A Bicycle Built For Five

Ever since we announced the pregnancy, people have been asking me, "so how are you gonna fit FOUR kids on your bike?!" I had been wondering the same thing. It turns out that the solution actually wasn't that hard to come by. And I came across it quite accidentally when I was trying to figure out a new way to winterize the bike. Todd and Martina, from Clever Cycles, hooked me up with an old dutch kid bike seat of theirs that snaps right on to the back rack of the bakfiets.

Poor Zeb was sick with a fever,
and thus still in pajamas for our trial run.

My original plan when buying it was to use the seat as a place for Zeb to sit (well-bundled) while Luke and Jaz were underneath the rain/wind/weather cover (since it really was too crowded under there for all 3 kids). But by the time the seat got here, Bakfietsy Rose was already snowed-in inside the garage. Still, I knew that the seat would have a purpose someday. And while lying in bed theorizing about it one night, I realized that putting Zeb on the back rack would free up space in the box for another kid.

I'm not completely sure yet about how it will work, but I know that people have put infant car seats in the front of their bakfietsen before, leaving space on the back bench for older kids to sit. In the Netherlands, they actually sell car seat attachments for the bakfiets, so that infant car seats can just click right into place in the box, just like how here in the US, people click them into their cars. I'm doubtful that I'd be able to import something like that, so I've got to figure out a different way to secure baby #4 in the bak. If any blog readers/bakfietsen owners have found a solution that they'd like to share, please do so in the comments section. I'd love to know what has worked for other families.

I took the kids for a quick spin just to see how it felt having Zeben's weight on the back of the bicycle.


It didn't make nearly as much of an impact as I had expected it to, but I could certainly feel him back there. And Zeben loved it, despite the limited view of my behind (in a grass-is-always-greener kind of way, he's always been envious of other toddlers sitting in bike seats on the back of their parents' bikes). What was surprising was how shockingly out-of-shape I felt just biking a small one-mile loop on flat ground! That was pretty depressing. I'm hopeful that it won't take me more than a couple of weeks to get my biking muscles back once I'm able to really start biking again.

the snowy bike path

The rail trail is the only safe way for us to get across the river (to everywhere we need to go), and unfortunately our town has decided that plowing the trail in winter is not a priority. Other towns around us do plow the bike paths, and it's a bit of a heated topic. Cross-country skiiers enjoy skiing on the snowy version of the path, and bring up the argument that perhaps the path's purpose is more for recreation than transportation. It seems to me that there are plenty of places around here to cross-country ski, while the rail trail is the only place for bicycle traffic. And that using a bicycle for transportation is like recreation and transportation all rolled into one!

Regardless, the snow will melt soon enough and we'll be back to bustling out the door earlier in the mornings in order to have time to pedal our way into town. On our bicycle built for five!

"Spring Is Coming"

Feeling so inspired by the spectacular weather this weekend (60° and sunny), Jaz decided to write a poem. Actually, it turned out to be a haiku:

Spring is coming.
Where is the humming
of the tiny birds?
I can't wait.

by Jaz

We couldn't get enough of being outside in just t-shirts.

And, after spending nearly 4 months stowed away in the garage, Bakfietsy Rose came out of hibernation. Finally! The bike path is still almost completely covered with snow, so our biking is currently limited to our street, but it won't be long before we're riding everywhere again.

I can't wait.

More Than Muffins

When I was a kindergarten teacher, I'd often put out muffin tins for my students to use while sorting any number of sortable objects (buttons, beads, wooden shapes, shells, etc.). But, for whatever reason, I never thought to use one as a snack sorter until today. I got the brilliant idea from the photos in this blog post. Genius! Not only was the muffin tin snack sorter a hit with the kids, but it helped to inspire a certain otherwise completely uninspired snack chef (that would be me). I even kind of had fun.


Here are the testers, watching our new favorite show, and snacking on melon, apple, nuts, pineapple, baby carrots and cheese:

I'd love to know what other folks think up for muffin tin filling. Besides muffin batter, of course!

One of Those Days

One of the kids' most-loved books in our home library is called, "One Of Those Days." Each page represents a different kind of "bad day" using simple descriptive phrases and illustrations. Lukas and Jasper's favorite is the "Big Day Kinda Disappointing Day," that depicts a dissatisfied-looking boy standing under a "Happy Birthday" banner, holding a pair of underwear.

If yesterday morning had been a page in my book of "Those Days," it would have read: "Running Late, Three Crying Kids Refusing Snowsuits, Just Got My Period, Two Months Overdue For A Hair Cut Day." And the picture would have shown a very disgruntled mom, trying to stuff a kicking six-year-old into a snowsuit beside 2 weeping puddles of children, with a mullet of hair sticking out in all directions, screaming at the top of her lungs. I could have added, "First Day Without Caffeine," to the run-on sentence since I'm trying to quit drinking coffee, and yesterday was supposed to be my first day going without, but I re-nagged on that plan since I just couldn't imagine making the morning any harder than it already was.

While of course I'd like to be able to handle each and every tough morning with mindfulness and grace, in reality I'm lucky if I can manage to do so 75% of the time. Sometimes it's like an itch that just needs to be scratched. I can't not freak out at my kids every now and then. And although I'm certainly not proud of myself when that happens, I'm not especially hard on myself either. That said, I do make myself take responsibility for my actions, each and every time, and remind myself that I always have a choice in how to react. And we're all better off if I make good choices, if I practice my zen and the art of mothering, if I am my most playful parent self, than if I am lazy and give in to the itch and simply scream.

The other day I happened upon Zeben having just dumped out his bowl of yogurt on the table. Presto change-o: what was once an afternoon snack is now sensory exploration! I took a deep breath while I assessed the situation. The yogurt was wasted. A mess was being made. Zeben was exceptionally pleased. Luckily for both him and me, it was "Calm and Creative Mom" as opposed to "Grumpy and Exasperated Mom" who arrived at the scene. Really there was no one to blame other than myself; I had left Zeben alone with a bowl of yogurt, knowing very well that the chance of him actually eating it was slim in comparison to the chance of him deciding to play with it. Usually we try to supervise his consumption of potentially diasterous foods (like yogurt, applesauce and cereal), but on this particular occassion I had been attempting to do the dishes in the next room. I resigned myself to cleaning up the mess later and decided to try and enjoy the spilt yogurt as much as Zeben was, by photographing him playing with it.







While eventually cleaning the yogurt up, I acknowledged the choice I had made, to not overreact, to go with the flow, to keep things calm and peaceful. It's important for me to remind myself of the kind of parent I want to be. Of how much more fun this whole mothering thing is when I don't let the little things get to me. Just like I make myself fess up to my less brilliant moments and reflect on how I could have done things differently, it's helpful to realize the instances that are more in alignment with my vision of what I want our life to be.

When we finally did make it into the car yesterday morning, tear-streaked cheeks and all, I apologized to the kids. I told them that I was sorry for having lost my cool, that sometimes even moms make poor choices, that I should have spoken calmly instead of yelling. That I was disappointed in my behavior and that I understood if they were disappointed too. I dropped them all off at school and took myself out for coffee before going to get my hair cut, and by noon, when it was time to collect the children, I was feeling much improved. That is, until Lukas came running at me with his fists raised and his jaw clenched. Clearly he was still feeling angry about our morning struggles, and Jaz was not much happier to see me. The afternoon turned out to be only a vaguely less-awful version of our before-school escapades.

Thankfully, the book, "One Of Those Days," ends optimistically:

"Luckily, every single one of those days eventually turns into night. And every single night turns into a brand-new day."

And our day did too. Last night I gave the boys dream magic, pulled up their covers, kissed their foreheads, and promised them simply, "tomorrow will be better."

The Dream I Dreamed

A love note to Lena, circa 2001
(now hanging on the wall in our office):

Some images from the past year:

Pierced

A few months ago, seemingly out of the blue, Jaz came to us and asked if he could get his ears pierced. I admit that I was a bit taken aback by his request. Here was our most image-conscious, athletic-clothing loving son, suddenly wanting to add earrings to his look? Kindergarten has introduced both Jaz and Luke to a new world of genderized divisions. Whereas in preschool it didn't seem to matter that much if one of their classmates was a girl or a boy, in Kindergarten it has generally been the most important factor in deciding who to play with. Looking out on the playrground when I drop the kids off in the morning, I see clumps of boys, and clumps of girls. Rarely do I witness much interaction between the sexes, unless it involves one group chasing the other. And the color-coding is quite prevalent, especially with all the kids bundled in their (pink/purple or blue/black) snowsuits. My previously pink and purple-loving children threw a fit when I packed a snack in a pink lunchbox one day.

"But you picked this lunchbox out!" I protested, defensively.
"That was when we were four! Now we know that pink is for girls!"

Everything had changed. I mourned the loss of my more open-minded and less-socialized offspring. I wondered if anything that we said would matter anymore, or if the peer culture at school would overwhelm what we were attempting to teach our kids about gender at home.

And now here Jaz was, standing before us in his sporty pants and baseball shirt (an outfit I never would have dressed him in when I was in charge of his wardrobe, deeming it much too "boyish"), telling us that what he wanted most in the world was to get his ears pierced. His friend Melle (the one girl deemed worthy of his attention (actually, he plans to marry her one day)) had gotten her ears pierced for her sixth birthday, and now Jaz wanted to do the same thing. Would we let him?

Lena and I met each other's eyes and we both shrugged. Why not let him get his ears pierced? We had both gotten our ears pierced as young children (I was 5, she was 7) without any negative consequence. I stopped wearing earrings at age 19 (after having to take them out for a dental x-ray, I just never got around to putting them back in), and I figured that if Jaz ever changed his mind, it wouldn't be difficult for him to reverse his decision. Piercing isn't entirely permanent, and many of our grown-men friends have their ears pierced.

But there was part of me that couldn't imagine allowing Jaz to make any alteration at all to his body. His little elfish ears were so perfect and funny-looking just as they were. My stomach lurched at the thought of him feeling the need to change them somehow. If we allowed him to go through with it, would we be encouraging the idea that image matters? That his ears were not already entirely beautiful without any adornment?

Ultimately we decided that it should be his decision. It was his body, and we wanted him to know that he would always be responsible for making choices about whether or not to alter his appearance. In a world where he controls very few things, his physical body belongs to him alone (this was one of the main reasons why we chose not to circumcise our sons; we did not believe that it was our decision to make). We told him that he had to wait until his sixth birthday, just to give him time to change his mind or solidify his choice.

Jaz made a chart, counting down the days, while Lena and I asked around to find out where you could take kids to get their ears pierced. None of the professional piercers/tattoo artists would work with children. Ultimately, we asked Melle's mom where she had taken Melle, and Lena took Jaz to the same upscale jewelry store this past Saturday. The piercer at the store was very clear with her about how he would not pierce any child who seemed the least bit hesitant about having the procedure done. And Jaz didn't waiver in his decision at all. He picked out earrings and hardly even flinched when the first, and then the second, earring went in. All he said was, "I didn't cry at all."

He came home beaming, and quickly ran inside to show Lukas and me his new ears. I was kind of shocked by his choice of earrings. They are so sparkly!

He picked gold studs with teal jewels. After 6 weeks he can change them out for hoops if he wants to (that was his original plan, and I'm secretly hoping he follows through with it).


He is so pleased with his new look. A little too pleased actually. Yesterday Lena and I were feeling like maybe we had a 13-year-old on our hands. Jaz was being quite fresh and rude. We even broke our "no threats" rule and threatened to take his earrings out if he couldn't remember about listening and using respectful language with a friendly tone. He was all, "I'm too cool to be your kid."


Today he's back to being his normal six-year-old self, and I've gotten used to the way the light sparkles off his earrings when he turns his head.


He was entirely depressed to wake up this morning and discover that it was a snow day (maybe our last?) and that he'd have to wait another day to introduce his friends to his new ears. When I asked him what he thinks his friends will say about the earrings, he didn't hesitate with his response:

"Wow, cool Jaz, you look like a girl!"

I was so surprised to hear him say that. Throughout our ear-piercing discussions, Lena and I had both been so careful to never mention sex or gender. We figured that he didn't know that usually only girl children get their ears pierced. "Why do you think they'll say that?"

"Because usually only girls wear earrings."

"Oh, really?"

"Yeah. Because girls look prettier in earrings than boys do."

"You think?"

"Yeah. But I didn't want them to look pretty. I wanted them to look like a cool dude outfit."

"And do you think they look like a 'cool dude outfit'?"

"Yeah. My favorite thing is that they look so shiny."

Who knows, maybe he'll have started a new trend and soon all the boys in his class will be asking their parents if they can get their ears pierced too (as for Lukas, he says, "I'd get mine pierced except for the gun part of it . . . I might try it when I'm a little bit older").

In other piercing news, yesterday Lena finally decided to take her belly button rings out since her belly has grown to the point where they were starting to bother her. I was very relieved since the rings had been bothering me for quite some time (or rather, the vision of the rings busting through her taut skin is what had been bothering me). It's the start of a whole new era.

In Like a Lion

Today is the first day of March, which is perhaps the longest month of the year in a one-step-forward, two-steps-back kind of way. Yesterday was surprisingly Aprilish (warmer and sunny, the snow mostly melted and the maple sap beginning to run), and today we were back to February (cold and gray with plenty of snow on the way).

"March comes in like a lion, and goes out like a lamb."

I keep repeating this line in my head, the promise of spring just around the corner if we can simply manage our way through a few more snowy-frozen-muddy-slushy weeks. The lamb metaphor is especially easy to picture at the moment after our grand adventures at a local sheep farm yesterday.

We were hanging out at Katie and Aaron's house when Katie and I, being our most brave mama selves, boldly chose to bundle all of our five small and somewhat wild children and take them for a walk in the woods while our partners stayed behind to nap (Lena) and go shopping for dinner (Aaron). We wound our way along an icy path and eventually ended up at a nearby open-air barn. Inside we found dozens of brand new baby lambs, along with mama sheep, chickens, and pigs. The barn space is rented by local farmers who don't actually live on the property, but need a nice, dry place to keep their livestock for some portion of the year. The sheep farmers use it specifically for the lambing season which is now upon us.

We crossed paths with the farmers who were on their way out (having just fed their sheep) as we made our way in. We visited with all of the different types of animals, and were just deciding to head back for home (the sunset as our only reference to time) when we noticed an ewe in the very back of the barn who appeared to be in labor. I recognized the copious amounts of mucous hanging between her back legs from the early labors of my goats (I kept goats for three years in my late teens). Upon closer inspection, we realized that the head of the lamb had already been born! How wonderful to get to be present for such an event. The kids all stood with us as we waited and waited, and then began to worry. The mama sheep was not making any progress, and it was clear that the baby lamb was stuck.

I pictured the diagrams of "difficult presentations" from my goat birthing books and figured that one of the lamb's legs was tucked underneath it, so that only one little hoof was emerging simultaneously with the head (ideally both hooves and the head would all be born together). We looked around for any sort of farmer who might be able to help, but we were completely alone. At least 30 minutes had passed since we'd first come upon the laboring ewe, and still no progress had been made. Every so often the lamb would wiggle a little, reassuring us that it was still alive, but besides that it remained totally and completely stuck.

Katie and I looked at each other and decided that we had to do something. We jumped the fence, secured the sheep and helped to free the stuck baby lamb, who was born into my hands moments later while our five wide-eyed children stood quietly cheering us on. The lamb was fine. The mama seemed much relieved, and began right away to lick her baby clean.

I cleaned myself with some nearby snow (and somehow managed to lose my wedding ring in the process), and then it was really time to go. Katie and I carried as many of our hungry, freezing children as we could, and headed back to the house, where dinner was waiting (along with our worried partners--it was 6:00!).

Unfortunately, at the last minute I had decided not to bring my camera with me on our walk (deciding that it would be a "live it" rather than a "document it" adventure, and having no idea of exactly what kind of adventure it would end up being), but we stopped by the farm again today to take some photos of the happy little lamb.


We suspected that the mama ewe would birth another lamb (sheep usually have twins or triplets), and indeed she did. Here is a picture of "stuck lamb" (on the right) with its twin, "smaller lamb" (on the left) touching noses. So sweet.

Mama nursing the smaller, second-born twin.

Just as we were leaving today, we were witness to another lambing! Thankfully this one happened quickly and without consequence. The mama got right to work cleaning her babe (while a chicken stood by, seemingly oblivious).


Last night I felt so full of life and was high from the experience of being so close to birth. This morning I was in a state of panic, second-guessing myself for having intervened with someone else's sheep, for not having worn sterile gloves, for potentially exposing my wife to sheep bodily fluids (which can, in rare circumstances be harmful to pregnant women). I felt sick to my stomach with worry and doubt. One step forward, two steps back. But by this afternoon I had finally managed to calm myself down (after talking to our midwife and visiting the sheep and seeing how well they were doing), and am back to trusting life again.

I am hoping that the metaphorical lamb of March's ending comes quickly and easily, no shoulder dystocia or stalled labor. And that the lion of a snowstorm we're expecting this evening is the last of its kind for the season.

Thank you all so much for your comments at the end of my last post. I thoroughly enjoyed getting to peek into your lives and my heart was certainly warmed by the outpouring of appreciation. Positive feedback is hard to come by in my line of work, which makes it all the more special and wonderful when it happens.