Monday, August 27, 2012

On repeat

We have had this slide sitting in the hallway for like six months!  It was mine as a child and I was so excited to set it up for Caches that I may have had Ryan assemble it a tad bit premature.  And so it sat, a perfect obstacle to stub a toe on for the past five months or so.

Then, about a month ago when I couldn't find the baby (What?  Oh, I'm soooo sure you never misplace your baby!) I peeked down the hall and there he was, standing on the platform grinning.  Oops.

Now he is quite comfortable going up and down though I still cringe every time he is climbing the stairs.  I mean toddlers aren't exactly steady or coordinated.  Nor do they pay ANY attention to what they are doing.  Caches, don't trip on Abner.  Caches the dog is right in front of you.  Caches LOOK DOWN FOR HEAVEN'S SAKE!  I swear he might as well have his eyes closed!

Anyway, here is a video of him sliding.  He would slide his pants down first, then slide down himself, collect the pants and repeat over. and. over. and. over. 


Wednesday, August 22, 2012

Full disclosure

I don't particularly like mommy labels, "crunchy," "hippy dippy," "green," "attachment parenting," "crazy!"  Okay, maybe one of those is an obvious fit, but what about all the other ones?  Is there a score card that I need to fill out to see if I qualify as a true "attachment parent?"  What if I don't meet ALL the criteria?  Does that mean all my efforts will be in vain?  What do you mean I don't get extra "points" for rinsing poop out of diapers every day?  And what the heck does it mean to be "crunchy," anyway?

I'm going to be honest here, because I have a feeling that there are a lot of peaceful parenting, co-sleeping, baby wearing, cloth diapering, breastfeeding, vinegar to clean everything, homemade granola bar making moms out there that are not.  I know, I said I don't like labels, but if I don't label myself for the sake of this post then how will I tell you how much I suck at all of it?

So, in case you were wondering...

I get touched out!  There are entire days when I don't want ANYONE touching me let alone breastfeeding off of one boob and trying to grope the other all with a foot in my throat

Sometimes I wish Cache would take a bottle, a pacifier, his dad, whiskey, anything but a boob

I fantasize about night weaning

I've offered a graham cracker instead of nursing on more than one occasion

Sometimes I want to sleep ALONE


I think a stroller is a fantastic invention and I'd like to use mine MORE!  Cache disagrees

I get tired of holding and/or picking up and putting down Cache all. the. time

I yell

I lose my temper

Sometimes it seems WAY easier to be UN-peaceful

I slam doors

I say things in frustration that I later regret

Sometimes I don't feel like stuffing diapers so I use disposables*

Sometimes I don't feel like washing diapers so I use disposables*

Sometimes I don't feel like changing another damn diaper, PERIOD

I buy granola bars

I buy Snickers bars

I eat ice cream for dinner... and I let Cache taste

I'd use the most toxic cleaner on the market if it promised to keep smears off of my stainless steel appliances.  Unfortunately this product DOES NOT exist

I have been known to lick, yes lick drips of yogurt etc. off of the counter rather than get a rag and wipe them up

I can't let go of my MAC concealer or red lipstick.  Crushed up red beetles and all

I have ignored my child more than once because I was perusing facebook, pinterist or instagram on my phone
And I'm sure there are a lot more ways in which I fail to be "attached," "crunchy," and "green," on a regular basis.  But that's okay because I never set out to be anything.  In fact I didn't even know what these things were until after Caches was born, seriously.  Well, I knew what it meant to be green, of course.  Just ask Ryan about the death stare I flash when he uses a paper towel for anything other than poop or vomit.

Here's the thing.  We all want to do the best for our kids, our bodies, our homes and our planet.  Well, most of us do anyway.  The problem is that the action is SO much harder than the idea!  I have fantastic ideas and intentions all day every day, but the action, ehh.  We are at about 75% on most days.

Cloth diapers are brilliant, really.  But the first time rinsing a HUGE poop out of one and not realizing that the diaper sprayer was on full blast spraying poop all over the bathroom and my face was a splash with reality!  No pun intended, gross.  Peaceful parenting with patience and loving guidance at all times.  Sounds lovely, but in reality it is very difficult to be peaceful at the end of a LONG day when baby is melting down, the dogs are going wild and you just dropped an entire watermelon on the freshly mopped floor.

So at every days end I try to take a moment and assess what I could have done better.  Some days it is A LOT and others I feel like I did pretty good.  All I can do is TRY to be the best me I can be and remember to B R E A T H E.  Oh, and hope that Caches doesn't remember the first say, ten years of his life!

*They are chlorine free, biodegradable disposables.  Can I still be in the club??

Monday, August 20, 2012

Toddler: a young child, usually one between the ages of one and two and a half

Caches likes to brush his teeth.  Correction, Caches LOVES to chew on a toothbrush brush his teeth.  If he sees a toothbrush up on a shelf in another room he will gasp in awe and raise his arm pointing at it in all it's Oral B glory.  This has always been a pretty easy "give in," for me.  I mean why not let him chew on a toothbrush.  We designated a toothbrush for him and keep it with ours so whenever we brush our teeth he joins in and chews on his toothbrush.  Fun.

The other morning we walked into the bathroom as per usual to brush teeth before our morning walk.  I grabbed both toothbrushes, put a dab of spry toothpaste on them and rinsed them under the faucet.  I put mine in my mouth and handed Caches his.  Simple, right?  Wrong.

He threw his arms to his side, stamped his foot and screeched!  Ummmm, okay.  Does this mean that you don't want the toothbrush?  Nope, he wanted mine.  As I brushed, I tried a few more times to hand him "his" toothbrush but this only served to further piss him off until he was a screaming mess on the bathroom floor. 

Huston, we have a toddler

Ah toddlers.  They are pretty darn cute, aren't they?   The drunken sailor walk.  Those sweet chatty babbling conversations.   The wispy curls.  The sense of adventure.  The waving and clapping.  The awe of their ever expanding world.  The hugs and kisses.  The intense LOVE!  And then there is the shrieking, the screaming , the crumbling in public, the pinching, the biting, the fingers in your nose, the fingers in your mouth, the spiting out of food, the refusal to eat any food, the spreading of food all over your house, the touching of EVERYTHING (usually with sticky  hands), and the ever famous temper tantrum. 

Kind of like puppies, I'm fairly certain that God made toddlers extra cute so we wouldn't be tempted to give them away when they say, peed on the rug.  And yeah, your toddler will probably do that too.

Buckle your seat belts, I have a feeling this wild ride is about to get even wilder.

Thursday, August 16, 2012

Tread lightly

"What did you do today?"

Seems like a simple, thoughtful question.  But ask this question to a mother at the end of her day and it may not exactly produce the response you were hoping for. 

Ryan and I have always checked in with each other during the day or at the work days end.  Just a quick reconnection, I like it, I think it is a nice habit to be in, but once I became a mom I kinda hated it! Like a lot.  All of a sudden it was a loaded question.  So much pressure!  I dreaded hearing it when Ryan came home from work.  "What did you today?" went form, oh Ryan is interested in my day to hey, Ryan is questioning me!  Or at least I felt like it did.

Because even I didn't know what I did all day!  The hours passed and I was exhausted, but I had nothing to show for it.  No interesting stories to share, no yummy dinner prepared.  Hell, I was still in my pajamas half the time, my hair a tossled mess.  Did I brush my teeth today?  

For quite some time I dug deep and tried to come up with something, anything to share about my day.  Oh, we went on a walk, looked at a toy, washed clothes (no way the were folded), I THOUGHT about cooking and now here we, smile.  What I wanted to yell say was, "What did I do all day?  Are you kidding me?  Your kid is alive, isn't he?"  I would get angry because I felt judged.  And I was extremely insecure, like I should have a better answer.  

You see, I'm used to accomplishing a lot during a 24 hour period.  I mean A LOT.  I don't dilly dally,  I don't sit still, I get shit DONE.  And I thought after having a baby that I would still be able to accomplish quite a lot in a day.  Okay, you can stop laughing now.  I honestly did.  I mean I knew it wouldn't be quite the list it was pre-baby, but I definitely thought I could manage a simple dinner and changing out of my pajamas!

But I couldn't, and I fought it SO hard. I beat myself up for MONTHS.  I would feel worthless at the end of a day.  What a horrible wife and mother I was.  Not only did my baby hate me and life in general, but my husband would grow to hate me too!  Not many men like to work all day and come home to a screaming baby, no dinner, no ironed shirts for work the next day and a stinky, brain dead wife who goes to bed at 7:00 to hold the baby all. night. long.

I was angry at myself for not being able to get things done, I was angry at my baby for not allowing me even a few moments to get things done and I was angry that my husband was asking me about all these things that were not getting done.  I spent a lot of time angry and it sucked!  

Then something wonderful happened.  Acceptance.  Why did it take me so long to accept that this was my reality?  Why did I fight SO hard?  In a nutshell, CONTROL!  I don't like not being in control of my body, my house, my schedule, my life!  And I was blessed with a baby who challenged  every single fiber of my being every single second of the day AND night!  He is hands down the most humbling thing in this world. 

I get more done these days, yes, but there are still some days when Caches needs to be held more than the vegetables need to be chopped and my night shirt is still on at noon.  And I pretty much never wear make up or straighten my hair.  And guess what, it still bothers me, but I am no longer angry.  Because what I accomplish in a day is more important than laundry, cooking or cleaning.  I am responsible for the well being of a person.  A tiny, spirited, impressionable person who thinks that climbing a latter when you turn your back on him is a good idea.  A tiny person who is going to grow up to be a big person who won't remember if the laundry was folded or the floors were mopped but who WILL remember that when he needed to be loved there was nothing more important to do.  

The day after Caches was born my doctor told us a story.  It was about a man who came home to complete chaos one day after work.  Children running wild, food and toys everywhere.  Later, he found his wife upstairs in the bath reading a book.  "What is going on?  Are you okay?" he asked.  "Yes," she replied.  "You know how every day you ask me what I did all day.  Well, today I didn't do it."

*Just so nobody calls Ryan and is like, "Oh my gosh.  Did you read Anne's latest blog!?: I am fortunate to have a husband who never asked this question with a condescending tone.  A husband who always reminded me that the baby was the most important thing and a husband who reminds me that I am loved and long as my armpits are shaved. 

Tuesday, August 14, 2012

Flipping the roll

A little while ago, actually like two years ago, I wrote a little diddy about Ryan's inability to refill the small drizzle bottle of olive oil.  We all have our own olive oil chore, and for me it is replacing the empty roll of toilet paper with a new one.  I mean I HATE doing it!  Which is strange because I also can not stand when someone else does it wrong.  As in positions the roll so that the end hangs under.  How dare you do me a favor and do it WRONG!  It MUST roll over or I will have anxiety every time I step foot in the bathroom and I'll never be able to poop again!  If you haven't guessed already, Ryan is an end of the roll under toilet paper replacer!

I almost couldn't marry him because of it.

Bottom line, I don't like doing it, and because I am the one who uses toilet paper most frequently, for #1, #2, baby boogers, spiders, etc, I always seem to end up using the last square.  I swear Ryan leaves juuuuust enough for me to wipe and have to replace it every. single. time. but he would tell you otherwise.  Anyway, because I don't like doing it I tend to "forget" about it, like a lot.  That is until I have already sat down to pee.  Then, when I reach for paper there is nothing but an empty spring loaded holder thingy I'm like ohhh yeah, damn it!  And yes, you read that correctly.  I go through the trouble of recycling the empty roll but don't go the extra mile and put on a new one. 

Make life easier and keep an extra roll by the toilet, you say.  Can't do it.  Just in case you have only recently started reading this blog, let me remind you of something very important to keep in mind when reading ALL my posts.  I'm completely, certifiably crazy, no seriously, I have papers.  I also probably have a mild form of OCD, and in my world, extra toilet paper belongs in the storage closet with extra Kleenex, extra towels, extra toiletries, you get the picture.  Extra toilet paper does not belong sitting next to my toilet even if it makes my life full easier.

So now I am left with a dilemma. Drip dry?  Just pull up the pants?  Use a Kleenex and risk backing up the plumbing because you know, Kleenex wasn't designed to be flushed, and ONE single Kleenex could cause a massive back up and flood the house! Sigh.  You know what I don't do?  Walk my drip dried ass over to the cabinet and replace the toilet paper roll!!!  Why, WHY don't I do it!?  I swear I will let this happen a good 3-4 times before I "remember" to replace the roll.  It's like my brain just refuses to do it.

Maybe it's because sometimes, if I wait long enough, it magically gets replaced.  Kind of like the bottle of olive oil in the kitchen.  Of course it gets replaced with the end of the roll facing UNDER, but it is replaced none the less. Well, last week the guest bathroom was missing toilet paper for a good two days.  Nobody said anything about it and neither one of us was budging.  It was a big fluffy elephant in the room.  It was a waiting game.  I used the other bathroom on purpose.  HA! Eventually the toilet paper fairy replaced the roll, HA again!  But while the toilet paper holder sat vacant, I drizzled the last little bit of olive oil out of the bottle I put that freakin' thing right back in the cabinet without filling it.

You know, so I could do it later.

Monday, August 13, 2012

He's a dog, right?

I'm not sure if it is my dog that thinks he is a human or my human that thinks he is a dog,

 But somewhere along the way the lines have blurred.  

I'm fairly certain it is my fault, but in my defense, they are both really freakin' cute. 

HA!  Look at Caches' two little gopher teeth peeking out.

Friday, August 10, 2012

Just a typical morning

The birds are chirping, the coffee is brewing and the sun is shining, it's a beautiful morning.  I put the dogs outside to poop do outside stuff while I prep the 14 some odd items that Caches may or may not eat one bite of for breakfast.  I sneak a bite of oatmeal into Caches' accidentally open mouth as I will the coffee pot to brew faster.  He rolls it around his mouth for a bit and I'm pretty sure he was actually going to swallow it...until Abner scratched at the back door.  Oatmeal, meet floor.  "Ouuu?"  "Yes son, the dogs are outside."  "Ouuuu?" As he walks to the back door.  "Yes son, let's let the dogs in."  "Ouuuuuuu?"  "Let me guess.  You want to go outside?"  The scrunched nose smile and fist banging on the door was a subtle hint.

So we head outside, only one of us enthusiastically.  Why do kids like to go outside at six am?  I follow Caches to the swing and just as I begin to push the kitty emerges from the bushes nearby.  "Kiiii?"  "Yes son, there is the kitty."   A few pushes later Abner spots the cat and initiates a hey, chase me kitty, game.  How fun.  But then the cat bites the bulldog who runs through the grass, stepping in his morning pile of poo.  Lovely.  And  then of course heads for the back door which is still open.  I leave the baby in the swing, I know, I know, I'm negligent, and run over to shut the door on potential shit paw painting my floors.

Caches is done swinging and I'm contemplating a plan of paw washing without help from tiny, Oooo, poop is fun, hands.  I put the kid inside, grab some shampoo and tell him to hold tight while I grab the unsuspecting bulldog.  Into the sink he goes.  I figure why not give him a whole bath while I'm at it.  Abner is actually really good about getting a bath and Caches is somewhat content to watch so my plan is working.  So far.

After his bath and towel dry, Abner, like any good dog, likes to run around the house completely losing his mind doing burn outs and barking.  FUN!  I throw the dog towel in the washer and turn around to see Caches walking toward me, wide eyed and grinning, squishing something in his hands.  "What do you have, son?"  Squish, squish.  What the?  Is that what I think it is?  Yep, dog vomit, perfect. 

Ever seen what a pile of dog vomit looks like when it is spewed from a bulldog running full speed?

Now you can say that you have.

Cleaning up the vomit without the kid playing in it was nothing short of a gold medal worthy performance.  I swear if I would have let him he would have wriggled around in it!  Is the coffee done yet? 

And this Caches, is why we don't go outside at 6:00am

Thursday, August 9, 2012

Child prodigy

Caches has had this horn, a gift from his friend Kiley, since his birthday.  For the past month he has been asking us to blow it for him with the occasional accidental sound on his own.  Then yesterday, out of nowhere he got it.  And continued to get it for a solid five minutes. 

I'm sure my hearing will come back soon, enjoy.


Wednesday, August 8, 2012


Utter this word amongst a group of moms and you are likely to get an earful.  Sharing is either of the utmost importance for their child's "manners" or, like me, they think that sharing is overrated.  "What?!  Not only does this crazy woman flip off her baby and curse at her husband, now she thinks her child doesn't have to share!!??  That poor kid, surely he will grow into a horribly selfish, spoiled brat!"

Okay, I hear you, but give me a moment to explain and perhaps, if you are an open minded listener you may sway ever so slightly to my side of the fence.  Or maybe not.  But if you do, don't worry, I'll share my side.


Today your two year old decided to bring her pink ball to the park.  Cute.  When you get there another little boy around the same age *cough, Caches, cough* comes up and wants to touch her pink ball.  He reaches out and as he touches the ball she crumbles to the ground in tears screaming, "MINE!"  Not so cute.  You feel a rush of embarrassment come over as your toddler is melting down, and all because another kid touched her three dollar Wal-Mart ball?!!

Ahhhhh!!!  All the other moms are judging you because your child is greedy and doesn't know how to share and oh, what a horrible mother you must be.  Surely if you were a good mother your child would willingly share that ball!  So you take the ball from your flailing child and hand it to the other kid who walks away with it gleefully.  He throws it in the sand, kicks it across the grass and leaves it for something shiny five minutes later. 

You have no idea why your child is so distraught over a stupid ball.  A ball that she didn't even care about yesterday, a ball that she shared willingly just this morning!  You assume that you are doing something wrong, you need to teach her how to share.  We ALL share!


There is not a two year old in the world, THE WORLD, who wants to share their ball!  Sure sometimes, when it is THEIR idea toddlers are great at sharing!  I can't tell you how many times I've been offered things by a sharing toddler.  Of course they want them back in about five seconds, but that's okay, that's normal, that IS sharing to a toddler.  You see, toddlers are not simply tiny adults who give a damn about letting everyone have a turn.  That is adult stuff, toddlers are primal, impulsive, raw.  And they don't want to share their things.  But let's be honest here, neither do you!

What?!  Of course I share, you say.  Yes, but only when you want to.  Don't lie, you've hidden candy from your husband and/or child at some point in your life.  Come on, you can tell me.

Now picture this. You are at the same park with your mother when a woman comes up and admires your wedding ring.  She thinks it is absolutely beautiful and would like to try it on.  You pull your hand away and politely decline, it is far to special, but your mother insists that you let her try it on.  You need to share, she insists.  You hold your hand in close to your body and try to explain how special the ring is to you and that you don't feel comfortable letting someone else wear it. Your mother insists.

You are feeling rather upset now and tell your mother and the woman NO!  But your mother holds your hand out, pulls your ring off and gives it to the woman!  The woman then slips your wedding ring on and walks away into the sand box.  Will she bring it back?  Will she damage it in some way?  Will she lose it?  It's MINE!!  Now you are REALLY upset.  You yell at your mother and run over to the woman, snatching your ring out of her hand.  You put it back on your finger and walk away to gain your composure. 

How rude YOU are, not letting that nice woman try on your wedding ring.  We need to improve your sharing!

Sounds kind of absurd, right?  Now I know what you are thinking, a three dollar ball is not the same as a treasured and valuable wedding ring.  No, not to an adult, but to a toddler it is.  And when we insist that our children share when they don't want to I feel like we are not valuing their opinion or hearing their voice, even if they cannot yet speak.   

So, how do I plan on teaching my son to share so he isn't a social pariah sitting alone in the corner with is hoard of 400 stuffed animals and balls?  I talk about it.  I tell him thank you for sharing when he chooses to do so.  I ask him if he'd like to share.  I encourage him to "trade."  I tell him it's okay that he doesn't want to share, because it is.  I tell him that the little girl at the park doesn't want to share he ball right now and that he needs to find something else to play with so the little girl doesn't have a mental break down and make her mommy wish she had a sippy cup of gin. 

You see, I value sharing just as much as anybody else and it is important to me that my son is a generous child and some day man, but I just don't think making him do it when he isn't comfortable with it is the way to go about it.  I want him to feel like his voice is important, like I am listening to him even though he can't yet speak.  I want him to listen to himself when his inner voice is telling him something; to share or not to share.  I want him to trust that the world is a good an generous place and that he is a part of it.  Unless it is some snot nose kid trying to take your ball at the park, that shit is never okay. 

How do you feel about kids sharing?  Do you want to come over to my side of the fence?  Just a little bit?  I have coffee and teething biscuits.

If you are a mother who insists that your child share her ball with my grabby son at the park, I am not judging you or your parenting skills.  Nor do I think that you are "doing it wrong" or that I am "doing it better."  We are simply parenting differently, and that's okay.   We can still be friends.  Our kids can still be friends. And don't worry, I won't try to take your wedding ring. 

Wednesday, August 1, 2012

From boobies to tits to breasts and back again

It is World Breastfeeding Week, so I figured it was a good time to talk about boobies!  They aren't really all that special, we all have them, well all females do anyway, but for some reason they are a HUGE source of conflict, comparison and scrutiny.  And it starts from such a young age!  All of a sudden little Sarah has huge boobs in like 4th grade and all the boys like Sarah because of her magical boobies!!  Of course the other girls notice and either want to be like Sarah and stuff their bras or are jealous of Sarah and assume she is a slut because you know, if a boy that you like likes her instead then she must be!

Later, girls start comparing their boobies size amongst friends, it is discussed between the boys at school, they are compared with the girls in magazines, and of course, the models.  Now suddenly everyone has either too big or too small, too perky or too saggy boobies; nobody seems happy with their boobies! Why don't my boobies look like HER boobies, you know the one in the Victoria's Secret catalog!

Then comes the very important transition from boobies to tits.  It happened around high school when I was a kid but the way sexuality is going these days I wouldn't be surprised if it happened in 6th-ish grade now.  You all remember when this happened, right.  You realized that boys like tits and you have tits and you like boys and everyone has raging hormones and suddenly you want implants and your ENTIRE self-worth is resting on these two mammary glands and oh my god, why aren't they PERFECT LIKE THE MODELS DAMN IT!!

Ahh, the tit stage.  This stage lasts a good long while and as the years go on you are not only bombarded with advertising but you are socialized to think that your self-confidence, your self-worth, your beauty and your whole life should revolve around your tits.  Buy this bra or that swimsuit, take this breast enlarging pill or cream.  You can't be popular with tiny tits!  They become the reason that guy didn't call back, why you look awful in a swimsuit and I'm pretty sure they are the reason that you are going to die alone, surrounded by cats who eat your dead body because nobody could ever love a not perfect tit girl!!


Some women never outgrow the tit stage and neither do some men.  But most do, and it's usually around the time a woman becomes pregnant that her tits become breasts.  Breasts, it sounds so clinical, doesn't it?  Suddenly they are not solely for the purpose of pleasing men, filling out a bra or getting a cocktail for free at a bar.  They are, gasp, useful!  And holy shit are they sore!  Now, I've never put much thought into my boobs, they were always just kind of there.  Average size, never got me any extra attention, were kind of a pain in the ass when sitting the trot horseback ridding or running but not all that special in my book.  Then I had a baby and everything changed.  My boobs, not that great, but my breasts, my breasts are fucking AWESOME!

My breasts grew a human, a HUMAN BEING from a tiny helpless 6 pound newborn to a rambunctious, running 20 pound toddler in just one year!  My breasts know what kind of milk to produce based not only on my child's age but his level of health.  My breasts are a source of comfort when nothing else can stop the tears.  They have spent thousands of hours nourishing not only the body, but the soul of my child.  They are a safe place when the world is too big and a perfect pillow for a nap.  They are love.

Are they the same as they were before he was born?  As perky or as full?  Nope, but now they are so much more.  They have a life, a story all their own.

When Caches was first born I knew that breastfeeding was important for me and I set a mental goal of one year.  Anything after a year I thought would be "extra" and possibly even weird for me.  But days turned into weeks turned into months then a year, and before I knew it I was looking down at a skinned knee toddler comfort nursing after a hard fall.  And in that moment he was a baby again, a baby who needed his mother and her amazing breasts.  So who am I to take that away?  Because a calendar says he is old enough?  Only he knows when he is done being a baby, and for the time being I'm alright with that. 

For I know that one day soon he will no longer need my awesome breasts or their magical healing powers.  That they will slowly return to being just boobs, because after nursing a baby for a year +, let's be honest, they sure as hell won't be tits ever again.  So I relish in the quiet moments, like when Caches lays his sleepy body across my lap, my fingers running through his wispy curls like golden rings on my fingers.  He lifts his tiny hand for a kiss, props his foot on my shoulder and I feel his whole body relax as mine follows suit.  And we rock.  We are safe.  This is love.

I'll end with a quote from Paula Yount.  I have held tight to this quote many times this past year, usually around 3am when I am DONE and I just want to be left alone to sleep for 29 years!

“You are not a pacifier; you are a Mom. You are the sun, the moon, the earth, you are liquid love, you are warmth, you are security, you are comfort in the very deepest aspect of the meaning of comfort…. but you are not a pacifier!”