What do you do when 2 of your kids wake up puking at midnight and seem perfectly fine the next day? Well, keep them home, of course. I'm not going to share whatever bug they're harboring with an unsuspecting group of school and daycare friends, even if it is my only day of the week to go to work. (Sigh. There have been a disproportionate number of snow and sick days on my only day to work. Sigh.)
Well, after you drop off the healthy sister at school, you heat up the bathroom. You fill up the bathtub. And you let your vomit-smelling kids play in the tub as long as they'd like. We're going on well over half an hour now.
And the rest of the day? Well, naps are a good bet. And I've found some Bollywood dance workouts on Hulu. And the puke bucket is clean and ready for more action, if needed.
Wish us luck.
Showing posts with label good thing they're so cute. Show all posts
Showing posts with label good thing they're so cute. Show all posts
Monday, March 16, 2015
Tuesday, January 13, 2015
I Am Schniggleboop
I've heard it said that there's no more precious sound in the world than to hear your child call you "Mama".
I think that the first time I heard each of my children say it, I would have agreed with that statement.
But not so much anymore.
I think I genuinely enjoyed the first 100 times I heard each child say "Mama". But now, I think I hear it 100 times before 8am. And it's lost a bit of its charm.
I think one problem is that it's so easy to say. Say it to yourself.
Mama.
You don't have to do much work to say it. In fact, you can say it 10 times in a row with little effort. Incidentally, this is part of an aphasia testing battery that I use at work. If a patient can't say "Mama" several times in a row within a short span of time, their severity rating gets worse. It's just too easy to say.
Perhaps due to its ease in utterance, it's become a habitual first word for MeToo.
"Mama, know what Vivian said at school today?"
"Mama, look at my milk. I drank it all!"
"Mama, I mean Daddy, look at my finger!"
"Mama, I mean Cameron, go away. You stink!"
It's a default sentence starter, even when she's not talking to me.
So I decided that I need to chance my name to something more challenging.
Like Schniggleboop.
The "oo" is pronounced as in "book", not like in "poop". And if you don't pronounce it correctly, I don't have to answer to it.
HurricaneDebbie can't say it 20 times in a row. Nor can she scream it at the dinner table while the rest of us are trying to talk. MeToo doesn't start every sentence with it. HeyMama can't say it without giggling, so there's overall less talking.
So far, it's a win.
And when they can all pronounce it, I'll just have to find something else to replace it with.
Until then, I'll start learning an African click language. Struggling with that should keep them at bay, at least for a few days. Wish me luck.
I think that the first time I heard each of my children say it, I would have agreed with that statement.
But not so much anymore.
I think I genuinely enjoyed the first 100 times I heard each child say "Mama". But now, I think I hear it 100 times before 8am. And it's lost a bit of its charm.
I think one problem is that it's so easy to say. Say it to yourself.
Mama.
You don't have to do much work to say it. In fact, you can say it 10 times in a row with little effort. Incidentally, this is part of an aphasia testing battery that I use at work. If a patient can't say "Mama" several times in a row within a short span of time, their severity rating gets worse. It's just too easy to say.
Perhaps due to its ease in utterance, it's become a habitual first word for MeToo.
"Mama, know what Vivian said at school today?"
"Mama, look at my milk. I drank it all!"
"Mama, I mean Daddy, look at my finger!"
"Mama, I mean Cameron, go away. You stink!"
It's a default sentence starter, even when she's not talking to me.
So I decided that I need to chance my name to something more challenging.
Like Schniggleboop.
The "oo" is pronounced as in "book", not like in "poop". And if you don't pronounce it correctly, I don't have to answer to it.
HurricaneDebbie can't say it 20 times in a row. Nor can she scream it at the dinner table while the rest of us are trying to talk. MeToo doesn't start every sentence with it. HeyMama can't say it without giggling, so there's overall less talking.
So far, it's a win.
And when they can all pronounce it, I'll just have to find something else to replace it with.
Until then, I'll start learning an African click language. Struggling with that should keep them at bay, at least for a few days. Wish me luck.
Wednesday, December 31, 2014
Thanks 2014, it's been nice to know ya!
Disclaimer: Yes, this post will serve as our family Christmas card, a much-needed blog update, and the final blog post of the year. Yes, you can call it "lame", if you'd like. I prefer "efficient". And if you're a family member looking for our Christmas card and haven't read my blog before, check out the "Cast of Characters" page down to the right. I've given the girls all pseudonyms to ensure plausible deniability when they're older. But I'm sure you can figure it out.
2014 was a year of ups and downs, as they all tend to be. We worked. We played. We traveled a bit. But we are all healthy and together at the end of the year, so I call it an overall win. We truly do have much to be thankful for. As I've written before, we are rich. No, we don't have our dream house yet. No, we haven't won the lottery. But we have a comfortable snug home with heat that we can turn up in the winter. We have warm clothes to go play outside in. We have more food than we should probably eat. We have a high-quality and safe school to send our girls to. We have loving parents and siblings that live too far away. We have a loving family of close friends that live a bit nearer. We have friends and family scattered across the nation that pray for us, cheer us on, and bring smiles to our days. We are rich.
And the rest? Well, we're working on a little concept called "contentment".
The girls are just getting bigger and better every day:
HeyMama is 6. She loves to read, loves to do math, and says she wants to be a scientist when she grows up. And no, BestestHusband didn't tell her to say that. But he might be a bit proud... She started playing the piano, and is quite diligent about practicing. She gave a short concert of Christmas music at our friends' house on Christmas Day, and is anxious for lessons to start up again in the new year. She enjoys gymnastics more than ever, and can frequently be found hanging upside down or jumping from things. And she is the most perceptive, doting, and sweet big sister a baby sister could ever hope for. And she likes to talk. A lot. I'm still trying to find a way to bottle her energy. Or just find a mute button.
MeToo is 5. She loves to do whatever her older sister is doing. So she's into reading, math, and maybe being a scientist too. Or a unicorn trainer. Or a dance teacher. We might need to start dance lessons first... She is a child of wide-eyed wonder, finding magic in the most mundane of tasks. "Mama! Come look! I pooped a 7!" And she was right, it really did look like a 7. Other letters and shapes eventually followed. MeToo will interrupt dinner with, "Guess what! I'm having a dream inside my head RIGHT NOW!" She's full of fun ideas and whimsy. She's currently lobbying us to trade her to a neighboring family so she can have a brother.
LittleDebbie morphed into HurricaneDebbie, and is typically a Category 5. At 16 months old, she is already the strongest personality in the household, and that's really saying something... She has quickly learned to communicate her wishes, and this week has decided to do that via sentences: "I need milk!", "I need Uppa!", "I need Daddy!" She has also learned quickly how to climb up to the top bunk, rock standing in the rocking chair, retrieve things from the middle of the dining room table, let herself out the door to outside, and undo an hour's worth of cleaning and organization in 2 minutes. According to BestestHusband, she is a living example of the Second Law of Thermodynamics. And she makes me want to drink. Good thing she's so dang charming and cute...
The dogs continue to add love, fur, and noise to our household. They have become skilled opportunists, seizing on the chance for a belly rub any time one of us sits or leans over to the floor. They even demand belly rubs from the girls. And you know what? It works. It's sweet to see them develop relationships with the girls, and see the girls take more responsibility in their care.
BestestHusband started a new job at a tech company downstairs from his previous job. What's a guy with a PhD in Chemical Engineering and a background in discovering oncology drugs doing working at a tech company? Something Very Different from what he did before. But he still has the same bike commute. (Some call being a one-car family being "cheap", again I like to call combining a commute and exercise as "efficient".) In his spare time he plays the role of SuperDad, stalks Boston real estate for our future house, tends a good-sized garden, makes out-of-this-world mexican sauces, and helps reign in the chaos that has become our household norm.
I'm still doing many of the same things as last year. I work per diem at local rehab hospitals a few days per week. I shepherd the girls to and from the bus stop. I try to keep up with a kamikaze toddler. I started running again this past year, mostly to improve my patience level. And I started baking sourdough bread. And at the end of the day, when the house has been destroyed by my kamikaze toddler and my patience has been destroyed by everyone else, I at least have something tasty to show for my time.
So if you're in the area, stop by for a slice of fresh bread and a glass of wine I'll be ready to pour. We have a guest bedroom, and plenty of mayhem to share. We are truly blessed by what we have, but are pretty much constantly exhausted by it. And we look forward to a new year of exhaustion, love, joy, tedium, exasperation, and blessings in 2015.
With love,
The Bundles Of Joy Family
2014 was a year of ups and downs, as they all tend to be. We worked. We played. We traveled a bit. But we are all healthy and together at the end of the year, so I call it an overall win. We truly do have much to be thankful for. As I've written before, we are rich. No, we don't have our dream house yet. No, we haven't won the lottery. But we have a comfortable snug home with heat that we can turn up in the winter. We have warm clothes to go play outside in. We have more food than we should probably eat. We have a high-quality and safe school to send our girls to. We have loving parents and siblings that live too far away. We have a loving family of close friends that live a bit nearer. We have friends and family scattered across the nation that pray for us, cheer us on, and bring smiles to our days. We are rich.
And the rest? Well, we're working on a little concept called "contentment".
The girls are just getting bigger and better every day:
HeyMama is 6. She loves to read, loves to do math, and says she wants to be a scientist when she grows up. And no, BestestHusband didn't tell her to say that. But he might be a bit proud... She started playing the piano, and is quite diligent about practicing. She gave a short concert of Christmas music at our friends' house on Christmas Day, and is anxious for lessons to start up again in the new year. She enjoys gymnastics more than ever, and can frequently be found hanging upside down or jumping from things. And she is the most perceptive, doting, and sweet big sister a baby sister could ever hope for. And she likes to talk. A lot. I'm still trying to find a way to bottle her energy. Or just find a mute button.
MeToo is 5. She loves to do whatever her older sister is doing. So she's into reading, math, and maybe being a scientist too. Or a unicorn trainer. Or a dance teacher. We might need to start dance lessons first... She is a child of wide-eyed wonder, finding magic in the most mundane of tasks. "Mama! Come look! I pooped a 7!" And she was right, it really did look like a 7. Other letters and shapes eventually followed. MeToo will interrupt dinner with, "Guess what! I'm having a dream inside my head RIGHT NOW!" She's full of fun ideas and whimsy. She's currently lobbying us to trade her to a neighboring family so she can have a brother.
LittleDebbie morphed into HurricaneDebbie, and is typically a Category 5. At 16 months old, she is already the strongest personality in the household, and that's really saying something... She has quickly learned to communicate her wishes, and this week has decided to do that via sentences: "I need milk!", "I need Uppa!", "I need Daddy!" She has also learned quickly how to climb up to the top bunk, rock standing in the rocking chair, retrieve things from the middle of the dining room table, let herself out the door to outside, and undo an hour's worth of cleaning and organization in 2 minutes. According to BestestHusband, she is a living example of the Second Law of Thermodynamics. And she makes me want to drink. Good thing she's so dang charming and cute...
The dogs continue to add love, fur, and noise to our household. They have become skilled opportunists, seizing on the chance for a belly rub any time one of us sits or leans over to the floor. They even demand belly rubs from the girls. And you know what? It works. It's sweet to see them develop relationships with the girls, and see the girls take more responsibility in their care.
BestestHusband started a new job at a tech company downstairs from his previous job. What's a guy with a PhD in Chemical Engineering and a background in discovering oncology drugs doing working at a tech company? Something Very Different from what he did before. But he still has the same bike commute. (Some call being a one-car family being "cheap", again I like to call combining a commute and exercise as "efficient".) In his spare time he plays the role of SuperDad, stalks Boston real estate for our future house, tends a good-sized garden, makes out-of-this-world mexican sauces, and helps reign in the chaos that has become our household norm.
I'm still doing many of the same things as last year. I work per diem at local rehab hospitals a few days per week. I shepherd the girls to and from the bus stop. I try to keep up with a kamikaze toddler. I started running again this past year, mostly to improve my patience level. And I started baking sourdough bread. And at the end of the day, when the house has been destroyed by my kamikaze toddler and my patience has been destroyed by everyone else, I at least have something tasty to show for my time.
So if you're in the area, stop by for a slice of fresh bread and a glass of wine I'll be ready to pour. We have a guest bedroom, and plenty of mayhem to share. We are truly blessed by what we have, but are pretty much constantly exhausted by it. And we look forward to a new year of exhaustion, love, joy, tedium, exasperation, and blessings in 2015.
With love,
The Bundles Of Joy Family
Wednesday, October 8, 2014
Hurricane Warning
Well, time keeps marching and babies keep growing.
Our LittleDebbie started walking and is now a toddler. A true toddler.
She is a force of nature. She blows into a room, and when she blows out again, nothing is the same. Socks are in the cabinet. Books are in the bathtub. Water has been spilled all over. A path of destruction follows her wherever she goes. And she's loud. She has an ear-splitting howl that doesn't seem to stop.
She's very much like a tiny Hurricane.
Her severity rating might change day to day, but she never downgrades to a tropical storm.
She also climbs whatever she can find. HeyMama is becoming adept at getting in and out of her top bunk without the ladder. The ladder is too much of a temptation for our Hurricane. She's quickly to the third rung before the bigger girls start shouting "Mama! LittleDebbie's getting into big big trouble! Come quick! Heeellllpppp!" I run in to find one or both of the girls trying to wrestle her off the ladder, while LittleDebbie shrieks and fights.
Our house is mayhem. Adorable and fun, but mayhem. But what can you expect when you live with a Hurricane?
Our LittleDebbie started walking and is now a toddler. A true toddler.
She is a force of nature. She blows into a room, and when she blows out again, nothing is the same. Socks are in the cabinet. Books are in the bathtub. Water has been spilled all over. A path of destruction follows her wherever she goes. And she's loud. She has an ear-splitting howl that doesn't seem to stop.
She's very much like a tiny Hurricane.
Her severity rating might change day to day, but she never downgrades to a tropical storm.
She also climbs whatever she can find. HeyMama is becoming adept at getting in and out of her top bunk without the ladder. The ladder is too much of a temptation for our Hurricane. She's quickly to the third rung before the bigger girls start shouting "Mama! LittleDebbie's getting into big big trouble! Come quick! Heeellllpppp!" I run in to find one or both of the girls trying to wrestle her off the ladder, while LittleDebbie shrieks and fights.
Our house is mayhem. Adorable and fun, but mayhem. But what can you expect when you live with a Hurricane?
Friday, November 15, 2013
A Conversation
A conversation heard earlier today:
(while walking the dogs with MeToo)
"I want to go for a walk around the neighborhood."
"Ok, we'll walk more before we go home."
"I don't like it when you pull my hood."
"Sorry, you kept weaving in front of me. I was going to step on you."
(starts whining and crying)
"Why are you crying?"
"You pulled my hood!"
"I'm sorry. I told you I did it because I was going to step on you. I won't do it again."
(continues whining and crying more loudly)
"You sound pretty tired. I think we should go home instead of walking."
(starts screaming and shrieking)
"I want to go for a walk! I want to go for a walk! I want to go for a walk! I want to go for a walk! I want to go for a walk! I want to go for a walk!" [*as you're reading these to yourself, make sure you stretch out all of the vowels as long as you can]
"I'm sorry, but we're not taking a walk if you're going to scream like this. We're going home."
"I don't want to take a nap! I don't want to go to sleep! I don't want to go to sleep! I don't want to go to sleep! I don't want to go to sleep! I don't want to go to sleep! I don't want to go to sleep!"*
"That's fine, you don't have to. I never said you had to."
"Carry me! I don't want to walk! I don't want to walk! I don't want to walk! I don't want to walk! I don't want to walk! I don't want to walk! I don't want to walk! I don't want to walk!"*
"Well, I'm sorry, but I can't carry you home. It's time to walk."
"I want to lay down right here! I want to lay down right here! I want to lay down right here! I want to lay down right here! I want to lay down right here! I want to lay down right here!"*
"We're not going to lay down on the sidewalk. We're almost home. Keep going."
"I can't hold your hand! I can't hold your hand! I can't hold your hand! I can't hold your hand! I can't hold your hand! I can't hold your hand! I can't hold your hand!"*
"You don't have to until we cross the street."
"I'm not tired! I'm not tired! I'm not tired! I'm not tired! I'm not tired! I'm not tired! I'm not tired! I'm not tired! I'm not tired! I'm not tired! I'm not tired! I'm not tired!"*
"I'm not sure I agree with that statement, but whatever. It's time to cross the street. I'm going to hold your hand."
(screaming and whining continues)
"Ok, we're home. Climb into your seat, it's time to go pick up your sister."
"I WANT TO STAY HOME AND TAKE A NAP!"
(screaming and whining continues while she buckles her carseat straps)
She's asleep before we put out of the driveway.
We all knew that was coming.
(while walking the dogs with MeToo)
"I want to go for a walk around the neighborhood."
"Ok, we'll walk more before we go home."
"I don't like it when you pull my hood."
"Sorry, you kept weaving in front of me. I was going to step on you."
(starts whining and crying)
"Why are you crying?"
"You pulled my hood!"
"I'm sorry. I told you I did it because I was going to step on you. I won't do it again."
(continues whining and crying more loudly)
"You sound pretty tired. I think we should go home instead of walking."
(starts screaming and shrieking)
"I want to go for a walk! I want to go for a walk! I want to go for a walk! I want to go for a walk! I want to go for a walk! I want to go for a walk!" [*as you're reading these to yourself, make sure you stretch out all of the vowels as long as you can]
"I'm sorry, but we're not taking a walk if you're going to scream like this. We're going home."
"I don't want to take a nap! I don't want to go to sleep! I don't want to go to sleep! I don't want to go to sleep! I don't want to go to sleep! I don't want to go to sleep! I don't want to go to sleep!"*
"That's fine, you don't have to. I never said you had to."
"Carry me! I don't want to walk! I don't want to walk! I don't want to walk! I don't want to walk! I don't want to walk! I don't want to walk! I don't want to walk! I don't want to walk!"*
"Well, I'm sorry, but I can't carry you home. It's time to walk."
"I want to lay down right here! I want to lay down right here! I want to lay down right here! I want to lay down right here! I want to lay down right here! I want to lay down right here!"*
"We're not going to lay down on the sidewalk. We're almost home. Keep going."
"I can't hold your hand! I can't hold your hand! I can't hold your hand! I can't hold your hand! I can't hold your hand! I can't hold your hand! I can't hold your hand!"*
"You don't have to until we cross the street."
"I'm not tired! I'm not tired! I'm not tired! I'm not tired! I'm not tired! I'm not tired! I'm not tired! I'm not tired! I'm not tired! I'm not tired! I'm not tired! I'm not tired!"*
"I'm not sure I agree with that statement, but whatever. It's time to cross the street. I'm going to hold your hand."
(screaming and whining continues)
"Ok, we're home. Climb into your seat, it's time to go pick up your sister."
"I WANT TO STAY HOME AND TAKE A NAP!"
(screaming and whining continues while she buckles her carseat straps)
She's asleep before we put out of the driveway.
We all knew that was coming.
Friday, March 29, 2013
What Not To Do When You Encounter A Tantrum
Modern life ensures that we encounter all types of people when we're out-and-about in public. And, much to the dismay of some, that will occasionally include children. Sometimes those children will be well-behaved. Sometimes those children will not. And sometimes those children will be in the middle of an all-out tantrum. It has come to my attention in the past few weeks that people feel an urgent need to DO something when they encounter a tantrum. And most of those people do things that are actually counterproductive. So I thought that I'd create a quick cheat-sheet to share with those well-intentioned people who aren't sure what to do.
Let's start with what NOT to do:
1. Do NOT come over to inform the mother that her child is being annoying. I guarantee that she already knows this. Especially don't do this if the mother is pregnant with an additional child. Your chances are good that you'll end up with a bloody nose. A large belly may make her move slower, but carrying small children will give her a strong left hook. Just back away.
2. Do NOT ask the mother to "Do Something" about the screaming. If there was a magic switch to make it stop, she would have used it already.
3. Do NOT inform the mother that the tantrumming child is "in the way". For pete's sake, just walk around. Get over yourself.
4. Do NOT offer the tantrumming child a cookie. This is the equivalent of giving someone an additional cash prize for robbing the bank. It's totally the wrong response. And may even encourage future repetitions of the current behavior. And see #1 about getting a bloody nose.
5. Do NOT offer the tantrumming child a sticker. See #4. You're not being helpful. You're just antagonizing the mother.
Here's what you CAN do:
1. DO IGNORE IT! Chances are good that the child's doing it for attention, or just experimenting with boundaries. Providing a visible response may encourage the child to tantrum more often, just for fun. Please, don't torment the mother any further. Just keep walking.
Ok, so some people are incapable of ignoring the situation, and really must DO something. It's their personality type, and they just can't help it. Ok, fine. Here are some other options:
2. DO give the mom a smile. You can even say, "Hang in there!" If you have no other reason to stop, just keep going. It's an interaction that might make her feel less judged. Being the mother of a public tantrummer can be a cringe-inducing situation to make even the most stalwart of disciplinarians doubt herself.
3. DO commiserate, only if appropriate. "Oh, my oldest was such a screamer. Ugh, she knew how to push my buttons. She mostly grew out of it." This is appropriate to say, if true. It also might give the mother a chance to chat if she really wants to demonstrate to her child that she's ignoring the situation. It also draws attention to the big picture, that children do grow out of it. In the moment, it can be difficult to remember this.
4. MAYBE consider a light-hearted compliment, if you can make it humorous. "Whew, she's got some lungs. I see American Idol in her future. Can I treat you to a set of earplugs in the meantime?" The mother might need a moment of levity. Or even just something to hear that people aren't judging her for having a lack of control over her child. And maybe she really would love some earplugs.
5. MAYBE offer the mother candy or a sticker OUT OF VIEW of the child. "Would this at all be helpful?" Let the mom decide what her child gets. It's likely that her parenting and discipline philosophy is different from yours. As much as you might want to help, it's best to let her handle the situation HER way. Because it's HER child.
So if you have childless friends, consider sharing this list with them. And if you do have children, tell me, what's missing from this list?
Let's start with what NOT to do:
1. Do NOT come over to inform the mother that her child is being annoying. I guarantee that she already knows this. Especially don't do this if the mother is pregnant with an additional child. Your chances are good that you'll end up with a bloody nose. A large belly may make her move slower, but carrying small children will give her a strong left hook. Just back away.
2. Do NOT ask the mother to "Do Something" about the screaming. If there was a magic switch to make it stop, she would have used it already.
3. Do NOT inform the mother that the tantrumming child is "in the way". For pete's sake, just walk around. Get over yourself.
4. Do NOT offer the tantrumming child a cookie. This is the equivalent of giving someone an additional cash prize for robbing the bank. It's totally the wrong response. And may even encourage future repetitions of the current behavior. And see #1 about getting a bloody nose.
5. Do NOT offer the tantrumming child a sticker. See #4. You're not being helpful. You're just antagonizing the mother.
Here's what you CAN do:
1. DO IGNORE IT! Chances are good that the child's doing it for attention, or just experimenting with boundaries. Providing a visible response may encourage the child to tantrum more often, just for fun. Please, don't torment the mother any further. Just keep walking.
Ok, so some people are incapable of ignoring the situation, and really must DO something. It's their personality type, and they just can't help it. Ok, fine. Here are some other options:
2. DO give the mom a smile. You can even say, "Hang in there!" If you have no other reason to stop, just keep going. It's an interaction that might make her feel less judged. Being the mother of a public tantrummer can be a cringe-inducing situation to make even the most stalwart of disciplinarians doubt herself.
3. DO commiserate, only if appropriate. "Oh, my oldest was such a screamer. Ugh, she knew how to push my buttons. She mostly grew out of it." This is appropriate to say, if true. It also might give the mother a chance to chat if she really wants to demonstrate to her child that she's ignoring the situation. It also draws attention to the big picture, that children do grow out of it. In the moment, it can be difficult to remember this.
4. MAYBE consider a light-hearted compliment, if you can make it humorous. "Whew, she's got some lungs. I see American Idol in her future. Can I treat you to a set of earplugs in the meantime?" The mother might need a moment of levity. Or even just something to hear that people aren't judging her for having a lack of control over her child. And maybe she really would love some earplugs.
5. MAYBE offer the mother candy or a sticker OUT OF VIEW of the child. "Would this at all be helpful?" Let the mom decide what her child gets. It's likely that her parenting and discipline philosophy is different from yours. As much as you might want to help, it's best to let her handle the situation HER way. Because it's HER child.
So if you have childless friends, consider sharing this list with them. And if you do have children, tell me, what's missing from this list?
Chocolate Regrets
This week has been a dramatic one in our household. The week started out with fun house guests, including our 1 year old goddaughter. We applied to send both girls to Catholic school next year. (That's another post for another day.) We learned that we're expecting a third GIRL! And then our other two girls gave us a sneak peak at what the teen years will be like. OH, the DRAMA!
Our first moment of teen-preview angst was on Monday, right before the gender-revealing ultrasound. The girls and I met BestestHusband for lunch, at a bagel shop between the ultrasound office and the office where he was scheduled to get a root canal. I agreed to let HeyMama and MeToo pick out bags of chips for lunch, as a special treat. HeyMama handed me hers so I could pay for them. MeToo refused. I tried reasoning with her. Before we eat chips, we have to pay for them. You picked them out, now we have to give them to the cashier. JUST LIKE ALWAYS. This usually isn't a problem at the grocery store. This day, it was. She pouted. I counted to three. She threw the chips down on the floor instead of giving them to me. So I declared the chips ALL DONE. Then the crying and screaming began. Now, keep in mind that this is all happening while I'm trying to order our soup, salad, and sandwich. The cashier was extremely patient and gracious about it. Other patrons? Well, it was a mixed bag. I interjected my conversation with the cashier with "When you're done screaming, I'll understand what you want." This is my standard tantrum routine. I don't negotiate with terrorists. When the screaming's done, then we'll talk. I continued to manage obtaining our lunch, and the screaming escalated. She loves to do this in public. I think she actually has a future on the stage.
One elderly gentleman across the shop came over and offered to pick MeToo up. Ok, that scared her. She stopped flailing and clung to my legs, still screaming.
The elderly gentleman in front of me was supportive of me sticking to my guns. "She's a strong one. You're stronger."
But the frumpy middle-aged guy across the shop? He came over in the midst of the hubbub to inform me, "You know, your kid's really being annoying!" "Yes, I know." was my response. I tried to have a conversation with him. "What would you like me to do?" I asked. "Spank her? And have someone call Protective Services on me? Would you like to spank her? And have someone call Protective Services on you? What would you like me to do?" Not surprisingly, he didn't have much of an answer. He just stalked off, muttering something about "make her stop."
The most productive of all interveners was the elderly gentleman trying to pick her up. It scared her enough to start asking me for "Up up up!" Ok, those were words. We could work from that. And we did. The tantrum wound down. The cashier was horrified about the middle-aged guy, and apologized profusely. I'm thankful for the patience not to deck the frumpy guy. I'm sorry, but you just don't tell a pregnant woman dealing with a tantrum that her child's annoying. I guarantee you, she knows. He's lucky he doesn't have a bloody nose to show for it. It's proof that the patience was given by God, and not from me. He's also lucky I didn't point him out to BestestHusband when he arrived. I"m not sure what would have happened there...
Our next moment of teen-preview angst was yesterday evening. The girls' preschool teacher surprised the kids with an Easter Egg Hunt on the playground. The eggs were filled with chocolates. Dove chocolate eggs, to be exact. That teacher has good taste. On the way home, the girls talked very excitedly about their eggs and chocolates. I agreed to let them eat a few. I know they'd been waiting all day. I have a hard time waiting all day to eat chocolate. I can't expect my daughters to be able to do it. So after eating a few, MeToo asked for a video. I said yes. It allows me to prep dinner in peace. HeyMama asked if she could have more chocolate. I said she needed to save them for after dinner. She seemed ok with that. We do typically eat dessert AFTER dinner.
But a few minutes later, the fireworks went off. "I want more chocolate! I wish I'd never eaten those chocolates!" Chocolate regret had set in. She's a bit too young to understand the conundrum of "you can't have your cake and eat it too". Or maybe not. She cried. She screamed. "I wish I hadn't eaten them! I'll never eat chocolate again! I hope Easter never comes!" The regrets streamed out, veering towards the absurd. Now, I can sympathize with this to some extent. I love chocolate. In a truly unhealthy way. I love to eat it. I always want more. And sometimes I regret eating it. Mostly because I want to have more. And eating all of your chocolate means you don't have more to eat. I was sympathetic to her hysteria until she threw her bag of chocolates against the wall and behind the couch. That's when I sent her to timeout. Regret is one thing. Chocolate abuse is another. And it's inexcusable, if you ask me... She raged in her room for a while, screaming random things. "No more eggs! No more candy! I don't like paper! I'm going to rip down all of the art in my room." When she calmed down and was ready to talk, we discussed chocolate regrets. Because I do truly understand. And then she did rip down some of the artwork in her room. Which I also understand. When I get upset, that can be a good catalyst for cleaning and redecoration.
Oh Heaven help us when the girls are teenagers. By my estimation, the teen years will directly co-incide with menopause for me. BestestHusband is screwed. I see a "mancave" in our future. And maybe a few Academy Awards in our girls'...
Our first moment of teen-preview angst was on Monday, right before the gender-revealing ultrasound. The girls and I met BestestHusband for lunch, at a bagel shop between the ultrasound office and the office where he was scheduled to get a root canal. I agreed to let HeyMama and MeToo pick out bags of chips for lunch, as a special treat. HeyMama handed me hers so I could pay for them. MeToo refused. I tried reasoning with her. Before we eat chips, we have to pay for them. You picked them out, now we have to give them to the cashier. JUST LIKE ALWAYS. This usually isn't a problem at the grocery store. This day, it was. She pouted. I counted to three. She threw the chips down on the floor instead of giving them to me. So I declared the chips ALL DONE. Then the crying and screaming began. Now, keep in mind that this is all happening while I'm trying to order our soup, salad, and sandwich. The cashier was extremely patient and gracious about it. Other patrons? Well, it was a mixed bag. I interjected my conversation with the cashier with "When you're done screaming, I'll understand what you want." This is my standard tantrum routine. I don't negotiate with terrorists. When the screaming's done, then we'll talk. I continued to manage obtaining our lunch, and the screaming escalated. She loves to do this in public. I think she actually has a future on the stage.
One elderly gentleman across the shop came over and offered to pick MeToo up. Ok, that scared her. She stopped flailing and clung to my legs, still screaming.
The elderly gentleman in front of me was supportive of me sticking to my guns. "She's a strong one. You're stronger."
But the frumpy middle-aged guy across the shop? He came over in the midst of the hubbub to inform me, "You know, your kid's really being annoying!" "Yes, I know." was my response. I tried to have a conversation with him. "What would you like me to do?" I asked. "Spank her? And have someone call Protective Services on me? Would you like to spank her? And have someone call Protective Services on you? What would you like me to do?" Not surprisingly, he didn't have much of an answer. He just stalked off, muttering something about "make her stop."
The most productive of all interveners was the elderly gentleman trying to pick her up. It scared her enough to start asking me for "Up up up!" Ok, those were words. We could work from that. And we did. The tantrum wound down. The cashier was horrified about the middle-aged guy, and apologized profusely. I'm thankful for the patience not to deck the frumpy guy. I'm sorry, but you just don't tell a pregnant woman dealing with a tantrum that her child's annoying. I guarantee you, she knows. He's lucky he doesn't have a bloody nose to show for it. It's proof that the patience was given by God, and not from me. He's also lucky I didn't point him out to BestestHusband when he arrived. I"m not sure what would have happened there...
Our next moment of teen-preview angst was yesterday evening. The girls' preschool teacher surprised the kids with an Easter Egg Hunt on the playground. The eggs were filled with chocolates. Dove chocolate eggs, to be exact. That teacher has good taste. On the way home, the girls talked very excitedly about their eggs and chocolates. I agreed to let them eat a few. I know they'd been waiting all day. I have a hard time waiting all day to eat chocolate. I can't expect my daughters to be able to do it. So after eating a few, MeToo asked for a video. I said yes. It allows me to prep dinner in peace. HeyMama asked if she could have more chocolate. I said she needed to save them for after dinner. She seemed ok with that. We do typically eat dessert AFTER dinner.
But a few minutes later, the fireworks went off. "I want more chocolate! I wish I'd never eaten those chocolates!" Chocolate regret had set in. She's a bit too young to understand the conundrum of "you can't have your cake and eat it too". Or maybe not. She cried. She screamed. "I wish I hadn't eaten them! I'll never eat chocolate again! I hope Easter never comes!" The regrets streamed out, veering towards the absurd. Now, I can sympathize with this to some extent. I love chocolate. In a truly unhealthy way. I love to eat it. I always want more. And sometimes I regret eating it. Mostly because I want to have more. And eating all of your chocolate means you don't have more to eat. I was sympathetic to her hysteria until she threw her bag of chocolates against the wall and behind the couch. That's when I sent her to timeout. Regret is one thing. Chocolate abuse is another. And it's inexcusable, if you ask me... She raged in her room for a while, screaming random things. "No more eggs! No more candy! I don't like paper! I'm going to rip down all of the art in my room." When she calmed down and was ready to talk, we discussed chocolate regrets. Because I do truly understand. And then she did rip down some of the artwork in her room. Which I also understand. When I get upset, that can be a good catalyst for cleaning and redecoration.
Oh Heaven help us when the girls are teenagers. By my estimation, the teen years will directly co-incide with menopause for me. BestestHusband is screwed. I see a "mancave" in our future. And maybe a few Academy Awards in our girls'...
Thursday, October 18, 2012
Not a Good Playmate
I currently work per diem for a rehab hospital that primarily treats adults, but does have one pediatric floor. So once in a blue moon, I get floated down to work with pedi patients.
The staffing coordinator/scheduler commented one day that pedi specifically requested a therapist that "knows how to play". She responded, "Joy knows how to play, she's got 2 kids!". When I worked on the floor that day, I realized that I felt a bit out of my element. My job was to play? And not multitask keeping the child entertained and happy while I managed other elements of the household?" I found it challenging.
There's a push from some parenting "experts"to play through everything. Playful Parenting encourages parents to approach all behavior and discipline issues through play. Play through all of your daily routines. Play through any conflict that comes along. You don't need discipline when you have play.
I have a really hard time with this. Play is important for children. Play is how they learn many things. But play is not everything. Play is most effective when it's not structured by adults. And discipline is different from play. It is necessary to help kids learn limits. I will not joke with my girls when they disobey me.
Am I really a bad mom because I don't play all the time? Certainly there's plenty I can offer without being their constant playmates. For Pete's sake, I had them so close together so they'd always have a friend to turn to. I do things they can't do for each other. I teach. I comfort. I help. I hug, tickle, hold, rock, boost, and carry. I cook, clean, clothe, and provide the elements they need in their days for action and inaction. And yes, sometimes, I do play.
At the end of the day, I don't want to be their best playmate. I want to be the foundation they build on, the walls that keep them safe, and the pillow they can fall back on. Sometimes that requires not being their best friend, and sometimes that takes too much work to have a lot of free time (and energy) to play.
So I will continue with my current approach to parenting. I will not play or trick my kids into cooperation. As my girls can recite, "I use my words to teach you and keep you safe." That is my job. I pay their preschool teachers to play with them all day. They do a better job of it, anyway.
The staffing coordinator/scheduler commented one day that pedi specifically requested a therapist that "knows how to play". She responded, "Joy knows how to play, she's got 2 kids!". When I worked on the floor that day, I realized that I felt a bit out of my element. My job was to play? And not multitask keeping the child entertained and happy while I managed other elements of the household?" I found it challenging.
There's a push from some parenting "experts"to play through everything. Playful Parenting encourages parents to approach all behavior and discipline issues through play. Play through all of your daily routines. Play through any conflict that comes along. You don't need discipline when you have play.
I have a really hard time with this. Play is important for children. Play is how they learn many things. But play is not everything. Play is most effective when it's not structured by adults. And discipline is different from play. It is necessary to help kids learn limits. I will not joke with my girls when they disobey me.
Am I really a bad mom because I don't play all the time? Certainly there's plenty I can offer without being their constant playmates. For Pete's sake, I had them so close together so they'd always have a friend to turn to. I do things they can't do for each other. I teach. I comfort. I help. I hug, tickle, hold, rock, boost, and carry. I cook, clean, clothe, and provide the elements they need in their days for action and inaction. And yes, sometimes, I do play.
At the end of the day, I don't want to be their best playmate. I want to be the foundation they build on, the walls that keep them safe, and the pillow they can fall back on. Sometimes that requires not being their best friend, and sometimes that takes too much work to have a lot of free time (and energy) to play.
So I will continue with my current approach to parenting. I will not play or trick my kids into cooperation. As my girls can recite, "I use my words to teach you and keep you safe." That is my job. I pay their preschool teachers to play with them all day. They do a better job of it, anyway.
Wednesday, August 22, 2012
Confessions of a Bad Mama
One of the great things about the Lutheran church is that, while you CAN do private confession of your sins to your pastor or elder, it's not expected. You're free to confess privately to God to receive forgiveness. But why confess privately or semi-privately when you can confess your transgressions to the WHOLE ENTIRE INTERNET FOR ETERNITY?! So here I go...
I'm a Bad Mama.
1. I publicly shamed my dogs. I was incredibly amused by Dogshaming on Tumblr, and took my own dogshaming photo. I couldn't get it to post to the site, because I'm Tumblr illiterate. So I posted it to Facebook. For those of you who think your dogs are special because they do gross stuff, they're not. Our dogs do gross stuff, too. Unspeakably gross. Well, we'll let them speak of it:
I'm a Bad Mama.
1. I publicly shamed my dogs. I was incredibly amused by Dogshaming on Tumblr, and took my own dogshaming photo. I couldn't get it to post to the site, because I'm Tumblr illiterate. So I posted it to Facebook. For those of you who think your dogs are special because they do gross stuff, they're not. Our dogs do gross stuff, too. Unspeakably gross. Well, we'll let them speak of it:
That's just hair-curlingly gross. Ugh.
2. I let my 2 year old tantrum in the grocery store yesterday. Well, I didn't let her. She just did it anyway. I just needed to pick up 2 items for dinner. She said she really wanted to go with me, and we left her sister at home. And I wasn't going home empty-handed just because she had parked herself under a table near the checkout aisle and was wailing her head off because I didn't get her cookies. I paid for those 2 items. I worked hard to get them through the angry screaming and kicking about not getting the last "car-cart" as I carried her through the aisles. I wasn't leaving without them. The stares of other people in line informed me that I was a Bad Mama for doing so.
3. I upset the firemen today. We joined the girls' preschool this morning for a field trip to the local fire house. We were allowed to get in the fire engines, and they turned on the lights. We took pictures. I sat my 2 year old on the front bumper of a fire engine so that they could take a class picture. She started crying and screaming. I asked her what the problem was and asked her to use her words. She just screamed more. I eventually took her down to avoid ruining the class picture. She screamed more. I decided that her trip to the fire house was over. I left HeyMama with her classmates and put MeToo in the car. I turned it on to get the AC blowing, and went back to the front of the firehouse to talk to the preschool teachers about what was happening. No sooner did I exit the parking lot and reach the teachers than a fireman came running up and yelled, "There's a car running with a child alone inside!" I explained that it was my child in timeout, and I had just placed her there less than a minute before. And the AC was running to keep her cool. "But that's a violation! Someone could drive away with her in the car!" The parking lot was up against the side of the fire house. I could see if anyone tried to drive my car away. I did not honestly think that it was a reasonable risk. But apparently I was "in violation". Of something. I'm a Bad Mama. So I made HeyMama leave the field trip early, and we cancelled our trip to the sprinkler park. I'm definitely a Bad Mama.
Ok, so I'm not really feeling so bad for any of those things. Those are things that other people tell me I"m doing wrong.
What I really confessed tonight was my lack of sense of humor. My inability to cherish what should have been cherished today. Losing my sense of fun. Losing the desire to demonstrate grace, joy, and thanksgiving throughout my day. Distancing myself from my children because I was annoyed and desperately trying to preserve every shred of patience I had throughout the day. Feeling that they were an imposition to my plans. My actions were actually all correct. I set boundaries. I warned of consequences. I enforced the consequences. I provided second chances. I worked to change the day for the better. We had fun. We went to the Square to run an errand and went out for ice cream later in the day. But my attitude wasn't right. And that's what really made me a Bad Mama today.
I gave thanks for the Patience Angel that sat on my shoulder today. I didn't lose my cool, not even once. But I prayed desperately for a new day tomorrow and the days after - days where I find joy in my children, even in their more challenging moments. I prayed that I could see my children as God sees them: gifts. Gifts that need care, love, and discipline. Gifts that deserve patience, grace, and joy.
I know I'm not alone in my struggle. But today I FELT the struggle more than I usually do. I'm not sure if that's a good thing or not. Is feeling it a sign that I'm more aware of how my children need me - an improvement on my baseline? Or is feeling it a sign that I was doing a worse job than usual?
Monday, July 9, 2012
Frazzled
I've felt extremely frazzled today. The Pama wasn't enough.
The day was good. We went to the gym early, we led music time at preschool. We went home for an afternoon that didn't involve running around, per HeyMama's request. We did fun stuff out on the back patio. We opened the sandbox. We filled the water table. I harvested our first batch of lavender. It was a good day. It was full of cranky preschooler behavior. But most days are. Why am I so frazzled?
Well, the ajillion +1 phone calls about replacing a hot water heater might have contributed to it a bit... But I don't think that's the real cause.
I think it's because I'm an introvert.
Now some of you might argue with that statement. I seem perfectly sociable and outgoing. And you'd be right in that I DO enjoy some doses of social behavior, and I'm not afraid to talk to total strangers. That just means I'm not shy, and I'm the crazy talk-to-people-in-the-grocery-line type. But I've always heard that the test of introvert/extrovert has more to do with what ENERGIZES you - socialization or alone time.
And I need alone time. Quiet alone time other than the hours that I'm sleeping. (I don't typically sleep alone. And my sleeping partner is not consistently quiet...). My girls do not believe in quiet time. Nor do they believe in giving me alone time. Oh, sure, I can baby gate them into their room and put in ear plugs. But I save that for emergencies. Our house is about nonstop talking and nonstop needing. That's just where we are right now.
I'm always working to teach the girls more independence. And it is working. But that still takes time, talking, and togetherness. And these have devoured the remnants of my neurological system by the end of the day.
I feel better about my limitations since thinking of it this way. How can some moms seem to thrive amidst the chaos while I continue to struggle? Maybe it's because they're on Xanax. Or maybe it's because they're wired that way. I'm just not. And there's nothing I can do about it. Oh, I can pretend to be a social butterfly, but I'll still need to re-charge like a hermit. God made me this way, and I don't believe He makes mistakes...
So now I'll have to work on using this self-realization to find more balance. Because no one has fun when I'm frazzled.
The day was good. We went to the gym early, we led music time at preschool. We went home for an afternoon that didn't involve running around, per HeyMama's request. We did fun stuff out on the back patio. We opened the sandbox. We filled the water table. I harvested our first batch of lavender. It was a good day. It was full of cranky preschooler behavior. But most days are. Why am I so frazzled?
Well, the ajillion +1 phone calls about replacing a hot water heater might have contributed to it a bit... But I don't think that's the real cause.
I think it's because I'm an introvert.
Now some of you might argue with that statement. I seem perfectly sociable and outgoing. And you'd be right in that I DO enjoy some doses of social behavior, and I'm not afraid to talk to total strangers. That just means I'm not shy, and I'm the crazy talk-to-people-in-the-grocery-line type. But I've always heard that the test of introvert/extrovert has more to do with what ENERGIZES you - socialization or alone time.
And I need alone time. Quiet alone time other than the hours that I'm sleeping. (I don't typically sleep alone. And my sleeping partner is not consistently quiet...). My girls do not believe in quiet time. Nor do they believe in giving me alone time. Oh, sure, I can baby gate them into their room and put in ear plugs. But I save that for emergencies. Our house is about nonstop talking and nonstop needing. That's just where we are right now.
I'm always working to teach the girls more independence. And it is working. But that still takes time, talking, and togetherness. And these have devoured the remnants of my neurological system by the end of the day.
I feel better about my limitations since thinking of it this way. How can some moms seem to thrive amidst the chaos while I continue to struggle? Maybe it's because they're on Xanax. Or maybe it's because they're wired that way. I'm just not. And there's nothing I can do about it. Oh, I can pretend to be a social butterfly, but I'll still need to re-charge like a hermit. God made me this way, and I don't believe He makes mistakes...
So now I'll have to work on using this self-realization to find more balance. Because no one has fun when I'm frazzled.
Monday, June 25, 2012
A Walking Merriam-Webster
We're in a new phase in our household. We didn't spend much time in the "Why?" phase. But we are very much in the "What does that mean?" phase.
A typical conversation might go like this:
Me: "... and she gets emotional when she hears that song..."
HeyMama: "What does emotional mean?"
Me: "Well, your emotions, like happiness, sadness, frustration, can come out as tears. When that happens, it's called being emotional."
HeyMama: "What does frustration mean?"
Me: "Well, frustration is when you get angry or upset because something isn't happening the way you want it to, like when you ask MeToo to stop coloring on your paper and she doesn't."
HeyMama: "What does angry mean?"
Me: "What does angry mean? You know what angry means, right?"
HeyMama: "Yeah, it means 'mad'."
So we go along from one word to another until she runs out of words she doesn't know and eventually asks about a word she does know, and I call her on it. This can go on for quite some time.
Ok, so this is an example of a time when I DO actually get to use some of my undergraduate education and clinical training in my job as a parent. I was a linguistics and psychology major. I know that HeyMama is making some cognitive transitions. She's started grouping words together by sounds - rhyming and alliteration. (I haven't dared use the word "alliteration" around her yet...) She hears new words and asks for meanings. She makes connections between different situations where she's heard the same words (and MAN, can those out-of-the-blue comments seem like real non-sequitors!!!) She's entered the world of metalinguistics - not just using words, but thinking about the words she uses: the letters they contain, what they sound like, what they mean, the associations that go along with them. She's categorizing things in her mind at a higher level. She's no longer the simple sponge that her younger sister still is. Her brain just analyzes and stores information differently. It's so interesting.
AND IT'S SO EXHAUSTING. I feel like a walking Merriam-Webster dictionary. I could be an OED if I didn't slip into a Texas accent so easily.
I keep reminding myself that a verbal child is a blessing. I'm thankful to not navigate the path of Early Intervention, IEP's and weekly speech therapy. But blessings can still be exhausting.
"What does exhausting mean?"
"You, my dear, it means YOU!"
A typical conversation might go like this:
Me: "... and she gets emotional when she hears that song..."
HeyMama: "What does emotional mean?"
Me: "Well, your emotions, like happiness, sadness, frustration, can come out as tears. When that happens, it's called being emotional."
HeyMama: "What does frustration mean?"
Me: "Well, frustration is when you get angry or upset because something isn't happening the way you want it to, like when you ask MeToo to stop coloring on your paper and she doesn't."
HeyMama: "What does angry mean?"
Me: "What does angry mean? You know what angry means, right?"
HeyMama: "Yeah, it means 'mad'."
So we go along from one word to another until she runs out of words she doesn't know and eventually asks about a word she does know, and I call her on it. This can go on for quite some time.
Ok, so this is an example of a time when I DO actually get to use some of my undergraduate education and clinical training in my job as a parent. I was a linguistics and psychology major. I know that HeyMama is making some cognitive transitions. She's started grouping words together by sounds - rhyming and alliteration. (I haven't dared use the word "alliteration" around her yet...) She hears new words and asks for meanings. She makes connections between different situations where she's heard the same words (and MAN, can those out-of-the-blue comments seem like real non-sequitors!!!) She's entered the world of metalinguistics - not just using words, but thinking about the words she uses: the letters they contain, what they sound like, what they mean, the associations that go along with them. She's categorizing things in her mind at a higher level. She's no longer the simple sponge that her younger sister still is. Her brain just analyzes and stores information differently. It's so interesting.
AND IT'S SO EXHAUSTING. I feel like a walking Merriam-Webster dictionary. I could be an OED if I didn't slip into a Texas accent so easily.
I keep reminding myself that a verbal child is a blessing. I'm thankful to not navigate the path of Early Intervention, IEP's and weekly speech therapy. But blessings can still be exhausting.
"What does exhausting mean?"
"You, my dear, it means YOU!"
Friday, June 15, 2012
I Hope I Never Forget
Life with young children can be a blur of activity. But every now and then, time slows down for a few minutes, and I become aware of moments that I hope I never forget.
Now, I work with the elderly, and know that dementia does not differentiate between good and bad memories. It doesn't take the sad and leave the happy. It doesn't take the inconsequential and leave the precious. It just takes whatever memories it wants, good or bad. I wish there was a way to flag "keepers", the way you can flag important emails in your inbox.
Tonight would be a "keeper."
I hope I never forget the satisfaction of picking salad greens from my own garden. Setting a dinner table out on the patio. Breathing mild early-summer air. Watching the sun set through the trees. Listening to the birds chirp. Watching the girls play together while we grownups finish a glass of wine. The sound of MeToo when I tickle her. Over and over and over. The feeling of satisfaction of a long day drawing to a close.
I'm thankful for the presence of mind to appreciate such small things. To know that I have something wonderful going on and say "I won't take this for granted." I wish there was a way to make sure I never forget this moment.
The moment where HeyMama sassed me and I sent her to timeout and she screamed for 15 minutes? I'm happy to forget that one.
TGIF!!!
Now, I work with the elderly, and know that dementia does not differentiate between good and bad memories. It doesn't take the sad and leave the happy. It doesn't take the inconsequential and leave the precious. It just takes whatever memories it wants, good or bad. I wish there was a way to flag "keepers", the way you can flag important emails in your inbox.
Tonight would be a "keeper."
I hope I never forget the satisfaction of picking salad greens from my own garden. Setting a dinner table out on the patio. Breathing mild early-summer air. Watching the sun set through the trees. Listening to the birds chirp. Watching the girls play together while we grownups finish a glass of wine. The sound of MeToo when I tickle her. Over and over and over. The feeling of satisfaction of a long day drawing to a close.
I'm thankful for the presence of mind to appreciate such small things. To know that I have something wonderful going on and say "I won't take this for granted." I wish there was a way to make sure I never forget this moment.
The moment where HeyMama sassed me and I sent her to timeout and she screamed for 15 minutes? I'm happy to forget that one.
 |
| Lettuce, spinach, basil, and rosemary fresh from the garden! Yum! |
Tuesday, May 1, 2012
Dirty Little Secrets
I was working last week with a lady with metastatic cancer –
a nasty glioblastoma that has robbed her of her ability to remember new
information. Our therapy was a last gasp attempt to help her regain some
independence and quality of life before she was discharged home with 24 hour
supervision. And hospice. This will likely be her last summer. She’s not very old. She’s too
young to be facing her last summer. Such is the curse of cancer. She is
long-divorced, and her only son lives a few states away. She has some
delightful and loyal friends who visit and help take care of her.
Our most recent therapy session together included one of
these dear friends, “Julesie” as she called her. They go way back, to when they
lived in apartments across the hall from one another and had screaming and
inconsolable newborns. I always try to find a balance between the value of what
I provide in my therapy vs. the value of what visiting friends bring. In cases
like this lady, I decided that a visiting friend was much more valuable. She
was able to tap into long-term memory, something I don’t have the context to
stimulate, and it was much more preserved than her short-term memory was. They
laughed about the trials and tribulations of having “screamers” for children.
My patient chuckled, “Oh, he was a HORROR!”
“He was a horror.” It’s not a phrase you’re allowed to say
about your children these days. I mentioned that. “Oh, it’s something you could
only say amongst your friends.” My patient said. Her friend agreed.
Has it always been a dirty little secret? Because if you say
it publically now, you’re labeled as a Bad Mother. An Ingrate. Unable to
appreciate your “spirited” child. Selfish. Uneducated. How dare you attach such
an unkind adjective to your child?!?! But certainly we all think it. At least
once. We logically know that a strong personality will serve our child well
when they’re adults. But right now, it just feels like they’re being jerks. You
can go a long time before you find another parent who will admit it. “Yes, I
love my child, but she can really act like a pain in the @ss.” And until then,
you feel awful for thinking it.
This is the dirty little secret of parenting. You love your
children. But they can be “horrors”. Admitting this doesn’t make you love them
less. Admitting this is acknowledging the challenge of your job. You must
demonstrate unfailing love and a semblance of patience to a creature who does a
great job of acting horribly towards you. Yes, it’s in their innate nature.
Yes, it’s “developmentally appropriate”. Yes, they’re born sinful creatures,
just like we are. They need to experience forgiveness and grace from us before
they can begin to understand the concept and that it’s something that comes
from God. But let’s be honest. Only God is an unending well of forgiveness and
grace. The rest of us struggle to provide it on a daily basis. I personally struggle on a minute-by-minute basis.
I think this should be another tenet of the Sorority of Moms. Don’t judge a negative statement of another mom about her child. You know
you think it from time to time. The mom who says it is just being honest enough
with her feelings to utter the words. Good for her. Encourage her. Support her.
Help her laugh about it. The true tragedy is when the mom doesn’t realize that
children can be jerks and she thinks she’s doing it all wrong. We need to let
other moms in on the secret. ASAP. Our kids can be jerks. So can we. Refusing
to admit it doesn’t make it not true. Let’s forgive ourselves for thinking it
just like we forgive our children for doing it. Let’s expose the dirty little
secret.
Friday, April 13, 2012
You're a Mom
The sea of children's music is a deep, dark, and scary place. It's inhabited by Wiggles. And a purple dinosaur. And adult music sung by children and labeled "children's music." (ahem, CPH!) I made a rule for myself that I'd never let the girls listen to music that I couldn't tolerate listening to. It was basically a rule of self-preservation.
So I was happy when my parents gifted the girls some CDs by a band called Go Fish. The music wasn't annoying. It inspired dance parties. The Jammies song narrates the beginning of our bedtime routine. And I'm never afraid to hear the girls belting out any of their lyrics in the grocery store. Priceless.
One of my favorite songs is the Mom Song, which is on a few of their CDs:
If you have a stroller
But you’re still a rock and roller
You’re a mom
If you’re tired of doing dishes
And you know who Elmo’s fish is
You’re a mom
If you have a lot of fun
But your work is never done
You’re a mom
Chorus:
You’re the boss, the driver
The ultimate survivor
A doctor, a cooker
Your man thinks you’re a looker
If you work all day
But you never get paid
You’re a mom
If you need a sick day
But instead you’re gonna play
You’re a mom
If your first occupation
Sounds like a sweet vacation
You’re a mom
If your living room floor
Looks like a toy store
You’re a mom
Chorus:
You’re the boss, the driver
The ultimate survivor
A doctor, a cooker
Your man thinks you’re a looker
If you work all day
But you never get paid
You’re a mom
If you mean the whole world
To a little boy or girl
You’re a mom
The Bible that you hold
Can shape these little souls
You’re a mom
If you have the most important job in the world
Then you’re a mom
I highlighted my favorite line from the song. But the others are all true, too.
Do you know who Elmo's fish is?
So I was happy when my parents gifted the girls some CDs by a band called Go Fish. The music wasn't annoying. It inspired dance parties. The Jammies song narrates the beginning of our bedtime routine. And I'm never afraid to hear the girls belting out any of their lyrics in the grocery store. Priceless.
One of my favorite songs is the Mom Song, which is on a few of their CDs:
If you have a stroller
But you’re still a rock and roller
You’re a mom
If you’re tired of doing dishes
And you know who Elmo’s fish is
You’re a mom
If you have a lot of fun
But your work is never done
You’re a mom
Chorus:
You’re the boss, the driver
The ultimate survivor
A doctor, a cooker
Your man thinks you’re a looker
If you work all day
But you never get paid
You’re a mom
If you need a sick day
But instead you’re gonna play
You’re a mom
If your first occupation
Sounds like a sweet vacation
You’re a mom
If your living room floor
Looks like a toy store
You’re a mom
Chorus:
You’re the boss, the driver
The ultimate survivor
A doctor, a cooker
Your man thinks you’re a looker
If you work all day
But you never get paid
You’re a mom
If you mean the whole world
To a little boy or girl
You’re a mom
The Bible that you hold
Can shape these little souls
You’re a mom
If you have the most important job in the world
Then you’re a mom
I highlighted my favorite line from the song. But the others are all true, too.
Do you know who Elmo's fish is?
Wednesday, April 11, 2012
Your Children Are Certifiable
Your children are certifiable. My children are certifiable. Children are just crazy. Watch them for a while and see for yourself.
Here's a small example of what my insane 2 yr old has done lately:
Sit on the potty for 10 minutes singing, not go potty, then immediately take a shower and poop on the floor
Ask for something, then scream when I gave it to her.
Say no when I offer her something, then scream because I didn't give it to her.
Ask for a pink cup. Then when I give her one, scream that she wants a purple one.
Here's a small example of what my insane 3 yr old has done lately:
Talk nonstop about imaginary events for 30 minutes straight.
Concoct an imaginary birthday party that will happen 6 months in the future, then get upset when I tell her the party isn't really happening this week, and please don't invite over any more of her preschool friends quite yet.
Now, I'm no psychologist. I'm no licensed mental health provider. But if a grownup did these things on a regular basis, they would earn them self a DSM Axis II diagnosis and a trip to McLean Hospital. The terms "personality disorder", "logorrhea", and "delusional" come to mind. If you had to interact with them and care for them every day, you'd be working in the locked unit of a mental health facility.
But they're our children. Their behaviors are "developmentally appropriate". We're supposed to help them learn to be not crazy. And I've heard it takes years.
This is just one of the things that makes parenting hard. The world says your child is "normal", but you can't help but feel like they're insane.
And you read funny articles or blog posts that try to make light of the phenomenon of parenting and are just SO TRUE!. And then you get commenters who snippily say things like, "Well, I know that they're only young once, so I CHERISH EVERYTHING they do." This just isn't helpful to the psyche of parents. Lady, I'd love for you to come over and cherish the poop stains on my rug any time.
Of COURSE our children are blessings from God. Of course they're only doing what's in their true nature. But paranoid schizophrenics are only doing what's in their true natures, as well, and God loves them too. Staff clinicians on psych wards are allowed to say that their jobs are sometimes hard. Are we not?
I wonder if this is more difficult to manage in a demographic group where we're all encouraged to go to college. So we can get jobs where we don't get stuck working for demanding narcissists who don't pay us much. And we pay lots of money and work hard to get great jobs. And we do! We know stuff. People seek out our opinions and knowledge. We don't have people following us around all the time or standing over us. We're independent! We accomplish things!
And then we have kids and start working for tiny demanding narcissists who don't pay us much. Or anything, actually...
I adore my girls. They are special treats, and I love watching their personalities blossom.
But they're certifiable.
Here's a small example of what my insane 2 yr old has done lately:
Sit on the potty for 10 minutes singing, not go potty, then immediately take a shower and poop on the floor
Ask for something, then scream when I gave it to her.
Say no when I offer her something, then scream because I didn't give it to her.
Ask for a pink cup. Then when I give her one, scream that she wants a purple one.
Here's a small example of what my insane 3 yr old has done lately:
Talk nonstop about imaginary events for 30 minutes straight.
Concoct an imaginary birthday party that will happen 6 months in the future, then get upset when I tell her the party isn't really happening this week, and please don't invite over any more of her preschool friends quite yet.
Now, I'm no psychologist. I'm no licensed mental health provider. But if a grownup did these things on a regular basis, they would earn them self a DSM Axis II diagnosis and a trip to McLean Hospital. The terms "personality disorder", "logorrhea", and "delusional" come to mind. If you had to interact with them and care for them every day, you'd be working in the locked unit of a mental health facility.
But they're our children. Their behaviors are "developmentally appropriate". We're supposed to help them learn to be not crazy. And I've heard it takes years.
This is just one of the things that makes parenting hard. The world says your child is "normal", but you can't help but feel like they're insane.
And you read funny articles or blog posts that try to make light of the phenomenon of parenting and are just SO TRUE!. And then you get commenters who snippily say things like, "Well, I know that they're only young once, so I CHERISH EVERYTHING they do." This just isn't helpful to the psyche of parents. Lady, I'd love for you to come over and cherish the poop stains on my rug any time.
Of COURSE our children are blessings from God. Of course they're only doing what's in their true nature. But paranoid schizophrenics are only doing what's in their true natures, as well, and God loves them too. Staff clinicians on psych wards are allowed to say that their jobs are sometimes hard. Are we not?
I wonder if this is more difficult to manage in a demographic group where we're all encouraged to go to college. So we can get jobs where we don't get stuck working for demanding narcissists who don't pay us much. And we pay lots of money and work hard to get great jobs. And we do! We know stuff. People seek out our opinions and knowledge. We don't have people following us around all the time or standing over us. We're independent! We accomplish things!
And then we have kids and start working for tiny demanding narcissists who don't pay us much. Or anything, actually...
I adore my girls. They are special treats, and I love watching their personalities blossom.
But they're certifiable.
Monday, April 9, 2012
The Joys of Quality Time
My in-laws are still in town, so I took advantage of their presence to spend some quality time with HeyMama. I had a meeting at Ruth House and didn't really want to inflict my defiant and loudly opinionated two year old on anyone unnecessarily, so MeToo stayed home with Grandma and Grandpa. Not that she was thrilled with the idea. Actually, ear-splitting wails ensued. But my attempt to let her "help" me prepare Easter stuff at church was a spectacular failure. I actually turned around and took her home before returning to the church on Saturday. And I wanted to spare myself the gas and time today.
So HeyMama went with me. She entertained herself appropriately during the overly-long meeting. Then we went to Ikea for lunch. I somehow managed to not buy more Samla. But I did buy a few picture frames. We did a few more errands, then she fell asleep on the ride home. So here I am blogging in my driveway while HeyMama sleeps in the back seat, thinking about how I view my children as individuals, and as a unit.
As a unit, they are an extremely chatty and demanding entity. While they are occasionally delightful to observe playing together, they are also occasionally enragingly quarrelsome. I'm glad I had them 14 months apart, but they are exhausting.
Individually, without the conflict and whining, they are a lot more fun. When they're not busy arguing, their personality traits come shining through. HeyMama is such a planner. She doesn't forget a thing. She remembers that the dogs' birthday is in April. And it's April now. So she was planning a birthday party for them: what kind of cupcakes we'd have, what we'd eat, who we'd invite, etc. We need balloons. Definitely balloons. She'll wear her pink tutu and a party hat. She'll make them cards. It's all planned out. HeyMama's got it covered.
Her sister is quite different. I swear that MeToo has her own personal soundtrack in her head. She is always singing. You don't need a radio in the car when MeToo's in the back seat. And now that her speech intelligibility has significantly improved, you can actually recognize the songs and sing along. She's not quite on the same generative level as HeyMama, who can make up songs on the fly. But she's getting there. And it's a hoot!
I'm coming to the realization that I enjoy my girls more and can engage with them more as individuals when I'm actually just working with them as individuals. Hmmm, it's taken me 28 months to realize this? But I feel lately as if I'm doing more disciplining and redirecting than having fun with them. Ok, so MeToo is just doing her job of presenting a larger-than-life caricature of the "Terrible Twos". But I'd like to spend more time with her as "my life-of-the-party daughter" than "my spirited and punky two year old". I know that this is a phase, but I'd like to find ways to enjoy it a bit more.
So anyone want to take a 3 or 2 year old for a few hours once a week? I promise you'll have a good time. And I will too.
So HeyMama went with me. She entertained herself appropriately during the overly-long meeting. Then we went to Ikea for lunch. I somehow managed to not buy more Samla. But I did buy a few picture frames. We did a few more errands, then she fell asleep on the ride home. So here I am blogging in my driveway while HeyMama sleeps in the back seat, thinking about how I view my children as individuals, and as a unit.
As a unit, they are an extremely chatty and demanding entity. While they are occasionally delightful to observe playing together, they are also occasionally enragingly quarrelsome. I'm glad I had them 14 months apart, but they are exhausting.
Individually, without the conflict and whining, they are a lot more fun. When they're not busy arguing, their personality traits come shining through. HeyMama is such a planner. She doesn't forget a thing. She remembers that the dogs' birthday is in April. And it's April now. So she was planning a birthday party for them: what kind of cupcakes we'd have, what we'd eat, who we'd invite, etc. We need balloons. Definitely balloons. She'll wear her pink tutu and a party hat. She'll make them cards. It's all planned out. HeyMama's got it covered.
Her sister is quite different. I swear that MeToo has her own personal soundtrack in her head. She is always singing. You don't need a radio in the car when MeToo's in the back seat. And now that her speech intelligibility has significantly improved, you can actually recognize the songs and sing along. She's not quite on the same generative level as HeyMama, who can make up songs on the fly. But she's getting there. And it's a hoot!
I'm coming to the realization that I enjoy my girls more and can engage with them more as individuals when I'm actually just working with them as individuals. Hmmm, it's taken me 28 months to realize this? But I feel lately as if I'm doing more disciplining and redirecting than having fun with them. Ok, so MeToo is just doing her job of presenting a larger-than-life caricature of the "Terrible Twos". But I'd like to spend more time with her as "my life-of-the-party daughter" than "my spirited and punky two year old". I know that this is a phase, but I'd like to find ways to enjoy it a bit more.
So anyone want to take a 3 or 2 year old for a few hours once a week? I promise you'll have a good time. And I will too.
 |
| We girls went out for lunch and drinks. |
Thursday, April 5, 2012
Poop in the Shower
I cleaned poop from the shower tonight. A lot of it. I'd been wondering when MeToo was going to poo, it seemed like it had been a while...
So after cleaning the mess, bathing the girls, and getting them to bed, I called my day over. I'm on the couch, drinking a beer. Because I cleaned poop in the shower. Stick a fork in me, I'm done.
So after cleaning the mess, bathing the girls, and getting them to bed, I called my day over. I'm on the couch, drinking a beer. Because I cleaned poop in the shower. Stick a fork in me, I'm done.
Tuesday, April 3, 2012
Seriously?
Today was a great day. I worked at the rehab down the street, so I had time to run a few errands before picking up the girls. I dropped off BestestHusband's suit to be dry cleaned before Easter. I went to the liquor store and bought yummy wines for the Easter Feast (also called "The foretaste of the Feast to come"), and picked up a case of Sam's Spring seasonal brews. Sam is great. I love Sam. Then I went to the grocery store and bought milk. ON SALE! And got tortillas for the turkey tacos that wonderful neighbor Jackie made for us for dinner. And got Easter treats for a certain BIL/Uncle that's been deployed to a place where chocolate bunnies dare not go. (Thank God for jelly beans! I don't have to worry about them melting!) I was super-productive! I was on top of the world!
Then I went to pick up the girls. It took us 30 minutes to leave daycare, but the girls were outside on the playground, and I was chatting with other moms. But as soon as we got home, the insanity began.
Within 5 minutes of me being in the house, we had 1 girl injured, 1 girl in timeout, ink stamps all over the girls' play/craft table, 1 poopy butt wiped, 1 urgent diaper change, 6 nose-blows, and 3 refereed conflicts. And supervised apologies and table-cleaning. And that was just after I got the groceries into the house. The backpacks are still sitting on the counter, hours later. The lunch boxes still have dirty containers in them, hours later. We were in full-blown crisis mode for nearly the entire time we were home. I mixed up a batch of strong margaritas and herded the family to Jackie's for dinner as soon as I could.
Seriously? We can't be home for 20 minutes without constant crisis? It's no wonder that I don't feel like I get anything accomplished!!!
I keep telling myself that this constant "crisis" management is preparing me for greater things in the future. Maybe I'm meant to have a thriving private practice with a large staff? Raising children will certainly prepare me for managing the constant stream of conflicts that can arise. It's amazing what kids can use as a source of conflict. I'm not sure what other purpose this can serve. I do believe that God gives us challenges for a reason. Maybe my sense of humor needs honing? Maybe I just need to "exercise my patience" (as the girls and I chant while doing mock calisthenics and waiting for something). I have to believe that all of the absurdity is for a greater purpose. Because, seriously? I mean, really? You've got to be kidding!
Thank you Jackie for giving us a destination and a reason to not be crazy. And thank you for a yummy dinner. Sorry to not leave you the rest of the margaritas. I needed the water bottle for the gym tomorrow, and I figure that with nursing the twins and all, you wouldn't drink them. I'm finishing them as I type. Thank God for spell-check. I think I decided that I shouldn't blog after margaritas... Whatever. Because these kids... seriously!
Then I went to pick up the girls. It took us 30 minutes to leave daycare, but the girls were outside on the playground, and I was chatting with other moms. But as soon as we got home, the insanity began.
Within 5 minutes of me being in the house, we had 1 girl injured, 1 girl in timeout, ink stamps all over the girls' play/craft table, 1 poopy butt wiped, 1 urgent diaper change, 6 nose-blows, and 3 refereed conflicts. And supervised apologies and table-cleaning. And that was just after I got the groceries into the house. The backpacks are still sitting on the counter, hours later. The lunch boxes still have dirty containers in them, hours later. We were in full-blown crisis mode for nearly the entire time we were home. I mixed up a batch of strong margaritas and herded the family to Jackie's for dinner as soon as I could.
Seriously? We can't be home for 20 minutes without constant crisis? It's no wonder that I don't feel like I get anything accomplished!!!
I keep telling myself that this constant "crisis" management is preparing me for greater things in the future. Maybe I'm meant to have a thriving private practice with a large staff? Raising children will certainly prepare me for managing the constant stream of conflicts that can arise. It's amazing what kids can use as a source of conflict. I'm not sure what other purpose this can serve. I do believe that God gives us challenges for a reason. Maybe my sense of humor needs honing? Maybe I just need to "exercise my patience" (as the girls and I chant while doing mock calisthenics and waiting for something). I have to believe that all of the absurdity is for a greater purpose. Because, seriously? I mean, really? You've got to be kidding!
Thank you Jackie for giving us a destination and a reason to not be crazy. And thank you for a yummy dinner. Sorry to not leave you the rest of the margaritas. I needed the water bottle for the gym tomorrow, and I figure that with nursing the twins and all, you wouldn't drink them. I'm finishing them as I type. Thank God for spell-check. I think I decided that I shouldn't blog after margaritas... Whatever. Because these kids... seriously!
Monday, March 19, 2012
A Day of Spring and Poo
Spring is here. Maybe not officially, but today I was wearing capris and flip-flops. Today was Spring in Boston.
The crocuses are in full bloom. The daffodils are starting to bloom. The tulips will be next. I started taking Nasonex today in preparation. Living next to a ginormous tree collection when tree pollen starts to fly is not a pretty picture for my sinuses. But the rest of Spring in Boston? Very pretty. I highly recommend it.
The crocuses are in full bloom. The daffodils are starting to bloom. The tulips will be next. I started taking Nasonex today in preparation. Living next to a ginormous tree collection when tree pollen starts to fly is not a pretty picture for my sinuses. But the rest of Spring in Boston? Very pretty. I highly recommend it.
 |
| Hello little daffodil! Welcome to my yard! |
 |
| So nice of you to join the crocuses! |
 |
| Crocuses, a soon-to-be daffodil, future tulips, and a few tiny blue vinca flowers. And the Arboretum in the distance... |
 |
| More evidence of Spring. |
What do I not recommend? Finding poopy finger prints around the house. It's gross. It makes you smell poop wherever you go. Even if there isn't poop there.
Parenting is all fun and games until you find poopy finger prints around the house. Potty training is a good idea in theory. It's just that the details can go south quickly. But I won't post pictures of that. That's already been done. I'll just stick with the flowers today.
 |
| I love Spring... |
Friday, March 9, 2012
If Mama Ain't Happy...
There's a common old saying, "If Mama ain't happy, ain't NObody happy!"
BestestHusband's corollary to this is, "A happy wife is a happy life."
It's so true.
My emotions are no longer my own. They bleed over onto everyone around me and affect them, too. As my moods rise and fall, so do those around me. I can insulate them from each other's moods, but they can't insulate each other so well from mine.
Nobody told me about this part of motherhood. It's still a rude shock. Before, I could spend a grumpy day carefully avoiding the innocent. My wrath seethed inside, but in my self-imposed quarantine, it was contained. Everyone else was safe, unscathed. Now, I'm surrounded by people who seek me out. They follow me around. They work hard to provoke my wrath. But I must struggle to keep it inside. And it's hard.
I started out the day behind the eight ball. I fell asleep on the couch last night at 7:30, roused myself to put the girls to bed, fell asleep on the couch again, roused myself to send out a few emails, then went to bed. The mountains of laundry still loomed, the backlog of unanswered emails still mocked, the details of the impending Big Event still capered in my head. I needed to wake up early and get going before little people were interrupting every thought with requests for nose-blows, bum-wipes, more milk, boo-boo kisses, and crises that needed to be averted. (Note: I believe that these requests are appropriate for 2 and 3 yr olds to make. They're just not appropriate for me before my first cup of coffee.)
But I didn't. I was awoken by a little person crawling into my bed with a noisy baby toy. This is not a good way for me to start the day. The annoyances and injustices just compounded from there.
It's noteworthy to point out that my name is "Joy", not "Temperance." (Honestly, I think this is one of the things that sucked BestestHusband in so many years ago...) I am emotional. I am emotive. It is unavoidable. The opposite of joy is unhappiness. I fully experience both ends of the emotional spectrum. And everything in between. To the fullest. So if you're around me, you'll have a good idea of what's going on. I try to temper the temper, but it still exists. I must face the fact that I'm as incapable of keeping myself from being cranky as I am incapable of keeping myself from being happy.
I know moms who try to keep themselves from showing any negative emotion: "I am a bottomless well of patience." Well, I am not. I've tried to overcome my emotional side for years. I've failed. And statistically speaking, at least one of my girls will inherit some of my emotional nature. Actually, I can tell you that MeToo has. So should I go forward demonstrating to my girls denial of a part of my character and pretend I only feel happy things? Well, first of all, I know that I'd fail horribly. Or require serious medication. And second of all, what is that teaching my girls? Deny what you feel and only show people what they want to see? Do my local uber-feminist bottomless-well moms realize that's what they're doing? (Note: I am a big proponent of social niceties, and teach manners like the girls' lives depend on it. We should be nice. But we can recognize when that's hard to do.)
What if, instead, I recognize that I can't turn off my crankies, and talk to the girls about how we can all manage to have a good morning anyway. I'm starting to emphasize the "teamwork" aspects of home. How we all work together in a family to have a cozy comfortable home, yummy food to eat, and fun happy days. We're starting to give the girls little chores (take their plastic dishes to the sink, make their beds, etc) that contribute to this end. Shopping today, HeyMama was motivated to help choose cereals, cheeses, etc to give us yummy meals. We've started high-fiving when we all do a part of a task. Family life is teamwork.
So why can't we frame emotional management as teamwork? I certainly try to help isolate and insulate their foul moods. We try to do nice things for each other to make each other happy. We try to comfort each other when someone's upset. Why not work together to manage cranky days, too? We know how to push each other's buttons. Certainly we can work to avoid that more on cranky days. Experiencing and discussing emotions and how they contribute to behaviors is all a part of EQ. I think IQ + EQ is a dang good combination for the girls to have when they go out into the world. (Note: Obviously, when the girls go out into the world, it will be clear that they are not responsible for other people's behaviors and emotions, but they will understand that they can influence others' behaviors and emotions if they pay close attention...)
So that's my new theory on managing emotions and behaviors. And managing my cranky days. They will come. And we will all have to deal with them. And the girls will have cranky days. And we will all have to deal with them. And someday they will be teenagers. And BestestHusband will need his own ManCave to escape to.
BestestHusband's corollary to this is, "A happy wife is a happy life."
It's so true.
My emotions are no longer my own. They bleed over onto everyone around me and affect them, too. As my moods rise and fall, so do those around me. I can insulate them from each other's moods, but they can't insulate each other so well from mine.
Nobody told me about this part of motherhood. It's still a rude shock. Before, I could spend a grumpy day carefully avoiding the innocent. My wrath seethed inside, but in my self-imposed quarantine, it was contained. Everyone else was safe, unscathed. Now, I'm surrounded by people who seek me out. They follow me around. They work hard to provoke my wrath. But I must struggle to keep it inside. And it's hard.
I started out the day behind the eight ball. I fell asleep on the couch last night at 7:30, roused myself to put the girls to bed, fell asleep on the couch again, roused myself to send out a few emails, then went to bed. The mountains of laundry still loomed, the backlog of unanswered emails still mocked, the details of the impending Big Event still capered in my head. I needed to wake up early and get going before little people were interrupting every thought with requests for nose-blows, bum-wipes, more milk, boo-boo kisses, and crises that needed to be averted. (Note: I believe that these requests are appropriate for 2 and 3 yr olds to make. They're just not appropriate for me before my first cup of coffee.)
But I didn't. I was awoken by a little person crawling into my bed with a noisy baby toy. This is not a good way for me to start the day. The annoyances and injustices just compounded from there.
It's noteworthy to point out that my name is "Joy", not "Temperance." (Honestly, I think this is one of the things that sucked BestestHusband in so many years ago...) I am emotional. I am emotive. It is unavoidable. The opposite of joy is unhappiness. I fully experience both ends of the emotional spectrum. And everything in between. To the fullest. So if you're around me, you'll have a good idea of what's going on. I try to temper the temper, but it still exists. I must face the fact that I'm as incapable of keeping myself from being cranky as I am incapable of keeping myself from being happy.
I know moms who try to keep themselves from showing any negative emotion: "I am a bottomless well of patience." Well, I am not. I've tried to overcome my emotional side for years. I've failed. And statistically speaking, at least one of my girls will inherit some of my emotional nature. Actually, I can tell you that MeToo has. So should I go forward demonstrating to my girls denial of a part of my character and pretend I only feel happy things? Well, first of all, I know that I'd fail horribly. Or require serious medication. And second of all, what is that teaching my girls? Deny what you feel and only show people what they want to see? Do my local uber-feminist bottomless-well moms realize that's what they're doing? (Note: I am a big proponent of social niceties, and teach manners like the girls' lives depend on it. We should be nice. But we can recognize when that's hard to do.)
What if, instead, I recognize that I can't turn off my crankies, and talk to the girls about how we can all manage to have a good morning anyway. I'm starting to emphasize the "teamwork" aspects of home. How we all work together in a family to have a cozy comfortable home, yummy food to eat, and fun happy days. We're starting to give the girls little chores (take their plastic dishes to the sink, make their beds, etc) that contribute to this end. Shopping today, HeyMama was motivated to help choose cereals, cheeses, etc to give us yummy meals. We've started high-fiving when we all do a part of a task. Family life is teamwork.
So why can't we frame emotional management as teamwork? I certainly try to help isolate and insulate their foul moods. We try to do nice things for each other to make each other happy. We try to comfort each other when someone's upset. Why not work together to manage cranky days, too? We know how to push each other's buttons. Certainly we can work to avoid that more on cranky days. Experiencing and discussing emotions and how they contribute to behaviors is all a part of EQ. I think IQ + EQ is a dang good combination for the girls to have when they go out into the world. (Note: Obviously, when the girls go out into the world, it will be clear that they are not responsible for other people's behaviors and emotions, but they will understand that they can influence others' behaviors and emotions if they pay close attention...)
So that's my new theory on managing emotions and behaviors. And managing my cranky days. They will come. And we will all have to deal with them. And the girls will have cranky days. And we will all have to deal with them. And someday they will be teenagers. And BestestHusband will need his own ManCave to escape to.
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| I bought myself flowers to make myself feel better. Thank you Trader Joe for cheap flowers! |
How do manage your cranky days if you can't run away?
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