Amazing

It's early morning, and I'm trying to get us [myself, two small children, one puppy] out the door to take my son to school. Mina is exercising extreme independence in regards to her clothes, Jai is exercising extreme dependence in regards to his, both children are talking to me at once, the puppy is chewing up things she shouldn't be, and my hair is a mess. And we should have been in the car 5 minutes ago. My head feels like exploding, but I resist the urge to scream at the top of my lungs and run away forever. Instead, I inhale as deeply as I can, hold it for a moment, and then deeply release.  Suddenly, in the next moment everything changes. We tie up our loose ends and get ourselves into the car.

Sometimes I think I am crazy. Many times I feel crazy. Occasionally I'll act crazy. And then there are the times when, despite all the craziness, I am able to shift my perspective in such a way that helps me see that in fact I am amazing.

{All of us mamas. Every one of us. We are all amazing for doing what we do.}

It's amazing that I spend the vast majority of my waking hours in the company of one or two little beings who in any given moment are either achingly dependent or ferociously independent [and always talking]. Amazing that I can still stand up at the end of a day in which I am constantly paying attention to at least two things at once as I mitigate relationships, comfort sadness, celebrate discovery, share in wonder, sigh in frustration, keep our home orderly, prepare nourishing meals, attend [some] of my own needs, keep an eye on the puppy, care for our animals, read books, make artful messes, try to connect with my husband, spend time enjoying the Earth, wrestle on the floor, and experience all the ups and downs that shape our lives. [Somewhere in there, amidst all that exuberant living, I try to find a moment for stillness. A moment for breathing in my blessings. A moment for Spirit.] It is truly amazing that I have any energy left at all after that.

Sometimes I do have days when I wonder if I can go on. Perhaps, I think, I'll just fall down on the floor, and nobody will notice me, and I'll just stay there all day in an exhausted heap.

Yeah, right. Do you know what would happen if I tried that? Approximately two seconds would pass before I was jumped on by a child or two, my hair pulled, my head banged, my face kissed, my body embraced by sticky, pinching, loving, scratching, eager little hands. I would be forced upwards and onwards, just to save myself from all the exuberant love of my children.

This, essentially, is what my children do to me. They force me out of my comfortable space, out into my boundary zone where I think my limits lie. As they tear apart my walls, the bones of my foundation are revealed. The truth of my Self shines through, sometimes in a harsh and ugly light but [thankfully] more often, it is the light of Spirit that illuminates my way. I watch as my boundaries dissipate and my limits stretch to include it all.

I love you Jai and Yasmina.

*Gratitude*

I am that Woman

Motherhood is hard.

Lately, motherhood has been harder for me than usual. Maybe it's the lack of sunshine, maybe it's the chill in the air, maybe it's that I want to curl up and hibernate for the winter [but can't].

It's not that the specific tasks of motherhood are so difficult; rather, it's the challenge of accomplishing those tasks, day after day with little or no respite, accompanied by two spirited and demanding children, and attempting to stay sane and maybe even joyful in the process.

Yes, I have been finding that difficult, indeed.

Being a mother has taught me lesson after lesson about myself. It is safe to say that I have never before experienced the quantum leap of personal growth that I have experienced since becoming a mother. I have been shown the image of my highest self, and I have seen the shadow sides of my soul. I know what kind of mother, and person, I want to be [the kind that handles the daily exuberance of life with grace, integrity, love, and joy]. I strive to be that woman every day. But sometimes it is really, really hard.

Whatever it is that has been afflicting me lately, it sure has been knocking me off center. Gently I pull myself back. Again and again. And even though I don't like those trips into the realm of my craziness, I do learn something every time I come back.

I've learned that living a joyous life doesn't always happen spontaneously. It takes work; it takes awareness. It takes me looking around and realizing that all the craziness is not happening outside of me, but within my own head. It's not my kids making me crazy [ok, well maybe sometimes], it's not all I have to do that's making me crazy - I am creating the craziness for myself. When I reach that awareness, I can change my perspective and see my blessings. Look around with gratitude. Take time to nourish my Self. And then I can open myself up to the joy inherent in my being.

Every time I lose myself, I come back even stronger. With more awareness. With more wisdom.

I will be that mother I strive to be, that woman.

In fact, I am her already.

*Gratitude*

The Dark Side

Becoming a mother is definitely, hands down, the most amazing thing that's ever happened to me.

[Also the hardest thing. And the most joyful thing. The most exhausting thing. The most wildest rollercoaster of a high-flying in your whole life of an adventure thing.]

Becoming a mother has pushed me down my path of personal evolution.

Becoming a mother has shown me love like I never could have imagined.

Becoming a mother has shown me all sides of my soul [my light and my dark].

Sometimes, when the dark side of my soul is seeking expression, I subconsciously feel like a bad mother. As if good mothers never feel anger. As if feeling angry or annoyed at my children is not allowed in the realm of good mothering.

But I mean, come on Jenny. No matter how angelic one's children might be, I can't imagine there isn't a mother who doesn't get angry, frustrated, overwhelmed, or just plain fed up with her children from time to time. I know I definitely do. And sometimes I handle it well, and many times I take it as a learning experience for how I would like to interact differently [more lovingly, more patiently, with more perspective] with my children.

Becoming a mother has taught me that I have quite a fire inside. A wildfire inferno that can flare up with little warning. It makes me want to yell and slam doors and smack little tushies. And I have done all of those things [thankfully the smacking of little tushies has only occurred on a couple of occasions, and those experiences taught me that spanking is really not my style.]

I definitely find it a struggle to keep calm in the face of such strong emotion. But even if yelling at my children feels good in the moment, it leaves me with an uneasy feeling in my root. Like I could have handled that better. Like I know how to handle that better.

To me, the act of mothering is an act of love, patience, nurturing, compassion. I don't usually associate mothering instincts with anger and aggression. But oh lord, can they be part of the package. Learning to handle my emotions with compassion [for myself, for my children] is one of the lessons motherhood has to teach me. I'm learning how to let the wave of anger pass through me, expelling it with my breath. Lately I have been very mindful of the tightening feeling in my root when I'm edgy and likely to snap. I bring awareness to that feeling, I breathe into the constricted space, and I release it. And then I'm able to smile [or at least not yell] and flow into the next moment.

My friend Joyelle calls this taking a sacred pause. She shared the concept of the sacred pause with us during the last women's circle, and it was an idea that really resonated with me. When the fire gets hot, stop for a moment to breathe. Stop for a moment to reconnect. Stop for a moment of sacred inspiration. [And then smile, or at least not yell, and flow into the next moment.]

Becoming a mother is the most challenging thing I've ever done. Challenging me to be an ever grander version of myself, challenging me to live as my highest self. Challenging me to keep my perspective of the sacred, even in the heat of my fire.

*Gratitude*

The Science of Eggs : Adventures in Chicken Husbandry

We have a real chicken flock now. It started last summer, when we inherited five chickens (two of which are roosters) from our neighbor. They were a joyous addition to the family, but we eat a lot of eggs. Three hens definitely wouldn't cut it. This spring we added nine chicks to the family, and they are now large teenage birds (and one of them has also turned out to be a rooster).

Now, to round out our chicken experience, two of our original hens have gone broody. Henny Penny and Goosey Loosey are sitting on nests of eggs.

Ducky Daddles checks on the mothers-to-be

We don't need any more chicks. We now have a flock of fourteen, which is plenty. But I'm a mother myself, and I understand those motherly urges. Plus, I think it'll be fun to watch the mama chickens raise their babies. It's much less work than me raising them! However, I didn't want them to hatch a ton of chicks, so I was keeping an eye on how many eggs they had in the nests. One day I noticed Goosey Loosey had ten eggs in her nest. I marked them, and the next day several more eggs appeared [I was very amazed that she had layed four eggs in one day!] I took the new eggs because I wanted to keep things a little under control.

The next morning was Friday, which is pancake day at our house. We use this really awesome recipe from Feeding the Whole Family, in which you soak oats and buckwheat overnight in a blender. In the morning, you add an egg and a few other ingredients before whirring it up into a batter.

So I cracked my egg for the batter. My stomach turned, but I kept a light tone of voice for the kids. "Oh wow(!!!??) Look at this you guys."

Yes, there was a little baby chick embryo in our egg. It was in the early stages of development, but still obviously a chick. The next egg also had a chick in it. As did the other two. Obviously I hadn't been doing as good of a job as I had thought in keeping track of the eggs [I have since observed that the chickens will actually move the eggs around from nest to nest, which must have been how they tricked me.] We carried on with our pancakes, as if it's normal to find chicks in our eggs, but inside I felt terrible for killing Goosey Loosey's [or maybe Henny Penny's] babies.

Making our chick-free pancakes

After breakfast, we took our little egg babies out into the garden and buried them in the middle of the pea bed. I asked Jai if we should sing a song for them. Without hesitation, he suggested "Roll on Columbia." So we sang. Roll on, little chickies, roll on.

Living in the country, or at least our experience of the country, has given us many opportunities to discuss death. Our sheep killed by coyotes; the small creatures caught by the kitties; the animals we eat to sustain ourselves; these little chicks. Our children have seen the ending of life. I believe this is a good thing. I want my children to know that death is not scary; it is simply a part of life. I believe that life continuously regenerates itself, that this experience is just one of the many lives I will [and have] had. I teach my children that the spirit of God[dess] lives within each of us, and that spirit will never die.

Roll on, little chickies, indeed.

Allow

The other morning I woke up early, as is my new custom [If you ever would have told me back in the day that I would love getting up at 5:30 am, I never would have believed you. But love it I do]. I was stretching the last vestiges of sleep out of my body when a word floated into my head. There it has stayed, influencing my days.

Allow.

As in, trust. As in, step back and relax. As in, trust that all will happen at the right time, and trust that there is a time for everything. Trust the universe and its impeccable timing. Step back, relax, and allow life to unfold.

I have never been much of an allower. I am much more of a doer and a controller. I used to think that I was such a relaxed person, and in some ways I am, but motherhood and its inherent responsibilities have really brought out the controller and frantic doer in me.

Thankfully, the universe blesses me with teachers to help me learn a new way of being. A way of relaxing, a way of accepting.

A way of allowing.


[Even this blog post turned out to be a teacher. I actually wrote this last night, only to have it dissipate into the infinity of cyberspace. I was upset and frustrated until I saw the irony of it all - it is a post about allowing, trusting and accepting, after all. So I just took it as a lesson in letting go, and that made me feel much better. Even though I'm not super excited to be writing this a second time...] 


Now I'm not talking about allowing in the sense of unhealthy permissiveness - as in allowing myself and my children to eat candy and watch movies all day, or allowing my children to always get their way and become demanding monsters. No, I'm talking about allowing in a higher sense. I'm talking about allowing my children the time and space to explore, to learn, to delight [instead of rushing them off to get all the things done that mama wants to do]. I'm talking about allowing myself to relax and expand into any given moment, to live fully in that moment, to drink in all the universe is handing me right then and there.

[Like the vibrant red of homegrown radishes in my hands. Like the smooth curve where Mina's cheek and neck meet as I softly kiss. Like standing outside with my eyes closed, breath drawn deep into my lungs.]

I am talking about allowing myself to live my joy.

Living my joy means allowing myself to live without guilt. Like taking a nap when I'm sleepy [instead of working outside like I "should" be doing.] Like reading during a rare quiet moment [instead of cleaning the house]. Like enjoying an evening with my husband [instead of writing a blog post.] Like playing with my children, like entering into their world [instead of trying to accomplish the list of tasks that will always be there]. [But I'm also talking about allowing myself no guilt for letting them watch a Sesame Street every now and then so I can actually get some cleaning done.]

Living my joy is allowing myself to listen to my root voice [my voice of Spirit.] I often listen to my head voice, which is loud and insistent and very opinionated about what I "should" be doing. Listening to my head voice wears me out and leaves me feeling depleted. Following my root voice nourishes me, replenishes my energy, and connects me to Spirit. It allows me to feel the joy present in every given moment, if only I am present enough to perceive it.

May you allow yourself your joy [may we all]. May you live your many blessings.

*Gratitude*

Celebrating May Day

Tomorrow is the first of May. We know it as May Day, but long ago some ancient people celebrated it as the festival of Beltane. Beltane was a time to celebrate the abundance of the earth and the flowering of the Goddess. These days, some people do celebrate on May Day by gifting flowers or dancing around a maypole. There are even some festivals to commemorate the day. Unfortunately, however, I think it passes under most people's radar.

I think we should change that.

Because May Day, or Beltane [a pretty name, I think], is a day to celebrate sex. And who doesn't want to celebrate sex? [Oh wait- our culture doesn't want to celebrate sex. Our culture views sex as dirty and shameful. Once again, I think we should change that.]

In the book Celebrating the Great Mother, Cait Johnson and Maura Shaw describe Beltane as an important holiday to reclaim the sacredness of sexuality:

"To our ancient ancestors, sex was sacred. It was the force that brought forth new life and made life worth living, and so they celebrated the ancient Beltane festival to honor fertile sexual energy, dancing their dances around phallic maypoles that recalled the World Tree, making love in the newly planted fields, and generally having a wonderful time."

I think that sounds pretty good!

I want to share Beltane with my children as a day to celebrate love, our bodies, our sensual nature. In this way, I hope I can instill in them a joyful attitude about themselves and their natural desires. Our culture sends so many messages to children [and everybody, in fact] that our bodies are not good enough; that they are dirty; that we must buy products to make us smell and look "pretty." I want my children to grow up knowing that they are perfect just as they are; that their natural selves mirror the infinite beauty of the Goddess. By being comfortable with themselves and their sensuality, I hope they will one day develop a healthy and loving relationship with their sexuality [one day, one day.]

We did already do some May Day celebrating this weekend at a festival deep in the Oregon coast range. There we celebrated with community, and tomorrow we will celebrate with family. Based off of an idea in Celebrating the Great Mother, we are going to construct some Goddess figures [I'm thinking cardboard cut-outs adorned with paint, sparkles, feathers, flowers, etc.] We'll hang our Goddesses from a maypole in the garden to bring blessings of fertility and abundance. I'm sure there will be dancing and much merriment. [And after the children are asleep, perhaps love making in the newly planted fields?}

Other ways to celebrate Beltane would be to pamper and celebrate your body and the creative, abundant Goddess within you. Take a bath with a couple drops of essential oil [I love lavender], get a massage [give a massage!], brush your hair, put on pretty clothes, eat nourishing food, take a walk in nature, pick yourself a bouquet, meditate in front of your altar [construct an altar with flowers and candles and incense and anything that reminds you of the Goddess], dance with others or by yourself. Celebrate yourself and your wonderful, sensual nature. Do what feels good.

And of course, if there is a special someone in your life, this is an excellent time to celebrate the love you share. Johnson and Shaw recommend this for when the children are asleep: "...you and your partner may want to have some special time together; decorate your bedroom with flowers and candles, or make love outdoors. Forces much larger that our individual selves flow through us at Beltane and every act of love and pleasure becomes a celebration of the life force in all of us."

Happy May Day to you. Many blessings of Love.

A Diaper-Free Baby

I have been meaning to write about this for a long time [every time I sit down to write, I end up writing about something else.] It is exciting, and I am a proud mama.

Miss Yasmina is all done with diapers. Since 15 1/2 months old.

Back in February I wrote about how Mina had transitioned to pooping in the potty. Not too long after that [about a month ago now] she fully potty trained herself.

Really. It was all her.

She started telling me when she had to pee by pulling at her diaper and making whiny sounds. For the first couple of days she told me right after she had already peed in her diaper, and then she learned to tell me before she went. Now when she has to pee, she pulls at her crotch and makes her "eh eh eh I have to pee" noise. Sometimes she doesn't tell me, and I just have to check in with her when I know she hasn't peed in awhile.

Now, just because she is diaper-free [and she still wears one at night] does not mean we are accident-free. In fact, accidents happen on a regular basis. I just consider them to be part of the learning process. I'd much rather her have an accident a day than wear diapers all day. And besides, as long as my trusty spray bottle of white vinegar and water is nearby, accidents are really no big deal.

Now my baby has a cute little undie butt instead of a big diaper butt [which was also cute but in a different way]. And she can wear all those sweet pairs of jeans that never fit over a cloth diaper. Yes, I'm into diaper-free. Accidents or no accidents.

Look at that cute diaper-free butt

If you are a mama of a baby or are thinking of becoming a mama of a baby, I would highly recommend you do some research on "elimination communication," which is what they call it these days. In the meantime, these are my guidelines teaching your baby to use the potty:

1. Be flexible. Don't worry about catching all your child's pees and poops in the potty. Even one pee a day in the potty will help the baby learn how to use it.
2. Use cloth diapers. Not only do they eliminate the waste of disposables [and the resources needed to make them], they help children keep the association between going pee and feeling wet. Disposables are so effective at keeping babies dry that they lose their connection to their bodily functions.
3. Start as young as you are comfortable with. The first time I held Jai and Mina over the toilet, they were five days old. I just held them over the toilet, said "psssss" and watched in amazement as the pee came flying out. [I held them over the big toilet until about 3 months old, then I switched to a baby potty.]
4. Keep a potty in the bathroom, and let your child see you go to the bathroom. They are natural copy cats. [Jai maintains that Mina learned to use the potty from him.]
5. When it's warm and nice outside, let your child run around diaper-free. Peeing down their leg a few times will help them learn to pay attention to the "I-have-to-pee" feeling.
6. If your baby is wearing a diaper and you see that they are pooping or about to poop, grab them, run to the bathroom, and put them on the potty. They will learn where poop is supposed to go.

Like I said before, I would urge you to do more reading on the subject. Here is a helpful website and here is a helpful book. And I must also say that although my kids both went diaper free pretty early (Jai at 18 months and Mina at 15 1/2), practicing elimination communication [or EC] does not necessarily mean your child with potty train super early. But it will make it much, much easier when the time comes.

[And did I tell you that I no longer have to do laundry every day?? Yes, yes, yes!!!]

*Gratitude*

Happy Ostara! (Spring Equinox)

Happy Ostara and first day of spring! We celebrated by honoring what spring represents for us: new beginnings, rebirth, the element of air.

The beginning of spring is the time when the birds are returning to us, filling the air with their beautiful songs. The other morning (a sunny, nice morning) we stood outside and listened to red wing blackbirds (my favorites), stellar jays, flickers, varied thrush, winter wrens, crows, mourning doves, and many more whose names I don't know. In honor of the birds and air and spring, we dyed eggs.

Jai mushes cooked beets onto the eggs for a speckled effect

We hard-boiled the eggs with onion skins (which turned the specifically-bought-white-eggs a beautiful brown, much like the eggs from our hens), red cabbage, and beets. The red cabbage and beets imparted a subtle hue, but after mashing the cooked vegetables into the eggs shells, they looked beautiful and speckled like eggs from the wild birds.

Mina waits for the birds to come hide the eggs

This morning, Jai and Mina woke up to find that the wild birds had taken the eggs and hid them around the yard. Much joy and merriment ensued as they discovered eggs hidden in garden beds, in the long grass, and up in the trees.

A bounty of eggs is found

Today I would have liked to take a walk around to look for signs of spring, but the cold, hard rain kept us [mostly] inside. Thankfully, we had taken a walk the other [sunny] day. Below is what we found:

Daffodils almost ready to pop

The honeysuckle on our porch births baby leaves

Indian plum gets new leaves and delicate blossoms

The classic springtime beauty

For dinner tonight, my parents came over for an Ostara feast. We had a huge salad with greens from Grandpa's greenhouse, sunflower seed sprouts, and last fall's beets (which have stored really well in a cooler in the barn). On top of the salad, we had [of course] hard boiled eggs. Eggs at this time of year not only are an homage to the birds, they are ancient symbols of fertility and rebirth (we saved one of our eggs to plant in the garden as a blessing).

After dinner we gathered in the living room and lit the special incense we had made the other day. Incense is representational of air, the element of spring. [We made our incense by mixing up some [untreated] sawdust from Grandpa's sawmill, lavender from last year's garden, and ground cardamon (from some faraway location). Mina mixed it all in a bowl and Jai ground it with a mortar and pestle. To burn it, I filled a ceramic bowl with dirt and piled in some incense.] As we passed around the bowl of earthy sweet aroma, we shared our intentions for the springtime.

Our Ostara altar

What intentions do you have for this spring? Feel free to share in the comments below.

*Blessings*

p.s. For more information about celebrating Ostara and other earth-based festivals, check out Celebrating the Great Mother by Cait Johnson and Maura Shaw

Facing Death

I have always been an animal lover. As a girl, I collected a menagerie of animals, including rabbits, pigeons, ferrets, cats, dogs, horses, and a one-legged duck. It was well known that I might come home with a new animal at any time. Anthony, having mostly known me as a city girl, did not truly understand this aspect of my nature. He's starting to now, though.

This time around, I am starting out slowly (perhaps having two small children is one of the reasons for this?). Last year we only acquired two cats and five chickens. I have plans for many more, but haven't quite gotten around to it yet.

Until a couple of weeks ago, when a neighbor informed me that another neighbor would be reducing their herd of Shetland sheep (aka putting them in the freezer) and wanted to know would I take the super sweet one that her daughter loves?

Without missing a beat, I said Yes!

Somewhere in my future were plans to raise sheep. Perhaps not this soon, but why not? Especially when I read up on Shetlands and learned that they are good mothers and easy lambers, incredibly hardy, and good for wool and meat. I wanted to raise some meat lambs anyway and also want to get into spinning, so acquiring some sheep seemed natural. And we also have so much pasture (and two resident sheep of my parents') that it would be easy.

So last weekend, our lovely neighbors trucked over the beginnings of our sheep herd (I didn't get any pictures because it was raining so hard, but oh I wish I had! You should have seen those sheep in their oversized pet carriers - Shetlands are small). Maggie, Patience, and Laura where introduced to their new home.

Having animals enriches my life. The cats, the chickens, and now the sheep have made our experience here more joyous and alive. I love taking care of the animals with my kids. It gives us purpose and teaches us so much. We had a great time feeding our new sheep hay and grain so they would get used to us and love us.

Patience and Laura were pretty convinced they wanted nothing to do with us, grain or no grain. But Maggie was different. She had been loved on by our neighbors' daughter from the time she was a lamb, and she was a sweetheart. Clear greenish eyes, lovely curly creamy wool. And she loved grain. She would eat it out of Jai's and Mina's hands, and she would stick around for lots of loves afterwards. We were all taken with her.

Yesterday morning I woke up to find Anthony peering out of the bathroom window. "What is that out in the field?" he asked, although I'm sure he already knew. I took one look, threw on my coat and ran outside, praying, don't let it be Maggie.

It wasn't. It was Patience. Her eyes were glossy in death, and her hind-end had been eaten away.

Farther down the hill I found Maggie. She was untouched, except for the wound on her neck that had killed her. Laura huddled miserably with the other two sheep (who are huge compared to the Shetlands and thus fairly safe from attack). It had snowed the day before, so I was able to look around for tracks. Even though everyone around here is quick to blame cougars for sheep deaths, I'm pretty sure it was coyotes. Most sheep are too large for a coyote, but the Shetlands are little.

The morning felt sinister. The crows gathered on Patience. I felt sick.

It's easy to think of the predatory animals as the bad ones, the sheep as the poor sweet victims. But I know this is part of living out in the woods with animals. This is part of being a farmer. Death is part of life. The coyotes were only being coyotes.

After Jai came home from school, he looked at the sheep with me, and we talked about death. We have never hidden death from him, although he had never before had the opportunity to see such a graphic show of it. He took it matter-of-a-factly and with much curiosity (although he did say he wished it was Laura who had been killed instead of Maggie). We talked about Spirit, God, and how Maggie and Patience will be buried and turn into the earth from which they came. Death is life, and life is death.

Before burying Maggie, we sheared off her beautiful creamy wool. In doing so, I felt like I had faced one of my demons. As I said earlier, I have always been an animal lover, and death of an animal was something that traumatized me, something I avoided. But now, after having dealt with my dead sheep, in the company of my children, I have empowered myself. I honored Maggie by shearing her wool. I took care of my animals by taking care of their deaths. I am sad, but I hold no anger towards the coyotes. They were only acting out their true nature.

Maggie and Patience, I thank you for the joy you brought us. I thank you for the experience of caring for you. I thank you even for your death, and the learning and experience it brought me and my family. May you rest in peace and in love.

p.s. Now I will not only be getting more sheep, but also an Alpaca for protection....stay tuned.
*Blessings*

Sweet Release : Babies Can Potty Train Too

*Note to sensitive readers: this post contains many references to poop, pee, and potty

This post is not a brag. I promise. It is an expression of gratitude for a truly wonderful occurrence. Yasmina, at 14 months, poops in her potty. Only. As in, not in her diaper. Gratitude, gratitude, gratitude.

Although it is a wonderful occurrence, this hasn't happened by accident. Thanks to some wise words I came by when I was pregnant with Jai, both of my kids have peed and pooped in the toilet since they were 5 days old. It was fairly simple- I just held them over the toilet and made a peeing sound. Pssssss...

Jai enjoys his potty at 6 months

Now don't get me wrong. It's not like they didn't wear a diaper and only peed and pooped the potty. Because they did [wear a diaper] and they didn't [only poop and pee in the potty]. (Although I must say that Mina has a history of pooping in the potty. When she was tiny, it was really hard for her to poop lying down, so I had to hold her over the toilet. Even in the middle of the night.)

Thankfully she quickly got over the whole
have-to-get-up-in-the-middle-of-the-night-to-poop phase.
This is Mina at 8 1/2 months.

As both kids grew from infant to baby to toddler, they would go through phases of more pottying or less pottying. Before Jai stopped wearing diapers, he too always pooped in the potty (because it was so obvious when he had to go that I could always get him to the potty on time). He was less consistent about peeing up until the time he stopped wearing diapers. He wasn't quite 18 months when the weather turned warm and nice with the beginning of summer. We were outside all the time, so I just stopped putting a diaper on him. After about a week of peeing on himself, he got it.

I'm planning to do the same with Mina. As this post commemorates, we are already halfway to total diaper freedom.

Her learning to poop in the potty is so exciting because she totally understands what she's doing. 100%. I'm not just catching her in the act and putting her on the potty. A couple of weeks ago, when this all started, I thought maybe the potty poops were a blessed coincidence. I would be coming out of the bathroom, and she would run over to me and grunt. Onto the potty and out with the poop.

Now we've had many incidences where she was in a totally different room, ran to the bathroom, and squatted down next to her potty. Onto the potty and out with the poop. I think it's official now.

Family potty time

I don't think my kids are potty prodigies by any means. When you read about parenting in other cultures, you learn that early potty learning is just the natural way things are done. I think it's a great disservice to the majority of American parents (and their children) that we are told babies are not able to learn pottying before the age of 2 (or 3 or 4...) What I've experienced with my own children, and seen with the children of friends, is that babies and small children have an innate knowledge of their bodily functions. We just have to show them where to put it. Of course, this does take some patience, flexibility, and acceptance of the fact that some accidents will happen. But doesn't that describe all aspects of parenting?

All I can say is, I am filled with gratitude every time I don't have a poopy diaper to clean. Thank you, Goddess of Release. May poop always make it into the potty.       *Blessings*