Liz Parsons - Raising Huck and Ted: A Mothers Guide to Parenting

Health Communications, Inc.

Deerfield Beach, Florida

www.hcibooks.com

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

Parsons, Liz.

Raising Huck and Ted : a mothers guide to parenting / Liz Parsons.

pages cm

ISBN 978-0-7573-1751-4 (epub)

ISBN 0-7573-1751-0 (epub)

1. Motherhood. 2. Parenting 3. Mother and child. I. Title.

HQ759.P2875 2013

306.874'3dc23

2013035716

2013 Liz Parsons

All rights reserved. Printed in the United States of America. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the written permission of the publisher.

HCI, its logos, and marks are trademarks of Health Communications, Inc.

Publisher: Health Communications, Inc.

3201 S.W. 15th Street

Deerfield Beach, FL 334428190

Cover design by Dane Wesolko
E-Pub design and formatting by Dawn Von Strolley Grove

CONTENTS

INTRODUCTION

CHAPTER 1 Welcome, Earthlings

CHAPTER 2 Meet Lambie

CHAPTER 5 Drop by Any Time for Beer and Wine

CHAPTER 6 Ill Show You Idiot-Proof

CHAPTER 10 Osh-ka-ba-ba

CHAPTER 12 So Where Are You From, Exactly?

CHAPTER 13 Its a Harder Puzzle Than You Think

HUCK AND TED ARE BRAVE, resourceful, and fictional boys. They materialized one evening at bedtime when our sons Ted and Marshall were young.

Would you like me to tell you a story? my husband Steve asked our boys and thats when Huck and Ted were born. Steve chose the names at random but it was understood that Marshall, our younger son, was Huck and Ted waswell, Ted. Night after night Steve drew out the adventure story, weaving aspects of Ted and Marshalls daily life into the fabric of the tale.

Huck and Ted faced epic challenges of Steves making. There were wrongs to be righted and evils to overcome. The two boys joined forces, and relying on courage, humor, and ingenuity they resolved conflict and reestablished harmony.

Over the years those make-believe boys, Huck and Ted, have come to life in our sons. Like the bedtime story boys, Ted and Marshall have turned out well. So it may seem odd that I have never told either son that I am proud of him. People have strongly suggested itnearly insisted on it. You must be so proud of those boys, friends have said over the years. But I dont say that and our sons understand why.

I only know how to take pride in something I have worked at and accomplished myself. I have worked hard at being a good parent and a good role model. Well, most of the time. Sometimes Ive succeeded: providing opportunities for our boys to learn and grow, holding them to the expectation of being the best Ted and the best Marshall they could be, and even the simple chore of making nutritious meals... of these things, I am proud.

But when our sons have been complimented on their work ethic or their ability to infuse fun into the workplace, when they have fought their way back from a critical illness, when they have worked without complaint or taken a stand for what they believe, this is what Ive told them: I am in awe of you. You have earned my deepest admiration and respect. I look to you as an example of how I might live my life. For the choices you make, the responsibility you take for the outcomes, and all the rewards you have reaped, you should feel so proud.

I love being their mom, and I dedicate these stories to them.

BEING PREGNANT WAS NOT MY FAVORITE THINGnot because of getting fat, although that wasnt my favorite thing either, given that maternity fashion in those times was a complete oxymoron. I was over-the-moon excited about having a baby; it was just the how of it that creeped me out. I felt drawn into an alien experience that could not have been more bizarre.

The good news? You get to have a baby. The even better news? How you get to make the baby. But guess where the microscopic seedling is going to develop and grow? Inside your body! Then, after it has stretched your skin and poked and prodded all the places previously occupied by your own tissue and organs and bones, after it reaches its full width and length and heftguess where it wants to come out? Id have been better suited if Id been a chicken or a robin, loyally content to sit on my offspring until they hatched.

I wasnt much of a baby person, either. Definitely, not one of the naturals. I recall sitting in the chair in our hospital room holding our firstborn. He was all wrapped up in a little blue bunny rug. The morning shift of the nursing staff had just come on the floor, and we hadnt met yet; this baby boy had been delivered just before midnight. A pretty young nurse stopped to admire the new addition. Whats his name? she asked.

There was a painfully long silence until I realized she was talking to me . All I could think as I looked into her lovely, inquisitive face was, How am I supposed to know? I just met him, too . And thats the look I gave her.

Realizing she was waiting for an answer, I filed through the options wed discussed. Sam? No. But wed come close to choosing that. I looked at the small face. Ted. Thats who he was. It seemed suddenly very arbitrary, but apparently this was Ted.

It wasnt that I didnt love our babies, because I did. I liked how they both smelled like warm biscuits. Actually, there were lots of things I loved about them; it was only that much of the time I couldnt understand them or what to do with them.

My sister, Nancynow theres a baby person for youseemed to understand them. I dont know what else to do! I complained to her as Ted wailed in the background.

Put him down for a nap, she instructed me. Hes just tired.

How do you know hes tired? I demanded.

Because thats a tired-baby cry, she told me. In about the same tone of voice shed have used to tell me where eggs come from. Like it was something everybody knew.

I looked at her blankly. What do you mean a tired cry? I asked.

My sister shrugged. Babies have very different cries; theres one for when theyre hungry, one for when theyre tired, and one for when they have gas pains. Theyre all distinctive. That is the sound of a tired baby.

I listened intently, training my ear to pick up this nuance. Nope, it just sounds like crying to me, I told her, now certain I was not a natural.

But I suspect my sister is right. These newest earthlings arrive with a language all their own. They also come so wonderfully packaged, with all the remaining characteristics of people: little fingernails and tiny whorled ears, exquisitely small insteps, and filaments as eyelashes. I used to sit and stare into their miniature faces as they nursed and wonder, Who are you?

At the same time, I was wondering when we could be finished with the whole nursing thing. Im a great proponent of breast-feeding, and Im always the first to recommend it as healthy and convenient (unless youd hoped to ever sleep through the night again) and a beautiful experience (if you ignore the breast pads), but Id never asked for big boobs, and certainly not ones that leaked .

In the months we awaited the arrival of our second child, I fretted, knowing I would soon be reentering alien territory. Where would this new baby fit in? Three of us had already created a complete family portrait. Where would a fourth get wedged in?