When I got to work today, I turned off the car and sat in the parking lot... mentally calculating how many arguments I had already been in that day.
Fifteen. Fifteen arguments between 6:45 and 8:30 this morning. And that just sucks. Even worse, the arguments were between me and two little girls that just recently stopped pooping their pants. For the most part.
Even worse than that? I'm not sure that I, at 37, won any of the arguments. Sure, sure... raising kids is not about winning or losing. EXCEPT THAT IT IS. And anyone who wants to argue that point with me can go ahead and bring it. I'm already at 15 arguments today. What's a few more?
To say that this morning was not my best parenting moment is putting it lightly. I mean, I didn't yell. And I didn't scream... but was there joy? Was there peace? NO. But there was me impatiently explaining for the fifth time this morning that it's raining outside so tennis shoes are required because I'm tired of hearing about your feet getting wet in your sandals. And also? You already have a sore throat and I don't need to roll the dice on you getting sicker. And also? Pants and long sleeves will not kill you. I know you think they will, but no one has ever died from pants and long sleeves instead of shorts and short sleeves or a dress. NO. ONE. Unless it's the mother who just said screw it and drove off a cliff after the umpteenth argument about it. And no... see, I've already played that game with you about wearing what you want and suffering the consequences. You know who suffered the consequences when you were cold? ME. I had to listen to the whining and crying about you being cold... and yet, here we are. Fighting about this. Again. Because contrary to what everyone says will happen if I try this little parenting trick on you, NEITHER OF YOU HAVE LEARNED. So, I've now taken the choice out of your hands. Because I'm tired of it. There's going to be tears and a fight anyway, may as well do it while we're at least warm and dry. And no... you asked for oatmeal. That's oatmeal. I don't care if it's in the wrong bowl. Eat it. You! Please. Sit. Down. and eat your breakfast before blood starts coming out of my eyes. No! I already told you...you're wearing tennis shoes today. Because your other shoes gave you an owie on your toe. And it's raining outside. No. You cannot have Mommy's breakfast. BECAUSE THE LAST TIME YOU HAD SOME OF MOMMY'S BREAKFAST, YOU DIDN'T LIKE IT AND SPIT IT OUT... BACK INTO MOMMY'S BOWL. Just eat your own breakfast please!! It's fine that you don't have the same cup as your sissy. YOU WILL SURVIVE. Yes. We have to brush your hair. Because we haven't brushed it in 4 days and people will start to talk. No. You cannot have fruit treats right now. We only have fruit treats in the morning when we're camping. No! You cannot take your play computer to school. Leave it here please. Because I said so. Oh! You don't want to go to school? That's SHOCKING. Please get in the car. I don't care who gets in first, one of you get in, the other one follow! We don't have the Frozen CD in the car right now (because I hid it for my sanity). I'm sorry. I'M SORRY. That's life. We have a gazillion other songs, let's try one of those. No. I'm sorry you don't like it, but that doesn't mean you get to scream the whole way to drown it out.
And that was my morning. So, when I pulled into the parking lot at work, I was more than a little frazzled and disappointed in what the morning had been. So often I find myself sitting alone - either in the car or on the toilet... JUST KIDDING! I never get to sit alone on the toilet! - and thinking about what kind of mother I had envisioned myself to be... back when I didn't have kids. And it's just not meshing with my reality. And honestly... that's a huge, depressing bummer. The kind of bummer that leaves you sitting in your car in an empty parking lot and getting teary-eyed because SHIT. This sucks. I suck. The whole world just SUCKS.
That's when my girl, Tracy Chapman, joined me in the car. She put her arm around me with a few versus and let me know... this is okay. You're doing okay. You're doing the best you can. And at this point in your life, that's okay.
Well, actually what she said was:
"At this point in my life, I've done so many things wrong.... don't know if I can do right. Put your trust in me... hope I won't let you down. Give me a chance... I'll try. See it's been a hard road, the road I'm traveling on. If I take your hand, I might lead you down the path to ruin. Had a hard life... I'm just saying it so you'll understand. Right now, right now, I'm doing the best I can. At this point in my life, although I've mostly walked in the shadows... I'm still searching for the light. Won't you put your faith in me, we both know that's what matters. If you give me a chance, I'll try. You see I've been climbing stairs, but mostly stumbling down. I've been reaching high always losing ground. You see I've conquered hills but I still have mountains to climb. And right now right now I'm doing the best I can. At this point in my life."
And if that's not a parenting motto that everyone need to sing to themselves once a day... maybe in an empty parking lot when they finally have a moment to themselves, I don't know what is. At the very least, it's the soundtrack to my life, right now. Which is good because we all need a good soundtrack to get us through the day.
So, tonight... we try again.
I try to find the joy that was missing this morning.
I remember that it's a journey.
I remember that my children... they're also doing the best they can.
At this point in their lives.
**************
Wednesday, August 27, 2014
Monday, July 21, 2014
Thirty-One Things I'm Going To Do To My Children When They Are Grown... As Payback
I have been inspired by this guy who wrote about his top 10 things he wanted to do when his kids were older to get back at the nonsense they pulled as kids. And I was all: Only 10? I have 10 per day. So, in no particular order, I give you:
1 - Stomp around in my high heels on their nice wood floor. At 6 a.m.
2 - If The Bean serves me anything other than Mac & Cheese, declare loudly that "I don't wike dat!" and refuse to touch it.
3 - Insist that The Bird french braid my hair and if it isn't perfect, melt into a puddle in the middle of the bathroom.
4 - Climb into bed with The Bean and ask if I can have a Fiber One bar. Bring said bar back to the bed and proceed to eat it... dropping chocolate and granola all over her and rubbing it into the sheets.
5 - Go up to The Bird's neighbors and tell them that I didn't wipe... because I drip dry.
6 - Insist on wearing my finest dress for a trip to Home Depot with The Bird.
7 - Call little old ladies poopy-face at the market and then laugh hysterically.
8 -When The Bird asks how my day was, answer with: "Arrrghh! You asked me that YESTERDAY and I ALREADY told you!!"
9 - Insist that The Bird warm up my ice cream by blowing on it... because it's too cold in my mouth.
10 - Poop in my bed and fall asleep next to it.
11 - Take a dry-erase marker to The Bean's friend's pretty white door.
12 - Grab The Bean's breasts in front of her friends and scream: "Bobo's! Bobo's!"
13 - Sit on The Bean's lap... and toot. At will. Repeatedly.
14 - Make both girls push me in the toy carts at the market and drag my hands along the floor the entire time. And then proceed to suck my thumb.
15 - Lick the floor at a BBQ joint... in front of their friends
16 - Mention loudly that the gentleman sitting across from me at the pool is old... because he doesn't have hair.
17 - Exclaim to The Bean that the guy sitting at the table next to us isn't a boy because he has long hair.
18 - Eat all of The Bean's food. Every time she tries to eat.
19 - Insist on smelling all of The Bird's drinks.
20 - When I think they're not looking, drop all of my peas on the floor and then call the dog over.
21 - Run at the pool after being told to walk, slip and fall on my butt... and then cry for 2 hours.
22 -Come out of a public bathroom with a handful of paper towels and insist that I carry them around the rest of the day. Because they are my FAVORITE things ever.
23 - Go into The Bean's bedroom at 3 a.m. and insist she give me cookies.
24 - Say the words: "Did not! Did, too!" 83 times in a row until both girl's ears bleed.
25 - Insist on wearing flip flops in the winter, and stockings and closed-toe shoes in the summer.
26 - Throw up all over The Bean on the last night of vacation.
27 - Scream that The Bird never lets me make the rules for ANYTHING.... because she wouldn't let me wear my super fancy dress to bed.
28 - Pick my nose and then go up to The Bean and hand it to her. Do the same to The Bird 30 seconds later.
29 - Go into The Bird's bedroom at 6 a.m. and ask if I can do chores and sweep the floor.
30 - Freak out because I don't like the song we are listening to in the car, and scream louder than the song so that no one can enjoy it.
31 - Break into The Bird's makeup bag and put her mascara... on my cheeks.
And that's July's list.
Thirty-One Things I'm Going To Do To My Children When They Are Grown... As Payback
1 - Stomp around in my high heels on their nice wood floor. At 6 a.m.
2 - If The Bean serves me anything other than Mac & Cheese, declare loudly that "I don't wike dat!" and refuse to touch it.
3 - Insist that The Bird french braid my hair and if it isn't perfect, melt into a puddle in the middle of the bathroom.
4 - Climb into bed with The Bean and ask if I can have a Fiber One bar. Bring said bar back to the bed and proceed to eat it... dropping chocolate and granola all over her and rubbing it into the sheets.
5 - Go up to The Bird's neighbors and tell them that I didn't wipe... because I drip dry.
6 - Insist on wearing my finest dress for a trip to Home Depot with The Bird.
7 - Call little old ladies poopy-face at the market and then laugh hysterically.
8 -When The Bird asks how my day was, answer with: "Arrrghh! You asked me that YESTERDAY and I ALREADY told you!!"
9 - Insist that The Bird warm up my ice cream by blowing on it... because it's too cold in my mouth.
10 - Poop in my bed and fall asleep next to it.
11 - Take a dry-erase marker to The Bean's friend's pretty white door.
12 - Grab The Bean's breasts in front of her friends and scream: "Bobo's! Bobo's!"
13 - Sit on The Bean's lap... and toot. At will. Repeatedly.
14 - Make both girls push me in the toy carts at the market and drag my hands along the floor the entire time. And then proceed to suck my thumb.
15 - Lick the floor at a BBQ joint... in front of their friends
16 - Mention loudly that the gentleman sitting across from me at the pool is old... because he doesn't have hair.
17 - Exclaim to The Bean that the guy sitting at the table next to us isn't a boy because he has long hair.
18 - Eat all of The Bean's food. Every time she tries to eat.
19 - Insist on smelling all of The Bird's drinks.
20 - When I think they're not looking, drop all of my peas on the floor and then call the dog over.
21 - Run at the pool after being told to walk, slip and fall on my butt... and then cry for 2 hours.
22 -Come out of a public bathroom with a handful of paper towels and insist that I carry them around the rest of the day. Because they are my FAVORITE things ever.
23 - Go into The Bean's bedroom at 3 a.m. and insist she give me cookies.
24 - Say the words: "Did not! Did, too!" 83 times in a row until both girl's ears bleed.
25 - Insist on wearing flip flops in the winter, and stockings and closed-toe shoes in the summer.
26 - Throw up all over The Bean on the last night of vacation.
27 - Scream that The Bird never lets me make the rules for ANYTHING.... because she wouldn't let me wear my super fancy dress to bed.
28 - Pick my nose and then go up to The Bean and hand it to her. Do the same to The Bird 30 seconds later.
29 - Go into The Bird's bedroom at 6 a.m. and ask if I can do chores and sweep the floor.
30 - Freak out because I don't like the song we are listening to in the car, and scream louder than the song so that no one can enjoy it.
31 - Break into The Bird's makeup bag and put her mascara... on my cheeks.
And that's July's list.
Saturday, July 19, 2014
Hmmmm....
Even though I have a solid four years of parenting under my belt, I have yet to come anywhere close to expert status. I always secretly giggle when my girlfriends ask me for parenting advice because OMG... you must be desperate if you're asking me. Did you know that my girls think that drip drying is an acceptable form of hygiene?
Seriously....I'm 37 with two kids and still have no idea what the hell I'm doing most days. But, hey the kids are still alive and they're happy at least 49 percent of the time, so I'm either doing something right or just know how to polish a turd when I see it. For example, did you know that there are children out there in the world who don't know the genius of hot dogs in their Mac & Cheese.... because their mothers feed them vegetables and other unprocessed foods? I feel bad for those kids... I really do.
And, yes... I tend to brag up my parenting swagger by letting my Facebook friends know that my child used the term "F*ck *t" and that I will soon be teaching her the other F-word: F*m*n*sm.
But the truth is, I still need help every now and then. That's where you come in.
You... reading this bit of nonsense right now and chuckling about what it must be like to have me as a mother. You... the one who NEVER leaves a comment because you don't want to mess with your "lurker" status. You... the one who comes up to me on the street and says: "Hey-o! Loved your post about your little girl pooping in bed and sleeping next to it!"
YOU. Pony up, sweetheart. We need all hands on deck for this one.
On the way home from school a couple of weeks ago, The Bird mentioned that a little boy in her class punched her in the stomach. Since, I hadn't received a note and The Bird has been known to leave out pertinent facts (not on purpose, just because she's 4), I talked with the teacher about in the next day. Turns out, she had been punched, but the teacher on duty was a sub and hadn't thought to write a note to explain what happened. This particular little boy... Oy. Vey. It didn't surprise me that he was the culprit. But, it seemed like an isolated incident and it was handled by the teacher and the executive director of the center, so I didn't worry too much about it.
Cut to Thursday when I got a note from the teacher stating that The Bird had been punched in the stomach by another little boy (we'll call him Jerkface because HE IS), and well... two times in two weeks and Mama is NOT pleased.
"So, why did he punch you in the stomach?"
"Because he was killing an earwig and I kept telling him not to kill it and he didn't like what I was saying so he punched me in the stomach!"
"Hard?"
"Yes... it made me cry."
"Did you tell teacher?"
"Yes."
"What did she do?"
"She made him go sit on this beach towel."
"Hmmmmm..."
Just as a point of reference, if you ever hear me saying "Hmmmmm...", you should probably back away slowly. Because when I say "Hmmmmm..." that means I'm about to say or do something that could prevent me from ever holding public office. In the past, "Hmmmmm" has immediately preceded the following statements:
- This bar will never even notice if we take this glass home with us. Look how pretty it is!
- What's the harm in saran wrapping those cars together?
- I say we drink some more margarita's.
- That weirdly shaped apple looks like a butt. I'm going to take a picture and post it online.
- There's a real genius to Baby Got Back.
- Let's go up to the most conservative boy in school and grind on him at the school dance while "Shoop" is playing. Bonus points because he's the principal's son.
- You know what... that Spanish teacher is about to have a nervous breakdown. We should TOTALLY set her desk on fire.
This particular "Hmmmmm..." immediately preceded me asking:
"Bird... are you bigger than Jerkface?"
"Yes... why?"
"He punches you again, you push him down and stand over him like you're
freakin' Lara Croft and tell him to NEVER touch you again. And if he tries to stand up, you step on him and tell him to stay down or you will END him."
"Just wondering."
I went for a swim that night and had a long talk with myself about advocating violence against a 4-year-old. It wasn't my best moment as amother human being, I admit it. But I never actually said those words out loud to her. Partly because you don't teach that violence isn't acceptable.... by advocating violence. But mostly because I knew if I did and the teacher asked her why she pushed him down, she would totally rat me out.
The overall problem as I see it is NOT that the boy punched her. It's about how she is expected to react to being punched that bothers me. I'm all for non-violence and no hitting and using our words and walking away, but what if that doesn't work? What if you're now a target and a victim? There are many things I expect my girls to be. A victim is nowhere on that list. There is a fine line between teaching your daughter to stand up for herself and advocating violence... and it's not an easy line to walk.
I struggle with the idea that the teacher has to handle the situation, when my daughter could and should be the one to handle it. We should be teaching our children - especially our daughters - that they should have an expectation of how others treat them. And sure... I get that he's 4. And his parents haven't taught him better. And he has three older brothers and that's just how they are... rough and tumble. I get it. But, why is that an excuse to physically harm my daughter and she not be able to do anything about it other than cry and run to teacher? Why in society do we teach our girls to let someone else handle it? What is wrong with telling her to stand up for herself when someone hurts her? This little boy may never change, but I don't believe the right answer for my daughter is just to avoid him. I suspect that would make it worse and that's not how real life works. And I wonder if parents of little boys would tell their sons to let teacher handle it if their son was the one who received the punch... or two punches in two weeks. Or... if perhaps they would tell him what I wanted to tell The Bird: Anyone punches you, you push them down and make sure they know that YOU are not to be messed with. Capisce?
Of course, if she handles it on her own, she runs the risk of getting a rep. Which is sad. It just seems as though we are teaching our girls that they need to have someone else stand up for them, fight their fights and deal with their issues. Which makes the feminist in me bleed from her ears. We should expect more from our daughters than running to tell teacher if someone hurts them. We should empower them the way our sons are empowered. I certainly don't want her in a fight, but I sure as hell want her to know how to defend herself in a fight if need be.
Again, I'm not advocating violence, per se. But it seems like if they're both 4-years-old, it's a fair fight. And if he's smaller than her and she puts him in his place, maybe he'll be better at picking his fights. And if The Bird learns how to stand up for herself now, and not be cowed by someone else who is willing to hit her because he can get away with it (because, honestly... at the end of the day, he had to go to timeout? please. he learned NOTHING from that. and he'll do it again), then maybe she'll know how to stand up for herself when someone else tries to hurt her. Maybe in a year. Maybe in high school. But she'll know that she deserves to be treated with more respect. Will inaction on this lead her to believe that if someone doesn't like what she's saying or doing, it's okay for them to hit her?
BECAUSE. IT'S. NOT.
We don't hit in our home. That's not how we communicate. We use our words and/or have a meltdown and have to go to our bedroom and cry it out.
But enough of how I communicate....
I'm sure there are some parents out there reading this thinking: "Dude... chill out, Mama. It was just a punch and it's part of growing up." And trust me, I've wrestled with the idea that maybe I've let this get me too worked up. But what I see is more than a punch. So much more.
When I spoke with one of the wonderful women who run the day care about this, she asked what I would do if I saw a little boy punch one of my girls on the playground. Would I run up to them and stop it and comfort my daughter? Or would I be okay with her slugging him back? It's possible she now thinks less of me because I responded that I'd let them fight it out. At least for a little bit. But I've always been a little more fight, less flight.
How would you advise your child in a similar situation?
Seriously....I'm 37 with two kids and still have no idea what the hell I'm doing most days. But, hey the kids are still alive and they're happy at least 49 percent of the time, so I'm either doing something right or just know how to polish a turd when I see it. For example, did you know that there are children out there in the world who don't know the genius of hot dogs in their Mac & Cheese.... because their mothers feed them vegetables and other unprocessed foods? I feel bad for those kids... I really do.
And, yes... I tend to brag up my parenting swagger by letting my Facebook friends know that my child used the term "F*ck *t" and that I will soon be teaching her the other F-word: F*m*n*sm.
But the truth is, I still need help every now and then. That's where you come in.
You... reading this bit of nonsense right now and chuckling about what it must be like to have me as a mother. You... the one who NEVER leaves a comment because you don't want to mess with your "lurker" status. You... the one who comes up to me on the street and says: "Hey-o! Loved your post about your little girl pooping in bed and sleeping next to it!"
YOU. Pony up, sweetheart. We need all hands on deck for this one.
On the way home from school a couple of weeks ago, The Bird mentioned that a little boy in her class punched her in the stomach. Since, I hadn't received a note and The Bird has been known to leave out pertinent facts (not on purpose, just because she's 4), I talked with the teacher about in the next day. Turns out, she had been punched, but the teacher on duty was a sub and hadn't thought to write a note to explain what happened. This particular little boy... Oy. Vey. It didn't surprise me that he was the culprit. But, it seemed like an isolated incident and it was handled by the teacher and the executive director of the center, so I didn't worry too much about it.
Cut to Thursday when I got a note from the teacher stating that The Bird had been punched in the stomach by another little boy (we'll call him Jerkface because HE IS), and well... two times in two weeks and Mama is NOT pleased.
"So, why did he punch you in the stomach?"
"Because he was killing an earwig and I kept telling him not to kill it and he didn't like what I was saying so he punched me in the stomach!"
"Hard?"
"Yes... it made me cry."
"Did you tell teacher?"
"Yes."
"What did she do?"
"She made him go sit on this beach towel."
"Hmmmmm..."
Just as a point of reference, if you ever hear me saying "Hmmmmm...", you should probably back away slowly. Because when I say "Hmmmmm..." that means I'm about to say or do something that could prevent me from ever holding public office. In the past, "Hmmmmm" has immediately preceded the following statements:
- This bar will never even notice if we take this glass home with us. Look how pretty it is!
- What's the harm in saran wrapping those cars together?
- I say we drink some more margarita's.
- That weirdly shaped apple looks like a butt. I'm going to take a picture and post it online.
- There's a real genius to Baby Got Back.
- Let's go up to the most conservative boy in school and grind on him at the school dance while "Shoop" is playing. Bonus points because he's the principal's son.
- You know what... that Spanish teacher is about to have a nervous breakdown. We should TOTALLY set her desk on fire.
This particular "Hmmmmm..." immediately preceded me asking:
"Bird... are you bigger than Jerkface?"
"Yes... why?"
"Just wondering."
I went for a swim that night and had a long talk with myself about advocating violence against a 4-year-old. It wasn't my best moment as a
The overall problem as I see it is NOT that the boy punched her. It's about how she is expected to react to being punched that bothers me. I'm all for non-violence and no hitting and using our words and walking away, but what if that doesn't work? What if you're now a target and a victim? There are many things I expect my girls to be. A victim is nowhere on that list. There is a fine line between teaching your daughter to stand up for herself and advocating violence... and it's not an easy line to walk.
I struggle with the idea that the teacher has to handle the situation, when my daughter could and should be the one to handle it. We should be teaching our children - especially our daughters - that they should have an expectation of how others treat them. And sure... I get that he's 4. And his parents haven't taught him better. And he has three older brothers and that's just how they are... rough and tumble. I get it. But, why is that an excuse to physically harm my daughter and she not be able to do anything about it other than cry and run to teacher? Why in society do we teach our girls to let someone else handle it? What is wrong with telling her to stand up for herself when someone hurts her? This little boy may never change, but I don't believe the right answer for my daughter is just to avoid him. I suspect that would make it worse and that's not how real life works. And I wonder if parents of little boys would tell their sons to let teacher handle it if their son was the one who received the punch... or two punches in two weeks. Or... if perhaps they would tell him what I wanted to tell The Bird: Anyone punches you, you push them down and make sure they know that YOU are not to be messed with. Capisce?
Of course, if she handles it on her own, she runs the risk of getting a rep. Which is sad. It just seems as though we are teaching our girls that they need to have someone else stand up for them, fight their fights and deal with their issues. Which makes the feminist in me bleed from her ears. We should expect more from our daughters than running to tell teacher if someone hurts them. We should empower them the way our sons are empowered. I certainly don't want her in a fight, but I sure as hell want her to know how to defend herself in a fight if need be.
Again, I'm not advocating violence, per se. But it seems like if they're both 4-years-old, it's a fair fight. And if he's smaller than her and she puts him in his place, maybe he'll be better at picking his fights. And if The Bird learns how to stand up for herself now, and not be cowed by someone else who is willing to hit her because he can get away with it (because, honestly... at the end of the day, he had to go to timeout? please. he learned NOTHING from that. and he'll do it again), then maybe she'll know how to stand up for herself when someone else tries to hurt her. Maybe in a year. Maybe in high school. But she'll know that she deserves to be treated with more respect. Will inaction on this lead her to believe that if someone doesn't like what she's saying or doing, it's okay for them to hit her?
BECAUSE. IT'S. NOT.
We don't hit in our home. That's not how we communicate. We use our words and/or have a meltdown and have to go to our bedroom and cry it out.
But enough of how I communicate....
I'm sure there are some parents out there reading this thinking: "Dude... chill out, Mama. It was just a punch and it's part of growing up." And trust me, I've wrestled with the idea that maybe I've let this get me too worked up. But what I see is more than a punch. So much more.
When I spoke with one of the wonderful women who run the day care about this, she asked what I would do if I saw a little boy punch one of my girls on the playground. Would I run up to them and stop it and comfort my daughter? Or would I be okay with her slugging him back? It's possible she now thinks less of me because I responded that I'd let them fight it out. At least for a little bit. But I've always been a little more fight, less flight.
How would you advise your child in a similar situation?
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