B's the testy curve ball

B was such an easy baby. Especially when compared to H, who was such a vivacious baby. I was fortunate that she was first and I was over the moon elated, so I really had no idea at the time just how high needs she was. But it was taxing on J and I.

Regardless, Miss H was/is a pretty easy toddler/preschooler. Don't get me wrong, she has her moments. Everything H does and feels is big. So when she's happy it's contagious and she makes everyone else happy. But when she's pissed off you had better watch out. When she's sad you feel your heart breaking right along with hers.

But still, she's pretty easy.

She's also a people-pleaser. Her need to please is so intense that often I can simply say, "I don't care for your actions/words right now. I don't find them very kind." and she'll change her tune. (Not always, of course, but the majority of the time).  This makes some things with her pretty easy. But I really hope she doesn't stay a people-pleaser for too long, because I was one pretty much until I had kids. And the world is cruel to people-pleasers. At the same time though, she isn't afraid to stand up for herself, or other people, so she'll fair way better than I.

B on the other hand.

Ha! He's my test. I know it.

Someone out there, God, karma, whatever you believe in, thought to herself, "Oh, so she wants to do this peaceful parenting thing, eh? She ever so deeply believes in it, eh? Well, we'll throw her a curve ball."

And that curve ball is my adorable, beloved, ridiculously mischievous Mr. B.

It doesn't matter what I say. How I communicate with him. He doesn't care. He is going to do what he wants, when he wants, how he wants. He could give a flying fuck about anyone else.

Don't get me wrong, this is an awesome quality to a lot of degrees. And I try, religiously, to focus on that. No one is going to screw with this kid in life. Ever. And if they try, he'll just bite them. (It's true, he's a biter!)

He's the kid who throws markers no matter how many times you repeatedly ask/tell him not to. No matter how many times you show him the paper and kindly express the use of markers (which he, of course, all ready knows). If you finally just take them away he sobs as if you'd just killed his best friend. Seriously, it almost brings me to tears because it's so sad.

He's the kid who is overly physical, and doesn't understand his limits.

He's destructive.

Absolutely fearless.

Don't get me wrong, B isn't a monster or anything (no kid is).

Like 95% of the time he's sweet and charming and I'm all, "Oh, I totally got this!"

But when he's not. Well, he's really not.

We sit down for dinner and H is all, "Thank you for dinner, Momma!" which completely melts my heart, while B picks up his for and whacks her in the head. And I'm thinking, "What the fuck possessed you to do that?" But then three minutes later when he accidentally drops some food on the floor he insists on cleaning it all up by himself, and then it's like, "Oh, see. It's all good. He's got his shit together now."

I keep reminding myself that in 6 months this will all be mostly forgotten. Because I know I've gone through more difficult periods with H, but they have mostly gone unremembered at this point. They seemed big and bad then though.

And I keep reminding myself that B won't end up a hellion or a bully. So long as I'm not bullying him to get the behaviors I want.

But it's hard.

Like really, really hard.

Who'd have thought someone could ever question themselves on possibly being "too nice"? Or "too patient"? I keep telling myself you cannot be too kind or too patients to/with your children, but geez.

This boy certainly knows how to make me question all the things I believe as a parent some moments.

You are safe. You are loved.

H loves group activities. She loves story times and crafts. She always has.

What Miss H does not love are large crowds and loud noises. Especially in small spaces.

Honestly, in this day and age, I'm sure if I brought it up to her pediatrician (well, not her pediatrician specifically because she's awesome and not quick to label quirks), she'd get slapped with a label like sensory processing disorder. But J's the same way with big crowds and loud noises, he just knows how to handle himself appropriately now.

H is only 3. She does not yet have the proper coping mechanisms.

We frequent story time at Barnes and Noble. It's one of H's very favorite things to do. Books and crafts and cookies, all at the same place!

Today, however, there were a significant amount more children there than typical. A lot more noise and chaos when it came time to do the craft. And in less than a split second H went from happily working on her snake craft to utter Meltdown Molly mode.

She couldn't function or coherently really understand me. She screamed and cried and when I scooped her up and took her away to a safer distance (but could still see B) she still couldn't calm down, despite all our normal soothing words and deep breaths. H has only been that far gone a few times in her life. Typically a quiet place and safe in my arms, she can calm down quite easily.

Not today.

So I got to be that mom carrying an out of control child out of the store, another one slung about the other hip.

It's sad to think that some people would have looked at their child in such a predicament and thought nothing more than a screaming, tantruming, disobedient child, and completely miss the true distress the kid is in.

Don't get me wrong, it's not easy. Even knowing that this isn't typical behavior, knowing that there were a lot of factors that I should have made me aware this was a likely probability, it doesn't make it easy to just stand there calmly with a preschooler in complete freak out mode while 20 other moms stare at you.

Regardless, my daughter is obviously more important. Her needs are more important. Her distress is more important.

And you know what? When we finally made it out to the car and I sat her down in her seat, we took huge deep breaths together, and after a few minutes of me just repeating "You are safe. You are loved. You are safe. You are loved" about a million times, she was okay again.

And she looked at me, all red-faced, swollen-eyed, and said, "Momma, that was really scary."

It was really scary.

And I wasn't even the one who had to feel all of those scary feelings she was experiencing.

Politeness and human compassion are disapprearing

I don't force my kids to say "please" or "thank you" or "sorry." But that doesn't mean my kids aren't polite.

In fact, they're more polite than most kids I know. People have commented on their politeness from very early ages. It used to frustrate and infuriate me when a 14-month-old H would genuinely and unprompted tell people "thank you" and instead of replying with the proper "you're welcome" they'd say something like, "Oh, that's so cute!"

B typically lets out a delightful "dank you, dank you, dank you!" over simple things such as a waitress bringing him a chocolate milk.

H most often says "excuse me" when trying to get someone's attention or interrupting a conversation. She tells me she's "sorry" if she accidentally runs into me or whatever.

Don't get me wrong. My kids are kids. There are times when a "thank you" or "please" or whatever would be appropriate and they don't say it. But there are times I forget to say it too. But overall, they're pretty polite and well-mannered.

Yesterday H was, in her words, "slammed to the ground" by as 12 or 13 year old boy. I watched it happen, unable to prevent it. She hadn't moved from where she was standing, out of the way (or so I'd thought) on pavement at a park. The boy knocked her right down, her heading smacking the pavement with a sickening thud! She screamed and the goose egg was nasty. The boy didn't so much as glance back at her, let alone say he was sorry. Neither of his parents who watched the incident apologized either.

Accidents happen. I get that. Except he was 12/13, and it wasn't like H jumped out of no where. Or that there was no where else for the kid to run. Nonetheless, shit happens. Okay. But seriously?! My 3 year old's natural reaction is to apologize if she accidentally hangs on to my neck too hard while riding on my back. My natural reaction is to apologize profusely if one of my children hurts another person, intentionally or not.

And yet neither child nor parents offered up a measly "sorry" as my kid wailed?

What the heck is this world coming to?

I don't believe in insincere manners. It doesn't make sense to me. So I guess, where in the world did a little morality and human compassion go?

I wouldn't expect someone to apologize if they didn't mean it. But what kind of human being doesn't feel remorse for knocking a preschooler onto the pavement, hitting her head with no break to the fall? What kind of parent watches their kid do that and also has no remorse?

Politeness, manners, human compassion...it's all gone out the window, it seems.

Of course, there is nothing I can do about it. Nothing more than I do for my own kids. Which is model, model, model.

So where I really wanted to scream, "You little shit, watch where the fuck you're going! You just hurt my baby!" (I tend to have the mouth of a sailor, so says my husband) I suppressed that and instead just gathered that sweet girl in my arms and told her I knew that really had to hurt.

But seriously. I'm so sick of the lack of politeness I hear, or don't hear. I'm not perfect, but I do at least try to extend common courtesy to most people. I totally admit to being a bit of a firecracker, and when confronted with stupidity or closed mindedness, I tend to lose my own composure at times, but for the most part, I really do try.

And it's obviously working. Because my kids say "sorry" out of remorse. They say "please" and "thank you" unprompted and from a sincere place from their hearts.

At the end of the day, that's something I guess. Not all manners or compassion is lost if there are still some people out there, modeling for their children genuine courtesy.

The Fit

When H was more or less B's age, and would throw a tantrum at home for whatever reason, I'd walk away. Leave her to her own devices until she was ready to be happy again.

A lot of people had advised this technique. I thought I was teaching her how to behave. Making it clear that fits would not get her her way.

I thank God routinely for helping me become a better mother than I was then.

I know better now.

I was teaching my daughter that I only loved her (in her eyes) when she was happy and pleasing to be around. I was teaching her that her emotions were not valid and that she shouldn't express them.

It did not teach her to not throw tantrums, that's for sure.

I can't remember the last time H had a real, screaming, crying, flailing tantrum. I guess she's mostly outgrown them. And now she has her amazing words and reasoning skills. She has no qualms saying, "Hey, Momma, listen to me! You're not listening!" I love that. I love that she feels safe and secure enough to call me out when I'm being too impatient or not attentive enough. I love that she easily conveys her emotions and that when she feels like I'm not being fair she tells me.

B has just begun the era of tantrums. A bit later than H did.

They've been much more mellow than his sister's.

Until today.

Today Mr. B wanted to bang on computer keyboards.

We have a designated kid laptop that they have destroyed to bits and is theirs to utilize in any which way they so choose.

But he wanted to play on Mommy's.

I gently told him that Momma's computer was not for playing but he could play with his.

B was having none of it.

He let out the shrillest scream I've ever heard. He flailed and screamed and sobbed. He looked like a fish out of water on our library floor.

Once upon a time I'd have just walked away.

But this time I just sat down on the floor, giving him the space he needed.

"Momma's here when you're done, B," I said softly.

He looked at me with venom in his eyes and continued on with the mother of all fits. I sat, watching him, watching the minutes tick by. Wondering how in the world I'd become someone with this kind of patience, because it is certainly not a virtue I've ever been good at.

Finally, twelve minutes later, he crawled over into my lap, and I wiped all the tears and snot away, and just hugged him. I hugged him long and I hugged him hard. So thankful to have a sweet boy who knew he had the ability to express his emotions and felt safe enough to do so.

"I love you so much," I murmured. Then I told him, "I know you're really frustrated that you can't play on Momma's computer. You can play on yours though. Or we can play on something else."

He asked to nurse instead and I cradled the sweetest little boy I've ever known.

It's not easy. At all. Sometimes I want to scream and cry right along with my children. Sometimes I want to walk away or hush them up.

But I don't.

At the end of the day I want to have babes that know that their feelings and emotions are valid. However expressed.

Of course I will continue to help them learn to express their emotions in appropriate ways (B also has a biting problem...), but sometimes we just need to scream and cry. Whether we are 20 months or 20 years of 80 years. It doesn't matter. We all do it.

And it's healthy.

I can honestly say I hope I never see my child in the kind of distress he displayed today. It was heart-wrenching to watch. Especially over something that I perceive to be such a silly reason (though is obviously perfectly legitimate to him).

But if he does. I will be there.

Sitting on the floor with tissues. Ears opened and arms extended. Available when needed.

We are on our own learning paths.

I didn't realize it until recently how many people genuinely cannot deal with their beliefs or ideals being challenged. Even if all the facts point in one direction, they'd rather go to their grave claiming the other direction rather than to ever admit that perhaps they were wrong.

I'm wrong a lot. Like, a lot a lot. Every day.

I'm okay with that.

I'm learning and I accept that.

But I like to be challenged.

There are a lot of things, parenting and otherwise, that I don't agree with. And a lot of things I do.

Sometimes because I have good facts and research to sway me one way. Sometimes because I have personal experience. Sometimes because my natural instincts just tell me to go one way regardless.

But for most things, though admittedly not all, I can typically see the other side. Sometimes I can even agree with the other side on certain things, even if I choose a different way.

I didn't realize this isn't how most people see things. That if you have a belief or idea that differs from them than that must mean you hate them and what they do and who they are. Or that you yourself are backwards and uninformed or educated.

Dudes. We are all on our own learning paths. We are all going somewhere different. We have different experiences and thought processes. We can be given the exact same information and come out believing completely different things because our minds work differently.

It's a beautiful thing really.

So don't be so quick to judge someone who has different ideas. Don't believe they're judging you.

They're not.

They're on their own journey. Learning new things. Sharing their information with the world as they come to know it.

And we might learn something one day and interpret in one way, but as time passes and we gain my experience or different knowledge, we might interpret that same previous thing completely differently.

At least that's how my kind works.

But I'm probably also crazy.

Every day is an adventure!

I always envisioned I'd live an exotic and adventurous life. Alone. That I'd join the Peace Corps and I'd save the world, one orphan or human trafficking victim at a time. I'd work to change the laws to help establish better basic human rights worldwide.

Even a mere five years ago I'd have laughed if someone told me my grand adventure would be my family.

And yet here I am, and I can't envision it any differently.

I didn't give up any dreams. I didn't miss out on anything. I have no regrets.

But I have all new dreams. Big and beautiful. In some ways, better dreams.

And I have grand adventures every day with two of the best people I know.

This morning Mr. B decided 5:40am was a great wake up time. I was a bit too tired to argue. After the kids were fed runny eggs and I fit in a work out (and let me tell you, there is nothing cuter than those two trying to copy the work out with me!), we had a family shower (because they'll eventually not loooove to shower with me every single time I make it in there, right?!), we ventured off to the garden store for starter plants.

Last year most of the plants in our garden we grew from seeds, but due to a combination of being ridiculously busy, as well as the crazy weather (though mostly from being busy) we simply never got around to it. But that's okay, because now we totally have a "surprise garden." As in, "Surprise! You had no idea H or B put that plant into your wagon!" So about one half of our plants were chosen by my amazing helpers, who were both very eager to help push and pull the wagon around the garden store and stock it full of green plants.

When we left H told me in the car, "Momma, I just really, really, really need a cake pop." So, you know, she got a cake pop when we made it to Target. B had fallen asleep at this point (that's what happens when you decide to start the day before 6!), but was alert enough to squawk at the possibility of me putting him in the Ergo. So I carried him. All through Target.

Where, other than Miss H's cake pop, I did not get a single thing I went there for. But plenty of stuff I did not go for. Like H's fedora. And a bike helmet for her. And more shampoo for her. You see the trend? H might have a shopping problem. She even tried on 6 pairs of shoes even though I assured her that we were not buying more shoes (so she may have a shoe problem too...).

In the bike aisle she spotted a small skate board. She's been requesting a skate board since last summer. She declared, "This is just my size! I've wanted a skateboard for my whole forever life, Momma! I just need it." I told her we'd talk to papa and maybe in a few weeks. She then saw the scooters and said, "I could get this instead. It has handles. Would that make you feel better, Momma?" At least she's thoughtful.

At home we played in the back yard for a long while...

 

 

 

 

 Until they insisted on going on a bike ride.

 

 

 

  But then they got tired (a half a block later...)

 

So they found some caterpillars to play with while they took a break.

 

 

This caterpillar was a genius. B picked it up in the middle, I was pretty sure he'd crunched it right in half (not like that's happened before...) and the little guy didn't move a wink while B held him. But dude, the second B put him down he moved quicker than I've ever seen a caterpillar haul ass in my life. Smart, smart, little bugger. He was playing dead so B wouldn't kill him.

 



 

 We finally made it to the park. A random woman came up and said to me, "Your children are so beautiful it's sick. Look at them, it's just sick." Definitely the strangest most bizarre "compliment" I've ever heard.

 

 Before leaving the park in the late afternoon they decided to do more caterpillar hunting. H put one of the caterpillars on the rail and climbed up after it. She also collected seven, yes, seven, caterpillars on our walk home. They were crawling in and out of her hands and all over her shirt. She thought it was amazing.

 

She showed me her filthy hands (and clothes and face) and told me, "I'm so dirty I need a bath! When I'm this dirty I know I've had fun!"

 

 

After their bath B was out and snoring like a light. (You see Bunny there behind him? Sniffle.) 

 

And H cuddled for a bit before finally drifting off into slumber land.

 

 

So yes, I'm not living the adventures I had once thought I would. But they're better adventures. For me. They are the ones I'm supposed to be partaking in.

 

Every single day is an adventure. You just have to let it be.



A Mother's Day letter to my babes

My dearest H and B,

Today is Mother's Day.

Papa "snuck" you out of the house early this morning so I could "sleep in." I watched you go from the bathroom window before I indulged in a child-free shower. By the time I was blow drying my hair (a luxury!), H appeared before me, announcing you both had a surprise for me. Two balloons (because, of course, you each had to pick one out) and flowers.

B and Papa were making chocolate chip pancakes for breakfast. B stuck his finger in all my chocolate chips and ate them. I can't blame him. They are the best part.

Today has me reflecting on being a momma. On being your momma. This is my fourth Mother's Day, my second as a momma of two.

Motherhood has changed me. Every single fiber of my being has changed.

When I first began my journey into motherhood I was given a lot of advice. The advice that stuck with me most, and I thought seemed so great at the time, was not to change my life for my children, instead to go about my life and simply include you in it.

Because I once thought this was brilliant advice sums up how much I've changed. How much you have both changed me.

Of course my life must change for my children. I want it to. In order for you both to have the best childhoods I can possibly give you. In order for us to have the type of relationship I would like for us to have.

I did a lot of things that "mainstream" society encouraged me to do. I night weaned sweet H long before either one of us was ready because I was told it was necessary. I fought so hard to get her into her own bed instead of enjoying and cherishing those blessed nights with her. She heard "no" way too much and was subjected to the time-out Nazi for too many months.

But I've changed. I've grown. I've bettered myself because of the two of you. Because of my love for you.

I wasn't the mom I wanted to be, but since breaking all of societies rules and following my own instincts, and yours, I've been becoming the mother I want to be. For you both. And for myself.

I am terribly flawed. I do some things beautifully, other things, not so much. I make mistakes. My temper is still too short. And I still say "no" without thinking much too often.

I am a work in progress each day.

But I promise that I am always working to be better. To be:

A mom who plays with her children. And more so, who is willing to stop cleaning the toilets or folding the laundry, who is willing to put the phone down or step away from the computer, who is willing to make eggs and bacon for dinner in lieu of something that takes longer, whenever my children need me to play.

A mom who gently guides you, but always lets you carve your own path.

A mom who helps you to understand your rights and wrongs, and that it's okay that they might not match up to what society says is right and wrong.

A mom who believes in you. Unconditionally.

A mom who values your friendship.

A mom who is not a dictator, but an equal and a partner whenever possible.

A mom who listens.

A mom who does not judge.

A mom who helps you to see and understand your choices and possibilities in life, but understands that they are your choices and possibilities, and thus only you can decide.

A mom who says "yes" more than "no." And "no" only when it's extremely serious.

A mom who laughs and jokes with you. Who is willing to get dirty and messy and hold your creepy-crawlies.

A mom who dances with you.

A mom who cuddles with you and holds you when you have night mares. A mom who kisses your boo-boos.

A mom who lets you make your own mistakes without ever saying "I told you so."

A mom who carries you when you're sick or tired. Who let's you run ahead when you're eager and energized.

A mom who allows you to believe your own truths.

A mom who extends her hand when you fall down, but understands that sometimes you need and want to stand back up all on your own.

A mom who hugs and kisses you too much. And tells you how much I love and cherish you 4,231,223 times a day.

My sweet H and B, this is only a short list of the momma I am, the momma I wish to be. The momma I am trying each day to be for you.

Some days I will struggle. I am flawed. But every day I will be working hard to be the best me I can be for you both.

Because you both inspire me to be better. You have taught me to trust my instincts and not what society says. You have taught me to stand firm in my convictions and not waiver, even if I'm standing alone. You have taught me to trust myself, and to also trust you. And that is such an amazing gift.

I love you both. More than you will ever understand until you hold your own babes in your arms some day.

I am so honored and proud to be your momma. I am blessed to be your friend.

With all my love,

Momma

It's all about attitude!

It's going to sound a bit lame, but this week definitely makes the top list of one of the best weeks.

Of my life.

Which is a bit crazy, because this week has certainly not been extraordinary.

My kids still don't sleep through the night, so I'm sleep deprived. Maybe even more so than usual because instead of 7pm they've now begun to go to bed at 9pm. Instead of waking at 7am they are now waking at 6am since our sweet new roomie gets up then.

We haven't discovered a magic cure for being 20 months old and 3 years old. So they still, you know, act their ages. Loudly. And in public at times. And of course, always at the most inopportune times.

I don't suddenly have a kick ass six pack or thighs that don't jiggle.

My husband isn't home more often.

My house isn't complete, or even anywhere close to being done. In fact, a sewer line busted and we had to deal with that mess (literally) this week.

My house still looks like a frat party occurred last night. Every day.

And despite all that, this week has been spectacular.

I guess that's all the proof in the world that I'll ever need that it's mind over matter. It's all about your attitude and how you choose to deal with things.

Tuesday morning we woke up and it was absolutely gorgeous out. So we decided to head up to the zoo.

When we went to the Baltimore Zoo last month I'd promised H and B they could ride the carousel at our zoo the next time we made it there. You bet they didn't forget! And H was so happy that she could confidently ride the carousel without Momma hanging onto her.

 

They also needed a train ride. Because that's just necessary if you're at the zoo, of course!

 

 

And some ice cream!

 

 

H was very eager to feed the birds. After witnessing another little girl coax the bird onto her arm, she was determined to do the same. And succeeded! (During this time B was continuously flipping over the bars and desperately trying to "catch" a bird...)

 

And by the end of the day sweet B was tuckered and announced he was going "night-nights" and laid right down.

 

 

Thursday was the Strawberry Shortcake Festival. They were all over that. They feasted on strawberry shortcake for lunch (what!?).

They danced and hunted caterpillars and roly-polies with friends.

And they got some lovin' in with their BFF.

This week B has been all about walks. He'll climb up in his stroller and demand we go. So go we go. Because what else do we have to do? Nothing. That's the beauty of this life, especially when you are fortunate enough to have no other obligations (thanks, J! Obviously, this wouldn't be possible for me without my fantastically amazing and every-doting husband). You can do whatever you want whenever you want, just for the fun of it.

One such walk took us to the grocery store (maybe for some wine...) and the kiddos wanted donuts. Once upon a time I'd have said "no" without question. But I said "yes" and they were in heaven.

B even shared with Duckie.

And here's a photo of my cutest boy just because I love him.

 

 

Then Friday I got some "me" time. Which occurs approximately once every 6-8 months (and should happen more often, because I know J really enjoys that time with the kids). I had brunch with a bunch of friends sans kids. Went to a much-needed chiropractor appointment. Went shopping solo and actually succeeded in finding two pairs of capris and a pair of shorts. Shirts are going to need some help since the style seems to be see-through or belly shirts...and neither really work for me. And I'm not 40 so I refuse to shop in those clothes quite yet. Just because I'm a mom doesn't mean I'm old. Though I will be half way to 50 in less than two weeks. But I'm pretending that's not actually happening....

 

When I got home to my sweet babes, I put Mr. B down for a nap and Miss H and I made banana chocolate chip muffins.

 

H did most of the work.

 

Then the kids wanted to sing "happy birthday" with candles and everything. We each got turns. Several times. And they were thrilled.

 

Can't beat that.

 

 

This week B has developed an awesome attitude (read the sarcasm here). He's gotten more aggressive and dramatic. It's so hard not to laugh when he gives that evil eye when I tell him "gentle hands. Hitting hurts." Or when he throws himself on his knees and buries his face in his kid-sized chair crying because I've told him I cannot allow him to hurt his sister. I don't find his anguish and distress funny at all, but he's pretty dramatic, and yes, it's a bit humorous because I know how honestly he's come by that.

H is my chatterbox. She talks non-stop. All day and all night. About everything. She's awesome and brilliant and so much fun to be around. I really adore 3 thus far.

Jillian Michaels has been kicking my ass this week. But I'm all ready feeling it, so it's proving to be more affective than the Y. I'll take it.

So as I said, nothing extraordinary this week. Not exceptional or spectacular.

Any yet it was all extraordinary and exceptional and spectacular. Because here we all are. Together. Loved. And happy.

And that's all I could ever ask for.

 

The first and the second.

It's funny the difference in emotions and expectations between the first and second child.

With the first pregnancy it is beautiful and glorious. With the second it's just something you gotta do to get the baby and you don't have the time to think about and adore every little kick and movement and marvel in the wonderful being you're growing.

When the first baby is born you're so overjoyed and unable to hand her over for hours. The idea of anyone else touching her makes you want to vomit. With the second you're tired and realize the baby isn't going anywhere. Ever. It's okay if someone else hold him for a minute.

With the first you can't let her cry. Even the woeful tears of her being held by her papa for the whole 30 seconds it takes you to pee break your heart and make you feel like worst mother of the year. With the second you can listen to them cry for five minutes while you take a shower and sing to him and know he's totally going to be okay.

With the first you revel in those first pearly white teeth. With the second you know you're just screwed. Now the biting begins.

With the first you eagerly help her take those first steps, pushing and cheering her into the world of walking. With the second you slyly push them down and trip them hoping to stall them from walking. Because really, you don't want to have to run after another kid. And those buggers are quick.

With the first you only give her organic and homemade foods. Most especially in the beginning. With the second you don't even realize that your child's first food was Wendy's French fries until it dawns on you that he's never eaten another solid food other than it. And then you feel like you should cry, but you really don't even care. He's eating something.

With the first you buy a million adorable outfits and always have a cute and well-dressed baby; changed every time she so much as spits up. With the second you're doing really awesome if he's even in a diaper.

With the first you spend so much time reading and counting and giving her your undivided attention that she speak in full sentences by 18 months and knows her alphabet and can count to 10 and recognize her shapes. With the second you're satisfied that he can verbalize his basic needs. The ABC's will be learned eventually. Right?

It's like you should care, and you do, of course, but realize that none of it matters. They all eat and cry and walk and talk no matter what you do. You can't stop those things from happening. And whether they walk at 9 month or 16 months doesn't matter in the grand scheme of things. Whether they talk at 18 months or 2.5 years only affects your sanity. If they know their shapes or not before they get to geometry class really doesn't matter - they have to learn them then.

The beauty of the second child is that they teach you what really matters. Those little things. The smiles and hugs and kisses and dirty hands and faces. The silly little quirks and their hilarious shenanigans.

The second child teaches you to chill out.

So really, everyone needs a second child.

Just sayin'.

Not another manic Monday

I've always had a really strong desire to control everything around me. The more I learn about myself and being a mom and cause and effect, I'm realizing that this is completely normal and that most people feel this way. Primarily because they never felt like they were in control of anything, much less their own lives, as children.

Because I don't want my kids to grow up feeling OCD about control issues, and because I want them to realize that only they have any control over themselves, which entails being accountable for their words and actions, I've been working really hard as of late to let go of as much control as possible.

"People over things" is my motto. I'm trying to say "yes" as much as humanly possible unless I have a genuinely good reason to say "no."

This doesn't mean I'm being permissive. Don't mistake that for giving my children their freedom. There are still rules and boundaries.

Yes, you can eat dinner outside. No, you may not fling your fork while outside.

Yes, you can take a shower/bath (plug the tub and let the shower run). No, you may not dump water onto the floor.

Yes, you can have cake and turkey for breakfast. No, you cannot eat it in my bed.

Etc., etc.

I'm trying to find that happy median where we are all happy with all the decisions.

And honestly, I've never been less stressed in my life.

A series of events occurred today that would have likely put me in freak-out mode, H in meltdown mode, and B just a mess. And yet we made it all the way to bedtime, sans any naps, with not one single tear or shout from anyone.

So it's working for us.

I've come to the conclusion with food that if it is in our house, it's free game. The kids can eat whatever they want for whatever meal. You want turkey and tres leches cake and blueberry butter on a hamburger bun for breakfast? You got it! And that is exactly what H and B wanted this morning.

They primarily ate while hiding/playing under the kitchen table. I could be down with that. I unloaded the dishwasher while they begged me to "roar" at them so I kept popping my head in to "scare" them.

B wanted to go for a walk. So we went. Then they wanted to play on the walking trail without their shoes. So they played. Typically I'd have hurried them along. But not this time. I just sat down and let them have their fun.

B's really into yoghurt right now. That's all he wanted for lunch. H ate raspberries.

They're still alive even though I didn't prepare them a "complete meal." And the parenting Gods didn't strip me of my momma rights for not following the book to a T. Thank goodness.

And despite it being wet and getting chilly, they wanted to play outside. And climb into the water table. And get their mittens soaked and wear them on their feet. And eat their dinner outside.

So they did.

 

 

 

It feels really good to say "yes." It feels really good to let go of society's rule and norms and just let your kids do what they want and be who they want to be without telling them they need to eat at the table or Ferber says they should be napping now or we're not supposed to climb into the water table, etc., etc.

To think, the very idea of letting go of control seems so much like utter chaos, and yet everyone is happier, there were no tantrums today. Even when H got upset with B she remained calm and oh-so proudly used her words.

I think I'm onto something here. It's working. And like all things, I'm sure it will evolve. More radically. Less radically. Who knows.

I'm just learning as I go.

And this Monday was a lot less manic than last Monday. So I'll say it's a win.