an opportunity to nip off and check Facebook? You decide. When out in public, who wants to follow a kid all over the playground, or wear out one’s voice yelling at her to “come back here?” I’d rather sit on a bench and only get up if she’s out of sight or needing help. She has much younger legs and I’m in view; she can come find me. Maybe Lazy Mom can read a book while she’s playing.

Why Have that Fight? So she wants to swing on her stomach; take off her shoes to walk across a gravely patch; move rocks outside the restaurant from one decorative bed to another; stack sugar packets; eat food with the wrong utensil; wear her shoes on the wrong feet; or mix salt into her drink. Some moms might be all over that shit with a correction or a lecture. But Lazy Mom lets it roll. The kid will put her shoes on if the rocks hurt; some other kids will move the rocks around again tomorrow; as long as I put the sugar packets back there’s no harm in it; she’ll either learn more dexterity using a spoon with noodles or she’ll give up; and she won’t drink salty water if she doesn’t like it (and a little salt won’t hurt).

Cave on the chocolate. She gets to have two pieces of milk chocolate every day. Sometimes three if I don’t feel like dealing with whining. The occasion must be teatime, which remains after nap despite her efforts to instigate it at all times of day, but she knows I won’t budge on that. I’d rather not fight about sweets, so chocolate is just a part of our lives. Lazy Mom doesn’t buy junk food and thus doesn’t have to fight with the kid about eating it. Having a regular chocolate infusion means less pandering for sweets overall, so Lazy Mom gets to keep some peace of mind. And eat chocolate, too.

Hug a whiner. When the kid is whining, obviously wanting my attention and really can’t wait for me to finish the grocery list, I have a choice. I could get bitchy and vent my frustration. I could argue with her about how I need five more minutes. I could yell at her, resulting in a much less lazy afternoon for us because a stressed-out kid is no fun. Instead of wasting energy getting all het up, I scoop her up for a big hug. My girl feels like she got some attention, I got a snuggle, and nobody had to waste all that energy in a wrangle. Lazy Mom can move on to other things, like playing with her phone.

Relaxed pottying. Oh man, I am super lazy about potty stuff. We do cloth diapers, but I rarely use diaper covers with them because it’s too much work. So I end up changing my daughter more often because I can tell instantly when she’s wet. Thus, she’s never had a diaper rash. (Laziness win!) Even washing the diapers and the DIY baby wipes is a lazy thing, because I don’t ever have to run to the store for more. I have a washer in my house and the kid likes to put things in the dryer, so it’s a snap. And potty training is the ultimate lazy, because then she can run around without pants on and I don’t have to change her at all. It’s easier to wipe up a puddle of pee than change a wet diaper. We don’t fight about the toilet timing, either. Sure, we talk about it, but I don’t force her to sit on the potty every two hours or whatever. She’ll do it when she’s ready, and Lazy Mom would rather do some yoga every two hours instead.

Ditto bedsharing and weaning. Breastfeeding on demand and bedsharing: both super lazy. For years I just rolled over when the baby needed to eat at night. There’s no worrying about whether my toddler is asleep, having nightmares, or about that strange noise she made in the middle of the night because she’s right there and I don’t have to get up to check. Baby-led weaning and transitioning to a separate bed on her own timeline are also super-convenient. Why not make the kid do all the work and take these milestones at her own pace? Lazy Mom would rather sleep.

Minimal babyproofing. Babyproofing is so much work. After establishing the obvious things (baby gates on stairs, sharp/harmful objects out of reach), Lazy Mom would rather stay in the room with her child (and maybe a magazine) than have to worry about what trouble the kid might be getting into. Tidying up to make sure that inappropriate objects are out of sight: also good for Lazy Mom because then I don’t have to feel oppressed and stressed out by clutter. (Babyproofing with beanbags: definitely lazy.)

Talk less, validate more. Oh, it’s super tedious to jump in with an explanation every time. And Lazy Mom gets bored doing most of the talking. Asking questions expends much less energy, and the answers can be quite entertaining. You’ll get the most bang for your buck with phrases like,  ”what do you think” and “tell me about it.” As for validating, it meets the Lazy Mom criteria for minimal effort bringing maximum outcome. Sure, you have to use your brain to figure out the core of the issue, but that’s a fun challenge. Validating a kid’s feelings defuses tantrums, increases the feeling of trust in the relationship, and teaches a child both how to recognize feelings and cope with them. This means less work for Lazy Mom in the long run.

Offer choices and encourage problem-solving. Lazy Mom doesn’t want to have to decide! And a kid who feels some sense of agency in her life is easier to be around. Not to mention, one of my favorite fights to avoid is the one where my daughter really wanted milk in the green cup and I didn’t ask which cup she wanted. Lazy Mom can save herself 15 minutes of tantrum on that one just by offering a choice. As to problem-solving, why do I have to be the only one trying to come up with solutions? Work shared means more lazy time for everyone!

Fortunately, my laziness is backed up by smart people like Carrie Contey, as she describes in this video about understanding toddlers in new ways. Or John and Myla Kabat-Zinn in Mindful Parenting, and Alfie Kohn’s unconditional parenting. Or perhaps the word I want is laissez-faire, without all the French Revolution connotations (see Wikipedia for more). Creating a harmonious system based on attention, respect, and the prioritization of freedom and curiosity means happiness for everyone. A “yes environment” means less stress and strife, making more time for Lazy Mom to kick her feet up.

While I feel certain that our family needs to get up to the farm, I’m not nearly as certain that we’re ready to make the investment in a permanent home. The project has tripled in cost since we had the idea. I find it worth the cost, since the project we’ve outlined will result in a complete house, nicely insulated, perfectly shaped, reasonably priced, and modestly sized. However, I don’t think its moment has yet come. Our “simple, quick and temporary” housing solution has fallen victim to severe scope creep. We continue to need an interim solution that will work in our intense climate. (Additionally, our landlord has made noises about selling the house we currently rent. I really don’t want to sign another lease somewhere.)

Fortunately, we had another brainstorm. An RV functions as a moveable house, and it requires no construction. Bathrooms come standard, as do appliances, airconditioning, and interior walls. All we have to do is park it next to the farmhouse, tie it in to power and water, and boom, we’re done: access to the grandparents, nature, and cheap living with none of the wait time. Most importantly, it allows us a trial run. Out of all the concerns I had, the lack of ability to really test out living on the farm before making a leap that would cost us tens of thousands of dollars loomed the largest.

springtime

(Amusingly enough, I have a vague memory that we started this move-to-the-country plan with an RV in mind, but we both thought “WAY TOO SMALL!” and moved on to the yurt idea. Then we spent five months imagining getting rid of our stuff and living in a small house. So when my dad put forth the idea recently, suddenly it seemed like the perfect solution. Obviously we’ve had some perceptual shifts.)

This way, we can evaluate farm living. My daughter can have afternoons in the pasture, time in the workshop with her grandfather and tea parties with her grandmother. We will live frugally. If it turns out that we dislike rural life, or that the trade-offs don’t balance, then we haven’t eaten a chunk of my parents’ pasture with our house. I have no doubts we can resell an RV, or perhaps leave it as guest quarters. If we do like it, then we can live on site while constructing the yurt.

I feel rather nervous about paring down most of my stuff, and I will probably end up storing more of it than I might do otherwise because I’m viewing the RV as temporary. Its main purpose is to allow us to take immediate action. I’ve done some research on both full-time RVing, and on living in tiny houses smaller than 500 square feet, and I don’t think I’m that hardcore. However, I can live in a teeny space for a couple of years (I hope), especially if a year abroad in Ireland, a sabbatical for my husband, or building my dream house is my reward at the end of the experiment.

Turns out, I can look at a drawing — even a rough one, provided someone is narrating what all the lines mean — and visualize the information it’s trying to convey. I can even get a clear picture from a quick model made from a coffee cup, fork, saltshaker and sugar packets. My husband, on the other hand, sees only strange lines and circles. I’ve been trying to explain my ideas to him with a series of not-to-scale but theoretically informative sketches, with no idea that to his perception I kept reiterating hieroglyphics. His frustration and incomprehension read to me as dislike of my ideas, whereas my confusing methods of explanation made him feel both stupid and annoyed. It took us a while to figure this out, of course, and because it was an invisible misunderstanding we both got our feelings hurt in the process.

After a long conversation about this we developed some coping and translation strategies. One, one of us will learn some software (Google SketchUp; Auto-Cad; something else?) so that we can express our ideas in accurate pictures. We’ll need this when it comes time to decide on furniture placement: with only 930 square feet to work with, that plan must be exact. Two, my roommate is an artist, so we can have him do some of the drawings. Three, my husband usually understands things if my dad explains them, so sometimes my dad can function as a translator. And four, we’re working with to-scale, real-world, real-space models as much as possible.

To that end, we laid out a possible floor plan in chalk on our driveway. We stood in the space we had allotted for our bedroom and tried to imagine our furniture in it. We moved lines around and tried different configurations. The model in the driveway worked great for my husband. He said he finally understood all of my little drawings. That model was actually harder for me. I had trouble mentally erasing the edges of the driveway in order to visualize the circle shape. I also failed to delete random outdoor objects like garbage cans, grill, patio furniture, and basketball hoops, so I didn’t perceive the space clearly.

This interests me: I can estimate inches accurately, and can look into a room and know where our furniture will fit. But when the guys start talking about 14 feet by 15 feet, I have no idea what that looks like. I’ve started measuring rooms in my house (or asking my dad the measurements of rooms in the house where I grew up) so that I can pair my experience or memory of a real-world space with the numbers being tossed around. “The size of the living room at the old house” is more useful to me than “10×15,” at least until I can internalize the correlation of feet to spaces.

Maybe by the end of this project I will have developed a more accurate spatial awareness of large measurements. Certainly it’s causing improved communication with all members involved (but most especially with my husband), lessons in how best to do projects as a team, and introspection into our values. May the growth and learning of this project continue to occur in these lovely and unexpected ways!

When I first jotted down notes for this post, I’d planned it to be a rah-rah kind of thing. Many people move their kid to their own bed or room early on, and I wanted to talk about my experience of not having done so. However, in the last three weeks my daughter has essentially moved herself out of my bed.

We made her a nest from two mattress toppers and placed it on the floor at the foot of our bed. It’s got her lovies in it, a pee-pad, and a kid-sized blanket. (She’s started showing a preference for certain lovies and blankets, so I guess it’s all of a developmental piece.) Her box of bedtime stories has always included a great book about sleeping alone. We began having her naps in the nest. One night she told me that she wanted to sleep in it. I asked her if she wanted to do it alone, and she said, “No, with Mama.” And so we started the process.

I slept the whole night with her for about two weeks. Then I started getting up to sleep in my bed, and returning to her whenever I heard her roll over or talk in her sleep. This meant I slept about half the night in each place. Finally, I started waiting what felt like an excruciatingly long time before getting up to check on her — or not getting up at all — and 90% of the time she put herself back to sleep. On rough nights I’m up and down all night, or I just sleep with her because I’m too tired to get up, but we’ve had more than one night where she went seven hours without waking fully and needing me. (And yes, on those nights I did have to get up and make sure she still breathed. I’ve gotten up early on a number of occasions because I’m so shocked that she’s still asleep that I’m convinced something terrible has happened, and it’s impossible to sleep feeling that adrenalized.)

We’re all still adjusting. Some nights I wake every two hours. I’m not sure if I’m sleeping so lightly that I hear her roll over, or I’m just used to waking frequently. We’re still very attuned. My husband has observed that our bodies seem to be synchronized: I sigh and she sighs; she rolls over and I roll over, even though we’re in separate beds. Some nights I sleep for a long chunk of time. Some mornings she wakes up and crawls in bed with us. I’ve told her that she can crawl into our bed if the sun is up; we’ll see how that holds up in future months.

I thought I would miss her in my bed more than I do. I do miss her, don’t get me wrong, but it isn’t a deep pain. This lets me know that we did it at the right time. I finally cared more about sleeping comfortably than sleeping next to her, so I don’t feel much regret or withdrawal. She seemed ready, so I know it was her choice. Her dad was more than ready, and he’s happier, too. I don’t know how long she’ll be in our room, but probably longer than I think and simultaneously not quite long enough.

Now when I look back on that girl she seems very far away. Adulthood — and certainly parenthood — has changed me significantly. I think the changes have mostly been for the better:  I have more patience; I can sustain open and focused attention; I listen better; I have better systems of organization and ways to address practical matters. I developed these strengths through the crucible of practice, maturity, and parenthood.

Some traits that have come to the fore would seem alien to my younger self: I share much less about my life; I get easily overstimulated; and I feel unwilling to deal with folks whose drama-laden lives bring stress into my life. I’m quieter, more serious, more reserved, and less forgiving. I still know tons of people. However, it’s my close friends that get the intimate details of my life, and I can count those people on both hands. I can’t say whether these things are strengths or not.

I know and love more than a few introverts — including my husband and (probably) my daughter — so any discomfort I have with the idea that I might be one comes solely because I never thought of myself as one, not because I think there’s anything wrong with introversion. I’m actually rather fascinated that I could change so much. As a younger person, I came up fairly consistently as an ENTP on the Meyers-Briggs test. Now I’m an INFP or occasionally INFJ, depending on my mood. I don’t think this is solely because of the pressures of motherhood.

So this article about introverted mama Molly that turned up recently on Patheos’ Pagan Families site really resonated with me. I love that she calls herself an “ambivert.” I think that I’m one, too, because I definitely vacillate between craving social interaction and alone time. It’s common to define introversion and extroversion based on whether social contact energizes you or not. Some introverts I know dread socialization, and some extroverts can’t live without it. For me it’s not so clear. Like Molly, I love going out to see people, but afterwards I need recharge time. And since I’m also an HSP, sometimes the effort required to psych myself up for a large social gathering is too great. The exhaustion of parenthood also plays a significant role: nothing seems possible when I’m at my most tired.

I like that Molly recognizes that being surrounded by children (and I only have the one) can be draining. I love my daughter deeply, and yet some days being “on” all day uses all my reserves. I live with two very intense people (my daughter and my husband are a lot alike), and I definitely have moments where I want to R-U-N-N-O-F-T.

It turns out that I need time to be alone, in a place where I’m not tempted to fill the time doing chores or faffing about on the Internet. I most often find this in the car. I relish running errands alone. I am able to think while my hands and monkey mind are comfortably occupied with driving. I can listen to new music (something I find too stimulating if my kid is also playing loudly in the area). I can relax.

All of this means that I really want to read Susan Cain‘s book now.

an east view

I wouldn’t have thought that choosing a site for our yurt would be so difficult. I know that this whole adventure is a process, with ideas and details that will morph and change often; however, I still figured that it would only take an afternoon to pick the right site. Well, I’ve walked the land on three separate afternoons and we still haven’t gotten it completely decided.

When we began we knew that the fabric yurt that we originally had in mind would have to be in the shadiest spot on the property, located rather unfortunately right behind my parents’ house. That spot would also provide the cheapest utility hookup. I had some concerns about privacy and being too close to both the road and the farmhouse; we would literally be in their backyard. We would not have a lot of psychic space. I wasn’t sure how important this was to me, since we’d have access to the whole property, but my husband expressed some concerns. He’s an introvert, and he worried that he would feel stressed living so close to another house. “We’re moving to the country,” he pointed out, “so why live as close to our neighbors as we do here in the suburbs?”

When we decided to go for the frame yurt we worried about building permits. I wondered if we could classify the yurt as an “addition” or a “home office” to get around permitting issues. Turns out, if we connected the yurt to the house with a roofed walkway it wouldn’t even be sneaky; it would be considered a legitimate addition. We’d be able to push a little farther back, but we’d still have to build pretty close to the house. We also had to figure out where to put an addition if our housemate decided to stay for the long term, or my brother decided to join in the project.

Then I realized something that changed the whole situation: if we factored in the square footage of the additions we’d probably be building for our roommates — even if we didn’t construct them right away —  the structure would qualify as a house according to the deed restrictions. Suddenly our project would be considered another house on the property, and that meant that we could site it anywhere. (It also meant that instead of the paradigm I’d been living in where we engaged in the “simple” process of “popping up” a “temporary” structure on the property, we were considering building a house. OMG.)

Hence the multiple trips out to the pasture. My dad and I, orange flags and rope in hand, walked and measured out site after site. We do want our house to be a bit concealed from the road, since its architecture will be unusual for the conservative county where it will reside, so the west side of the property felt too exposed.  A spot behind the farmhouse (this one a more comfortable distance back) had too much road noise. To the east side of the property we had to work around the only two trees in the pasture, as well as deciding if we’re comfortable being near the neighbors. That area feels more sheltered, though, and quieter, so east it is. Should we build south towards the stable, or towards the north end of the property? I think that will be decided by money: the cost of installing utilities varies depending on the distance the pipe/wire must travel from the road.

At this point, all interested parties have gathered and walked the pasture together and we’re down to only one flagged circle. It will probably move six to eight feet north or south, depending on which design we pick for the potential addition, but at least we’ve got it narrowed down. So many things about this project remain up in the air; it will be nice to have the site decided. I’d like to sit out there at sunset and see what the view will be like from my back porch.

Enter the frame yurt. It’s got the same round shape that I love, but the walls are made of wood panels that make the circle. One of our top contenders has 27 panels. (The internet tells me that it’s called a “triple-nonagonal,” or an “icosakaiheptagon,” or just a “27-gon.”) We’re considering one from Deltec homes or, more likely, one from Smiling Wood Yurts which might look something like this. I guess it’s not a true circle; it’s only a cousin to the original Mongolian ger. It will have the same lovely and appealing round shape on the inside regardless.

(Wood makes for some excellent yurtporn, btw: check out these made by Mandala, or these lovelies by California Yurts. Oregon Yurtworks has ceased operations but theirs look like exactly what I want.)

I long for this view.

The primary advantage to having wooden walls is that we can insulate the heck out of it. We will add soundproofing, too. We’ll have to build out the whole inside ourselves, which I find both intimidating and exciting. Fortunately my dad has experience: he built a thousand square foot addition (albeit a square one) onto the house I grew up in. Other menfolk in my life have carpentry experience as well, and I have the Internet, so I’m not afraid! If we have enough skilled people involved we can do some neat customizations on the inside, like floor-to-ceiling bookcases, built-in cabinets, display alcoves, and reading nooks. We also plan to add a loft. Fortunately, a wooden structure like this sometimes qualifies for a home-builder loan; we’re going to need that financing.

The key questions I needed answered were: how much does it cost to build; how hard is it to build; and what does it look like on the inside? To get the answers, I had to order the plans from the Yurt Foundation. I didn’t mind making the $50 outlay, even if we decided not to use the plans, because after reading A Handmade Life I respect Coperthwaite, his work, and his vision. I didn’t mind paying for something that would support his foundation.

It took me a month to get the plans. Waiting for my plans reminded me of those days before the Internet, when things took as long as they take — do you remember that? I am truly a product of our information age, because it was agonizing not to be able to fire off an e-mail or make an instant PayPal purchase. At last, the plans arrived, and we read them, questioned them, digested them, and read them again. I had more questions, but fortunately there’s a Yurt Workshop expert living in my area, and he does have an e-mail account, so I was able to ask him. He’s willing to meet and look at pictures while talking over the project, and I’m so grateful for that invitation. It reminds me that the world really is mostly full of nice people.

That said, we’re not going to build the tapered wall yurt. I love the idea of building our home from scratch. I love the exterior design of the yurt Coperthwaite built in Maine. The cost is reasonable — about the same as some of the other things we’ve considered — but my dad doesn’t want the task of cutting all the parts himself. (I can’t blame him; he’s in his 60s, and it would definitely be him behind the table saw.) The most important mark against the tapered wall yurt, however, is purely personal: the interior of this design does not look how I want our interior to look. The concentric rings divide up the space. The large round room is what I want most, and these plans don’t have it the same way as other yurts I’ve seen: most yurts have the round skylight view in the living space with the bedrooms enclosed away; this yurt has the skylight view in the more private inner chamber and the living room is a more narrow, round hallway. It’s a ring, with an obstruction in the center rather than an open view.

A concentric yurt is not off the table, since we will probably build a second yurt for additional interested parties later, and our housemate really likes the look of the ringed interior. I can also imagine building a tapered wall yurt like this one for a meditation space or playhouse for our daughter. For now, however, it seems decided that we’re going to start with a pre-fab frame yurt kit.

Our dreaming began with the fabric yurt. Based on how much we’re currently paying in rent, we figured that we could pay off the loan required for a 15′ fabric yurt plus deck, plumbing, electricity, and an interior enclosure for the bathroom/bedroom — these can get pretty posh! —  in two to three years. We’d have 720 square feet to live in (eep), and would theoretically be able to move the yurt if we bought our own property. (Or, more likely, my parents would buy it from us and have a guest house/office; there’s nowhere to sleep when the whole family gathers for the holidays.) Our long-term housemate could buy his own yurt, which would be both smaller and cheaper, and pop it up alongside.

We started running into problems with this plan almost right away. Fabric yurts will keep you snug in a cold environment (designed in Mongolia, remember?) but they don’t do nearly so well in a warm one. Even if I wanted to disbelieve this statement, despite its prevalence in all my research materials, I spent my honeymoon in the wonderful Tree House Yurt at Rainbow Hearth and thus had actual experience to draw upon.  The Tree House Yurt rests under a thick canopy of deep shade, and felt quite pleasant during the spring weekend we spent there. There is no deep shade on my parents’ property. Living in a beefed-up tent situated in direct sunlight during a Texas summer seemed likely to be unbearable.

Another problem arose when we considered the deed restrictions. The property can only have certain kinds and sizes of structures on it. Probably we could have called the yurt an “outbuilding” and it would have been fine, but what if one of the neighbors complained about the round eyesore? A fabric yurt is pretty obviously a fabric yurt, and the houses to either side of my parents are country mansions (the farmhouse on my parents section got grandfathered in).

The prevalence of an issue in multiple FAQs always gives me pause, and every FAQ I came across touched on the potential difficulties of acquiring financing for a fabric yurt. It’s apparently one of the largest hurdles in the process. Since the yurt’s exterior is made of vinyl its usually considered a semi-permanent structure, and banks often refuse to grant loans for them. Fabric yurts don’t always qualify for homeowner’s insurance, either. We must finance at least part of the project, so I worried a great deal about how to get together the money.

After considering all of these issues I began to feel dismayed about the hurdles to be overcome. I wasn’t ready to give up on my round house, but I began to think that we needed to take another approach.

Go in the Autumn or Winter. Fares are cheaper, lodgings offer off-season prices, and nothing is crowded. We visited lots of sacred sites and touristy things and we saw very few people. We felt unhurried. We could spread out. We had time to set up the perfect photographs. Our child felt relaxed and thus had excellent behavior. She could run around and act like a child without annoying anyone. As a side benefit, if you’re from a part of the world that doesn’t have much of a winter to speak of, it’s a real treat to experience one.

Get up earlier. Everything takes longer with a toddler (once it took nearly two hours to leave the house), and jet lag can cause some crazy nights. And if you go in Fall or Winter, the sun sets early. Getting up at 11 and having a leisurely brunch meant we’d already lost half the day. Fortunately, in Winter the sun doesn’t rise until about 8am, so you can still sleep in a bit.

Do mostly outdoor activities. This is a standard piece of advice for traveling with kids, but it’s worth mentioning because it’s so easy to do in Ireland. Everything is green and gorgeous! We investigated standing stones and circles, hiked through forests, explored two castles and a fort, walked down country lanes, strolled through a seaside city, and played in our hosts’ garden. Cities are walkable here, and there’s a lot to enjoy for free.

Find the stories of the land. You don’t have to overdo the research — heck, it’s impossible to do much reading with a small child underfoot all day — but it helps to know just a little bit about the sites you plan on visiting. That way you can talk about it, or make up a bit of a story for your wee tourist that’s true to the spirit of the place. Listen to her stories, too: her theories about the land and her favorite parts of the landscape will fascinate you.

Take the train.We were inclined towards this anyway, what with being terrified of driving on the wrong side of the road and all, but our daughter found it a delightful treat. She’d go anywhere if she got a train ride out of it. Plus, sometimes the motion of the train put her to sleep, enabling her parents to have an uninterrupted conversation. And there’s no ugly scenery in Ireland!

Take your child to the pub. Everyone takes kids to the pub. During one mid-afternoon stop for a snack we saw some junior high boys doing their homework while their mom tended bar. For a great time, find a pub with a band playing “trad” (traditional Irish music) and then you’ll see whole families there — from baby to grandpa — dancing, drinking, and laughing. My daughter danced near some other little girls and loved the music. Pubs offer blackcurrant cordial for minors so that they can have a pretty drink in a glass while their parents enjoy some pints. One caveat: you’ll have to go before 7:00pm, as neither pubs nor restaurants like kids to be present during the adult hours.

Make the most of the natural human friendliness towards small children. The Irish reputation for warmth and kindness is deserved; still, I think that we received unsolicited offers of help, useful advice, and recommendations from the locals at least partially because we had our daughter along. (We displayed good manners, of course, but I’m convinced that her presence kept anyone from thinking we were Ugly Americans.) Not to mention all the smiles sent my daughter’s way. And, unlike on American playgrounds, no-one acted surprised to see my child holding back and checking things out before engaging.

Other notes:

• Prepare to die of cute when your kid says trousers, sitting room, wellies, biscuits, crisps, rubbish bin, pint, and other Irish-English words. Be prepared for her to refuse to relinquish some of those words when she returns home (it may forever be a rubbish bin in my house, especially since her uncle is from the UK).
• The 1 cent Euro coins are the perfect size for tiny hands. Our daughter always wanted one to play with, and giving her a handful could keep her entertained at a restaurant.
• Public bathrooms in Ireland are unheated. Make sure you always have a changing pad (and perhaps a blanket) along in case you are required to do a change on a cold counter or floor. You can take the chill from wipes by cupping them between your hands and exhaling warm air on them, or by heating them under the air-dryer.

People said that our child would forever complain that we took her to Ireland when she was too little to remember it, to which I replied: “We’ll take her again when she can remember.” However, I think our friends are wrong. I think that the deepest part of her will remember. Her dreaming self and her imagination absorbed the energies, saw the green hills, spoke to the birds, and felt the kiss of the cold wind. She’ll have the experience as a part of her forever.

Ok, yes, I had some anxiety about the endeavor, even though we had every advantage: we stayed with family and had access to a house, a car (with driver!) and a native guide. That didn’t keep me from fretting about the kinds of problems we might experience: the plane voyage, bringing the right stuff, and kid-wrangling. However, it turns out that while an international adventure with a toddler is not for the faint of heart, it can be wonderful. This post encapsulates the things I learned that I feel might be the most useful to other parents considering such a venture.

Pack as little as possible. Provided you have access to laundry facilities, it’s better to wash clothes than to bring too many. In addition to whatever toiletries and personal items you might require, my native guide recommended the following clothing for a three-week stay: 3 bottoms; 2 undershirts (something tight and long-sleeved, like a sports shirt or thermal); 2 overshirts (flannel button-up shirt or pullover sweater); one set of nightwear plus slippers (Irish houses can have drafts); 3 pairs of socks and undies (I brought 5); rain pants and waterproof shoes (crucial for anywhere rural); and winter wear*. She recommended that we think mix-and-match, bringing versatile, co-ordinated items.

A child needs the same clothes, plus those items not found in homes without kids: diapers; sippy cups and utensils; pacifier/bottle; baby carrier; baby monitors; art supplies; a few books and toys. (If you intend to bring electronics you will need a voltage converter, and unless your baby monitors use batteries you will require two converters to run them!) You can buy these things once in the country, of course — their wellies are superior to what I could by at home, for example — but then you have to remember to leave room to pack them in your suitcase on the return trip. (Which reminds me, bring an extra carryon for whatever shopping you might do, and be prepared to have to mail some items home.)

*Ireland is cold, wet and windy. We went in November, but even if you go in the springtime you must account for cool temperatures, wet days, and the wind. I longed to sweep through the meadows in my dramatic, flowing wool cloak, but it’s neither waterproof nor windproof. When we got there, everyone we saw wore outerlayers made of synthetic materials, so do as the locals do. For winter visits you’ll want a fleece layer under a water/windproof layer, plus a scarf, hat, and gloves. Oh, and if you intend to wear your silly hat, make sure that you kid is wearing hers that matches yours, or people really give you Looks. (I ended up buying a more conservative/stylish hat.)

Doing laundry is more complicated than you think.  Most homes in Ireland do not have dryers. Perhaps hotels do, but if your lodging is in a house of any sort then you’ll probably use the clothesline outside. In winter, or rainy weather (which is frequent), clothes won’t dry unless they hang inside by the radiator. This means a couple of things. One, your clothes might take 12-24 hours to dry. Two, if someone else in the house has just done laundry, you will not have room to hang your clothes. Ergo, you will have to consider when you need things to be clean, and co-ordinate the use of the drying area.

We do cloth diapering at home, but I’m glad we chose to use disposables for our trip. It would have been impossible to manage the washing. Also, it was lovely to be able to dress the kid in whatever clothes I wanted, and to be able to bundle her up without worrying about leaks. I very much enjoyed my cloth-diapering vacation, and we didn’t have much trouble transitioning her away from the disposables (even though she loved them) because we could tell her that they were only for when we were in Ireland.

So is bathing. Getting hot water for bathing is quite a big deal, as this comedy routine  and this blog post can attest. Our normal routine of bath-story-bed proved impossible. My hosts had a flash heater for the shower, thank goodness, but even so it was too cold to want to bathe every day. Be prepared to be flexible on this issue.

Don’t worry about the food. Despite my desire to investigate the artisan foods chronicled so deliciously in The Country Cooking of Ireland, we mostly ate at normal restaurants and pubs. The Irish cuisine we had was fine but not spectacular (with the exception of fish pie, which I recommend). The quality of ingredients available, however, is fantastic! If you have the ability to cook for yourself you can hit the farmer’s market and enjoy wonderful fresh veg, butter, milk, organic grass-fed meats, free-range eggs, and artisan breads. Even the quality of the food at the grocery store is good, and they will have familiar things in packages, though perhaps not in flavors you recognize (Ella’s Kitchen in fish pie, lamb stew, and thai curry, for example). Restaurants offer plenty of good choices for kids (not that she would touch them; she subsisted primarily on fruit purees, chips, yogurt, and chocolate biscuits). We could get our daughter an appropriately cooled hot cocoa or a cup of tea everywhere.

More to follow in part two.

The Polar Express was too scary for her — the action sequences really stressed her out (me too, actually). She tried to watch Ice Age at a friend’s house and came to get me in the first five minutes, telling me it was too scary. The original animated Alice in Wonderland was mostly ok, but she definitely disliked a number of parts. I don’t really like that movie much anyway, so I’m fine with that. Studio Ghibli can only take me so far; I haven’t seen all of Miyazaki’s work, but Nausicaa, Spirited Away, Princess Mononoke, and Laputa are definitely too scary. (She made it through Porco Rosso, but probably because she didn’t understand what was happening and she likes airplanes.)

She likes the Aristocats, provided I fast forward through the more intense action sequences of the dog parts. She loved the end of Close Encounters but it’s a much more stressful movie than I thought, and it required a lot of pauses for explanation and checking in. She likes Star Trek: The Next Gen, provided it’s an episode with no phaser battles or fights (the first time she saw Worf hit an enemy she was very upset, doubly so when a possessed Deanna Troi attacked Worf.) Documentaries usually work, especially ones about space of animals.

So we’re left with Totoro, Kiki, Ponyo, Shaun the Sheep (only at her grandparents’ house, and boy will it be a sad day when she figures out that Netflix works the same at anyone’s house — right now she accepts “we don’t have that movie”), Sesame Street, Fraggle Rock, and selected YouTube dance/music videos. On my list to try: Howl’s Moving Castle, Mary Poppins, the Mary Martin Peter Pan, and the Sword in the Stone. Any suggestions?

the back of the pasture on a winter afternoon

It began with a stray thought, mentioned in passing over tea one afternoon. And then the idea caught fire in our minds, enlivening our days and fueling our dreams (and web searches) for weeks, until we had another — much more focused and intentional — conversation. By the end of the day it was decided: we would build a yurt on the back of my parents’ property and move to the country.

It took a decade for this idea to dare to show its face. When my parents bought their 3 acres in rural Texas, an hour outside of the hip, happening, liberal city where I still lived, I thought they were crazy. My mom said she’d always wanted a farm, but this was the first I’d heard of it. They left their home of 30 years in favor of a falling-down, 100 year-old farmhouse in a conservative part of the state. I rented my childhood home from them and daydreamed about buying it. When real estate prices skyrocketed in the city I joked that the only way people my age could afford to buy in my zip code was to be born there. My smugness vanished when my parents sold the city house to pay off the farm.

I grieved the loss of my childhood home. I ignored the fact I couldn’t afford it; my parents couldn’t afford the taxes on it; and no-one could afford to repair it. I hated the farm, its distance from proper civilization (read: the large metro area), and its dirty, lopsided, cramped little house. My parents bought horses, chickens, goats and ducks. They started growing some food. My mom planted a dozen different kinds of roses. They were having a blast. I still thought they were crazy.

Slowly, I got over it. I built some nice memories during holidays and visits. My parents improved the property. My mom bribed me with fresh-laid eggs every time I came to visit. Owning the property outright meant that my dad could retire; he developed a sudden (and completely adorable) interest in video games. My mom told me how she’d loved summers at her grandfather’s farm, and I began to understand why she’d wanted her own small acreage. My parents seemed happier than I’d ever seen them.

Still, I don’t think this idea would have gained any traction if I hadn’t had a baby. In her infancy I retreated to the farm a couple of times a month so my mother could tag in on the baby-watching and also mother me a little bit. When my husband switched from night shift to day shift I spent nearly a week in my parents’ spare room so that he could sleep deeply at home. Once my kid could walk and talk she clearly expressed her adoration for every fascinating inch of the property and all its animals. She views it as a paradise of adventure and exploration. The farm became a playground for her and a sanctuary for me (though I still think it needs more trees). I began to relish time spent away from the city, the relaxed pace, and the quieter land. Plus sometimes my mom would cook me dinner.

I entered a transitional period. The kid was a toddler and taking all of my attention. I felt disconnected from my former life, hobbies, and friends. I had to decide what I wanted to be now that I’d grown up. Everything in my life was up in the air. Was it time to pick a school district and buy a house in the suburbs? Was it time to follow the isolation to its extreme and spend a year or two living abroad? Should I make new friends? Should I try to reconnect with the old ones? Should we move to Portland? Should I go back to school? Should we buy land by a forest/lake/seashore? My husband and I discussed it for months, choosing one direction or another. And then that sneaky little idea poked its head out: why not live at the farm?

Which unfolded into, why not: have access to the family you love; give your kid exposure to more green space; enjoy a slower pace of living; be forced to reduce all of your crap in order to live in a tiny house; save money by building a tiny house; have an on-site babysitter; have the freedom and money to travel; need less = work less; be able to follow your dreams?

Dozens of exploratory questions and conversations later, we’ve narrowed down the possibilities and brought ourselves to a concrete  point. It is our intention to build an enormous deck, construct a 36′ frame yurt on it, and make the move by the end of the year.

“A yurt, really? Whoa.”
“Can I eat it?”

*(Some of my favorite moments as an adult watcher: a moment where Sosuke’s mom sings that she’s feeling better and she’s singing the first line of the Totoro theme song; the scene where Ponyo drinks tea with honey for the first time and then has ramen, thus giving me a lever to turn my kid onto eating noodles (I even bought her a special noodle bowl); and all of the scenes involving ocean magic, which have beautiful colors and visuals.)

I think that Miyazaki is brilliant, full stop; here’s a comic illustrating one of the reasons I trust him with the psyche of my toddler. Ponyo is a typical Miyazaki story, with heros who make mistakes and characters who exist in grey areas. These provide excellent teachable moments for my child.

For example, I appreciate the complexity of Ponyo’s dad. He’s characterized in a throwaway line as an “evil wizard,” but really he’s just got different priorities than humans do. He wants to return the ocean to its primordial state, thus wiping out the humans that he finds disgusting. He’s right to believe that humans are gross: he sees our pollution and environmental destruction first-hand. He’s an advocate for the ocean. The magic he’s shown performing there, and his underwater stewardship, is admirable. He wants to make the ocean healthy and beautiful again, and I can support that.

My daughter identifies him as a daddy (commenting that he has long hair just like her dad, lol), and has accepted my explanation that he wants to keep Ponyo with him as a fish because he loves her. It’s a nice illustration of the challenges of parenthood: we want to keep our kids innocent and safe with us, even though they often decide they want to leave the ocean to become humans. Parents have to let go, and it’s good for us to have the conversation early about how that can be complicated and cause strong feelings on both sides. (The English dub falls down on the job in this respect, which means that we never watch it in English: the voice-over includes a line not present in the Japanese where Ponyo says to Sosuke, “I hate my dad!” Typical American over-simplification.) Ponyo’s dad comes around, and even accepts that humans can be okay.

My daughter calles Ponyo’s mom “Ocean Mama!” and will return her attention to the screen whenever She appears. The character of the ocean goddess has opened up some conversations about how beautiful the ocean is, how life originated in its waters, how the womb is like an ocean, and some musings on the nature of mothers and the universe. The character of an all-mother ocean creatrix is a great one to have in my kid’s psyche.

There’s a lot to learn from Ponyo’s arc, also. Like Mei in Totoro, Ponyo has the morals and impulses of a small child (she’s supposed to be 5). She decides she wants to be human and nearly destroys the world by following her desire, throwing magic around haphazardly with little attention to the results. This has led to some good talks about choices, asking permission, appropriate adventures, and not ever running away without talking to a parent.

My daughter shares adorable thoughts that have been inspired by the movie, such as flopping down with exhaustion and saying, “I tired. I did too much magic.” She carries a bucket around with a pretend Ponyo fish in it. She likes to pretend that she’s floating in bubbles. She says that she’s a sister. She plays boats and Ocean Mama in the bathtub. More importantly, I think she’s hearing the deeper messages, cautionary and empowering both, that run through the movie. It’s the kind of fiction I want her to internalize.

You get an extra checked and carryon bag with the price of the toddler ticket, so it’s difficult not to overpack, but here is the most crucial piece of advice I have for you: bring as little as possible, both on the plane and in your luggage. On an international flight you will be lugging your belongings all over multiple airports, through security multiple times (up to four times if you don’t have a direct flight), and tucking all that stuff into small areas on various planes.

I kept it to a minimum, but made sure to have something new for each set of flights. In other words, on the way to Ireland she had a new book, coloring book, set of crayons, and activity, plus one familiar toy. Likewise for the return flight. So imagine my disgruntlement when she barely looked at her toys! Planes fascinate children, especially on their first flight. Between the window, the tray, the in-flight movie and the seat buttons, the toys did not get much action. (Toys came in handy for the layovers and the visit, however.)

It will take more time to get through Security than you expect. Even our “minimal” amount of stuff was too much; I think we had ten bins. (Some of this was coats and shoes). There’s always something difficult for the kid at Security — lines, strangers, parental stress levels, etc — requiring extra patience and gentleness. Being able to slow down to respond to a toddler’s need is better than having the kid escalate into a tantrum; plan for that. (And good luck on layovers; we had to run for it in Chicago and barely made the last call for our flight.)

To that end, managing a lovie gives the kid a job at Security. Gobo Fraggle went to Ireland with us. We told her that he would need to take a “special ride” in the bins at Security, and let her pick his bin, put it on the conveyer belt, and wait for him to come out. With the kid occupied, we managed the rest of the stuff. Plus, people in line around us melted at the adorableness of a tiny child managing her toy through Security, and thus cut us some slack as we wrangled our endless piles of stuff.

Bring the right snacks. Baby food is allowed through security, which includes those disposable puree packets. Put the pouches in a 3-1-1 bag. (Note: you can take liquid meds such as baby Tylenol in its original container without having to repackage it, but it should be unopened and in a 3-1-1 bag.) I made sure to declare everything in advance, and no-one seemed to care about my items. I took my chances with home-packed snacks in Ziplocs, and those passed right through security as well.

Water bottles, however, are often questioned and even confiscated; it’s better to bring an empty container and fill it once past Security. Don’t forget a sippy cup/bottle for your kid; mine often wanted her drink in a familiar cup rather than the container in which it was served. Juice boxes are not as good a choice as they seem: many of them are lined with foil, which blocks the X-ray machine. Friends of mine were told they had to either drink from each juice box (thus rendering them impossible to carry without leaking) or throw them away.

If you have questions, the TSA’s list of prohibited items is kept updated, and also allows you to search by name to see the rules for a particular item.

Don’t check your carseat. For a domestic flight, buy a cover to protect the seat and check it (or see if you can rent on on the other end; some car companies do). For an international flight, use the carseat on the plane. Be warned: it will be a royal pain in the behind. The carseat is heavy; US airports charge for those carts on wheels (Irish airports don’t); most carseats won’t fit in the X-ray machine and have to be hand-checked, causing more of a delay at Security; your kid will probably want to play with it at the most inopportune times.

It will be worth it once you get on the plane. Some airlines require the carseat to be placed be by a window, which can get you better seats. And it’s invaluable to be able to strap the kid in a seat that will restrain her. My daughter made it about four hours into each flight before getting insanely restless; I would not have been able to keep her in a regular airline seat. Be warned: the carseat may enable a child to kick the seat in front of her. It’s still worth it not to have to fight over the fasten seatbelt light. (Though in moments of desperation when she refused the seat I held her on my lap. I figured that if it’s allowed to transport an infant that way, the flight attendants wouldn’t give me too much trouble. They didn’t.)

Other small tips:

• Kids with ear tubes have zero trouble on planes. Kids without ear tubes might need to nurse on takeoff/landing, or have an object that makes them swallow (pacifier, bottle, lollipop). My kid didn’t need the lolly, but it was a good bribe to get her happy for takeoff and landing.
• When you’re talking about flight lengths of 6+ hours, move your bodies as often as you can. Walk around during layovers. Help the kid walk the aisles of the plane when you can. Take her with you to the potty. This makes time in the carseat less difficult.
• Make sure that the house is clean when you return. It feels great to come back to calm and peaceful spaces that have clean sheets on the bed.
• Triple check any substance that might mold/mildew while you’re gone. I had a crazy-making level of vigilance around this issue and I still missed things, resulting in one scary kitchen mold incident and a nasty mildew mess in my shower.

*(The most helpful posts I read were these: Twenty Tips for Smoother Travel and 10 Tips for International Travel with a Baby)

I can’t recall a time in which I’ve ever been focused so closely on my family. The baby, natch, but also my husband. While our time together is limited in ways it never was before my daughter’s birth, and that scarcity can feel frustrating and difficult, it also means that we never take for granted the time we have together. This has resulted in more quality in our time together overall.

My daughter needs structure, so now our lives have structure. Were I still gadding about, every day different, I think we would all feel stressed and overstimulated. Instead, spending time at home allows us to be more relaxed because we know what to expect. This means that I have more emotional energy available for responding to the challenges of the moment.

Being forced to request that our friends come to us, or having to make plans that involve kid-friendly spaces means that we know who among our friends is willing to go to the extra effort to see us. It’s not a negative judgement against those who can’t or don’t do so as much as a positive acknowledgment that some people make us a priority even when it’s more difficult to spend time with us. I feel flattered and grateful to those folks that extend us the extra courtesy and hospitality of respecting our kid-inspired limitations. Those friendships stand out.

I’ve admitted to myself that I’m in the hermitage, and mentioned it to all of you, so I feel much less pressure to try and do everything. By admitting my current state of homebody-hood, I released myself from the vicious cycle of over-scheduling and then flaking out. Frankly, unless it’s mentioned on Facebook I probably don’t even know what I’m missing. Without a regular influx of people into my home (like when I lived with four other adults),  I rarely hear about the parties to which I’m not being invited (or would have to decline without finding a sitter).

It’s a mixed bag, yes. However, I’m liking the focus, clarity, and structure parts. I think more positives will be revealed as I proceed.

I knew this day was coming, and am grateful that she made it past the two-year mark before it arrived. When she was of the “baby handbag” age — able to sleep anywhere, comforted from all stimulus by nursing, and not independently mobile — I took her as many places as I could: lots of parties, many restaurants, outdoor art festivals, concerts, museums, camping events, and friends’ houses.

Nowadays, visiting non-parent friends usually means a stressful evening of Mama Eagle-Eye, predicting and preventing all the trouble she can cause in a home not prepared for toddlers. I can still manage the grocery store without my husband, but the trip must be under an hour. I can’t imagine taking her to the vet’s office. And forget about restaurants; I dread it. I hate rushing through my food, getting her food on me, wrangling the crayons and the kids menu, being unable to finish a conversation, and having to remove the baby from the table before everyone else has finished eating.

The kid requires a nap, and will only take one at naptime — if she’s not playing the nap refusal game, of course — which put an end to running errands at my whim, not to mention dashing out for an impromptu play date or mama meetup. The nap has become the linchpin of the whole day: did she have one; how long was it; how awful will bedtime be if she slept too late; how awful will she be if she skips it?

These are all the reasons that the hermitage period has been forced upon us, and sometimes I do grouse about it. However, aside from occasional feelings of resentment that things fall by the wayside in favor of my toddler’s needs and rhythms, it’s a bit of a relief to just stay home. At least I can control the environment, have stocked up with snacks, and know where all the art supplies are stored.

I think some of my friends might be fine with it, too. It’s a common perception that one loses one’s friends with the onset of children; it happens to a lot of people. I maintain that it doesn’t have to, and I can point to those of our friends sans children that remain involved in our lives. And yet, most of our more casual friends, with the busy lives of single or DINK couples, have drifted away. It’s the right time for me to enter the toddler hermitage because I’m as disconnected as I’m likely to get.

(And frankly, I’m too tired for anyone who isn’t a supportive and nurturing friend. Right now a friend’s contribution to my life has to equal or exceed what energy they take, because I’m running on empty most of the time. I have no patience for anyone who makes me feel more run-down.)

I have accepted this with only a little heartache. Sure, some of the folks that have drifted surprise me, as have the folks who folks stayed. But I know what it’s like to be totally involved in a project you feel passionately about. My theater friends surface between shows like my grad student friends surface between semesters; I’ll surface when she’s three or four and we’ll see what connections remain and which I’ll have to revive. And what new connections have been established.

She remembered the show the next day that I watched the baby. “Dew-dew,” she said, an adorable approximation of Totoro’s name. So we watched it again. She continued to ask for it, so I got her a copy. We’ve watched it at least once a day ever since. (Thank goodness we’re watching it in Japanese at home, or I might lose my mind. Don’t get me wrong, I love Totoro, but even I have my limits.)

She calls it “Doh-doh” now, can sign “cat bus,” and can say “Mei” as clear as a bell. She uses signs and words to tell me what’s going to happen next in the story. When playing outside I hear her talking about Totoro and “baby Totoro.” I couldn’t resist buying her a cat bus and a Totoro doll, and she plays with them every night before bed. It’s easy to relate daily life instances to the movie — rainstorms, making lunch, looking for things — and I’m convinced that her sudden interest in wearing hats is because Mei wears one. (Unfortunately, I can’t convince her to let me brush her hair “like Satsuki’s Mama does.”)

She requests to view it multiple times a day. By this point she doesn’t even watch it all the way through; she ignores it to play and then watches her favorite bits. However, she’d have it running constantly if I let her. Most days I don’t, but one terrible tantrum/exhaustion/illness day was a three Totoro day. We don’t mention it by name lest we invoke a demand; we call it her daily dose of “Vitamin T.”

At first I kicked myself for letting her get addicted to a show. Somehow I felt ok about allowing her one episode of the old Sesame Street, or two episodes of Fraggle Rock or Signing Times. But cartoons, even Japanese ones which have artistic merit, seemed like the slippery slope leading down to the 8 hour American daily average for TV viewing.

However, I have decided I don’t have a problem with it. The movie is gentle, with a slow pace perfect for her age. There is no violence. It shows loving family relationships, including a bath like we do at home. The children are well-behaved, help with chores, and play outside. They make friends with a nature spirit who helps them when they most need it. The girls are respectful to their elders and the spirits of their land. Folks have a cry and then feel better. The soundtrack is catchy but not annoying. What’s not to like? Heck, maybe she’ll learn some Japanese.

The language she uses evokes the World Tree, which connects and mediates the upper and lower worlds into the middle world in which we live. Human beings also have this power to bring the energy of all the worlds together and express it into this one. This is something I will be teaching my daughter how to do (though I recognize that she’s currently much closer to most spiritual realms than I!) using various tools and practices.

At first, he spent his time nestled in my branches. Then, a fledgling, he began to venture outward, away from me. And even as he learns to fly farther and farther away, I will always be here to take him up, hold him, give him shelter.

I love this image. It appeals to my sense of myself as my daughter’s protector, who will keep her dry in the rain, give her a safe haven to flee to when running from predators, provide beauty, sustenance, and peace. It also reminds me that my job as a parent is to prepare my child for her own life, to allow and even encourage the separation required for evolution. I hope that I do as well for her as the trees have done for humans.

Rachael says that trees are steady, with an emphasis on being steadfast in her commitment to her son. I would add: trees are grounded, as I must be to parent effectively. I need a sense of where I am and what I’m doing. I need somewhere to place my feet sturdily so that I can be attentive to others. I need a deep enough root system that I can nourish myself and then all of those that come to me for nourishment.

It’s not just because I’m an Earth sign that the image of being grounded resonates — though I admit my bias toward the still, the silent, and the rooted. Becoming grounded is another way of looking at becoming aware, or in the moment; grounding means being present right where you are, connected to one’s environment, able to act as the right action arises. (See Starhawk’s work for a popular perspective on grounding as a magical tool.)

Rachael wants flexibility, as do I: I am prone to stubbornness, and the image of the branches swaying in the wind helps me let go. It’s nice to remember that trees “go with the flow” too; I am not limited to water images as a reminder of that lesson.

Trees can also symbolize connection and interdependence, something that I want as a parent. Perhaps our roots will intermingle, or our branches intertwine. Perhaps my daughter will be a far-flung seed that becomes a full-grown tree in another forest. Regardless, bringing the qualities of tree into our lives can’t help but serve us.

Mothers are too visible: it’s an invitation for feedback.  Well-meaning — or perhaps just ego-stroking — passerby want to give advice. They feel compelled to share their stories and opinions about conception, childbirth, the terrible twos, teeth, diaper rash, et cetera. Older parents tend to lecture, and even criticize.

Mothers are invisible: they are not who you think has great sex. People think that mothers don’t want to wear racy lingerie and have juicy intense lovin’ . Often people won’t talk about their sex lives either, not even in girly talk conversations, because the childfree people assume that the mothers would be depressed to hear about what they’re missing.

Mothers are too visible: they are targets for judgement. Every stain on a mother’s shirt or her child becomes a comment on her parenting.  Every time a child has feelings that lead to behavior that’s unacceptable, it’s the mother who gets blamed. Moreover, she’s not supposed to lose her temper or get overwhelmed when the child has a meltdown.

Mothers are invisible: they don’t get flirted with. Even moms not rocking the three-day dirty mom-hair get ignored, never to be seen as sexual objects. Carrying a baby can deny even the most attractive and well-dressed mother the pleasure of a mild flirtation with a stranger in the grocery check-out line.

Mothers are too visible: they get flirted with in creepy ways. A mother with an adorable child on her hip gets a lot of attention. Everyone wants to flirt with a baby. Some men find mothers attractive in a way that might feel uncomfortable because it’s based so obviously on reproductive capabilities.

Mothers are invisible: they are believed to be incapable of interesting conversation. While yes, mothers are often fascinated with the subject of parenting, that’s not all they have to discuss. Mothers want to talk about philosophy, books, geekery, and art, just like other people.

- – -

And then, suddenly, the young man at the ice cream shop flirts with me both respectfully and enthusiastically. Maybe it was just a good customer service, but it seems as though he ignores both the age gap between us and the baby in my arms. I feel noticed.

And then, suddenly, I’m at the playground where other parents smile at me while I watch my child play. They mind their own business and don’t come over to have one-upping conversations disguised as parenting stories. The looks they send my way seem friendly. I feel accepted.

And then, suddenly, a friend comes over who seems unsurprised that I want to buy a sporty car to be the family vehicle. She listens to my ideas about parenting and appreciates that my theories are rooted in Buddhism, biology, playfulness, and international studies. She sees me as a serious researcher on the topic. We also discuss Doctor Who, photography, and food. I feel appreciated.