My Toddler Plays with Knives

You read correctly. I let my 2-year-old son handle knives. Here’s why (I’m not crazy).

As mothers, the desire to protect our children is a natural instinct. We wash our hands incessantly to keep our babies safe from germs. We babyproof the house to keep them safe from electrical outlets, sharp corners, and easily toppled furniture. We watch with a keen eye to keep them safe from a big fall as they climb to the top of jungle gym. But at what cost?

I’ve observed that the constant focus on preventative measures and safety should dos can result in missed opportunity, exploration, and discovery. I know this characterization sounds heavy and over-the-top, but I truly believe that we spend a lot of time worrying about the what ifs and saying no instead of adopting the always agree and say yes philosophy to help our babies and toddlers fulfill an interest that requires a tool or skill that moms would likely first consider off-limits or beyond their years. At least this way of thinking and doing seems to be the common plight of first-time moms who are still learning to trust their instincts.

My son exhibits an undying love for all things that go vroom, so much so that he asks to drive our car on a daily basis. But I would never hand him the keys or let him sit on my lap and steer the car while keeping my foot perched over the pedals. As I’m sure you guessed, this is not the situation I’m talking about (Dale Earnhardt Jr. can wait). Instead, I’m advocating that we build on our desire to eschew the ways of the helicopter parent on the playground and work on letting go at home too, at least enough to make the little ones feel safe and empowered. (Motherhood: it’s always a balancing act.)

How do you do this? You let your children play with knives, scissors, and hot glue guns. (We like the Curious Chef Knife Set for toddlers to start). 

Is it possible they could get hurt? Of course, anything is possible. But with proper limit setting and adult supervision, an injury won’t be any worse than the stereotypical, right-of-passage knee scrape or head bump that all little kids get now and again. 

Why does it work? When working with my son, I’ve found that even at 2 years old—an age often not given credit for listening, staying still, and paying attention to detail—he rises to the occasion and exceeds expectations, especially when it’s an activity he has an inherent interest in.

From the time he could crawl, my son made sure we knew about his passion for cooking. The only books he’d pull from the shelf were cookbooks filled with vibrant pictures of savory and sweet treats. And he’d do this over and over and over again until he was old enough to participate in kitchen activities (including climbing in the cabinets). To introduce him to cooking and make it a success, we first set ground rules about kitchen safety. We showed him the dangers of a hot stove and oven, knives, and other utensils, as well as how we behave in this environment.

Because he became my sous chef at the ripe old age of one, we obviously educated him about cooking operations using phrases he could understand (Stove hot. Burn Hand. Ouch, ouch.) and have since elaborated upon them as he’s grown older (The knife is sharp and can cut you. Only use it on the cutting board, blade down, on fruits and veggies). Also, we repeat our kitchen rules before each culinary session as a friendly reminder. He now is very aware if he doesn’t follow these basic family rules, such as keeping the oven door closed, we take a break from an activity and try again later (there are no upsets, we simply walk away for awhile until his interest in the food project is renewed). Inspired by various posts from Janet Lansbury and Teacher Tom, I set up this system so he feels secure, confident, and free to experiment with cooking and other skills all because he has reasonable limits to guide and preserve his safety.

What are the benefits? Trust. Respect. Responsibility. Focus. Improved listening skills. Discipline. Self-Regulation. Self-Discovery. Self-Confidence. Fine motor skills. Fun. Fun. Fun. Imagination. Endless possibilities.

~ The Other Sarah

Pre-Pinterest Projects

I'm in a major Pinterest phase right now. As I told a friend yesterday, if you stand still long enough in my house, you WILL get spray painted. I go through creative phases like this once in a while. I walk around my house and see things I want to change and potentional for improvement every where I look.

I was recently admiring projects from some of my previous creative phases and regretting I hadn't gotten the entire process on film so I could share them with you (and of course pin them!). I realized I can't share how I got there but I can at least share the finished project with you and links to those who did!

This was one of my first DIY home decor projects I ever attempted and I have the glue gun burns to prove it. I followed the great tutorial from Living with Lindsay. I love the texture it adds to the wall and even made my mom (a librarian!) one for Christmas. 

I love the idea of using decor to celebrate important moments in your life, especially when the project involves something more than pictures. I saw this idea in Real Simple a million years ago and just happened to find the perfect shadow box on deep discount at (you guessed it!) Surplus City!

I'm particularly proud of this project because I made it up myself! When Griffin was born, I had visions of beautifully framed professional photos of him at 3, 6, 9, and 12 months. However, finding a photographer I really loved proved more difficult than I had expected and the sessions either didn't happen or all looked very, very different. Instead, I picked my favorite shots from each month and had them drawn my an artist I found on etsy (sadly her shop is no longer open). Then I framed them all and added numbered stickers to represent each month in the bottom corner. It's one of my favorite walls in my entire house. 

Some DIY projects make your home look prettier. Some DIY projects change. your. life. I do not know how I lived without this jewelry organizer. Well, I do and it was sans jewelry for the most party. Everything was in a drawer and I rarely wore any of it because I didn't know what I had and even if I did I couldn't find it. Finally, I had my stepdad cut me a piece of peg board. He also cut some 2x4s and mounted those to the wall. Then, we mounted the pegboard to the 2x4s framed out by canvas stretchers you can buy at any craft store. I then painted the entire thing the same color as my bedroom and used s hooks to hang up every necklace and bracelet I own. Now, I can see everything at a glance, which makes it much more likely that I'll grab something and actually wear it. Love. Love. Love.

So, there you go! Proof I was creative pre-Pinterest!

Now, what are some of your favorite DIY projects?

~ Sarah Stewart Holland 

Mommy's Night in the ER

You know it’s bad when the doctor offers you Vicodin. Thankfully I’m of no relation to Matthew Perry or Rush Limbaugh, so I didn’t hesitate to decline his kind offer of the narcotic even though I had, on more than one occasion during the night, felt like performing a self-lobotomy to dull the insane pain pulsing through my head.  Instead, I settled on a cocktail of antibiotics, Advil, and Tylenol to help me tolerate and recover from what the ER physician diagnosed as “terrible, one of the worst ear infections [he’d] ever seen.” 

Upon hearing his declaration, I groaned. Out of pain. Out of my inability to decipher words spoken over my right shoulder. And out of anger. Although I was grateful that immense relief was only a 430 AM pharmacy trip away, I was definitely irritated with myself that I had let my health deteriorate to this degree and truthfully hadn’t noticed (earlier that day I thought the popping in my ears were my sinuses finally clearing after of a month of on-and-off congestion). While ear infections typically aren’t that high on the list of worrisome ailments, it’s not good when one’s probably had one for the better part of a month, lets it go untreated, and, worse, lets it interfere with her ability to be present, be patient, and be involved. And despite knowing (and preaching) that a mom’s gotta take care of herself to be the best parent / wife / daughter / friend / writer / person possible, I still found myself in this predicament. I am not sure why, either.

Reflecting on what went wrong leading up to this “incident” and setting aside the notion that some things are just out of my control, I think I had difficulty admitting that my needs weren’t being met. And I don’t mean others weren’t satisfying my expectations, but rather that I couldn’t take care of ALL things myself. So instead of asking for help sooner or really recognizing that I needed to take a break from parenting duties for a few days in favor of much needed sleep before it was too late, I ignored the warning signs and my inner voice, I kept things bottled up and reacted poorly, and failed to nurture my body. This midnight trip to the ER (and probably the medical bill that will soon arrive in the mail) is a reminder that I need to address my needs as soon as humanly possible. Meaning yesterday. 

Easier said that done, right?! How do you notice what you need and make a plan to get it before you are starved for sleep, trudge through the day, find normal toddler behaviors beyond challenging, and don’t any energy to even rise and shine at normal hours?

~ The Other Sarah

I Will Always Love You

 

Whitney Houston was laid to rest on Saturday. Since her tragic death a week ago, there has been a lot written about her life, her voice, her downfall, and her death. I've thought a lot about what I would like to say about her. I was heartbroken when I learned of her death. Every single time I've heard that perfect voice break into the opening notes of I Will Always Love You tears have come to my eyes. 

But why?

I didn't know Whitney Houston. I posted an incredibly wise quote from Bill Flanagan on Facebook. He wrote, "Whitney Houston touched millions of us, but she does not belong to us. She was someone's daughter. She was someone's mother. Her memory, like her love, belongs to them." I know that is true. Whitney Houston was not my friend or even acquaintenace.

And still I'm so sad. I'm not sad about the music I'll be missing, as I was with Amy Winehouse. I had long ago given up the hope that Whitney would make her big comeback and I would hear her sing as she once had. When she launched a comeback in 2009, I had rooted for her. I wanted to believe she could do it. Sadly, it quickly became clear that years of abuse had destroyed her voice and years of self-doubt had left her broken.

My mother says I'm sad because she represents my childhood. Music has always been a huge part of my life and Whitney Houston's music was the first I connected to on a deeply personal level (as deeply as you can connect to anything at eleven-years-old that is). I remember singing I Will Always Love You on the bus for all my friends. I remember begging my mother to let me see The Bodyguard. Even into high school, I played the Waiting to Exhale soundtrack on a loop. In law school, I Wanna Dance With Somebody was my pre-final exam happy song. Whitney's voice brought me those last minutes of distraction (and I believed good luck) before buckling down for hours of intellecutal torture.

Just six short months ago, my girlfriends and I danced and jumped and sang I Wanna Dance With Somebody at the top of our lungs at my 30th birthday party. 

One of those girlfriends and I were talking about how sad her death made us. My friend thinks all of us feel some guilt and that could be the source of my sadness. Whitney Houston was not built for fame. It destroyed her and all of us - her fans - were participants somehow in that downfall. 

But somehow - I don't think that is it either. 

It was only as I watched her funeral. As I let myself cry - really cry - for the first time since she died, that I realize why I am so very sad at the death of Whitney Hoston.

I'm sad because I loved her. 

I loved her awe-inspiring, pitch-perfect, earth-shattering voice. I loved her gorgeous face and beautiful smile. I loved her as a little girl that put her on a pedastal and I loved her as an adult as I watched her fall from grace. I loved her music when it made me dance and when it made me cry. I loved her no matter what ugly rumour I heard or sad picture I saw. 

No, I did not know her as a person but I loved her as only a true fan can. And I will always love her. 

And that is why I'm sad. 

~ Sarah Stewart Holland 

Sarah's Favorite Things

Is it me, or did this week fly by? Perhaps it's because I've had a carrot at the end of the stick this week. We're taking the Little Dude to the mountains to play in the snow (we do have to pretend that it's winter in SoCal sometimes).

Image by Cannelle et Vanille

Reading The Paris Wife and inspired by my Francophile friend, so thinking of educating myself and giving this recipe a go.

Pinterest, everybody's new favorite pastime, has also captured my attention and I'm not talking about pinning.

Becoming a parent akin to becoming a vampire?

Get a brain boost.

All that glitters is gold.

The sport of forts.

I'm an ANIMAL, at least when it comes to reading.

~ The Other Sarah