I remember, when I was much, much younger, in the BC days (Before Children) when I would watch other parents or caregivers with their kids and think, "How can they let their kids act like that? If that were MY kid, I would MAKE her listen!"
Oh, blissful, blissful ignorance.
The other day, I was out doing errands with my three kids. Our last stop was the pharmacy, where I usually use their god-send of a drive-thru. For some reason that I cannot recall now, I elected to traipse inside with all three kids.
Now, I love all of my children. Most days I wouldn't trade them for anything. The problem with having more than two, however, is that once you have more kids than you have hands, all bets are off. And any parents of 3+ kids will tell you, the big problem is never caused by the baby, snugly secured in the baby carrier. Often the problem is caused by the rambunctious almost-three-year-old. The same child who, months earlier, you could take anywhere without a problem.
Now? Problem.
Other times that I've gone into the pharmacy, the Princess has played in the toy aisle and/or been doted on by the pharmacy staff, showered with compliments and lollipops. This time around, however, Thing One and Thing Two were more the center of attention. All was good while our prescriptions were being filled, but when it was time to go, the Princess dug in her heels and flat out refused (which is becoming a familiar refrain). With Thing Two in my arms and Thing one in his carrier, I cycled through my options. Previously, I would have just picked up my oldest daughter and carried her out of the store, no matter how much she protested, then dealt with the "talking-to" portion in the car. With no way to do that, I wasn't sure what to do. Using my most stern parenting growl ("You come here right this moment young lady!") without invoking any threat that I couldn't fulfill- she's called my bluff before and I know better now- I told her it was time to go. Then she did something I don't think she's ever done before.
She ran away.
Have you ever tried to chase a three year old while loaded down with two babies, their winter gear, and prescriptions (which include six large bottles of Pedialyte)? It's not pretty. I really had no idea what to do. And I felt like the entire pharmacy staff was watching me, waiting to judge whatever decision I made next. Do I let her run around the store and assume she'll get back to me eventually (and that she won't run out through the automatic doors, or that some stranger won't lure her outside with the promise of a Snickers bar)? Do I put down the baby who is in the infant carrier and take off around the store looking for my firstborn? Do I just plop down on the floor in front of the checkout counter and rip into whatever candy bar is closest and try to pretend none of this is really happening?
While the last option was tempting, I went with the second one- I left Thing One at the pharmacy checkout and walked the store perimeter until I found my little Princess.
The story doesn't end there. Nor does it get any better.
The chasing, throwing things, kicking things continued until I could catch up to her and literally caught her in my free arm. Then, another dilemma. How to get out of the store? A kindly staff member helped me get everyone and everything out to the car, but not before the princess practically took out a Christmas card display and cookie kiosk, and I accidentally smacked my young son in the head with a bottle of grape Pedialyte.
After thanking the very nice staff person profusely, I sat in the car with my three now-wailing children and just thought quiet thoughts to myself. I was so incredibly angry with my daughter for acting, well, her age, as my husband pointed out when I came home and reiterated the whole, long, embarrassing tale to him. After all, I wasn't angry with my sons for crying while we were out- they're babies, it's what they do. So why was I upset that my daughter showed her three-year-old colors while we were out in public? Is the opinion of the Rite Aid staff really THAT important to me? I'm pretty sure from the looks on their faces more than one of them were having the same thoughts that I used to have when I saw people out with their misbehaving kids- "How can she let her kid get away with that? If that were MY kid I would lay down the law! I would MAKE her listen!" Does it really matter that much to me what they think?
I'd love to say no, it doesn't matter at all, but I'd totally be lying. It might not keep me up at night, but there's also a part of me that doesn't really want to be known as the world's worst parent, either. Although you also might argue that to write this blog the way I do, and to be as honest about the parenting issues that arise as I have been, caring about what other people think can't be my number one concern or else you wouldn't be reading this.
As for judging other people's parenting and thinking I knew it all? Once I had my own kids, I was cured of that. Unfortunately, I'm pretty sure that the trait is genetic. If my friends' stories are to be believed, I also have a sneaking suspicion that it might rear its ugly head again when I become a grandparent.
Tuesday, December 14, 2010
Monday, December 6, 2010
Runaway Birthday Train
I bet you thought my blogging days had run their course, didn't you?
I don't blame you. I'm a harried mother of three, with no time to pee unattended, never mind constructing complex paragraphs.
Nevertheless, I'm managing. Blogging is turning out to be a real sanity saver for me. Even though I'm usually only able to write my posts a few phrases or sentences at a time, constantly being interrupted by baby issues or big girl queries, it's worth it. And the comments that people have posted have been great- I've really enjoyed hearing your feedback. I figure if I can let just one other mom or dad (or grandma or whomever) know that they're not the only one to have the occasional crazy thought, I think it makes it all worthwhile (never mind the added benefit to me- just getting things out of my head to make room for more craziness- don't want things to get too cluttered up there).
We celebrated the Princess' third birthday on Saturday. Having a Christmastime birthday is a dilemma- one I know firsthand, as mine falls a few days after the 25th. My parents tried to get me to celebrate my "half" birthday when I was a kid, so I could have outdoor summer parties instead of cramming everyone into the living room, but I wouldn't have it. In fact, I was usually so stubborn as to insist that we celebrate my birthday always on my real birthday- not the weekend before or after. My mom was always pretty great about trying to let me do whatever I wanted to do for my birthday, she always made it special despite it being during the time of the year when everything is already festive and special because of the holidays. I hope I can do the same thing for my daughter.
Kids' birthday parties seem to have taken a turn for the extravagant. Maybe this is a familiar refrain to you, but I'll say it again. Parties that I went to as a kid were pretty simple affairs- your friends came to your house, there was cake, ice cream, presents, pin the tail on the donkey, goody bags, and then they went home. The whole thing took two, maybe three hours tops. Sometimes there was pizza. Or a pinata. Your mom made your cake. Having a theme meant that the napkins and the plates you ate your cake off of had the same cartoon character on them. There was either no prize for winning pin the tail on the donkey, or if there was, only the kid who actually won got one. And it was the same dime store junky toy that the goody bags were filled with, along with teeth-rotting candy. You opened your presents at the party, in front of your guests, and said thank you. Your brothers and sisters didn't get any gifts, just you. In between all this, you and your guests just played.
And everyone had a good time! Amazing, huh? Considering we didn't have party planners, printed invitations, professional entertainment, dancers, DVD invitations, rented photo booths (for favors), "location parties" (the closest we got to a location party was Chuck E. Cheeses)... the list goes on. And the gifts! Oh my. Am I the only one who wonders how anyone can afford all this? Christmastime birthday or not, I can pretty much guarantee that the Princess will never celebrate her birthday with the help of a caricaturist. Her party over the weekend was more like the ones my friends and I used to have. The kids raced around and played in the Princess' room (and everywhere else). I made a simple "cook-out-eat-in" dinner (beef, chicken, and veggie shish kabobs). We sang Happy Birthday, ate cake, and watched her open her presents and say thank you to her guests. The grown-ups seemed to equally enjoy themselves while they ate chips and dip and chatted, albeit over the dull roar of the paper Happy Birthday horns I had found on the cheap months ago.
The most important part? The Princess had a GREAT time. And all of her guests had a blast, too. All of the expensive and extravagant stuff that other parents do- I think maybe it's sometimes more for them than for the kids. Kind of a "look at what a great parent I am, I got my kid a ______ for for his birthday!" I don't know, I could be totally wrong. And they're kind of shooting themselves in the foot- I mean, once you've given your kid a party with a pony, magician, and light show there's really no going back to Funfetti cake and Hoodsie cups out on the deck at home, is there?
Oh well. Every parent has to do what he/she thinks is best for his/her kid(s), right? We've been to at least one birthday party this past year with a bounce house, and it was perfect. And who knows? Maybe one day I'll trade in my clearance-rack, obnoxiously loud paper horns and hop on the bounce house birthday bandwagon. Stranger things have happened.
I don't blame you. I'm a harried mother of three, with no time to pee unattended, never mind constructing complex paragraphs.
Nevertheless, I'm managing. Blogging is turning out to be a real sanity saver for me. Even though I'm usually only able to write my posts a few phrases or sentences at a time, constantly being interrupted by baby issues or big girl queries, it's worth it. And the comments that people have posted have been great- I've really enjoyed hearing your feedback. I figure if I can let just one other mom or dad (or grandma or whomever) know that they're not the only one to have the occasional crazy thought, I think it makes it all worthwhile (never mind the added benefit to me- just getting things out of my head to make room for more craziness- don't want things to get too cluttered up there).
We celebrated the Princess' third birthday on Saturday. Having a Christmastime birthday is a dilemma- one I know firsthand, as mine falls a few days after the 25th. My parents tried to get me to celebrate my "half" birthday when I was a kid, so I could have outdoor summer parties instead of cramming everyone into the living room, but I wouldn't have it. In fact, I was usually so stubborn as to insist that we celebrate my birthday always on my real birthday- not the weekend before or after. My mom was always pretty great about trying to let me do whatever I wanted to do for my birthday, she always made it special despite it being during the time of the year when everything is already festive and special because of the holidays. I hope I can do the same thing for my daughter.
Kids' birthday parties seem to have taken a turn for the extravagant. Maybe this is a familiar refrain to you, but I'll say it again. Parties that I went to as a kid were pretty simple affairs- your friends came to your house, there was cake, ice cream, presents, pin the tail on the donkey, goody bags, and then they went home. The whole thing took two, maybe three hours tops. Sometimes there was pizza. Or a pinata. Your mom made your cake. Having a theme meant that the napkins and the plates you ate your cake off of had the same cartoon character on them. There was either no prize for winning pin the tail on the donkey, or if there was, only the kid who actually won got one. And it was the same dime store junky toy that the goody bags were filled with, along with teeth-rotting candy. You opened your presents at the party, in front of your guests, and said thank you. Your brothers and sisters didn't get any gifts, just you. In between all this, you and your guests just played.
And everyone had a good time! Amazing, huh? Considering we didn't have party planners, printed invitations, professional entertainment, dancers, DVD invitations, rented photo booths (for favors), "location parties" (the closest we got to a location party was Chuck E. Cheeses)... the list goes on. And the gifts! Oh my. Am I the only one who wonders how anyone can afford all this? Christmastime birthday or not, I can pretty much guarantee that the Princess will never celebrate her birthday with the help of a caricaturist. Her party over the weekend was more like the ones my friends and I used to have. The kids raced around and played in the Princess' room (and everywhere else). I made a simple "cook-out-eat-in" dinner (beef, chicken, and veggie shish kabobs). We sang Happy Birthday, ate cake, and watched her open her presents and say thank you to her guests. The grown-ups seemed to equally enjoy themselves while they ate chips and dip and chatted, albeit over the dull roar of the paper Happy Birthday horns I had found on the cheap months ago.
The most important part? The Princess had a GREAT time. And all of her guests had a blast, too. All of the expensive and extravagant stuff that other parents do- I think maybe it's sometimes more for them than for the kids. Kind of a "look at what a great parent I am, I got my kid a ______ for for his birthday!" I don't know, I could be totally wrong. And they're kind of shooting themselves in the foot- I mean, once you've given your kid a party with a pony, magician, and light show there's really no going back to Funfetti cake and Hoodsie cups out on the deck at home, is there?
Oh well. Every parent has to do what he/she thinks is best for his/her kid(s), right? We've been to at least one birthday party this past year with a bounce house, and it was perfect. And who knows? Maybe one day I'll trade in my clearance-rack, obnoxiously loud paper horns and hop on the bounce house birthday bandwagon. Stranger things have happened.
Friday, December 3, 2010
Happy Wife, Happy Life
You know the old saying- "If Mama ain't happy, ain't nobody happy." I frequently remind my husband, the Monk, of this. I think he mostly underestimates its power, but every once in awhile he seems to get it (and if you are interested in knowing the story behind how Monk got his name, I have put a note in at the bottom of the post). Yesterday was one such time.
Now, my dear husband is many wonderful things, but a baby person he is not. He will make a wonderful grandfather one day (far, FAR in the future). He loves other people's babies, mostly I think because once they start to poop or cry he can hand them back (and who can blame him, really?). I think he used up all of his baby tolerance with the Princess. Before she was born he and I worked opposite shifts, and he also worked a second day job. To save money on day care, he did something that not many men in his generation would do- he quit one of his jobs to stay home with the Princess while I worked during the day. And he did a wonderful job.
Now that our situation has changed (new state, new home, new jobs), Monk is working (at a job he loves- praise God!) and I'm at home with the kids. Eventually I'll go back to work- some days I can't wait to trade my pjs in for pumps, other days I can't imagine leaving my babies (even though there are times I try to pawn them off on the UPS guy. He says that's not what the post office means by "if it fits, it ships"). But for now I'm home, and my day revolves around Goldfish crackers and naptimes, bottles, boobs, and burping. Any stay-at-home parent can tell you, it's a rewarding job, but also exhausting. I love my children, and I'm glad to be able to be here for them, but you would have to pay me an outrageously exorbitant amount of money to do this same job for someone else. My husband sees how much work three kids under three are and I think if he had to take over for me for more than a few hours at a time, he just might be pushed to auction the kids off on eBay (another reason you should always read the whole ad and never go by just the picture).
But yesterday my dear man was really there for me. He called me from work- something we usually reserve for kid and house emergencies- just to see how I was doing. Then when he came home, he immediately took over with Thing One and Thing Two so I could finish working on preparing a craft activity for the Princess' birthday party this weekend. And he didn't gripe or say anything when I told him I would start dinner after I finished reading a chapter in my book. I made sweet and sour chicken for dinner and it came out really sticky sweet, which I know he doesn't care for much, but he ate it and didn't say a word about it. Then at quarter to seven when Thing One was still super fussy (he had been since lunch), I mentioned to Monk that a ride in the car would probably help (the car can almost always calm down the boys when they're at their fussiest, but with gas prices we hold out as long as possible). Normally I think he would have reminded me that he has to go to bed soon, or about the gas, or that he doesn't like me going out at night. Instead he agreed with me, and told me it was probably a good idea if I got out and took some time for myself (albeit with a fussy baby, which was fine with me- it was only one of them) before I started the "night shift." When I came home and unloaded the groceries, Monk found a Christmas special on TV for the Princess, and I popped some popcorn (okay, so I slightly burned some popcorn), and we all sat together and watched Kris Kringle in a Claymation special that has to be older than I am while we held and patted and rocked our two cranky boys.
Some of you might be green with envy at my unbelievable good luck to land a husband so wonderfully kind, caring, and considerate. Others of you are scoffing at the fact that I'm thrilled to get our of the house to grocery shoping for an hour still with a baby in tow. That's the beauty of relationships- you never really know what the inside of other people's are like, what makes them tick. What I really hope Monk sees from yesterday is what a better mood I was in- because of him. The rest of my day wasn't any different from any other day. The Princess was still her stubborn, opinionated, accident-prone, almost-three-year-old self. The twins were fussy most of the day, save for a late-morning nap. But Monk's midday phone call just to check on me and see how I was doing gave me some strength to deal with the trials of the day. And his being understanding of things that are probably not the way he would like (see note below about his nickname) made all the difference to me.
Spouses aren't perfect (despite the fact that my husband has been trained to tell me that I am), but I think that really paying attention to your husband or wife and giving him/her the benefit of the doubt (Do you really think that I leave the laundry unfolded just to make you nuts? Or maybe I just haven't gotten to it yet?) go a long way in sustaining a marriage and being good parents together. Plus, I try always to be aware that my kids have a front-row seat for my marriage- I don't want them to grow up believing that I think their dad is anything less than the kind, funny, warmhearted guy I fell in love with.
Monk and I have a pretty good marriage. There are times we drive each other crazy. That's okay. Sometimes we argue, and I think that's okay too. The key, I think, is to accept the other person for who he/she is, flaws, faults, and all, and understand that he/she probably isn't going to change just because you feel a certain way (and I think Monk would tell you that I am more successful at the whole "accepting and understanding" thing, although he's always improving). This is not a first marriage for either of us. We went into this relationship with a better understanding of ourselves than we had in the past- we knew what we wanted, what we liked, what we didn't like. We had already established routines and ways of doing things. So early in our marriage when Monk kept looking for bread at every meal and I would tell him he didn't need bread, we were eating rice or pasta or whatever, and he would say, "But I want bread" and I would tell him "But you don't need it" until he finally would get up and find a loaf of bread on his own, it just made me realize more- my job as his wife is to accept him and love him, not to change him. All the nutrition facts in the world weren't going to change a 40+ year habit of having bread with every meal. And why did it matter to me, really? Because it's not as healthy? He had taken care of himself before he married me, he could probably continue making his own decisions. Sure, if he had been used to having, say, cocaine with every meal instead of bread it would have been another issue... but if my choice is to fight with him about how I don't think he needs bread, or just let him eat what he wants, why not just let him eat what he wants? If I didn't change his mind the first time I brought it up, I'm not going to change it the fiftieth time I bring it up. So why waste the effort and create stress and crankiness?
I understand this approach and way of thinking won't work for everyone. That's okay. Everyone has to do what they think is best for themselves, and their marriage. As for us... we have ups and downs, but at the end of it all, I'm glad I have Monk beside me, for better or worse.
It's taken me the better part of the day to write this post. Gotta get it in where I can, between diaper changes, readings of Knuffle Bunny, breastfeeding, burping, crying (almost all of which is the boys). Need to get started on dinner- steak on the grill, rice, snap peas... mmmmm...
And, of course, bread.
--------------------
About Monk's nickname:
As per blogging privacy standards, I chose aliases for the members of my family whom I talk about (even though many of you check my blog because you know me, hopefully eventually I'll reach people who don't owe me favors). My husband is Monk. To understand this you need to familliar with the USA television show of the same name- it's about an obsessive compulsive detective who solves crimes. While my hubby doesn't fight crime, he is extremely particular about things- neatness topping the list. "A place for everything and everything in its place" could be his own personal motto. He can't stand clutter. He has to keep things clean (he rakes the leaves daily, lest the yard look "messy"). Unfortunately for him, I am what you might call more of an "organized chaos" kind of person. I don't like clutter, but despite my best efforts, it follows me wherever I go (I would be happy to leave the leaves where they fall- maybe mulch them over the grass- I hear it's supposed to make good fertilizer for the next year. When I mentioned this to my husband he looked at me like I had suggested we strip naked and make snow angels on the White House lawn). Like I said, it's all about love and acceptance. And maybe the occassional Valium.
Now, my dear husband is many wonderful things, but a baby person he is not. He will make a wonderful grandfather one day (far, FAR in the future). He loves other people's babies, mostly I think because once they start to poop or cry he can hand them back (and who can blame him, really?). I think he used up all of his baby tolerance with the Princess. Before she was born he and I worked opposite shifts, and he also worked a second day job. To save money on day care, he did something that not many men in his generation would do- he quit one of his jobs to stay home with the Princess while I worked during the day. And he did a wonderful job.
Now that our situation has changed (new state, new home, new jobs), Monk is working (at a job he loves- praise God!) and I'm at home with the kids. Eventually I'll go back to work- some days I can't wait to trade my pjs in for pumps, other days I can't imagine leaving my babies (even though there are times I try to pawn them off on the UPS guy. He says that's not what the post office means by "if it fits, it ships"). But for now I'm home, and my day revolves around Goldfish crackers and naptimes, bottles, boobs, and burping. Any stay-at-home parent can tell you, it's a rewarding job, but also exhausting. I love my children, and I'm glad to be able to be here for them, but you would have to pay me an outrageously exorbitant amount of money to do this same job for someone else. My husband sees how much work three kids under three are and I think if he had to take over for me for more than a few hours at a time, he just might be pushed to auction the kids off on eBay (another reason you should always read the whole ad and never go by just the picture).
But yesterday my dear man was really there for me. He called me from work- something we usually reserve for kid and house emergencies- just to see how I was doing. Then when he came home, he immediately took over with Thing One and Thing Two so I could finish working on preparing a craft activity for the Princess' birthday party this weekend. And he didn't gripe or say anything when I told him I would start dinner after I finished reading a chapter in my book. I made sweet and sour chicken for dinner and it came out really sticky sweet, which I know he doesn't care for much, but he ate it and didn't say a word about it. Then at quarter to seven when Thing One was still super fussy (he had been since lunch), I mentioned to Monk that a ride in the car would probably help (the car can almost always calm down the boys when they're at their fussiest, but with gas prices we hold out as long as possible). Normally I think he would have reminded me that he has to go to bed soon, or about the gas, or that he doesn't like me going out at night. Instead he agreed with me, and told me it was probably a good idea if I got out and took some time for myself (albeit with a fussy baby, which was fine with me- it was only one of them) before I started the "night shift." When I came home and unloaded the groceries, Monk found a Christmas special on TV for the Princess, and I popped some popcorn (okay, so I slightly burned some popcorn), and we all sat together and watched Kris Kringle in a Claymation special that has to be older than I am while we held and patted and rocked our two cranky boys.
Some of you might be green with envy at my unbelievable good luck to land a husband so wonderfully kind, caring, and considerate. Others of you are scoffing at the fact that I'm thrilled to get our of the house to grocery shoping for an hour still with a baby in tow. That's the beauty of relationships- you never really know what the inside of other people's are like, what makes them tick. What I really hope Monk sees from yesterday is what a better mood I was in- because of him. The rest of my day wasn't any different from any other day. The Princess was still her stubborn, opinionated, accident-prone, almost-three-year-old self. The twins were fussy most of the day, save for a late-morning nap. But Monk's midday phone call just to check on me and see how I was doing gave me some strength to deal with the trials of the day. And his being understanding of things that are probably not the way he would like (see note below about his nickname) made all the difference to me.
Spouses aren't perfect (despite the fact that my husband has been trained to tell me that I am), but I think that really paying attention to your husband or wife and giving him/her the benefit of the doubt (Do you really think that I leave the laundry unfolded just to make you nuts? Or maybe I just haven't gotten to it yet?) go a long way in sustaining a marriage and being good parents together. Plus, I try always to be aware that my kids have a front-row seat for my marriage- I don't want them to grow up believing that I think their dad is anything less than the kind, funny, warmhearted guy I fell in love with.
Monk and I have a pretty good marriage. There are times we drive each other crazy. That's okay. Sometimes we argue, and I think that's okay too. The key, I think, is to accept the other person for who he/she is, flaws, faults, and all, and understand that he/she probably isn't going to change just because you feel a certain way (and I think Monk would tell you that I am more successful at the whole "accepting and understanding" thing, although he's always improving). This is not a first marriage for either of us. We went into this relationship with a better understanding of ourselves than we had in the past- we knew what we wanted, what we liked, what we didn't like. We had already established routines and ways of doing things. So early in our marriage when Monk kept looking for bread at every meal and I would tell him he didn't need bread, we were eating rice or pasta or whatever, and he would say, "But I want bread" and I would tell him "But you don't need it" until he finally would get up and find a loaf of bread on his own, it just made me realize more- my job as his wife is to accept him and love him, not to change him. All the nutrition facts in the world weren't going to change a 40+ year habit of having bread with every meal. And why did it matter to me, really? Because it's not as healthy? He had taken care of himself before he married me, he could probably continue making his own decisions. Sure, if he had been used to having, say, cocaine with every meal instead of bread it would have been another issue... but if my choice is to fight with him about how I don't think he needs bread, or just let him eat what he wants, why not just let him eat what he wants? If I didn't change his mind the first time I brought it up, I'm not going to change it the fiftieth time I bring it up. So why waste the effort and create stress and crankiness?
I understand this approach and way of thinking won't work for everyone. That's okay. Everyone has to do what they think is best for themselves, and their marriage. As for us... we have ups and downs, but at the end of it all, I'm glad I have Monk beside me, for better or worse.
It's taken me the better part of the day to write this post. Gotta get it in where I can, between diaper changes, readings of Knuffle Bunny, breastfeeding, burping, crying (almost all of which is the boys). Need to get started on dinner- steak on the grill, rice, snap peas... mmmmm...
And, of course, bread.
--------------------
About Monk's nickname:
As per blogging privacy standards, I chose aliases for the members of my family whom I talk about (even though many of you check my blog because you know me, hopefully eventually I'll reach people who don't owe me favors). My husband is Monk. To understand this you need to familliar with the USA television show of the same name- it's about an obsessive compulsive detective who solves crimes. While my hubby doesn't fight crime, he is extremely particular about things- neatness topping the list. "A place for everything and everything in its place" could be his own personal motto. He can't stand clutter. He has to keep things clean (he rakes the leaves daily, lest the yard look "messy"). Unfortunately for him, I am what you might call more of an "organized chaos" kind of person. I don't like clutter, but despite my best efforts, it follows me wherever I go (I would be happy to leave the leaves where they fall- maybe mulch them over the grass- I hear it's supposed to make good fertilizer for the next year. When I mentioned this to my husband he looked at me like I had suggested we strip naked and make snow angels on the White House lawn). Like I said, it's all about love and acceptance. And maybe the occassional Valium.
Thursday, December 2, 2010
When Mama Needs A Time-Out
First off, let me take a second to say thank you to everyone who has left comments and/or told me how much they enjoy reading what I'm writing- I really, really appreciate your kind words and encouragement. Thanks for taking a moment to let me know how you feel. It means a lot to me. :)
---------------------------
There are so many things about pregnancy and parenting that they don't tell you. My gripe today is how much quality bathroom time I still log in post-partum. I kind of thought after the kids were born my constant trips to the bathroom would be over. Turns out I was wrong- I'm still high-tailing it to the head at an alarming rate of frequency, but for different reasons now. Now I go to give myself a time-out.
Don't get me wrong- I knew life would get much harder after the twins were born. But since the Princess was such as easy baby, I don't think I had a clue about just how difficult it could be, or how frustrated or lost I could feel.
Thing One and Thing Two are pretty fussy babies, which is common with preemies (although the Princess was also a preemie, and she was not like this, nowhere close). They have trouble just sitting, being content. They have difficulty falling asleep. They have difficulty staying asleep. No matter what formula we try, they end up with painful gas bubbles that make them scream out in pain. They are happiest just being held all the time, or having their backs patted, but with two of them, plus the Princess, that can be a tall order most of the time.
And sometimes, no matter what we do, they still cry. And cry. And cry.
And sometimes, so does Mommy.
But other times I just get so frustrated- after literally hours of crying where nothing works to comfort the babies, and the Princess inevitably spills something/breaks something/doesn't make it to the potty... or just something else just typical of an almost-three-year-old- and I find myself close to losing it. I escape to the bathroom (after making sure the kids are all safe, of course- I'm angry, not an idiot). I count to ten, twenty, a hundred. I take deep breaths. I look at the time and count the hours until my husband will be home. I think about what I can do with the kids to break the crankiness cycle. Can we go outside? Is there something special we can do? A snack the Princess can have or a game she can play? Is there anything that I can try (or try again) with the twins to calm them or get them to sleep? Should I call my cousin (my go-to source of instant sanity) or the kids' pediatrician? And I think about the days I had my kids, and being pregnant with them. I think of my daughter and stepson, how quickly they've grown up already, and how as difficult as this time is with the little ones, I really don't want to wish it away any faster than it's going to fly by anyway.
While I'm ungritting my teeth and pulling myself back from the edge, the kids are (gasp!) alone. If they cry, they cry. But barring a meteor hitting the earth, they're safe, and I'm just in the next room. And I don't want to end up being the mom in the orange jumpsuit on the "Don't Shake Jake" commercials. So taking a time-out when I need one is okay in my book. But from what I've heard from comments from other parents (not necessarily directed at me, but in general), not everyone thinks this way, which is unfortunate. People seem to see it as a sign of weakness- as if as soon as you have a baby, you automatically become Super Woman, and no longer succumb to normal human behavior. I think it's just that kind of thinking that makes women (and men) feel badly and less likely to seek help for a problem she/he might have because she/he doesn't want to be perceived as "weak" or a "bad" parent. In reality, it's just the opposite. Seeking help is what makes you a better parent, and happier person.
I almost decided not to post about this here. I liked the idea of keeping up the facade of being the perfect mom (or at least a reasonable facsimilie). But I hope if I share how I feel and what I'm going through, other moms (or dads or grandparents) will feel better and be more honest with themselves about not being perfect and sometimes feeling overwhelmed themselves. You know, I hate that I have this temper, but I've had it all my life, and it was unreasonable to think that it would disappear when I had kids and wouldn't affect the way I parent. Luckily, I was self-aware enough to take steps to deal with it before it could hurt my kids.
Unfortunately, I couldn't stop genetics. My daughter, the Princess, seems to have inherited my temper. It could just be her age, but I see so much of myself in her. She gets so angry at the smallest frustration or bump in the road. In a way I feel lucky- I know how it feels to get so mad and not be able to focus on anything else, and I hope that I can help her deal with it as she gets older and her frustrations become bigger than not wanting to take a nap or not being allowed a second popsicle.
So, I hope all of you reading understand where I'm at on all of this, and I hope that by reading about my less-than-perfect mothering you can gain a greater sense of understanding of your own parenting, or maybe someone else's. And hopefully we can all work to keep from making snap judgements of others based on what we might perceive to be weaknesses.
In the meantime, if you need me, I'll be the bathroom... counting to a hundred.
---------------------------
There are so many things about pregnancy and parenting that they don't tell you. My gripe today is how much quality bathroom time I still log in post-partum. I kind of thought after the kids were born my constant trips to the bathroom would be over. Turns out I was wrong- I'm still high-tailing it to the head at an alarming rate of frequency, but for different reasons now. Now I go to give myself a time-out.
Don't get me wrong- I knew life would get much harder after the twins were born. But since the Princess was such as easy baby, I don't think I had a clue about just how difficult it could be, or how frustrated or lost I could feel.
Thing One and Thing Two are pretty fussy babies, which is common with preemies (although the Princess was also a preemie, and she was not like this, nowhere close). They have trouble just sitting, being content. They have difficulty falling asleep. They have difficulty staying asleep. No matter what formula we try, they end up with painful gas bubbles that make them scream out in pain. They are happiest just being held all the time, or having their backs patted, but with two of them, plus the Princess, that can be a tall order most of the time.
And sometimes, no matter what we do, they still cry. And cry. And cry.
And sometimes, so does Mommy.
But other times I just get so frustrated- after literally hours of crying where nothing works to comfort the babies, and the Princess inevitably spills something/breaks something/doesn't make it to the potty... or just something else just typical of an almost-three-year-old- and I find myself close to losing it. I escape to the bathroom (after making sure the kids are all safe, of course- I'm angry, not an idiot). I count to ten, twenty, a hundred. I take deep breaths. I look at the time and count the hours until my husband will be home. I think about what I can do with the kids to break the crankiness cycle. Can we go outside? Is there something special we can do? A snack the Princess can have or a game she can play? Is there anything that I can try (or try again) with the twins to calm them or get them to sleep? Should I call my cousin (my go-to source of instant sanity) or the kids' pediatrician? And I think about the days I had my kids, and being pregnant with them. I think of my daughter and stepson, how quickly they've grown up already, and how as difficult as this time is with the little ones, I really don't want to wish it away any faster than it's going to fly by anyway.
While I'm ungritting my teeth and pulling myself back from the edge, the kids are (gasp!) alone. If they cry, they cry. But barring a meteor hitting the earth, they're safe, and I'm just in the next room. And I don't want to end up being the mom in the orange jumpsuit on the "Don't Shake Jake" commercials. So taking a time-out when I need one is okay in my book. But from what I've heard from comments from other parents (not necessarily directed at me, but in general), not everyone thinks this way, which is unfortunate. People seem to see it as a sign of weakness- as if as soon as you have a baby, you automatically become Super Woman, and no longer succumb to normal human behavior. I think it's just that kind of thinking that makes women (and men) feel badly and less likely to seek help for a problem she/he might have because she/he doesn't want to be perceived as "weak" or a "bad" parent. In reality, it's just the opposite. Seeking help is what makes you a better parent, and happier person.
I almost decided not to post about this here. I liked the idea of keeping up the facade of being the perfect mom (or at least a reasonable facsimilie). But I hope if I share how I feel and what I'm going through, other moms (or dads or grandparents) will feel better and be more honest with themselves about not being perfect and sometimes feeling overwhelmed themselves. You know, I hate that I have this temper, but I've had it all my life, and it was unreasonable to think that it would disappear when I had kids and wouldn't affect the way I parent. Luckily, I was self-aware enough to take steps to deal with it before it could hurt my kids.
Unfortunately, I couldn't stop genetics. My daughter, the Princess, seems to have inherited my temper. It could just be her age, but I see so much of myself in her. She gets so angry at the smallest frustration or bump in the road. In a way I feel lucky- I know how it feels to get so mad and not be able to focus on anything else, and I hope that I can help her deal with it as she gets older and her frustrations become bigger than not wanting to take a nap or not being allowed a second popsicle.
So, I hope all of you reading understand where I'm at on all of this, and I hope that by reading about my less-than-perfect mothering you can gain a greater sense of understanding of your own parenting, or maybe someone else's. And hopefully we can all work to keep from making snap judgements of others based on what we might perceive to be weaknesses.
In the meantime, if you need me, I'll be the bathroom... counting to a hundred.
Wednesday, December 1, 2010
Canceling Christmas?
It's that most wonderful time of year... time to buy our kids stuff they don't need, and already have too much of so I can spend even more time "helping" the Princess pick up the toys that seem to permanently cover the floor of her room. Don't get me wrong- I love the holidays. I used to beg my parents to let me have a Christmas tree in my room growing up. And now that we have kids, I love sharing our family traditions with them and teaching them about the birth of the Christ child. What I don't love is the shopping for gifts that we can't really afford and not really knowing what to get in the first place. Like many families trying to live only on one income, our finances are stretched super tight. So this year I announced some changes our family would be making for Christmas.
Change #1: No gifts. Santa Claus is still visiting the kids (albeit on a much smaller scale), but as for all of the other gifts I go crazy trying to figure out- not happening this year. Instead, we'll see each other at holiday parties and such, and try to (as corny as it sounds) "give the gift of time together." After all, as we all get older, it's the only thing I know I want, and really enjoy, from the family (okay, there are a few family members who I would rather they sent me a gift card to Smokey Bones, or even a Dustbuster, but all in all, time together is good).
Change #2: Homemade gifts only. When I told my husband about this, you would have thought I said I was going to give him a fart for Christmas (and considering what he got me last year- nothing- you'd think he'd be happy to be off the hook). The gifts that we exchange in the family- the kids, my husband, and I- all must be homemade. Nothing storebought. I mean, this is what the family on 7th Heaven does and they're super perfect, so it must be a good idea, right? :) And I have to say, I'm glad I'm instituting this now. Shopping for parents is always tough- what do you get them that expresses how much you love them, how grateful you are for their parenting, for always being there for you, and says, "Merry Christmas!" One year I bought them a toaster that I knew they liked. Not that they didn't use it or like it, but I bet it wasn't as meaningful as the Christmas ornaments I made them in college when I was p-o-o-r (and which will probably also hang on my tree one day- the toaster bit the dust a few years ago). Last year my brother (who is now known as "the good one") got them a butcher block of knives. It took me a good month to get over being jealous of how happy my parents were with his gift compared to mine (which I can't even remember now- how sad is that?). Anyway, I want our kids to give us stuff from their heart- drawings, paintings, coupons for hugs or chores, whatever. I think it helps to tap into what Christmas is really about.
That's it. We'll still decorate, put up lights, the tree, bake Christmas cookies, drink egg nog, make fudge... and dare I say that I think the "no gifts" rule will lessen the stress that usually comes along with Christmas, making the holiday more enjoyable? I also have to say that when I announced our no gifts Christmas plan, everyone was supportive. I shouldn't be surprised- with the economy the way it is, I know we're not the only family struggling to make ends meet. And with the way the world is, I guess I'm not the only one looking to find meaning and make lasting memories with the ones I love, and to instill that value in my children.
So, what do I want for Christmas? My stepson, Mr. Cool, is an artist and photographer, I'm hoping he uses some of those talents to make something for me. The Princess is pretty artisitc herself (although we recently had to institute a crayon ban after continued unauthorized "wall art" kept appearing in her room). Thing One and Thing Two could make my day just by taking a nap at the same time. And my husband, Monk? He makes his own jewelry, so I'm kind of hoping for a necklace with everyone's birthstone on it. But I'd be happy with a hug and a foot rub.
Change #1: No gifts. Santa Claus is still visiting the kids (albeit on a much smaller scale), but as for all of the other gifts I go crazy trying to figure out- not happening this year. Instead, we'll see each other at holiday parties and such, and try to (as corny as it sounds) "give the gift of time together." After all, as we all get older, it's the only thing I know I want, and really enjoy, from the family (okay, there are a few family members who I would rather they sent me a gift card to Smokey Bones, or even a Dustbuster, but all in all, time together is good).
Change #2: Homemade gifts only. When I told my husband about this, you would have thought I said I was going to give him a fart for Christmas (and considering what he got me last year- nothing- you'd think he'd be happy to be off the hook). The gifts that we exchange in the family- the kids, my husband, and I- all must be homemade. Nothing storebought. I mean, this is what the family on 7th Heaven does and they're super perfect, so it must be a good idea, right? :) And I have to say, I'm glad I'm instituting this now. Shopping for parents is always tough- what do you get them that expresses how much you love them, how grateful you are for their parenting, for always being there for you, and says, "Merry Christmas!" One year I bought them a toaster that I knew they liked. Not that they didn't use it or like it, but I bet it wasn't as meaningful as the Christmas ornaments I made them in college when I was p-o-o-r (and which will probably also hang on my tree one day- the toaster bit the dust a few years ago). Last year my brother (who is now known as "the good one") got them a butcher block of knives. It took me a good month to get over being jealous of how happy my parents were with his gift compared to mine (which I can't even remember now- how sad is that?). Anyway, I want our kids to give us stuff from their heart- drawings, paintings, coupons for hugs or chores, whatever. I think it helps to tap into what Christmas is really about.
That's it. We'll still decorate, put up lights, the tree, bake Christmas cookies, drink egg nog, make fudge... and dare I say that I think the "no gifts" rule will lessen the stress that usually comes along with Christmas, making the holiday more enjoyable? I also have to say that when I announced our no gifts Christmas plan, everyone was supportive. I shouldn't be surprised- with the economy the way it is, I know we're not the only family struggling to make ends meet. And with the way the world is, I guess I'm not the only one looking to find meaning and make lasting memories with the ones I love, and to instill that value in my children.
So, what do I want for Christmas? My stepson, Mr. Cool, is an artist and photographer, I'm hoping he uses some of those talents to make something for me. The Princess is pretty artisitc herself (although we recently had to institute a crayon ban after continued unauthorized "wall art" kept appearing in her room). Thing One and Thing Two could make my day just by taking a nap at the same time. And my husband, Monk? He makes his own jewelry, so I'm kind of hoping for a necklace with everyone's birthstone on it. But I'd be happy with a hug and a foot rub.
Tuesday, November 30, 2010
Sanity Optional
As this is my first post, let me get a few introductory remarks out of the way. I'm a thirty-something mom to an almost-three-year-old princess and three month old identical boy twins (whom I affectionately refer to as Thing One and Thing Two). I'm also a stepmom to an incredibly smart and talented 16-year-old young man, (calling him a boy no longer feels appropriate) who I'll call "Mr. Cool" and I'm a usually loving, sometimes cranky wife to my dear husband who I have nicknamed, "Monk" (more on that later). My life seems to have more than the usual level of craziness in it since the twins were born, and my goal with this blog is to share some of our daily insanity with all of you in cyberspace with the hope that you might glean something from it (birth control?) and I can have a place to let off a little steam without causing bodily injury. Since the people mentioned above take up most of my waking (and a healthy portion of what should be my sleeping) hours, this might very well be the only post you ever read. In case that's true, let me make this one worthwhile... some anecdotes from my life staying at home with three kids, all still in diapers (more or less).
We get up between 7 and 8am. By "get up" I mean I have finally fallen asleep after the twins' last feeding, probably around 6ish, and I groggily open my eyes to my little Princess peering at me from next to me on the makeshift bed I have created on the floor of our living room (more on that later, too). Since the boys eat every 2 hours or so (and sleep in between on a good night), needless to say I would love to be heading straight for the coffee pot. Unfortunately, shortly after the boys were born I was diagnosed with a stomach ulcer, which means no coffee for me (and since I have been the ulcer route in the past, with some disastrous results, I actually heed the doctor's advice). Hopefully at this point the boys are sleeping through my discussion about breakfast choices with the Princess (pretty much the same every morning- apple, banana, or cereal) and also my saying no to the whining for verboten items she asks for (M&Ms, popsicles, fruit snacks). Once she has her fingers wrapped around an apple slice dunked in peanut butter, I can finally escape to the bathroom to power pee. Inevitably, this is when Thing One (or Thing Two) will awaken (and wail- loudly) and the Princess will start to chant, "The baby's crying, the baby's crying, the baby's crying!" One of the two will wake up the other baby, who will also start to wail. My daughter's chanting will ramp up a beat so I start to hear, "Thebaby'scryingthebabyscryingTHEBABY'SCRYING, MAMA!!!"
And this is where I commit my first bad mommy sin of the day. I let them cry. All of them. I don't dawdle, but I take the time to take my pills, get something to drink (usually water in the absence of being allowed to indulge in hot, caffeinated goodness), and something I can eat with one hand (crackers, bowl of cereal, freeze dried fruit). I put some milk in the bottle warmer. And THEN I pick up a wailing infant and start with the diaper-changing, clothes-changing, baby-talking, baby-feeding portion of the morning. And I have to admit, I don't really feel that badly about it.
Okay, so I feel a little bad. Part of me wishes I could pick them up whenever they so much as hiccupped. Another part of me is more realistic, and knows that I didn't even do that for my daughter as a baby, knows that it's good for kids to try to learn to soothe themselves, and knows that I am doing the best that I can.
Still... it kind of sucks. Listening to your kids cry and not being able to help them, for whatever reason (even if that reason is you want a Pop-Tart). But that's pretty much how the rest of my day goes- someone always needs me- usually at the same time as someone else- and I need to choose who I pay attention to first, and who can wait. Unfortunately, I have to admit, my older daughter seems to get the shaft in this situation a lot since the twins arrived. She's been pretty good about it, but she's still just a little girl (no matter how much older or more capable she may seem in comparison), and it's starting to wear on her. I try to give her some special time together whenever I can- when I run errands sans babies, or if the boys happen to nap at the same time (although when they nap at all it's cause for celebration). All in all, I think she's adjusting to life with twice the number of brothers she previously had pretty well.
And speaking of her older brother- my stepson- she adores him. Absolutely worships the ground he walks on. And Mr. Cool is excellent with her. He was just here for almost a week, visiting over the holiday, and it's always great to have him here. We love seeing him, of course, but the Princess- just mention her older brother and her whole face lights up. He travels back and forth between here and his other home on the train, and the Princess is fond of saying, "Brudder is on the train? I go see brudder on the train, Mama!" I hope her love for him only grows as they get older.
The little ones are up and about again... not that they haven't been while I've been writing this post, but there's a limit to what I can do while typing (never mind trying to sustain the same train of thought while listening to my daughter's latest Curious George tale). Hopefully I can find the time to write again before the boys start college...
We get up between 7 and 8am. By "get up" I mean I have finally fallen asleep after the twins' last feeding, probably around 6ish, and I groggily open my eyes to my little Princess peering at me from next to me on the makeshift bed I have created on the floor of our living room (more on that later, too). Since the boys eat every 2 hours or so (and sleep in between on a good night), needless to say I would love to be heading straight for the coffee pot. Unfortunately, shortly after the boys were born I was diagnosed with a stomach ulcer, which means no coffee for me (and since I have been the ulcer route in the past, with some disastrous results, I actually heed the doctor's advice). Hopefully at this point the boys are sleeping through my discussion about breakfast choices with the Princess (pretty much the same every morning- apple, banana, or cereal) and also my saying no to the whining for verboten items she asks for (M&Ms, popsicles, fruit snacks). Once she has her fingers wrapped around an apple slice dunked in peanut butter, I can finally escape to the bathroom to power pee. Inevitably, this is when Thing One (or Thing Two) will awaken (and wail- loudly) and the Princess will start to chant, "The baby's crying, the baby's crying, the baby's crying!" One of the two will wake up the other baby, who will also start to wail. My daughter's chanting will ramp up a beat so I start to hear, "Thebaby'scryingthebabyscryingTHEBABY'SCRYING, MAMA!!!"
And this is where I commit my first bad mommy sin of the day. I let them cry. All of them. I don't dawdle, but I take the time to take my pills, get something to drink (usually water in the absence of being allowed to indulge in hot, caffeinated goodness), and something I can eat with one hand (crackers, bowl of cereal, freeze dried fruit). I put some milk in the bottle warmer. And THEN I pick up a wailing infant and start with the diaper-changing, clothes-changing, baby-talking, baby-feeding portion of the morning. And I have to admit, I don't really feel that badly about it.
Okay, so I feel a little bad. Part of me wishes I could pick them up whenever they so much as hiccupped. Another part of me is more realistic, and knows that I didn't even do that for my daughter as a baby, knows that it's good for kids to try to learn to soothe themselves, and knows that I am doing the best that I can.
Still... it kind of sucks. Listening to your kids cry and not being able to help them, for whatever reason (even if that reason is you want a Pop-Tart). But that's pretty much how the rest of my day goes- someone always needs me- usually at the same time as someone else- and I need to choose who I pay attention to first, and who can wait. Unfortunately, I have to admit, my older daughter seems to get the shaft in this situation a lot since the twins arrived. She's been pretty good about it, but she's still just a little girl (no matter how much older or more capable she may seem in comparison), and it's starting to wear on her. I try to give her some special time together whenever I can- when I run errands sans babies, or if the boys happen to nap at the same time (although when they nap at all it's cause for celebration). All in all, I think she's adjusting to life with twice the number of brothers she previously had pretty well.
And speaking of her older brother- my stepson- she adores him. Absolutely worships the ground he walks on. And Mr. Cool is excellent with her. He was just here for almost a week, visiting over the holiday, and it's always great to have him here. We love seeing him, of course, but the Princess- just mention her older brother and her whole face lights up. He travels back and forth between here and his other home on the train, and the Princess is fond of saying, "Brudder is on the train? I go see brudder on the train, Mama!" I hope her love for him only grows as they get older.
The little ones are up and about again... not that they haven't been while I've been writing this post, but there's a limit to what I can do while typing (never mind trying to sustain the same train of thought while listening to my daughter's latest Curious George tale). Hopefully I can find the time to write again before the boys start college...
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