The Sleep Quest, Part 100--The Surrender

I made a distressing realization this past Saturday night: I'm the only one in my house that actually wants to sleep at night. There I was, lying in my bed, exhausted to my bones, at 11pm. My sweet, though sometimes oblivious, husband was downstairs reading. My adorable, though too-curious-about-his-environment-to-ever-sleep, baby was in my arms nursing. My 15-year-old was down the hall, laughing hysterically about who knows what. My 10-year-old was in his room crying because he was so overtired he couldn't fall asleep. I was trying with all my might to communicate with my husband (did I mention he is sometimes oblivious?) via ESP to come intervene with our two oldest while I endeavored to create as boring an atmosphere as possible for the baby. It was all for naught. The baby remained awake, the laughing and crying continued, and my husband was aware of none of it. That was the moment of the aforementioned realization. Sleep did come to our home eventually, but it involved depositing baby with daddy, popping a forgotten melatonin pill into a teenage mouth, and practicing a little guided imagery on the 10-year-old. Watch out family members! I may start spiking your juice with Benadryl!

Love Me, Love Me, Love Me, I'm a Libertarian!

A friend of mine asked about my political beliefs today. I promised her a blog post to attempt to explain them. Comments and questions are welcome, with bonus points for anyone who can identify the reference in my title.

When I was 18, I registered to vote. I had never been especially politically savvy up to that point, though I believe I had some lofty ideals about how the world should be. My father was registered as a Democrat and my mother as an Independent, so I registered as a Republican to be different from them. I don't remember having any real sense of what that meant, but I was excited to do it.

I would describe my political views during my college years as moderately liberal. I was what my father called a "tree hugger" and I spent some time as an angry, man-hating feminist. By the time I met my husband, I had a pretty good chip on my shoulder. His ability to defuse me was probably the main thing that drew me to him. He and I also shared anti-establishment inclinations. The year we were married we voted for Ross Perot in the presidential election and harbored the hope that a strong third party would arise to really shake up the system.

Around that same time, I had a personal spiritual reformation of sorts. I undertook a good deal of religious study across many belief systems and solidified my core testimony of my LDS faith. It was on the heels of this that I became a mother for the first time. My philosophy as a mom pushed me more into conservative territory and I really felt like I identified myself as a Republican for the first time. Unfortunately, I have never been happy with any Republican presidential nominee. I find it really distressing that I enter the voting booth having to hold my nose and vote for someone based on the fact that I consider them the least repugnant choice. Feeling so disenfranchised has made me reexamine my political views over the years, which brings me to where I am today as a defiant libertarian.

What this means for me is that individual freedom is paramount. Agency is the gold standard. Laws should protect liberty rather than take it away. I do not believe in a paternalistic government that imposes a standard of conduct on my personal behavior. I should have the freedom to fail and to do so spectacularly if I choose. I believe you should have that freedom, too, but that I should not be compelled to subsidize your behavior and protect you from whatever negative consequences may arise from it. I do not believe the government has the right to take my money by compulsory taxation and spend it on other people, no matter how noble the cause. Morally I believe I am obligated to take care of those less fortunate than me and do not feel I should abdicate that obligation to the government. I believe in a free and unfettered market in which big companies are allowed to fail, small companies are free to flourish, and the consumer's wallet is the only regulator. I believe that I have the right to own a gun without having to account for it to the government. I believe in individual responsibility and accountability and that generosity and morality cannot be legislated.

Surveying the Damage

The mountains of snow are steadily retreating, making me long even harder for spring. It's been a very rough winter. I've been reminded just how important my food storage is and just how punishing that pretty white precipitation can be. The roof of my friend's barn collapsed, nearly killing her alpaca herd in the process. My husband and my father worked for hours saving the roofs of both our houses. It took weeks before we were able to reliably navigate our driveway without the aid of heavy farm equipment. The wildlife here has suffered too. I actually had a falcon stake out my bird feeder. And when the bird seed ran out, the birds were desperate enough to empty the cat food dish on my back porch, one piece at a time. One morning I came outside to find a fox standing on top of my duck pen, staring hopefully through the 3-inch vent at the two frightened ducks inside it.

Now, as spring's official beginning is right around the corner, my thoughts are turning to my poor plants. I took a little stroll today to see the condition of things as they emerge from the melting snow.

 

Our lean-to, hoping to be a shed when it grew up, gave out under the weight of it all

 

Already damaged by the initial snowfall, my poor abelia took the brunt of the rooftop snow removal

 

 This was once a massive forsythia--now flattened

This snapped off metal stake used to support a wall of honeysuckle

  

 I have no idea how much of this azalea hedge will be left when this snow finally melts

  

One destroyed ivy arbor

  

This cedar tree was removed from the land my church was built on--transplanted here on the day of the groundbreaking

  

There is bamboo debris everywhere

  

 My poor flattened euonymous

 

My wiegela--the hummingbirds' favorite--half broken off by snow from the roof

So, apologies to all you snow lovers, but I don't want to see any more of the stuff for a very long time.

Milestones

As I approach the end of the first six months of my new baby's life, I am a bundle of mixed emotions. Each little milestone has been a moment of pure joy, but there is always the tiny voice in the background whispering, "Slow down!" While I long for him to experience new things, to see him grow and develop, I want to cling to the newborn that has already long since vanished. Each new skill acquired and each adorable article of clothing outgrown is a heart-squeezing reminder that another little chapter has ended. Knowing that this will be my last child brings an added dose of melancholy to it all.

Oliver is mostly sitting up unsupported now. The thrill it gives him and the look of radiant pride on his sweet little face remind me that there is still more joy in the journey than there is sadness at the loss of what is past. I have so enjoyed watching my older children grow and evolve as they become more fully the people they are. So I look forward more than back, eager to see who my smallest son will become.

In the midst of all this sleep-deprived emotion, I am approaching my own personal milestone. This is the year I will turn 40. While I believe I have been dreading this ever since I turned 30, I am pleased to say that the dread has lifted. I am no more thrilled than I was before at the sound of the number, but I am much more ready to wear it with pride at what those 40 years mean in my life. I am mostly pleased with how I have spent that time and with where I am as I cross this particular marker. I am pleasantly surprised to report that I still feel very much a young woman and not past my prime or over the hill in any sense. I imagine a good deal of that must be due to this unexpected opportunity to be a new mommy all over again, but the rest I will just credit to good old-fashioned happiness.

The Stolen Child

Thanks to Amy for recommending this book. I have never read a book on the changeling myth and I really liked the way it was developed here. As the mother of a child with autism, the idea of having your child stolen away and replaced by an imposter had particular poignancy for me. Having a child who seems healthy and "normal" transformed almost overnight into one who is disconnected and beseiged by bizarre behaviors can make a distraught parent entertain the possibility of the body-snatcher scenario. There is some evidence that indicates a link between the changeling myth and special needs children back in the days before such disorders had been scientifically identified and explained. Apparently, such children who came to be labeled as changelings were often abused, abandoned, or killed.

In "The Stolen Child", however, the parents accept and raise the changeling child despite their suspicions that he is not their true son. The story follows the stolen child and his changeling replacement through the years leading to the attainment of adulthood. One faces the ramifications of living a life he stole from another, while the other deals with the pain of learning to let go of what he has irrevocably lost and to embrace his new reality. Underneath the supernatural trappings lies the fundamental struggle of the misfit. It is a story that is often painful, sometimes disturbing, but ultimately optimistic as the characters succeed, not in eliminating their problems, but in finding ways to take control of their circumstances and move forward with purpose.

Keith Donohue is a great storyteller whose writing is believable and full of subtle insights. I will be interested in reading him again and wholeheartedly recommend this thought-provoking book.

Sad But True

The Sleep Quest Revisited

So last fall I was distressed over my baby's lack of napping prowess. Little did I know that things could (and would) get worse. On the positive side of things, I am happy to report that Oliver has nearly mastered the fine art of napping and now takes 2 or 3 naps of a respectable length each day. However, my happiness is greatly tempered by the fact that he (at the ripe old age of 5 months) is still not sleeping through the night. In fact, while he only woke once or twice a night as a newborn, he is now regularly up 3 or 4 times every night. A typical night involves him going to bed around 10 p.m., waking around 12:30 or 1, waking around 3, and then waking around 5. He'll then be up by 7 a.m. Some nights he'll add an extra waking around 4. It's downright painful.

We started him on solids today for the first time. He has been showing a lot of interest in food, so we feel he's ready. I don't expect to see any benefit right away, but I'm hopeful that this may fill his little middle enough to keep him sleeping longer at night. We'll see.

Meanwhile, I'm open to suggestions.