Wednesday, August 29, 2012

She may be like me, but she's her own person

Miss H is so much like me in so many ways that sometimes it's almost unreal. In many ways, it is a pretty good thing. I mean, she's overly-confident, headstrong, determined, vivacious, tenacious, incredibly intelligent and courageous without limits. A bit of a know-it-all, too. In many ways, it's a pretty bad thing, too. I mean, she's overly-confident, headstrong, determined, vivacious, tenacious, incredibly intelligent and courageous without limits. Oh, yeah. And a bit of a know-it-all.

Although she has a lot of my characteristics and traits, she’s not me. Not by a long shot. She is completely her own person. Thank, God. She is all ready a far better person than I could ever hope to be.

That being said, because I see so much of myself in her, I sometimes find myself trying to impose my own desires on her. For instance, my entire life – okay, like the first 10 years of my life – I wanted very badly to do ballet. I begged, I pleaded, I dreamed of it. But to no avail. I was enrolled over and over into gymnastics even though I could barely muster a somersault, let alone a cartwheel.

And thus I have tried getting my little lady to dance. She’s too young for ballet here, but not for tap. So she’s taken tap classes. She likes tap class. It’s fun. She is always smiles and giggles and happily shows me new moves.

But she doesn’t want to do tap. Just gymnastics. She loves gymnastics. Like, as much as I loathed gymnastics, she loves it.

So, though it seems ridiculous to admit, one of the most difficult things I’ve done as her mom is un-enroll her from dance class. I mean, I wanted it so badly when I was her age. And she is so much like me. So how can she not?

Because she is her own person.

Kind of like how she loves bows and dresses (like me!), and was crazy excited to pick out and order pettiskirts, but she also loves pants and t-shirts that don’t match and crazy hair (so not me!).

Miss H is her own little, wonderful person. She is figuring herself out, and will continue to do so for a long, long time. She certainly does not need me imposing my own desires on her. If she likes gymnastics, we’ll do gymnastics. And I will try really, really, really hard to bite my tongue when she is happily dancing around the living room and I badly want to say, “Don’t you want to take dance class?”

Because maybe one day she will. But I want it to be her choice.

Tuesday, August 21, 2012

And to think I was once afraid of having a boy!

With baby B's impending 1st birthday - just one more week! - I've been doing a lot of reflection on my pregnancy, birth, and first year with him. In general, I've just been thinking a lot about my beautiful little brown-eyed, blonder-by-the-day-haired boy.

One thing in particular is I’m realizing how incredibly silly my fear of having a boy was.

Don’t get me wrong. I never had gender preference. To be honest, that is something I don’t understand. J and I wanted healthy babies with each of my pregnancies, the gender never mattered. If we’d had two girls or two boys, we’d have been totally fine. We wouldn’t have been sad, or let down, and we wouldn’t keep on going in hopes of a different gender.

But still, having a boy terrified me. To the core.

Girls I know. I “get” girls. Plus, I know myself. I know how strong, intelligent, resilient, and confident that I am. And although Miss H is the spitting image of her papa, she is me through and through.

Boys…are completely foreign to me. Aside from my bothers and my dads (yes, two!), I don’t know anything about boys. And quite frankly, although I love my brothers and my dads dearly, they’re not exactly the kind of men I want my son to be like. J is the first man I’d ever met that I could say, “Wow, this is what a real man is supposed to be like.” Now don’t get me wrong, J wasn’t always Prince Charming. He has a history (like us all). He wasn’t always this amazing. He’s been very forthcoming about his past. But the man he is now is the exact kind of man I want my son to be.

But how do you raise a boy to be like that? I mean, J wasn’t raised to be how he is. It took a long time (there’s a reason he didn’t get married until he was 39!). How do you get that awesome result from the beginning?

And I was terrified I would treat my boy differently. That maybe I’d love him differently.

I come from a family where the boys and girls were treated ridiculously differently. I greatly feared I’d do that with my children. And not in the “All children are different and thus you must do some things differently depending on their personalities” way. But in the “Well, you’re a boy and you’re a girl, so…” way.

I remember holding him when he was barely 24 hours old and just sobbing. Of course, looking back I know the PPD played a huge role in this all too. I said to J then, “What do I do when H has a ballet recital and B has a soccer match on the same day at the same time? If I go to H’s recital am I doing it because I’m punishing B for all the preferential treatment my brothers got? If I go to B’s match am I doing it because I know H is like me and she’s tough, and she’ll live even if I’m not there?”

Of course, J was calm and amazing and said, “Whoa, there, Ki. You’re getting ahead of yourself and over thinking this. You could be in the same situation with two girls or two boys. And if it ever occurs, we will make the best decision based on our children. But let’s worry about that when we get there.”

But I couldn’t shake it. For days, maybe even weeks and months, I’m not sure, I wondered if I’d love baby B the right way. If maybe I loved him too little or too much. If maybe I coddled him too much or not enough. If maybe I expected less out of him than I did H simply because of his gender.

The beginning was hard. Painful, even. And all because my baby had a penis. It seemed so wrong.

I don’t know when things changed exactly. When I stopped thinking such crazy things. Probably about the time I was healing from the PPD.

Now I look at that amazing, brilliant baby boy of mine and I can’t believe I had so many fears just because of his gender. I can’t believe I questioned the kind of mother I would be to him. That I questioned if my love would be “right.”

I treat him no different than my girl-child. I certainly love him no differently. He’s a wonderful little ham that keeps me on my toes just as much as his sister.  He’s got his daddy’s laid back personality, and that dare-devil streak that both our kids were bound to inherit since neither J or I have any fear. (If you ask Miss H what she’s afraid of she says “Nothing!”).

Baby B is  perfect. He completes our family. He completes my heart.

It seems so silly now to have every worried. Even for a millisecond.

Monday, August 20, 2012

We don't do shots

Baby B’s big one year pediatrician appointment is coming up in two weeks. When talking about how I’m excited to see how big he’s gotten (on the scale) with another mom, especially because we missed his 9 month appointment, she said, a bit horrified, “But what about his shots? You went in for them right?”

No.

We don’t vaccinate. There. I said it. Most of the world is all ready thinking “baby killer” (yes, I’ve been called this).

It wasn’t a decision J and I made lightly. Like everything else involving our kids, we researched the bejeezus out of it. For every anti-vax study/article we read, we read a pro-vax article/study. We spoke with our children’s pediatrician until we were all blue in the face – and she was really awesome about it!

But during our research, a few big things really stood out for us.

1. There is no proof vaccines were responsible for the decrease in infectious diseases. Cleaner living conditions, antibiotics and moving out of crowed cities are more closely associated with the decrease.

2. There has NEVER been an independent (not funded by the pharmaceutical companies who profit from the vaccines) peer reviewed study showing vaccines are safe.

3. Many of the dreaded "vaccine preventable" diseases aren't even all that serious for healthy people. Not even polio (if caught early enough, of course)! When deaths are reported, you don't know if that person was 98 years old or had cancer or another autoimmune disease in addition to getting the vaccine preventable disease.

4. When "outbreaks" happen, the vast majority of those affected are fully vaccinated. The live virus vaccines can shed and CAUSE the diseases they are supposed to prevent. The package inserts themselves say to stay away from immunocompromised people for several weeks because of this shedding.

5. The US is the most highly vaccinated country in the world. We also have the highest rates of chronic disease in children in the world. Diabetes, arthritis, asthma, autism, ADHD, obesity, lupus, allergies, celiac disease, etc. This increase corresponds to the increase in recommended childhood vaccines. Obviously, we're doing something wrong to cause/contribute to this.

6. The placebo used in safety studies is not simple saline or water or anything benign. It's ALUMINUM! Aluminum is a top suspect in vaccine injury! Some placebo that is!

Don’t worry, we really do know all of the “pros,” too. Just for us, the negatives outweighed those. It’s what works for us.

We’d rather keep our children out of dangerous situations. And although it is true that the risk from vaccines doesn't come close to the risk of putting your child in the car, which one is more avoidable? If I can mitigate the risks to my child, that is what I will do. I don't want my child having formaldehyde or fetal bovine cells injected into them, the same as I don't want them eating junk: it's bad for them. Statistically, most of the disease that have been "eradicated" have more to do with better sanitation than vaccines, so I choose not to have my kids injected with things that we know are poison. I think parents that choose to vaccinate are doing what they think is best, just as I think I am doing what is best for my kids.... It's a personal choice.

It is something every parent has to research very seriously. Look at how diseases are spread, the risks of complications, how the vaccine works (i.e., the pertussis vax does not prevent pertussis, it lessens the symptoms and fully vaccinated people can carry the bacteria and pass it on to others), how many deaths from the vaccine vs. deaths from the disease, and most importantly...how would you feel if your child was injured or died from a vaccine, or from a vaccine-preventable disease...which one would you be able to live with? It's so easy to say "oh it won't happen to my kids" until it does.

It is definitely something that every parent has to take personal responsibility for and put time and effort into researching. I'm hugely supportive of parents who vaccinate and who do not vaccine or who are somewhere in between as long as their decision is based out of time and invested effort in researching. Taking anybody else’s word for it (even just your pediatricians) and not doing your own research is something I do not support. It's my belief that this is one area of childhood where it is crucial for parents to take personal responsibility and invest time and effort into.

So yeah, that’s why we don’t do shots around here.

Sunday, August 19, 2012

"I love you even more for not doing that to our son."

J and I were lying in bed last night after watching American Reunion. (Sadly, I realized the first American Pie came out 13 years ago. I saw it. I was 11. Now I’m pretty horrified). Somehow, while lying in bed, circumcision came up.

Anyone who knows me knows that I feel extremely passionate and strongly about this human rights issue. Everyone is entitled to bodily integrity, and no one other than to whom the body belongs has the right to choose to mutilate or alter the body in any cosmetic way. Period.

But I digress, because this is not about that exactly. It’s about J. And him learning what circumcision really is. (That’s right; he’s 40+ years old and didn’t really know what it was!)

So while we were discussing this J tells me, “Well, I mean, obviously I don’t want it done, but they just snip the frenulem (spelling?). I get that they shouldn’t, but is it really that big of a deal?”

“You’re kidding me, right?” I shot back, seething. “They cut the whole top of the foreskin off! That way there is no foreskin to pull over the head of the penis.”

“No they don’t,” he insisted. “They cut the frenulem and then it doesn’t naturally retract over the head. They don’t actually cut the foreskin.”

“Um, yes they do. Look it up. Now.

So J whipped out his cell phone and looked it up. First he looked at a picture on Wikipedia. His exact words were, “Oh my fucking God. This is a really sick joke.”

“No,” I insisted. “That is what circumcision is.”

“No way. No one would do that to their kid. Hang on, Wiki isn’t very reliable.” So he proceeded to look at three different medical website.

“Holy fuck! Why would someone do that to their boy? Especially if they actually know what they are doing? That’s sick, sick, sick. Oh, I want to vomit. People really do this to their kids?”

“Yep. Because it’s ‘cleaner,’ because condoms are too much trouble, because they want them to look like daddy, because their doctor told them to and he needs to make a boat payment.”

J shook his head and shuddered. “I love you. I loved you all ready. But I love you even more for not letting that happen to our son. I love you for protecting him from that. I didn’t get it. But now I do. And I love you so much for caring.”

To be honest, I always thought J and I were on the same page with circumcision. He’s intact, so he never saw a reason to cut our son. But he also didn’t get how wrong routine infant circumcision is. Now he does. That’s one more person whose eyes have been opened.

It’s estimated that approximately 30% of newborn males in America will have their genitals mutilated this year. Don’t let it be your baby. Do the research. Protect him. You owe it to him.

Thursday, August 16, 2012

Our neighbors are green people.

It may sound crazy. But it's true. Our neighbors are green people. Miss H told me so.

I'm fairly certain this age is the best yet. The stuff Miss H comes up with cracks me up on like a minutely basis. (Is "minutely" a word?).

She woke up at 6am, my little alarm clock. The first thing she asked was if Grandpa J could come over. And then she asked like a bajillion and two times after that so at noon I texted him and asked if he'd come see H after work. Of course, he said yes.

So shortly before he was due to arrive Miss H used the restroom. She came out holding her chonies (this is totally Spanish slang, so I have no idea how to spell it). But then she saw our Flat Stanely book about baseball that we got from the library, and I was only half paying attention as she decided to "pitch" her underwear. So a few minutes later when I realized she was still naked I told her she needed to put her chonies on before Grandpa got there.

So what did she do?

As we stood in the kitchen, she cupped her hands around her mouth and started yelling, "Chonies! Chonies! Where are you? Donde esta, chonies! Chonies, come here!" Because, you know, her chonies were obviously just going to walk up to her and put themselves on. I just about died laughing. She was very serious.

So we ventured to the playroom for new chonies and I saw a car coming up the road. At first I thought it was Grandpa J, but then it turned into our neighbors driveway.

H said, "Oh, it's the green people."

"The green people?" I asked.

"Our neighbors. The green people."

"They're not green," I told her, laughing because I couldn't help it.

"They're green," she said matter-of-factly. She walked over to her large wooden bead set and picked up one green bead. "Verde, Momma. Green. This is green."

"I know what color green is," I laughed.

"Our neighbors are green people."

"Where in the world did you come up with that?" I asked her.

She shrugged. "They're just green people."

Yep, this is my favorite age yet!

But let me not overlook baby B. He's sweet and lovey and great, too! His big thing right now is walk up to the stove and reach his hands up like he's going to push the buttons, and then jerk them down quickly and start laughing hysterically.

That and he likes to smoosh H. If she's sitting in a chair or on the ground, he loves to just come up and sit on top of her. Fantastic. Luckily, she's typically a pretty good sport about it.

And his melt-my-heart thing he has started doing is taking his chubby little hands and putting them on each of my cheeks, and then proceeding to kiss me on the lips. Seriously, this boy melts me.

And to think I used love babies, and think after they got to a year they weren't as much fun. Ha! That was so totally before I had my own kiddos. Now they just get better and better!

Tuesday, August 14, 2012

Milk = Love around here

It’s no secret that I’ve been a bit burnt out on breastfeeding these past few weeks. It’s gotten to the point that I’ve been telling Miss H that my boobs hurt, so she cannot nurse for too long. This isn’t a lie, they really do hurt. She has a shotty toddler latch to say the least. 

But it seems she realized that I just needed some kind of upper to keep on trekking through this, and to do it happily, and not begrudgingly.

This evening at dinner, she sat in J’s seat since he’s gone, and put one of her stuffed puppies into her booster seat. Then she said to me, “Momma, my boobies hurt!” and grabbed her chest (because we may or may not have been eating in our underwear…) in case I didn’t fully grasp what she was saying.

“Why do your boobies hurt?” I asked.

“Because I’ve been nursing the puppy. All. Day. Long.” She uses her hands like a baby Italian.

Before this conversation went any further and it all got more clear, I all ready “got” it.

"Well, why do you nurse the puppy if it hurts your boobies?” (You’re loving that we say boobies around here, aren’t you?)

“Because I love him so much.”

I may have wanted to cry at this point. Instead, I was quiet while I gave baby B some more food on his tray before saying, “You know I love you, right?”

She nodded happily. “Yep. So much! That’s why I nurse your boobies!”

I nodded.

Without a doubt, ever toddler knows their momma loves them, whether or not they “nurse boobies”. But she reminded me of why I nurse my toddler. And I will keep on nursing her, hopefully with a better attitude now.

Because I love her.

So much.

Monday, August 13, 2012

A lesson in Miss Manners

Most of the time I feel like J is the one who is pretty old school the two of us (though admittedly, I'm pretty old fashioned, too, in a lot of ways). But then he goes and shows me how backwards he is, like our coversation last night. And I'm totally calling him backwards out of love here.

I have a small pile of invitations to Mr. Baby B's first birthday (How is that soooo soon?) sitting on my desk. Most of them have been mailed out, but there are a few people I currently lack current addresses for. I said to J, "I feel so bad that these haven't been mailed. His birthday is in two weeks!"

And J looked through them and then said, "Well, all of these people live out of state. They can't come anyway. Why are you even inviting them?"

I wanted to ask him if he lived under a box. If he'd never looked before and realized where all the invitations were going for Miss H's parties when he mailed them out. But I didn't. Instead I said, "You're supposed to invite everyone who you'd like to attend. Even if you know they cannot. That way they know that you are thinking of them and that you would like them there."

"That's just going to make them feel bad because they can't be."

Okay, so I admit, at this, I rolled my eyes. "No, it's not. It makes them feel loved."

"That doesn't make sense," he grumbled. "But do your thing, and I'll support it."

"Haven't you ever read Miss Manners? How do you not know these things?!"

"Is Miss Manners real?"

My eyes may have bulged out of my head here. "Um, yes. How do you not know this? Oh. My. Goodness. How did you survive before me?"

"You know, no one got thank you cards or Christmas cards before we were married. I never heard a complaint. I managed."

"But you have to have proper manners, J! You send courtesy invitations and thank you notes for any gift you recieve that the gift-giver didn't hand to you personally. You have to know this stuff. What if I die tomorrow? Our kids have to grow up knowing this stuff!"

"Well, I know now," he assurred me. "And you're not going to die tomorrow. But if you do, I'll send everyone a courtesy invitation to your funeral and a thank you card for the flowers."

"You might want to check with Miss Manners on that one."

Sunday, August 12, 2012

There may very well be such a thing as too much (breastfeeding) support. Who knew?

We were in the car today and I said to J, "Some days Miss H drives me insane with breastfeeding. Today is one of them."

"Okay," he replied.

"If it didn't go against everything I feel is right, I'd wean her."

"But she's not ready to wean," he said back.

"I know. She doesn't let me forget." And she doesn’t. That girl asks to nurse every thirty seconds it seems. And if I ask her to stop nursing before she is done, it’s an epic meltdown. If I ask her if she wants a glass of milk, or chocolate milk, or even a freaking cookie she wails, “No! Milk from Mommy’s boobies!” So yeah…there is no such thing as distraction or substitution with this girl.

"Well, you can't wean her if she isn't ready," he told me, like some how this logic works for everyone. I mean, apparently he hasn't met most of America. But I digress...

"What if I'm ready?" Some days I really do feel like I am. Some days all the whining and sucking makes me resent her a little bit. I want to love on her and cuddle her, but not always with one of my boobs in her mouth.

Don’t get me wrong, most of the time I don’t feel that way. For the majority of the time I love breastfeeding her. I love that I am her comfort and security. That my milk can make anything under the sun better for her. I do like that. But then sometimes. Well, sometimes I’m just tired. And I wonder how other people do this.

"You can't be. She isn't ready. And you're the one who wants her to self wean. It's what is best for her." I love J. I really do. But why must he take everything I tell him to heart? Before we had H and we first discussed breastfeeding he was pro-boob because it was a helluva lot cheaper. Then I made him do his own research because I think it’s important we be on the same page due to our own findings, not because one of us has told them other xyz. After all his research he was all “I think you should breastfeed until at least 2. But I think maybe until the baby chooses to be done is better.” So then I did more research and was like, “Yeah! You’re right! Great idea!” And got completely on that bandwagon. But since I’m the one actually doing it, my feelings waiver occasionally. J’s do not.

"I know," I admitted a bit exasperated.  “But she is so demanding. And my nipples hurt. All. The. Time. Baby B nurses all night long (yeah, that night weaning shiznik back in May lasted a whopping week. Go figure…). I’m tired. I’m over it.”

“You’re tired. You’re not over it. You’ve still got at least another year of breastfeeding. Probably longer knowing our kids. You didn’t sleep last night. This morning has been rough. You’ll be fine tomorrow.”

I nodded. I sighed. “Probably,” I admitted. “Maybe we should just let baby B cry it out tonight. See how things go? Maybe I can get some more sleep.”

“Now you’re just screwing with me,” J said.

I laughed. “Yeah. Yeah, I am.”

Saturday, August 11, 2012

She needs a Charlie

Miss H wants a dog. Like, it’s killing her, she wants one so bad.

Okay, she really wants a Charlie. Some of my dear, sweet friends visited this past week, and K brought her dog Charlie. Miss H is in love. She loves all animals, especially dogs. But Charlie stole her heart.

She cried when he left. It just about broke my heart. If I didn’t have some brains in my head I would have gone out and gotten her a puppy right then. I seriously thought about it. But common sense prevailed. Hallelujah.

So I’ve been subjected to her drawing pictures of Charlie and telling me that she misses him and he’s so soft and she needs to give him besos and hugs. And doesn’t Charlie want a treat? She wants to get him the colored treats since they don’t hurt his belly.

I lament the day I have to clean up after an animal that I didn’t give birth to. I hate the idea of potty training something that does not walk on just two legs. The nasty animal hair that will litter my house makes me want to vomit without it even being here.

And yet I’m sure when that inevitable day comes, I’ll still have to smile, because my babes seem to so genuinely love animals. And what makes them happy seems to make me happy, even if I don’t share that passion.

At all.

Friday, August 10, 2012

Sleep deprivation is real. And it may possibly kill me.

I always thought that people who complained about sleep deprivation with newborns were, well, pansies quite frankly. That they were being melodramatic.

Mostly because even Miss H, who is my “bad sleeper” (though apparently baby B is equivalent to most of the worlds “bad sleepers”) never slept more than 45  minutes at a time, but she did sleep. So even if it were in 45 minute increments, I still got sleep.

And then baby B was amazing. He did 2+ hour stretches from birth. Of course, Miss H still made sure to wake up in between him, so that I never got too used to sleep, but it was still sleep and it worked and I functioned.

But then baby B started getting teeth. Oh, the teeth!  For the first four or so days before his first tooth popped through he didn’t sleep. Like, at all. I literally had to be holding him while rocking or patting him, otherwise he was screaming bloody murder. It was awful. I was exhausted because the only sleep I was getting was when I’d just start drifting off due to exhaustion. But it was never more than 10-15 minutes because then baby B would start screaming because I had stopped moving him.

Pretty much when I thought I was at my breaking point, his first tooth popped through. Thank God! I thought. I surely couldn’t do it for one more day.

Of course, then I got really sad thinking of all the babies who are left to cry it out. Think of how many of them are in such real pain and just need their mommas to love and comfort them, but their parents are too selfish to show them that kind of compassion, even in such pain. It breaks my heart.

It breaks my heart just watching my baby be in pain. I couldn’t just walk away from him and let him deal with it on his own. Of course, then he started getting teeth all wham! Bam! And the sleep deprivation set in again.

And we’ve been working on tooth number five these past few days – it finally made its first cut-through appearance this morning. I seriously thought I was going to lose my mind last night. I didn’t even get to lie down until 2 am.

Of course, J, who has sat right next to me and told me how amazing I am on more than one all-nighter, was semi-asleep. And since I was nearing my breaking point I really wanted to punch him in his gonads. It didn’t matter that he offered to try soothing baby B (baby B doesn’t want him, so it just makes it worse). I was just mad that if he could sleep through the screaming, then he actually had the ability to sleep. And I didn’t. And it pissed me off.

So while I held my poor, teething baby, I fantasized about what it would be like to check into a hotel for a night and sleep for 6 solid hours. No, wait! I’d sleep for 12 hours! 12 solid hours of sleep. I cannot even think of what that is actually like. It’s one of those mythical things. Like unicorns or griffins or virgins after the age of 20. 12 hours of sleep just isn’t possible.

But I fantasized about it. And it was enough. I kept on rocking and patting and telling him how much I loved him. And when the sun finally came up and I climbed out of bed and drank a pot of coffee, I sincerely thanked God that his tooth has popped through and there should be better sleep for all us in the near future.

Otherwise…that hotel might not be in the too far-off distance of my future.

Monday, August 6, 2012

I used to think people created picky eaters. Now I know better

I always thought picky eaters were, well, the product of their parents. They were picky because their parents let them be picky and supported it.

And with Miss H, it seemed to ring true. That girl will eat anything. From the time she began eating solid foods she ate anything and everything. Sushi, curry, chili, you name it. Nothing was too spicy, flavorful, or strange in texture (other than purees!). Now, she has never been a big eater, as in quantity, but she's always eaten anything.

Of course, now that she is getting older, she has preferences. She has no problem telling me she wants broccoli instead of potatoes, and I respect that. But she still likes potatoes. And will eat them if she's hungry.

But baby B. Oh, that boy has thrown me for a big one! He has ruined this theory.

We've fed him just as we did Miss H. He gets what we eat. Except he doesn't eat.

Sometimes he'll put food in his mouth, and 9 times out of 10  the food he will put in his mouth he just chews the food and then spits it out instead of actually swallowing it. WTF? I don't get it.

A lot of food he just flat out won't eat though.

I know he won't starve to death. But it's still weird.

The only foods he actually likes to eat are carbs. Bread and crackers (the goldfish variety is preferred). But those he is technically allergic/sensitive/whatever to. So they just make him sick. Go figure.

I take back everything I've ever said about picky kids only being picky because their parents won't feed them an assortment of foods. I realize that there are some kids who are picky because of that, but I realize now that most of them are just naturally picky.

And it's maddening sometimes.

Sunday, August 5, 2012

Teachers are amazing

I truly respect teachers. They probably serve the career I respect most in this world.

I'd venture to say that they have to most difficult job in the world.

I mean, they know what kids *need* academically, but they don't have the ability to give it to them always. They are not at liberty to allow the more advanced kids to work at a quicker pace, to keep the average kids at another, and to then give the kids who need some extra help the time they need. They are expected to keep them all together. At the same pace. On the same track. No one is allowed to be ahead. Or behind. How?

And while doing this they are expected to both actually teach our children and give them a quality education while also teaching them to perfect the art of test-taking so that their pupils are able to get the right scores.

It has to be difficult to treat 30 students in one class respectfully when 28 of them are likely not treated with respect at home, and thus show no respect for their teacher. When kids are rude and uncooperative, you want to yell and take away the only privileges they are allowed. Especially when you are not their parent, it's not your job to parent them, and really, you don't have that kind of time. You have to teach.

The politics that teachers have to put up with are ridiculous. I truly feel for them.

I may not be pro-school systems in general, but I'm very pro-teacher.

They take on a task that very few actually could, let alone do. They have so much passion and courage and drive to make a difference in this world that they are willing to put up being harrassed and bullied by parents, students, and all school authority in general, whilst being paid next to nothing, in hopes of making a difference and bettering the lives of children through education.

Seriously, these people need an award.

Some of the best people and some of the people I most respect are or were teachers (including my older sister!). There are several teachers who greatly influenced my life in a positive way (and a few in a negative...).

Teachers need a round of applause. They are heroes in the lives of so many children. They're the ones who step up to the plate and do for children what many parents either cannot do or choose not do.

In the classroom they take on the role of educator, caretaker, counselor and so much more. For 8 hours a day they are the greatest influence in the lives of many children. And (most of them) do it all so well.

So regardless of my schooling choices, I applaud teachers. They are amazing. They do amazing work. And that should never be littled or dismissed in the eyes of anyone.

Wednesday, August 1, 2012

The 10 most important things you could ever learn from parenting books. Seriously.

If you are a parent, you must read a parenting book. Or 20. Seriously. It's imperative. Even if you think your kids are turning out fine. Even if you've got a methodology down that seems to really work for your family. Read a parenting book. Or 20. They will Blow. Your. Mind.

But in case you don't particularly want to spend your children's precious asleep time reading how you are doing everything wrong, err, I mean, how to better yourselves, here's the shortlist of 10 things that I've learned from my many endeavors with the Parenting aisle in Barnes and Nobles.

1.) If you tell your child "good job!" - ever - you will psychologically damage them. They will immediately cease to be individuals and will begin to only do things and be interested in things that will make you pleased enough to shower them with praise. So if you were like me, and said "good job" the first time the baby latched on at birth, you are screwed! So remember, no praise. You must always remain neutral, because if you also ever say anything negative, you will have killed their spirit and will to live. That's really all there is to it.

2.) Build your child up. At all costs. At all moments. Little Johnny is coloring the walls? Do NOT, I repeat, DO NOT tell him "no!” Or that what he is doing is naughty. Even redirection is a bit sketch here. Instead, tell him what a beautiful art piece he has created, but maybe wouldn't he possibly like to think about coloring on a nice sheet of paper? Oh, no, he doesn't? Well, that's okay. He won't be 2 forever; he will eventually simply outgrow it, no redirection needed! (And then you can repaint your house).

3.) You must sleep train your child or they will never sleep. Seriously. If you do not allow your baby to cry himself to sleep, he will NEVER learn to fall asleep on his own. I mean, look at all the adults out there who cannot fall asleep. They've had really rough lives without sleep. So have all those kids who have never slept. I mean, ever. It's pretty rough. So sleep train your baby. The only way for a baby to fall asleep is by themselves. In a crib. Period.

4.) You must sleep with your child. You must never allow them to fall asleep on their own. It must always be at the breast. If they do not fall asleep on you or beside you while nursing, they will not feel attached and thus you will ruin the possibility of them ever having a good relationship with you. And let's not even talk about the relationships that you'll have completely ruined for when they're older - their romantic relationships. Make sure your baby sleeps with you. At all times. Period.

5.) If you give your baby formula they will die. It's really that simple. And if they somehow manage to survive they will be stupid and will not love you.

6.) If you breastfeed your baby she will become psychologically and sexually damaged.

7.) You must give your child choices. It makes them feel in control. Also, by giving them choices over trivial things like, "do you want to wear the purple shirt or the yellow shirt?" they will magically be okay when they get no say in the more substantial issues in their life.

8.) You must not give your child choices. Choices overwhelm small children and make them feel insecure. If mommy and daddy cannot make the choice themselves, how is little Sally supposed to?

9.) Time-out is a barbaric form of "punishment". (And you shouldn't punish your child anyway! Ever!) It's forced isolation and will make your child feel as if she is not worthy of love and you have banished her because your love is conditional on her behavior. Time-out is simply never acceptable.

10.) Time-out is the only acceptable form of punishment. Spanking is abusive and not punishing is permissive. Find a really good time-out stool.

You got all that? If you follow everything by the books, you'll have a perfect kid and be a perfect parent. So don't mess up!

I think it should go without saying that I’ve given up parenting books….