"Our children are spoiled, our elders abused."

Recently a friend stated, upon their views of America as a whole that "our children are spoiled and our elders are abused."

To be honest, when I first heard him say this I thought it was ridiculous. Like absolutely.

I mean, you can't even spoil children. They're people, not foods. They don't spoil!

And our elders, well, my experiences are limited. But my grandparents all seem fine. They're loved and can take care of themselves.When my grandpa got to the point where he needed some assisted living, he was well cared for and our family visited often. During his last days he was surrounded by those who loved him; never was he abused.

But after I let this sink in, once I was able to let my defensive front down (you know the one - the one you automatically put up when anyone challenges your beliefs), I started to get it. And believe it.

Actually, I have two separate feelings on this subject. On the one hand, I so very strongly agree with statement. Perhaps on a more materialistic ground. On the other hand, I vehemently disagree with this statement.

Let me explain.

I know there are spoiled children and abused elderly in this country (and elsewhere). But when you state that a whole nation is a certain way, it really makes you reflect on your own life.

Before we ever got married, I made it very clear to J under what circumstances I would leave this marriage without thinking twice. They were pretty basic - you abuse me or our children, I'm gone. You begin abusing substances (alcohol, narcotics, etc.), I'm gone. And the third one, the one I'm now questioning, you ever put anyone or anything before our children, I'm gone.

They seemed reasonable and basic. I wouldn't be part of an abusive relationship or allow my children to be harmed in any way (this includes mental and emotional, not just physical). I wouldn't be with someone who was dependant on mind-altering substances. And I wouldn't be with someone who found any thing, person, or situation more important than his children. These all stemmed from things from my own childhood, and they seemed totally acceptable.

J agreed.

This 3rd clause in our agreement, if you will, included finances. We would never be giving money to other people (i.e., family) while saying that our children could not do or have something.

It made sense to me. If we couldn't afford our children's clothes or food or even extracurriculars, then we were not in a position to be helping out others financially.

But I'm starting to see how ridiculously selfish this is. Of course it is our duty to put our children's needs first. They should be (well) fed, (decently) clothed, and always have heat and water. Those are necessities.

But my very strong belief was that if we could not afford a $50 dress or $200 karate lessons or whatever, because we needed to pay someone else's mortgage, well, screw that. Someone else's mortgage doesn't get paid.

They put themselves into that situation. They're adults. They should take care of themselves.

But I also come from a culture where we don't care for our elders. We abandon them in nursing homes when they need help or assistance. We let the banks take their homes when they can no longer afford them.

And by golly, we don't feel bad or guilty for it. I mean, they're adults, for crying out loud. They should have foreseen all of this. They should have planned things better. What kind of grown person must depend on their children?

But I'm getting it now.

Slowly.

I still struggle with it.

Every day.

But I also have come to a place where I realize that $50 towards, say, my in-laws mortgage is better spent than $50 on a dress H will wear once (and yes, I've done that. More than once...).

Call me dense. Call me shallow. Whatever. (I'm 24! I'm still figuring this stuff out.)

I've never cared about money in terms of myself, but the idea that I couldn't or wouldn't give my kids everything under the sun that I had the means to was unfathomable once upon a time. And now I get that part of teaching my children compassion and generosity, obviously starts with me, showing them that just because they could have or do something doesn't mean that they need to. Because sometimes we have to put other people's needs first.

Yep, I'm dense.

So that's where I agree with the statement that our children are spoiled and our elders abused.

I deeply believe that the majority of Americans are more wrapped up in giving their kids "better" or even "everything" that they find it appropriate to ignore the elders. To withhold from them in order to provide this "better" to the young. Even though these things might not be essential, and for the elder, what we are withholding is indeed, essential.

Now, on to how I disagree with this statement. Vehemently. Passionately.

Within this same conversation it was mentioned that our elders were raised in an abusive time, and our children are raised in a spoiled time. (It seems, according to this person, however, there was no "safe" time). Again, I hate general blanket statements that encompass everyone as a whole because they are simply never true.

I'm sure to an agree, abuse was more prevalent when our elders were children. But we also have different ideas of abuse between then and now. Not that it makes it okay, but being whipped with a switch 60 years ago wasn't considered abuse. Now you'd get the cops called on you, I'm sure. Heck, now you'd get the cops called on you for allowing your child to ride their bike in your cul de sac without you watching (this just recently happened in Texas). It's all just a difference in times, I suppose. 

But in general, the person who made this profound statement about spoiled children and abused elders said that we allow our children to do as they please. We are ridiculously free-range and do everything child-led. To the point, of course, that children lack a respect for the elderly or authority. They do not do as they are told when they are told, etc., etc.

Yes and no, I agree. I obviously believe really strongly in raising free-range kids, allowing them to lead their own paths. If they don't want to sit down and color or practice letters, I say no problem. I cringe when they participate in organized activities and are told to stand in line or sit down and be still. I suppose there is likely a time and a place for everything, but I don't like lines for small children and I hate the idea of them sitting and being still. It seems so unnatural and like they're so defeated.

I believe that children have the right to scream and cry and shouldn't be so scared as to immediately quiet their feelings just because a parent or other adult figure has told them to do so. I don't feel that it is disobedience to have a tantrum or to speak their mind, even if it isn't extremely polite.

I even very strongly believe in allowing my children to dictate their own education. I think homework should be illegal. I believe if a child doesn't want to learn about history for a week, a month, or even a year, let it go. They will learn what they need to when they need when they are given that freedom.

It is my job simply to guide them, not lead them in all aspects of their lives. They are the leaders of their own lives.

Does this all make them spoiled?

I don't believe so.

Though I'm sure many would disagree.

So it's a tricky, double-facet, blanket statement to make about our nation as whole. It depends on how you interpret such a statement. It depends on your own beliefs of the elderly in this country, as well as the youth. There are so many variables in such a statement, that I'd be surprised if any two people came to the same thoughts, beliefs, and conclusions toward it.

But there you have it.

Our children are spoiled, our elders abused.

There's a lot of heart break in motherhood

Before I became a mom I had no idea that your heart could break.

Truly, physically, painfully, sorrowfully break.

More than once at that.

But it can.

It does.

It will.

The first time your wee one cries during their newborn heel prick it’s like someone has literally punched the wind out of you. The world stops spinning. And then it starts spinning on turbo speed and you feel like you’re going to vomit and there is no way to pacify your sweet babe. No boob, no cuddles or lullabies or warm Mommy arms can make the torture stop for her.

And so your heart breaks.

When your darling is strapped into the car seat screaming to be let out, for Momma to hold him because that’s the only thing in the world he wants. But you can’t stop or pull over at that very second and it takes you another ten minutes to do so and he’s sweaty and beet red and there are thick tears rolling down his face.

Your heart breaks.

When you have to help four nurses hold down your sweet one year old as they intravenously draw blood and he screams your name until he’s hoarse, and you’re able to do oh-so little other than coo to him how much you love him.

You heart breaks.

When that typically delightful, compassionate, and empathetic toddler tells you point blank that you’re not her mom. You’re a bad person. She doesn’t want you.

Your heart shatters.

Obviously, we’re at this last one right now.

It’s tough.

My sweet, lovey H will be a cuddle bug one minute, kissing me, telling me how much she loves me, and the next minute she’s vehemently telling me that I’m not her Mom and I’m a bad person and she doesn’t love me.

For real.

I’m trying not to take it personally.

Because it isn’t.

I’m her safe place. I know that.

She trusts me. She knows I love her unconditionally. She knows I won’t punish her for her feelings or for expressing them.

She’s going through whatever almost 3 year olds go through, for sure. And while she’s sorting it all out she’s using mean words to help herself through it.

I’m just the target of those words. Because she knows I’m safe.

I keep reminding myself of that.

I’m safe for her.

She knows I love her.

And I tell her every time she says mean things that I’m sorry she feels that way, but I really love her.

Because I do, of course.

I also think she might be weaning. She’s only asked about once a day for the past few days and hasn’t nursed very long at all. Which is not the norm for her. So I wonder if mayhap she’s weaning herself and also trying to identify herself as a separate person from me.

I don’t know.

All I know is that to be almost 3 must be extremely difficult.

And to be a momma is heartbreaking. Even for the most made-of-steel individuals out there.

I’m a very I-don’t-care-what-you-say kind of person. I always have been. I’m very confident in my skin and if people like me, great! If not, who cares? It’s not my goal, of course, to purposefully hurt or piss people off, but I’m not going to say stay mum in order to make others happy.

So why should I expect my mini-me to do so?

I don’t.

I just never expected a 2-year-old to have the ability to break my heart with words. I didn’t know it was possible.

Until now.

Oh, the things you aren’t warned about before becoming a mother.

I knew it wouldn’t be easy. I knew there would be sleep deprivation and lack of one-on-one time with my dear spouse. I knew that it would be a long time before I would enjoy a warm meal (those do exist, right?) or got to bathe all on my own. I knew they’d cry and when they got a little older, whine, and sometimes I’d feel like I was losing my mind.

But someone forgot to warn me about the words they’d say.

How every single time you hear your babe utter “Momma”or“I love you” your heart completely melts in love and adoration for a human being so small and impossibly perfect.

But how they can do just the opposite to you, and say words like, “I don’t like you! You’re a bad person!” and suddenly your heart can break to hear such words from a person you love so fully and so unconditionally.

As I said though, I know it’s not personal. Rough to hear, but not personal.

She’s got a lot of things to figure out right now.

She’s almost three for goodness sakes!

A big boy bed

We transferred Mr. B into a big boy bed 10 days ago.

He is doing amazing! I’m so surprised.

I guess I shouldn’t say that. I know he’s amazing. He always surprises me. So really, nothing should surprise me.

We had planned to start the transfer to solo sleeping sometime in April after we had redone the kiddos rooms and they each had a separate sleeping space (so they don’t wake each other, they’re both terribly light sleepers).

But sleep deprivation and the extremely selfish mental need to night wean finally got the best of me.

I 100% refused to let things be as traumatic as they were with H. There were lots of tears involved with her, even though I was always there, etc., etc., and I just told J straight up I wanted to give it a go, but if it was a traumatic event (for either of us!) I wasn’t going to do it (like said 1,245,234 night weaning attempts before this).

Well, B is all about the bed.

We set up H’s crib into the converted toddler bed. I was apprehensive since it doesn’t have a side rail and he’s a flailing bean, but we put down a rug with a huge comforter on the floor below him, and the few times he fell the first three nights, he was mostly unphased.

The first night he fell asleep ridiculously easy without nursing. I nursed him right before I laid him down, he was armed with a sippy cup and dream lite. He tossed back and forth a bit, and finally fell asleep with me kind of leaning over the bed and holding him in the crook of my arm. But I was easily able to escape. He woke up at 9pm, and 11pm, when I brought him back to bed with me.

The next night he fell asleep without me holding or touching him, just sitting beside his bed. He didn’t wake up until 11pm, and then again at 1pm, at which point he came to bed with Momma.

Of course, his 11pm wake up was a bit funny. I heard a thunk! and ran into his room, to find him on the floor. He stood up, looked at me, said, “Ow,” and then crawled into his bed all on his own and went right back to sleep.

This continued on for the next few days (minus the falling out of bed) until the night before we got Duckie. That night he slept straight through until 3am! If only I’d gone to bed before midnight. Agh!

And since Duckie’s arrival he’s slept straight through until 1am.

If you can’t tell, I’m not complaining.

All of this and he has 100% on his own given up night nursing until between 4 and 5am. At which point he nurses until we wake up, but this is far easier than the every 1-2 hours for 1-2 hours at a time he was doing previously (no joke).

And I certainly don’t expect him to sleep a solid 12 hours with no wakings or to make it in his own bed all night. His sister rarely does that at a month shy of 3. And that’s okay. I’m more than happy to be there when they need me. But I’d like them to sleep a bit on their own, too. That’d be cool.

Of course, now I’m getting him used to a bed he doesn’t get to keep past April since it will turn into his sister’s full sized bed. And I don’t think he’s quite ready for the twin sized bed as he’s still a roly poly, and it is significantly higher off the ground. I go round and round on whether we should buy him a proper bed now or just buy him a toddler bed to use for a year or two. I’m leaning toward toddler bed, but not too sure.

Anyway, I’m totally ready to have their bedrooms done so that everyone is stowed away in their own space and things seem a bit more complete around here. (A bit!)

But I am floored. Absolutely floored by how easy this transition has been thus far. I’m waiting for the huge hiccup or the something that goes wrong. Because it seems it’s been too easy to last.

Oh, and the very best part! He’s taking naps in that bed that are for longer than the 30-45minutes he’s dwindled down to since Christmas! He’s now sleeping 1.5-2 hours!

Okay, mostly this was just a “hoorah post.”

And I may very well have hoorahed too soon.

Oh, well.

We’ll always have Paris.

Duckie was the last straw of our sanity

Let's just say having Duckie is a lot of fun.

J is getting a very eye-opening experience on what having kids could have been like for him.

Currently, he's the one feeding Duckie every 3 hours between 12-6 (so yes, that's only two times he literally has to get up and feed him). He's understanding legitimate broken sleep.

He lucked out and never really had to get up with our babes. For the first few weeks when H was born I'd have him change diapers when she first woke up, but then realized that was dumb because I was - at the time - all ready up with her as we hadn't yet mastered breastfeeding laying down. Then with B I made him master the sideways nurse from day one. And since he wasn't a pooper like his sister, I admit, I did not change his diaper every single time he nursed at night, it was more like every other time.

So really, J's sleep was only interrupted by rustling or possibly the brief cry when a bare bum was exposed to cold air. And the week we night-weaned H he took over tending to her for a few nights.

That's it.

He's never really had to do anything major.

If we'd been bottle-feeding the nighttime responsibilities would have for sure been 50/50, simply because that's the type of relationship J and I have (okay, if we're being truthful, it probably would have been more like 75/25, with him on the higher end because I need my sleep whereas J is like, "Give me 4 [solid] hours and I'm good" and I'm like, "That's insanity, I need a solid 8, but 10 would be nice.")

But alas, the poor guy is dying with these nightly feedings. It throws off his four solid hours of sleep. Duckie is a bit of pickle, so we have to do this awesomely fun thing where we make him suck our finger and then squirt the milk into the back of his mouth.

And we've tried all kinds of bottles and nipples and syringes and eye droppers. Duckie's just not impressed. He can drink some milk out of a bowl on his own, but not enough where we don't need to continue to bottle-feed him. But we're working on it all.

At least he's super smart in the potty-arena. He's all ready pretty much puppy pad trained. When it's warmer out, we'll teach him to go outside.

I have just laughed at my poor sleep deprived husband when I appear downstairs at 6am with our bright eyed and bushy tailed toddlers (I can call H a toddler for another month yet!). He tells me, after giving Duckie his last feeding, that he's going up to nap for a few hours and off he goes.

He has no idea what it's been like, obviously, for the past three years, getting up every 45minutes - 2.5 hours with small children. Yes, he's certainly helped out a lot with H in the middle of the night when I've been physically attached to B, and I appreciate that I've never had to "ask for help" because he realizes he's an equal parent, even if the kids don't always want us equally, so it's not like I've been, "Can you get H?" He just does it. Because that's normal. And he almost always gets up with them in the mornings and lets me sleep until at least 630 if they're up before that, and I typically get to sleep until 730-8 on the weekends. But it's still funny to see him act like the past three nights have been rougher than his college years.

Of course, despite it all he's crazy in love with Duckie. He calls him his third child. And when he said it was apparent at this point, if it had been at all questionable before, that we have lost our minds.

He then went on to say, shortly after this, after seeing a picture of a friends baby French Mastiffs, which is the type of dog he'd like to get, that we might as well just get a dog now.

I knew it.

I knew it was coming.

I said sure. Who cares at this point? We're mental.

We're sleep deprived.

And to think four years ago our life was nothing but drinking, sleeping, travelling, and unmentionables. Damn, how things change.

And you know we're both mental, because we both said we wouldn't trade in that life for the one we have now on even the worst of days.

Yep, completely insane.

A pig named Duckie

I married an animal lover. I gave birth to two animal lovers.

I am not an animal lover.

Soulless, I know.

Puppies don't make me melt. Kittens don't make me coo.

I like the idea of practical animals. Goats that give milk. Chickens for eggs. You know, animals for food, not as pets.

Unfortunately, mi familia does not not agree.

At all.

J has been wanting a dog since before we got married.

"No way," I declared. "Too much work."

Two kids later, it still seems like too much work. Now I tell him, along with my sweet H that a dog is not a possibility due my allergies. Once everyone is willingly weaned, maybe we'll talk (I refuse to take non-life or death meds while breastfeeding).

I also argue that my desire to clean up poop after anything I haven't given birth to is zero. Non-existent.

But H is persistent. To the max. "I need a puppy, Mommy," I hear nearly every day. "I need a kitty of my very own." On and on and on she goes.

So I relented. I said fine. Let's do this animal thing.

And then she saw some piggies.

I knew enough about pet pigs to know that they are hypoallergenic, ridiculously clean, and smarter and easier to train than dogs.

And because I am sick of saying no (though I was sooooo close to her just settling for a lizard), I said yes.

And now we have a Duckie.

Formally, his name is Waldo Titus Mallard G. Because we do everything long and complicated around here. I suggested all literary names (of course!). When I suggested Emerson, J asked who that came from. I informed him it was from Ralph Waldo Emerson. He liked Waldo. H couldn't pronounce it well. J piped in with Titus. H was happy with Duckie. So we made Duckie his all-around name, threw in Mallard because we're cool like that if Duckie is to be his nickname (NCIS anyone?).

So now I currently have a 5 day old teacup piglet cuddled on my lap because it seems all infants I come into contact with find it necessary to be held and snuggled 24/7. Duckie is no different.

Go figure.

At this rate, we're going to have a whole damn zoo. J is planning chickens this spring, which I'm all for. But he happily reminded me that if he puts in a fence for Duckie than that opens up the reality of a dog (because obviously now that we have a pig this is more feasible - to him - allergies or no). What's next, a cat? A goat? A freaking cow?

I wouldn't put it past these animal lovers.

So while I'm bottle feeding a pig every 2-3 hours (who is admittedly freaking sweet and adorable and cuddly and a decent substitute for another baby), they're planning their next grand animal to add to our family.

And here I was completely content with none.

But par the course of our family, we can't do anything normal. Nope. We don't start out with a lizard or a stand-offish cat that is low maintenance. We go straight to a sliding, squealing, need-love-and-attention-at-every-moment pig.

Because, you know, everyone needs a pig.

Or at least my kids think so.

A reflection on the (not so) "terrible" 2s.

As Miss H grows closer to 3 each day, I’ve been reflecting on the wonder of the 2s. Everyone prepares you that it’s “terrible.” And then during those moments of terrible, they taunt you that 3 is “treacherous” and so much worse, which just makes you want to cry and drink a bottle (or three) of wine.

But really, 2 is pretty awesome.

Don’t get me wrong, some of it was hard. Like to the max.

July, August, and September made me question all of my parenting. And that was a good thing. It made me change oh-so much, and the result was a much happier Momma, and more importantly, a much happier H. But it was hard.

But mostly 2 has just been awesome. The little H that turned 2 nearly a year ago, and the almost-3 year old H now has changed and grown and developed so much into her own person that sometimes all I can do is just stare in awe at what an amazing, well-spoken, empathetic, terribly compassionate, sweet, loving girl she is. She’s this whole person with lovely (and sometimes not so lovely) thoughts and feelings and she can communicate them all quite effectively.

 

She feels everything big. Her feelings and emotions are big. This, of course, means that her sad and angry emotions are big. And sometimes that’s challenging.

Challenging because it breaks my heart to see her sad no matter the reason. In November while visiting friends I very gently reprimanded her for crawling into a dog crate. Immediately she cried and ran to me, burying her face into my shoulder while I rocked her and she fell asleep. She was sad I reprimanded her, because by that point it was a very rare occurrence, and a bit embarrassed I had done it front of others. I wouldn’t change any of it, I didn’t yell and I was very kind about the whole thing, but it still broke my heart to see her sad and embarrassed.

And it’s even more challenging because even though her sad feelings are big and heart breaking, her angry feelings are big and loud and sometimes difficult for me to help her deal with properly. And oftentimes they are the result of something that, to me, is so minor. She wanted a red apple, but didn’t specify, and I handed her a green apple. End. Of. The. World. She’s stuck in imaginary mud on the library steps but Momma is failing to be a mind-reader and thus doesn’t realize H needs saving. End. Of. The. World. Someone looked cross-eyed at her toy and she was thinking she might want to play with it tomorrow. End. Of. The. World.

So I get it. Why it’s called “terrible.” I do. I also realize it doesn’t magically stop when they turn 3. (It gets worse, I’ve been assured!).

But just as she expresses her sad and mad emotions in such big ways, she shows her happy and lovey and excited and compassionate and empathetic emotions in big ways. She’s constantly showering me in hugs and kisses, as well as J and B. Every other sentence out of her mouth seems to be, “I just love you so much, Momma.” She’s so in tune with me and has been the tiny person wrapping her arms around me when I’ve been out of sorts dealing with this lead business. She’s reassuring me that everything is going to be okay.

She gets so excited about everything. She squeals in delight when she receives mail. She was so genuinely thrilled when she opened a stack of books for Christmas. We’re going to the library today? Hooray! Everything is fun and exciting and worth jumping for joy over.

She’s (typically) gentle with her baby brother. When he goes to touch the TV and she knows that we’ve stopped her from that, she says in the sweetest voice, “Oh, lovey, you mustn’t touch that. It could fall on you and hurt you.” Or when he is being aggressive and hits her, she’ll say, “Ow, that hurts me. Hitting isn’t nice, B. We don’t hit. Would you like to give me a high 5 instead?” And this affirms that gentle and non-punitive parenting was the right change for us.

She’s the tiny little girl with a mighty voice who wasn’t afraid to call out a bellowing dad in front of Old Navy for yelling at his upset toddler by informing him that “yelling isn’t nice” and he was making the boy sad. I’d never been so damn proud of her lack of filter.

Which gets me to the 2 year old lack of filter. For the first time since she was born I have this amazing, beautiful, unfiltered view straight into her soul. She says anything and everything on her mind. She knows nothing about political correctness. She has no desire or capability to be malicious or hurtful. Just honest. She’s purely honest.

Once, as she toted her colored baby doll around, a friend asked her if the baby was hungry. She looked at said friend, blankly, and replied, “No, he’s just black.” I laughed so hard I cried.

One fantastic grocery trip I got to listen to her tell me, “Oh, look, Mommy. That’s a boy. He has a penis. Oh, there’s a girl. She has a vulva!” And it was in that overly loud toddler voice, so everyone heard. Everything. Fantastic. And despite trying to tell her that is wasn’t wholly appropriate for us to talk about genitalia in public, especially other people's, she didn’t stop. She only replied with, “We’re just talking, Momma. We’re not touching any penises!”

She has no problem calling me out when I’m being less than kind. I’ve heard, “You’re not being nice, Mommy,” more than once. And, “Do you just need a hug?” which is what I ask her when she’s getting cranky.

I love that she can communicate all of her wants and needs and thoughts without that infant cry and babble. She spoke quite well much earlier than the norm, but age 2 seemed to perfect her language.

She used the word “synonymous” once and I nearly peed my pants.

It’s been amazing to be a part of and witness the drastic transformation that one short year can do to a 2 year old (and her parents! A good friend so kindly told me I went from looking like I was 15 to over 30…so I aged 15 years in less than one!).

The most humbling of all was learning that I can’t control her. Or anyone. As human beings, even as parents, we do not have the ability to control any one, not even our children. Sure, you can yell, threaten, smack, whatever. But there is no guarantee that your child would change and give you control. And honestly, would you want them to? You’d just be setting them up to learn to give up control to anyone who bullies them in life (because, if we’re being honest, yelling, threatening, and spanking are nothing more than bullying). And no one wants that.

2 year olds are learning to push and test boundaries. It’s how they function as human beings. But they also easily and happily teach you that exerting control on the world, on people, is something that simply cannot, and should not be done.

You just have to learn to let go. Roll with the punches. You will never win an argument with your 2 year old, at least not in a manner that is truly successful and beneficial for their mental and emotional (and possibly physical) health, as well as your own. So laugh instead.

If you embrace it, 2 is awesome. 2 is phenomenal and fun. 2 is insightful.

Turns out, 2 isn’t quite as terrible as some would have lead me to believe. But I guess it’s all a matter of perspective. Glass half full kind of thing.

My house might look like a frat party has been thrown the night before – toilet paper everywhere, a baby doll swimming in a toilet of yellow water, sippy cups strewn everywhere, dirty clothes in every nook and cranny possible, crushed up crackers and smashed blueberries every other step you take, curtains literally pulled out of the wall, crayon drawings covering the walls.

But if you’re willing to just take a deep breath, smile, cherish this brief time in the grand scheme of things when you get to parents an amazing 2 year old, then it’s all okay.

Because 2 year olds are amazing.

Let the mommy guilt go

A friend of mine and I were commiserating over mommy guilt the other day. She has two boys, ages 5 and 2. She'd recently had "the circumcision talk" as she put it, with her oldest, explaining, upon his questioning, why he (C) is circumcised and little P is not. She said it kills her everytime she sees what she allowed happen to C.

I, of course, told her my favorite motto, "When you know better, you do better." She wasn't educated  about circumcision with her first. She was with her second and thus she did better. We all make mistakes. We all learn things as time goes by. But we can't dwell on the woulda shoulda couldas.

Who has time for that?

But, par the course of my life, I wasn't looking at things this way prior to this conversation.

I confessed to her that I'm often riddled with guilt because I pierced H's ears (her body, her choice). I feel terrible when I think of how I night weaned her so young per some terrible advice or how I was constantly trying to get her to sleep through the night or sleep on her own. When she was B's age I was far less flexible and much more rigid. I actually thought obedience was a good expectation.

I've obviously done none of these things to B. He was born perfect (like H), no penile mutilation or holes in his body to stick little boppits simply because I find it to be aesthetically pleasing necessary. He's never slept in a crib, has only recently started sleeping part of the night on his own. He nurses through out the night. I've never smacked his hand and will neve battle a time-out war with him.

I have dealt with a lot of guilt over how differently my children have spent the first 18 months of their lives. Guilty because H deserved better.

But you know what, I was doing the best I knew how. Was it right? Hell no. But I was constantly learning. Willing to learn. As was J. I was willing to accept that I didn't know it all, or know it best, and was/am open to constantly learning new and sometimes better ways and information.

So I will never claim to have done things "right" with H (or B for that matter). I will never defend my mistakes.

I know I will someday have to explain to H that Momma made a choice to aesthetically alter her body, and that it wasn't my right to do so. And even if she ( like me) doesn't seem to mind at all, I will still ask her forgiveness. It's the least I can do when I didn't bother to ask her consent.

I've done a lot of things wrong. And no guilt weighs heavier or pulls tighter on your heart strings like mommy guilt. And mommy guilt seems to be rampid amongst this era of moms who are on information over load. But I don't have the time or energy to hold onto it. I will make my amends when it's appropriate, I will ask my children's forgiveness.

But I will forgive myself.

Always.

I deserve it.

And so do you.

"Mommy, go away."

For the most part, when J is home, I'm like chopped liver to H. She only wants me if she's looking for a boob or chocolate (at least she knows who gives her candy).

Today, every time I'd try to get her out of the car, she'd yell, "No! I want Papa to do it!"

So I'd walk away, trying not to feel defeated. Trying not to take it personally, because I know it's not.

When we finally returned home and I opened her car door she said, "Mommy, go away!"

I looked at her, annoyed, a bit hurt, and said, "I don't like it when you speak to me that way. It makes me sad."

Her face softened a bit and she replied, "Mommy, please go away. And please don't be sad. I just need my Papa today."

There is something simply profound when a two year old can put her needs into words. And when she's able to make you understand she really has nothing against you.

Sometimes a girl just needs her Papa.

And that's okay.

Acidophilus: Probiotics or acid?

Yesterday J got up with the kids so I could sleep in (you know you’re a parent when “sleeping in” is until 730am). After I got out of the shower H came running up the stairs crying about her probiotics and how she needed a new one. I told her very calmly that she needed to go downstairs and tell Papa she would like a probiotic. It was okay if she’d all ready had one, Momma said it was fine. But I emphasized that she needed to use nice words and a nice tone of voice, because if she was whining to Papa the way she was to me, he’d never understand her.

So off she went and I didn’t think about the incident again until that night after the kids were in bed and J and I were hanging out in the kitchen while I baked cookies for our Valentine’s play date today.

“Oh, the probiotics are on the counter. You should put them in the fridge,” J told me while I was putting cookies into the oven.

“What are they doing on the counter? They shouldn’t be left out.” I quickly returned them to their cold home.

J shook his head, that sad look of defeat on his face. “You have to give the kids their probiotics from now on. I can’t do it,” he told me.

I looked at him, my eyebrows highs. “What’s so hard about it?”

“Well,” he began. “Your daughter asked me for some probiotics. I told her she’d have to get them since I wasn’t entirely sure where they were located at in the fridge. She gets them out and of course B wants one too. I hand it to him and try to break the capsule open, but he wants the whole thing, so I just let him have it. [Note: I typically pull the capsule apart and pour the probiotic powder into B’s mouth for him] Then H asked me to open hers, so I proceeded to do so, but the second it touched her tongue she started screaming and spitting and trying to wipe it out of her mouth. She’s running around the house in circles freaking out, I’m certain I’ve just put acid in her mouth because I didn’t even check the bottle, I just assumed she knew what it was, and I’m also trying to fish the unopened capsule out of B’s mouth before he bites it open and releases the same acid into his mouth.”

At this point, between the story, understanding what was going on, and his elaborate animation, I was laughing so hard there were tears.

“You can only open the capsule for her. You can’t pour it into her mouth. She likes to do that herself. You clearly don’t understand what it’s like to be almost 3.”

“Yeah,” he told me flatly. “I know that now. But I’m not risking the chance of giving our kids acid ever again. Especially when the bottle just says ‘acidophilus’ so it’s clearly telling me it’s acid.”

Uh huh. That’s what it says…

Valentines balloons

For the past three weeks Miss H has been seeing Valentines Day balloons everywhere.

She loves balloons. Adores them (so does Mr. B).

Naturally, she's asked several times if she could have some. At one point I bought her and Mr. B little tiny ones on sticks. They loved them. I quickly learned they were nothing more than weaponry.

But I told her that I'd get her and B one for Valentines Day.

Well, as today went by, I realized I was not going to make it anywhere without small children since J was deep in the throes of spray spainting vents (which turned out awesome!). So I just decided I'd take them with and let them pick it out while I ventured to pick up a heart shaped pizza. Maybe not as cool, but I promised Valentines balloons and I'm a woman of my word.

So in the car on the way to the store I told H she could pick out her own Valentines balloon.

"Any one I want?" She asked.

"Sure," I answered. "Just remember, you only get one. And B only gets one."

"Okay," she easily agreed.

I should definitely be careful what I agree to.

We walk into the store and there are tons of balloons. Hearts, owls, cupcakes, bumble bees, ice cream cones, you name it. All for Valentines Day.

"I want a heart," she announced immediately.

"What color?" I questioned as there were all the colors under the rainbow.

"Red."

I walked over to a red balloon and proceeded to pick it up.

Miss H shook her head. "Not that one. This one." And she closed in on a red heart balloon that was bigger than herself.

"Don't you want this cute small one?" I tried.

"You said any balloon. I want this one."

I nodded my head. That's what I said. I didn't realize they made life-size balloons though.

"Well, how about we get this one for B then," I said.

"No, Momma. He gets to pick out his own too."

I'm pretty sure I sulked at this point. Mostly because B was at this point enchanted by a frog balloon that said "kiss me" and was bigger than him.

Two balloons and $20 later, I will be sure I know what I'm agreeing to in the future.

At least I have two happy kids and a good excuse not to get them candy.

A little update on the lead situation

We got our most recent lead evaluation results of the house back today.

I wish I could say that it told us there is a super obvious culprit for all of this. Or that something tested high that wasn’t all ready on our list of “suspects.”

But I can’t.

The window levers and door knobs that haven’t been painted over all tested high. They’re 125 years old, so not terribly surprising, and all ready suspects and on our “fix” list. So we shall immediately paint the window levers and either paint the door knobs or remove the doors altogether (we purchased doors to replace the bedrooms, just were waiting to do so as we re-did each room).

The vent covers all tested for minor lead. This was slightly surprising, but like the knobs and levers, also suspects due to age. J is taking the day off tomorrow to deal with these. He’ll remove them all, power wash them, and spray paint them. Voila!

The windows in the house that have yet to be redone (cleaned out, storm windows put on), tested for minor lead levels. We’ve been working on these for the past two years, but will take a precedent now and J will just have to take time off and do them come spring.

Paint in the mudroom that is chipping, as well as our back shed, both tested for a decent amount of lead. We all ready figured this even before B’s lead poisoning and naturally kept the kids from those. But J will power wash the mudroom and paint. We don’t want to put too much into it, but enough of course to be sure it’s safe, since that whole room will need to be redone in the next year or so. J is in the process of finding painters certified to deal with lead paint to come scrape the shed clean. We can paint it ourselves.

None of the trim in the house tested positive for lead, but he did suggest painting over the little dings and whatnot, which we’d planned to do anyway. We all ready purchased replacement trim for the whole house, but at least now we know it’s safe to just wait to replace the trim in each room as we go, no need to worry about it immediately.

We found B’s car seat model, year, and color online at healthystuff.org. It had been tested all ready. It’s full of lead (and other yucky toxins). My mother graciously offered to buy him a new seat, and after a lot of research and detective work I never thought I’d have to worry about over a car seat - something created to keep my children safe, not harm them - we decided on the Radian XTS. It’s lead free. And also scores awesomely low or altogether non-existent for the other nasty toxins found in many car seats (chlorine, bromine, etc.). And it’s awesome because it rear facing until 45lbs and keeps the babes in a 5 point harness until 80lbs (and then becomes the booster until 120lbs and 57"), and their safety is obviously important to me.

After a little bit of discussion, J and I decided to break into our emergency savings account and purchase the same seat for H. There really shouldn’t have been any discussion to it, but for a minute we got caught up with the numbers. But just because she isn’t having any ill-effects doesn’t mean she should have to sit in a toxic seat we deem unsuitable for her brother. When you know better, you do better. And well, we know better.

We’ll fix all these things of course, and pray that it was one of these, or something that we’ve all ready changed (stairs, stripped doors, toys, etc.) and it simply hadn’t taken effect when he was last tested.

The environmentalist commented on how “open and eager” I was to change and fix everything ASAP. I just kind of laughed, slightly confused, and told him, “It’s my baby. I’d do anything for him.”

To which he replied, “If more people had your attitude, there would be a lot of kids much better off.”

I’d be lying if I said it didn’t give me warm and fuzzies. Validation, even from strangers, is a nice feeling. Especially with how these past few weeks have been, but I’ll blog about that later.

Over all, we didn’t learn anything surprisingly new, but were able to plan a better (new) course of action. I'll be glad, to say the least, when this whole mess is over and I have a healthy baby again.

Car seats have lead. Who knew?

When I was pregnant with H, and those first few months after she was born, I was incredibly ignorant when it came to car seats.

I had no idea that car seats had different safety ratings. If you’d asked me how long she was supposed to be rear-facing, I wouldn’t have known, much less have guessed until 40 pounds. Chest clip…yes, I fell into the category of really stupid people who didn’t seem to understand the word “chest.” I cringe when I see some of those photos of the first few times she was in her bucket seat.

Needless to say, we didn’t buy an infant carrier based on safety ratings or any sort of research. We bought a gender neutral seat that was yellow and gray that I thought was cute and came as a travel system. If I could go back and re-do it, I’d have never even bought the stupid, worthless infant seat. But alas.

Fortunately, I wised up before it was time to purchase her convertible seat. Thanks to a bunch of wise women willing to share their wisdom with me, some in a very blunt manner, I learned about car seat safety ratings and the different things to look out for and be aware of.

After an immense amount of research I decided to purchase a Britax Boulevard for our little love. I was cheap and bought the ugly print that was on sale because no one wanted it. I didn’t care. It was just a seat and I was worried about its safety features anyway, not its aesthetic features.

We loved it so much, and H did too, so it went without question that we bought B the same seat (newer model) when it was his turn for a convertible car seat.

Like other things I hadn’t considered to be a suspect in my son’s lead poisoning, his car seat obviously didn’t make the list.

Until recently when a friend and I were flipping through a book full of children and infant product/toy recalls due to lead. I’m pretty sure nearly every page was Fisher-Price stuff. Until there, smack in the middle of a page, was a 2007 Britax car seat recall for lead.

The book was for recalls prior to 2009. This sparked me to do more research, as my children both sit in Britax seats. They are different years and models, so a potential difference for a possible lead exposure.

From the research I’ve done thus far, roughly 65% of car seats test excessively high for lead, chlorine, and bromine.

 

Lead.

The most recent studies are from 2011. Britax makes the list for high levels of lead exposure. Every. Single. Time.

I don’t know if B’s car seat has high lead. Or H’s for that matter. We’re working on the logistics of having them tested (and I’m trying not to mourn $600 in car seats before I know if they’re even an issue). But just the fact that they could be down right pisses me off.

Why are we not protecting our infants and children from this stuff in this country in this day and age? We know better! Why would we (by “we” I mean companies) even risk this? It doesn’t make sense, especially when we have the ability to prevent it.

It seems to be another facet in my life that I thought I was so careful about, so thoroughly researched. And it still wasn’t enough.

It’d be easy to say this should be a flashing neon light that I should just STOP. Stop researching, stop caring. Obviously it’s not preventing any of this.

And yet it only makes me want to dig deeper, go further.

I am well-researched and well-informed. But I also just never thought to suspect things that are supposed to insure my children’s safety to possibly bring them harm in other ways.

Gone are the glory days when kids rode on the floorboards and foods were naturally safe and no one had to question their child’s toys or mattresses and the great outdoors were the norm in every day childhood.

Alas.

Who knew 65% of car seats test above the safe levels for lead?

Not I. Not I.

Car seats have lead.

This is just getting ridiculous.

Soccer, the post office, and naps - GOAL!

A few weeks ago I was reading H the brochure of upcoming activities for her age group in our area. When I said, “Soccer” she immediately proclaimed she needed to participate.

And since there isn’t much I say to “no” to without a damn good cause, I said, “Okay” and signed her up.

And she loves it.

There are four main coaches. And she always wants to be with coach E who is from New York and likes telling Lio that he should go to New York and walk into a restaurant and order a “Leo” because they will know what it is there (eggs, lox, and something else I forget). He’s got a thick accent and his humor is completely lost on the kids. H refuses to speak to him, and yet he’s who she insists on being with for everything.

 
It cracks me up.
 

B, of course, won’t be left out of anything. I thought we could just watch from the bleachers, but no such luck. He wants to play too and no one minds so he follows the kids around doing the same drills and tricks. Truthfully, he’s pretty good. Better than most of the kids out there. The only thing the other kids have going for them that B doesn’t is that they follow directions. Mostly. B does for a while because it’s fun, and then they get too repetitive and he’s like “Screw this, I’m going to kick the ball into the goal a hundred times and maybe sit on it for a few minutes for good measure.”

Of course, at the very beginning when the kids were all telling their names, they were also supposed to say their favorite sport and H shouts out, “Baseball!” And I’m sitting there scratching my head wondering where in the world she’s heard about baseball because I don’t think we’ve ever mentioned it (though she’s playing t-ball this spring with her bff, but I don’t think I’ve told her this yet).

When the hour long fun was over (we have five more weeks of this), B snuggled into the Ergo with a big yawn while we trudged to the post office where H promptly melted down that we were giving her pictures and box away (it’s only taken this long to mail her paternal grandparents their Halloween pics, but I’m blaming that on J since he kept insisting he’d do it…). It’s always fun when you’ve got Asians and old people looking at you so disapprovingly and you just smile (perhaps slightly wickedly) at them and continue to “allow” your child to wail about her box. Of course, I scooped her up when it was time to go and plopped her into the car.

 

And right after lunch she and B both fell asleep for a nap – GOAL! H never naps anymore, and B had gone the past week with no nap. So I feel successful.

Of course, amidst the public meltdown I remember thinking, “Dear God, I bet no other person in the world has ever had a toddler freak out in public.” And once all was calm again, I laughed at myself. What person with a toddler hasn’t had them melt down at some point?

Regardless, I was all calm and Zen and really happy that some days I really kick ass at being the parent I want to be.

So kudos to soccer for putting my babes down for naps, but not so much for the meltdown.

At least they both had fun!

Diffusion not distraction

I don't believe in distraction. I know, I'm committing like a cardinal sin in parenting, because we are told by everyone in the world that distraction is one of the best parenting "tricks" in the world.

I do believe in preventing issues from the get-go. But not all things can be prevented, that's just life. And when there is a crisis, I prefer to diffuse, not distract.

Sometimes diffusing toddler frustrations (or Mommy frustrations) can be difficult. Because when someone is worked up, who wants to unwind so easily? And obviously, as I've said before, I believe in letting those frustrations out - it's only healthy.

But let's face it. Sometimes you just need some diffusion from the situation.

I hate saying distraction, because I don't agree with that. Distraction implies that you are ignoring the situation all together and not addressing it now or later. And that's not helpful or beneficial for anyone.

But diffusion is simply helping the child calm down so you can move along because you have an appointment in five minutes and the babe is still naked with unbrushed teeth. Or because your babes might kill each other due to some fight amongst themselves, and you have to step in (though I try very hard to not get in the middle of their qualms unless someone is getting physical).

How do we diffuse, you ask?

For us, we sing!

I'm not going to win an award for my vocal talents any time soon, but it's enough to help my kiddos. We have the "mad song" which is the most common in my house, though we also have the "yelling song" and others. And the "mad song" is sang pretty much every day. Often several times a day, just to help (typically H) get to that place of coherentness so we can address an issue, such as B stole her crayon, etc.

Our mad song is easy, it's two verses repeated over and over, and typically over again.

(In a whisper, with a grumpy face) When I'm mad I act mad.
(Loud, with a smile) But when I'm glad I act glad!

Oftentimes by the time I've made it to "glad" H is all ready laughing and singing with me. She likes to make her "grumpy face" for the mad verse, and laugh and yell as loudly as possible for the glad verse.

So in a situation where she has gotten angry that B has taken a crayon she was using away from her, and she reacted by yelling/using an unkind tone of voice, chasing, or trying to forcefully take the crayon back, we diffuse the situation (almost always by singing), and then address the situation.

I will empathize with her angry feelings because her brother took something she was using without asking. I will tell her I understand it makes her mad when people take things out of her hands, and gently remind her that is why we do not take things out of other peoples hands ourselves. I help her to use her words to tell B how she feels - "I don't like it when you take things without asking." Together we will ask for the crayon back from B, and obviously he pretty much never gives it back. We address the fact that he is a baby, and just as she didn't know these things when she was as small as him, he doesn't either. We have to show him how we want to be treated. And although it's really super hard, we cannot forcefully take the crayon back. We have to act nicely to B, let him know we were not finished using it and would really like it back, but if he doesn't return it, simply use another crayon. And when he is done, then we can have it back. Because although it's hard, if we want B to learn to treat us that kindly, we have to treat him kindly first. If we react unkindly and take things forcefully, demanding he "share," then we are showing and teaching him that his behavior was, in fact, correct and the way we'd like him to continue acting towards us.

It's hard. Incredibly hard.

And of course throughout this I always address B and say things like, "H is really sad you took that crayon from her" and later, when he does finally give it back, "H is so happy you gave that back to her."

Yes, maybe it'd take less time for me to either 1.) simply take the crayon forcefully back from B and demand he "share" (because we all know we love it when we are forced to share and it compels us to do it again later on) or 2.) distract H from the stolen crayon and get her immediately busy with a different crayon or activity.

But neither of those address the issues. Neither help equip either children with the know-how for the future. H has the right to speak up for herself and let B know she doesn't like things taken from her, but also be able to accept that if she wants him to not take things from her, she cannot take things from him either, even though it may be difficult. She also has the right to know her hurt feelings are real and valid. And B has the right to hear from H that she doesn't like his actions and he has the right to see how his actions make her feel.

Distractions sugar coats all of that and no one learns anything nor do they learn how to handle the situation in the future.

So yes, we diffuse, so that we can address and learn. Not distract, because no learns from that.

Chocolate yogurt...

Miss H has always gone back and forth on food spurts. While she likes virtually everything, she's human, and prefers some things over others depending on the day, or hour. Or even second.

Yogurt is one of those things she's had a love/hate relationship pretty much since beginning solids. One day she could eat a whole carton of it in a single sitting. The next day you had better not even think about bringing yogurt within ten feet of her.

Well, we're "on" for yogurt currently. I let her pick out her flavor, my only requisite is it has to be full fat yogurt, low-fat or fat-free is not an option. People need the good fats!

So we're in the store the other day, H and me, choosing yogurts. She's all about the single serve cups these days, so her options in flavors have really been widened. She going through each yogurt asking me the flavors.

"Blueberry," I tell her. "Mango, peach, strawberry, vanilla, coffee, maple, honey, chocolate."

She stopped dead in her tracks. She cocked her little head sideways and looked at me. "Did you say chocolate?" she asks.

"Yes," I immediately regret.

"I need all of them!" Pretty much at that moment she reminds me of a blood-thirsty baby vampire.

"How about we just get two. One for you and one for B."

"I need them all," she tells me calmly, matter-of-factly.

"Momma doesn't have money for them all."

She pinches her lips together and stares at me, trying to figure out if I speak the truth, I'm sure.

"Okay," she finally says. "We can get four. Two for me and two for B."

And so we got four. And they were eaten immediately while the blueberry and vanilla ones were shoved into the back of the fridge. She ate those later because there were not other options, but she made her displeasure that they were not chocolate well-known.

And she jumped for joy when she consumed the last one and informed me that we needed "to go to the market right now for chocolate yogurt."

Yeah. Chocolate yogurt was created for clever kids. Kids who like chocolate. Kids who realize that it's just creamy chocolate goodness, and saying it's "healthy" just makes moms like me feel better about the insane amounts that their small children are consuming.

Children NEED to have tantrums, and you did too.

I think the only thing worse than hearing parents say they don't "allow" their children to throw tantrums, is hearing that their kids in fact, do not ever throw tantrums. Because then the kid has all ready been "broken" to an extent. And the issue becomes so obvious when learning that as children, the parent wasn't permitted to throw a tantrum either.

Kids need to throw tantrums. They need to scream and cry and rage about. When their frustrations intensify to the point that they need a release, this is their release. And it should never be admonished or ignored or punished. It is the child's only way to express their emotions and convey that they don't know how to deal with them and they need help doing so. That they need to be heard by their parents.

But tantrums can be hard to deal with for parents. Especially tantrums in public or tantrums bring thrown by older children (over 2). And they are especially difficult for parents to accept and deal with if they themselves were not allowed to express those emotions when they were young. If they were stifled and punished and told that expressing their feelings and frustrations was "bad" or a form of "misbehavior" and were punished or ignored for such feelings, it can make it that much more difficult. And if as an adult the parent has yet to find a safe and appropriate way to release those emotions, accepting your child's feelings is nearly impossible.

Because frankly, accepting, allowing, and helping a child through a tantrum can be difficult and trying for the most emotionally-stable and patient parent in the world. So when you add your own baggage on top of it, it's easy for it to get out of hand or turn into a moment when you just tell your child it is unnacceptable or walk away in anger.

When your child so loudly expresses his frustrations and feels safe enough to let you see him cry and rage, as a parent who was never allowed to do so, it can stir up your own unresolved feelings and hurt your inner child who feels the need to compete with the child wailing on the floor or pulling books of the shelf in a rage. Your inner child wants to scream, "Well nobody listened to me when I was your age! No one every has cared about my needs and emotions!"

And of course, this kind of inner conflict can cause many parents to feel shame. It can cause them to struggle with their own emotions, and to struggle with helping their child in a healthy manner. And to be truthful, it's understandable. When you carry such a backhistory of unresolved pain related to unmet needs, it is difficult to be the person helping your child with his pain and own needs. It is often difficult to show ourselves the same compassion we wish to show our children and others, and yet it is important if we wish to help our children with their big feelings, most especially during a tantrum when they are in desperate need the most for our help.

As a parent we can only meet our child's emotional needs when are able to give time, thought, and genuine empathy to the places deep inside of ourselves that give us our most emotional conflict. Those dark areas where we've hoarded away, like subconsciously, our unmet needs. We can only undergo real transormation when we are able to accept and own up to our own emotional reactions to our children and realize that our difficulty helping our children and allowing them those emotions lie deep within our inner child and the pain of unmet emotional needs from our past, and in some cases, even our present.

We each must find the ways that meet our needs and help us to resolve our issues the best for us. I obviously do this through writing, others choose yoga or meditation, journalling, therapy, spending time under the stars with a glass of wine, running, talking with a trusted friend or even inner-child writing. There is no "right" way to deal with your unmet emotional needs, just a genuine need to do it for the sake of your little darling child.

When we have taken the steps to heal ourselves, we are empowered to give others the same quality of attention, empathy, acceptance and stress release that we've gifted ourselves. Feeling the calm, peace and clarity that follows stress-releasing outlets reminds us and empowers us to gift our child with a similar quality of listening and emotional release when their upsets bubble to the surface.

It is never easy to listen to a child, whether they be one year old or eleven years old, scream and cry. It isn't pleasant to watch them flail on the floor or destroy their room. But it is our job as their parents, to let them know that it is okay to scream and rage and release those big feelings. And that we're right there to help them in whatever way best suits the child. If they need five minutes to beat pillows by themselves, or if they need to sob in your chest while you rock them, or they want to just lay down and cry, without you speaking or touching them, but with you still present. They need to know that it is acceptable. "Allowable." That their emotions are appropriate and that they are safe to express them with someone who cares and loves them nearby.

Children throw lots of tantrums sometimes, regardless of age. Even children who have been armed with the best tools of self-control or "better" outlets still just need to tantrum on occassion. And that's normal. And okay!

It's annoying that little Sally cries every. single. time you go to Target and you tell her you will in fact not buy  her Gothic Barbie. But she's not crying to annoy you or frustrate you. She's crying because she is frustrated and unhappy. She wants it. It doesn't matter if she is three or thirteen, sometimes crying is simply the best coping mechanism. She needs you to show her empathy. To aknowledge you know how badly she wants it and that you realize it is very difficult not to have it. She needs you to also be clear that you've all ready said no though.

Maybe you feel weird and awkward to be the one with the tantruming kid in Target. Well, for just a second swallow your pride and focus on your own child, not the rest of the world. Help your child deal with her emotions. Let her cry, even if she needs to cry for ten minutes. Let her know it's okay to have those feelings.

It's so easy as a parent to say, "You're not getting it, now stop crying" or "Everyone is watching you. That's enough all ready." But ignoring your child's emotional needs or shaming them for having them isn't going to set your child up to be in the healthy emotional place you want them to be.

And I'm not saying that all children must scream and rage on a regular basis, or even ever, to be emotionally healthy. Maybe at an early age your child has learned that simply walking away and settling down with a book in solice is the best way for her to deal with the stress of her big feelings. Maybe crying softly by herself or running laps around the house or drawing pictures or cutting paper or a multitude of other things may be how your child deals with her feelings and big frustrations. How your child is able to release her emotions. Be aware of them. Accept them.

And also accept that although little Sally may outgrow the screaming, crying tantrums and find other appropriately healthy ways to deal with her emotions, she might not either. Tantrums, even at forty, might just be how she needs to release.

That's okay!

So deal with your own inner child so that you can be at a healthy place to share empathy with your child when he's dealing with his own big feelings.

It is one of those things in life and in parenting that you will never regret doing.

There are no regrets doing right by your child.