Issue 35.10

Brazilians are friendly people and helped us adjust to their culture and country. I discovered that most families had at least one maid to assist them with household tasks. Since I didn’t particularly relish doing our laundry on a scrub board in cold water, we hired a woman to do our laundry. Then after realizing that we both needed to teach classes to bring in more money, we hired another woman to help with childcare and cleaning our apartment.

            With our new Brazilian friends help, we found Theresa who eventually moved into our one bedroom apartment into a small lean-to off our patio. She was a devout Seventh-day Adventist. Although illiterate, she would faithfully thumb through her bible each evening. Watching the two youngest during the mornings while my husband and I taught classes and our oldest son was off to school, Theresa called our little ones “meu filhos” or in English “my sons.” Under her loving care, our little guys enjoyed going outside to the nearby park to see the iguanas. Playing together in our small apartment, they learned to speak Portuguese from interacting with their babysitter.

            Our oldest son was enrolled at the nearby Pan American School in the mornings where classes were taught in English. I taught macramé and children’s dance there to pay for his tuition. From playing with his classmates, he too quickly picked up Portuguese. Our daily routine began with a trip to the nearby bakery for hot bread, then a simple breakfast of reconstituted powdered milk (which was quite tasty), and wonderful tropical fruits: mangos, pineapples, and papayas which were readily available at open air markets. How fun it was to buy a stock of small green bananas to take home and eat as they ripened. One tasty dish we all loved was mashed avocados with sugar and lemon juice.

            Without any modern supermarkets nearby, cooking was a real chore. Meat was not refrigerated, and there was no hamburger or McDonalds nearby. Fish was expensive and only chicken was available for a reasonable price. Our maid didn’t want to cook, so I was “it.” Having a helper at your side most of the time I found was a real adjustment, and trying to communicate with her in Portuguese was a daunting challenge. She loved to tell visitors in Portuguese that the “senora não falar (she doesn’t speak) portugués,” but I did understand that much. For more writings by Lin Floyd, check out www.lettersfromlin.blogspot.com

Issue 34.10

Then an opportunity came for us to live for a year in Brazil. Away from the radical influences rampant in America, it seemed like a chance to begin anew as a family. With a post-doctoral grant to support us, we flew to Rio de Janeiro and north to Bahia for a year of study and filming capoeira (a defensive dance form) in the country where my husband had been a missionary earlier.

            Heading off to South America with our sons, ages five, two and one, was certainly an adventure, a gamble to strengthen our relationship. Marriage counseling had not resolved our conflicts with hippie vs. conservative lifestyles. Now we were to start over in a new country. My husband spoke Portuguese fluently, and I spoke some Spanish.

            To say we experienced “culture shock” in Brazil is to put it mildly. Nothing was the same as our life at home. It was like a journey back in time. First, we lived in a hotel room until we could find an apartment to rent. One day while waiting for my husband to locate a rental, I decided to take the boys to the beach. A fun activity, but I was soon warned by local Brazilians to be careful as raw sewage was running across the sand. Despite our many immunizations before leaving America, we all became sick. With two toddlers in cloth diapers, that was not fun.

            After a few weeks, our family moved into a one bedroom unfurnished apartment in downtown Bahia with our few suitcases. My husband bought a two-burner camp stove, and a small frig to setup housekeeping. Our furniture was creative: mats to sleep on, crates to stack in the bedroom for a closet, inner tubes to sit on and a large wooden box with a round top for a table. Drinking water couldn’t be used straight out of the tap but was boiled, then filtered. We purchased an attachable electric heater for our showerhead to warm the water in our small bathroom. Buying some linens and dishes, we were soon settled.

            Our grant paid for our transportation to Brazil and a stipend of $330/month for living expenses, but that barely paid our rent. We needed to find outside employment. My husband taught dance classes at a nearby university, and I tutored ESL (English as a Second Language) to business executives. We were to live here for a year! For more writings by Lin Floyd, check out www.lettersfromlin.blogspot.com

Issue 33.10

“Make love not war” was the cry of the hippies in the 1960’s. Preaching a counter culture lifestyle, these teens and twenty something year olds were against established institutions, criticized middle class values, and opposed the Vietnam War. Fascinated with non-Judeo-Christian religions, they practiced sexual liberation and experimented with drugs. In a strong statement against American society, young men burned their draft cards. Many escaped to Europe or Canada to avoid going to war. Young women burned their bras as a symbol of rebellion, wore tied dyed clothing, and ran away from home to join loosely organized communal families.
            My husband was intrigued by this new philosophy; but I couldn’t connect with the hippie movement because of my conservative upbringing. The news was dominated by their activities. Lyrics of the new British singing group-the “Beatles,” and other popular singers of that time fueled the growing youth rebellion. Outdoor musical happenings like “Woodstock” in New York, and the production “Hair” expressed their frustration with the world as it had become.
            Haight Ashbury in San Francisco was their gathering place. We made a visit there out of curiosity while on vacation. The streets were filled with turned-on hippies happily passing out flowers to strangers in their midst. The words of a popular song by Scott McKensie explains: “If you’re going to San Francisco, be sure to wear some flowers in your hair…Summertime will be a love-in there, in the streets of San Francisco, gentle people with flowers in their hair. All across the nation such a strange vibration, people in motion. There’s a whole generation with a new explanation.”
            Little by little, I watched my spouse change his lifestyle and beliefs, and become a “hippie.” He added beads, a mandarin jacket, and striped bell-bottom pants to his longer hairstyle and growing beard. The influence of this alternative lifestyle was destroying my comfortable conformity as my husband’s behavior changed before my eyes despite the fact that he had a family and responsibilities. The popular Beatles’ lyrics summed it up: ”You say you want a revolution. Well you know. We all want to change the world.”
            There was now a division in our family, as I tried to preserve the conservative values that we had both shared before our marriage. Although our sons were small, I worried they would follow their father’s path of so called freedom and rebellion.

For more writings by Lin Floyd, check out www.lettersfromlin.blogspot.com

Issue 32.10

As my boys grew, the biggest shock of having more than one child was discovering that children didn’t naturally get along. As my babies became toddlers, fighting, arguing and jealousy developed. Sharing and peacemaking didn’t seem to be inherent childhood qualities! I found myself quite often in the role of “referee” and “disciplinarian.” No one had ever bothered to point out this truth to me before, though I had taken several child development classes in college. Being raised as an only child, this was another wakeup call for me to search for more techniques from my Dr. Spock’s book of child rearing.

            Being a modern parent, I was NOT going to spank my child, but then I discovered how easy it is to spoil your children by giving them everything they want so they won’t be fussy. When child #2 and #3 came along, I had changed my tactics and admit now that I did spank my sons occasionally. But, it worked and Dr. Spock agreed with that technique as being necessary to “teach limits and respect for authority.” As I see children nowadays growing up with no limits and little discipline, I fear for their parents’ and their grandparents’ sanity. A spoiled child controls the household and family with his or her demands and out of control tantrums.

            As my family grew, I found myself in conflict between continuing my career as a teacher or quitting to be home fulltime. It’s impossible to give your all to both jobs, and my priority was my family. Once again, I quit teaching dance and only worked part time as needed to supplement our income as my husband returned to school for a Ph.D degree.

            About this time, the Zero Population group was gaining in popularity. I remember as I was pregnant with my third child, a member of this group came to give me materials while I was at work about the importance of having no more than 2 children. We were to “only replace ourselves on planet earth.” I couldn’t help but chuckle as I pointed to my expanding waistline and declared IT as child #3. The interviewer left in disgust.

            These were the days in the late 60s and early 70s of protest: Women’s Lib, anti-Vietnam parades and the hippie movement were growing in popularity. They would influence my family in ways I could not imagine at the time. Check out lettersfromlin.blogspot.com for more writings by Lin Floyd.

Issue 31.10

New moms are reluctant to release the care of their precious newborn to anyone else, especially to a teenage babysitter with no prior mothering experience. But there does come the time when the need to get out of the home and do something without this demanding dependent creature in your arms becomes too great. If there is a grandparent nearby, that can solve the problem, but most of us don’t live near our parents nowadays. So the hunt for the babysitter begins. Asking other local parents for suggestions helps. Then you have to make the arrangements to hire someone ahead of time. No spontaneous last minute dates.

            Once a suitable sitter has been found and an hourly wage agreed upon, your worries aren’t over. You have to pick up this person, hope your child likes them and that you can be confident leaving your most precious possession in their care. Worrying and calling home to check on the situation while gone certainly limits your enjoyment while out to enjoy yourself. As more children come along, it becomes more of a challenge to find a sitter who with their limited years and lack of parental experience can handle disciplining more than one child. It’s difficult enough for you to do that.

            I remember my teenage years as a new babysitter earning 25 cents an hour. I knew nothing about babies or children, but I had no problem lining up jobs to watch children. Entertaining them by playing games was okay, but trying to get them into bed wasn’t easy. I felt so grownup then earning the few dollars I was paid for sitting for an evening. But now, I was the one trying to find an available sitter with or without qualifications.

            Many times I ended up staying home and not attending some special activity because of babysitter problems. There is no way you can take three lively boys to an evening at the theatre or out to dinner, although we tried unsuccessfully several times. It is challenging being a parent and perhaps that’s why some young couples today choose not to have children and instead to enjoy their personal freedom. I have to grimace when I recall nowadays some of my last minute desperate attempts to find someone-anyone willing to come and watch my little brood of boys, so I could relax and have a life outside the home.

Check out lettersfromlin.blogspot.com for more writings by Lin Floyd.

Issue 30.10

As our first son grew and developed, we carefully recorded each first: rolling over, sitting up, standing, walking, first word, first smile, first tooth, etc. All the details were written down in his baby scrapbook, and then letters and photos were shared with doting grandparents who lived many states away. Other firsts would come: first fall, trips to the doctor for immunizations, tantrums, use of the word “no,” and other unmentionables like playing in the toilet or running around naked. Later babies would not get the same amount of attention as our firstborn because life was too busy as more children were added.

Interestingly enough, childhood diseases came our way despite umpteen immunizations. My oldest son got the chicken pox and gave it to me when I was 7 months pregnant with his brother. That wasn’t fun. Seems that I, growing up as an only child, had somehow avoided many common childhood illnesses. I quickly discovered that moms are expected to be trained nurses and were expected to know how to diagnose and treat a wide variety of diseases. Caring for and cleaning up after sick members of the family in spite of other responsibilities was my job.

Eventually with three active sons, we made at least one trip a month to the ER mostly for stitches usually on the head or face of my rough and tumble boys. Just a simple swing at the playground could turn into a speedy and expensive visit to the hospital. Ever try to hold a wiggly little guy down who definitely doesn’t want anyone near with needles as the doctor tries to stitch his wound back together? It’s not easy as you try not to cry as your child is hurt and screaming to the high heavens.

In my day, they had a cradleboard to place the injured child on to keep them still. I can remember my second son who innocently fell off the seat at a picnic table and cut his lip. Of course we rushed him to the hospital and had a special plastic surgeon put in the stitches above his lip. That was accomplished but in returning weeks later to get the stitches out, my son would not hold still and reopened the wound. I began to dread each day wondering who would fall on the coffee table or going down steps. You can’t child proof your life.

Check out lettersfromlin.blogspot.com for more writings by Lin Floyd.

Issue 29.10

Then comes the important question for new parents, when to have the next child? I know of some new fathers so excited by the birth of their first offspring have exclaimed to their wife who has just given birth: This is so marvelous; we just have to have another child as soon as WE can. Of course the overwhelmed new mother who has not yet recovered from childbirth has no interest going through another nine months of an “out of body experience” for anyone. The idea of more children will have to be expressed later at a more appropriate time when the memories of the labor and delivery have disappeared from her mind.

            Pioneers with limited or no birth control never had to discuss this issue because mothers nursed their babies. When they stopped nursing they became pregnant again. Like clockwork almost every two years until menopause was reached or the mother died in childbirth, which many of them did. But we were a modern couple and decided to space our children so child #2 was born 3 years after his older brother. However, child #3 slipped in 15 months later and was surprisingly also a boy!

            Life was busy with three little sons. Of course when growing up as an only child and wanting to be a ballerina, I had always dreamed of having five little girls to teach dancing to. Instead I was given all boys that I have always loved dearly. So much for girl’s names, although I certainly had lots of names in mind, but Lisa, Julia and April Spring didn’t fit my boys’ personalities. (Dancing was replaced by scouting and soccer when they grew older.)

            Being a parent was a lot more work and responsibility than I had ever imagined. I discovered that when my child was sick or crying, there was no one else to care for them. Being a family was a total 24/7 service project and changing dirty diapers was not fun. Somehow it had been much easier playing house and mommy to my quiet docile dolls as a young girl. My hubby did help, but he wasn’t always there with his classes and working to support us. I also worked part time and discovered that I was responsible for finding competent baby sitters if hubby wasn’t available when I had to teach or be away from my children for any reason. Check out <lettersfromlin.blogspot.com> for more writings by Lin Floyd.

Issue 28.10

A year after I’d weaned my first child, I discovered I was expecting child #2. Although I wasn’t sure I was up to the challenge of nine months of pregnancy and childbirth again, I didn’t want my first son to be raised as an only child as I had been. Now the problem was to get my toddler potty trained so I didn’t have two children in diapers. That was easier said than done. No one prepares you for this experience before motherhood either. I found it was extremely time consuming to potty train a child or a pet. And I’d never done either before. Time to go back to the Dr. Spock books plus ask questions of other inexperienced first time mothers like myself.

            At that time there were no disposable diapers, unfortunately they weren’t commonly used in the 1960s. So I had the memorable task of rinsing out any soiled diapers in the toilet, then soaking them in a covered diaper pail until washday. Modern mothers certainly are missing a unique experience, as few today even know that cloth diapers once existed. They are busy contributing to the filling up our many landfills.

            My cloth diapers had to be washed, then dried on a clothesline. I know most moms today don’t even know what a clothes line or pins are for other than closing off potato chip bags. After air drying outside unless you had a modern electric or gas dryer, diapers had to be meticulously folded to fit the ever-changing size of your baby’s bottom.

            I was motivated to get my toddler out of diapers, but discovered that potty training techniques was dependent on me being an observant mother and spending all my waking hours asking my son if he wanted to sit on the potty. I think I was the one being trained. What had seemed fun as a little girl playing with my dolls and pretending to be a mom was now only hard work and tedious. Babies grow and change so quickly that many sets of clothing for different sizes were required. Seems I was always changing my son’s clothes for some reason or other, then they needed to be washed too. Of course all these clothes when outgrown were carefully stored away for the next little one. Check out <lettersfromlin.blogspot.com> for more writings by Lin Floyd.

Issue 27.10

Unfortunately new babies or spouses don’t come with a handbook of instructions, although grandmothers and other new mothers are always full of advice. I relied on Dr. Benjamin Spock not of the Star Wars variety but an expert in the 1960s on raising children. Just like I would consult a cookbook to know how to fix dinners, I was thankful to have some expert advice on how to raise our child. There was so much to learn, how to hold the baby, bathe and feed him plus survive as a new mother.

            My newborn wouldn’t sleep in his crib, this after we had made the move to a more spacious two-bedroom apartment. After nursing him usually in my bed during the early morning hours, I’d fall asleep and so would the baby. Then trying to get him back into his cold crib didn’t work. The moment I laid him down in his room, of course, he would awake and scream waking up the neighbors but not my sleeping husband, the new father.

            Turning to Dr. Spock’s advice, he encouraged new parents to “be firm.” Feed the baby then place him gently in his crib, leave the room and don’t return. Of course, the well-trained baby knows that if he cries long enough, mom or dad will come to the rescue. Trying to change this established behavior pattern wasn’t easy. I remember as a new mom crying as my baby cried, because I was trying to get him to go back to sleep in his own bed and not mine. It eventually worked, but was one of the hardest lessons of parenting I’d ever tackled.

            The first child is a practice model; I learned lots from him and hoped I wouldn’t make the same mistakes on future siblings. Well, guess what? Each succeeding child is different. Something that worked on the first child won’t necessarily work for the next one. I found this out the hard way. Maybe I know now why my mom only had one child.

            Mother-in-laws now grandmothers were immediately on the scene, especially since our child was their first grandchild on both sides of the family. They came to help although I’m not sure how much having them tripping over each other in a one bedroom apt is help. But come they did, with lots of unsolicited advice.

            As our son was blest in church and given a name, I finally felt like we were a real family. Life was good, but changes would come with more children. Check out lettersfromlin.blogspot.com for more writings by Lin Floyd.

Issue 26.10

Of course, in those days, the father-to-be was left in the hospital waiting room while the doctor, nurses and mother-to-be performed this intense dance of birth called delivery. When it was all over, the father was notified and able to meet the little one before the newborn was off to the nursery to sleep. Staying in the hospital for a few days to recuperate was the norm for the exhausted new mother, but in pioneer days the new mom was prescribed two weeks bed rest after a home delivery. Sounds good to me.

Many modern day moms give birth and return home sometimes the same or next day to get back to their busy lives. Any career that a new mother ever had fades in comparison to her new 24/7 career as caretaker to a newborn that wakes up at all hours demanding feeding and changing. Your life as newlyweds is over and everything is focused on keeping the baby satisfied and not crying. If the baby has colic, which causes stomach pains then, you rock or walk the baby till he falls asleep before you can rest or live a “normal life,” which by the way-will never return again.

            I taught dance until the night before my baby was born and then returned within two weeks to teaching part time as my husband was still a graduate student. The only problem was now I had this dependent little creature that I was trying to nurse day and night. After two weeks of my firstborn waking every two hours for nourishment, my doctor suggested I start feeding him cereal. That’s probably why my son is 6 ft 5 inches today.

            No one can prepare you for the shock of on call duty as a mother when all you want to do is sleep but instead you get up in the middle of the night, change the baby’s diaper, try to feed him and rock him back to sleep. Unfortunately, our first son was very colicky so the nighttime hours were as busy as the daytime hours. After a few months of trying to be a fulltime mother and a part time dance teacher, I knew something had to give. So I gave notice at my job and became a full time mother, although I tried to keep my hand in dancing by teaching children’s dance in the basement of our rental apartment. Check out www.lettersfromlin.blogspot.com for more writings by Lin Floyd.