So I've decided to take a break from blogging.
It's been a really awesome journey and learning experience for me, but for now my free time needs to be focused elsewhere.
I've learned a lot in the 18 months I've been blogging. Both as a parent and as a blogger.
I value it all.
I know some people will be a little bummed, especially since I've also deactivated my main Facebook account (mostly due to two friends having private photos shared - one having been made aware photos of her swimming children were being used a pedophilia website -eek! Though J has encouraged me to simply delete every picture and never upload more, and then activate my account again. We will see.) But I know most of you who do ask me things on occasion, have most of personal information. If not, I will leave this blog up for the time being, so feel free to email me through here or leave a comment which will be automatically sent to me.
I sincerely hope you have all enjoyed reading this blog as much as I have enjoyed writing it. And I thank you for embarking on this learning journey with me.
I've learned so much. I hope you have, too!
I do apologize if ever I came off as harsh or judgmental. I'm genuinely not, but I know that sometimes when I became impassioned about something I get caught up in it, and don't always come off as so kind. And for that, I'm sorry. Genuinely.
Parenting isn't a pissing contest. It's isn't something to take score of. There are no extra points handed out. "Supermom" is a myth; and rightly so.
It's a personal journey and experience, and I know sometimes I forget that not everyone knows what I know, when I know it; much like I don't know everything others know when they know it. Hence the learning.
I hope if you took nothing else from this blog you take away gentle and peaceful parenting. Even if you cannot find it within yourself to parent non-punitively, at least do it with empathy and compassion.
Remember that every time you yell or spank your child, you have added a stone to their personal wall, and that wall separates them from you. You might not notice it today, or tomorrow, and perhaps you'll be oblivious to it forever, but your child won't. I guarantee it.
So always choose kindness. Being gentle is not a sign of weakness, it is a sign of strength. Having the ability to show self-control and empathy when you're angry and at your limit is a much stronger show of character than "controlling" your child and "putting them in their place."
And I will let you in on a little secret. We all have the ability to break the cycle. If we dig deep down within ourselves, we all have the ability to be peaceful parents.
I know for me, that is the most important thing I've learned thus far on my learning journey.
Thursday, December 26, 2013
Tuesday, December 24, 2013
I am capable of and confident in homeschooling.
Every time I tell someone we're planning to homeschool (unschool, but shhh!) I always get a million reasons why I shouldn't. Why it's detrimental to them.
There is the typical - "But you're not even qualified to teach, are you!?"
Well, yes, yes I am. I am more qualified to teach my children than any other person in the world is.
If you still view education as something that can only be done in a classroom, by a teacher, then I am only 6 months of student teaching away from being able to be a teacher in our state. That's all I need to get my teaching license here. Which I will never do.
But seriously, people were educating their own children in their homes looooong before any government busybody ever decided kids should be taken from their homes and educated by strangers. I can do it. You can do it. I am the expert on my child. I know what makes B tick. I know how best to encourage H. I am highly motivated to help my children because I want them to succeed. I don't need any special training, any degree, or any kind of certification. And neither do you. All we need is patience, love, and a never-ending desire to field questions and seek answers.
It's so much simpler than most people think. Not half as complicated as I make it out to be in my head some days.
I'm still undoubtedly caught in that place, on occasion, of knowing what I want for my children - a child-lead education where I provide them with new materials and options, but don't force them to do busy schoolwork - but still have that little tick in the back of my head that says, "but education comes from workbooks. Duh! They should be bored doing mundane work, not hands-on, valuable learning."
Obviously that annoying little tick doesn't win out. Because I have J on my team, too. And he helps to set me straight because we want our kids to be so much better than us. To have a better education. A hands-on, real-life education. They deserve it. And they are definitely worth all the time and energy it takes.
Because it would be easy to send them to school, let them sit in a classroom every day, "learn" what someone else says they need to know, but it takes a lot more patience and hard work to be with them every day. Helping, guiding, listening to them. Exploring the world with them. Learning right along with them while they delve into a world of learning that they love and that truly interests them.
I mean. I hear people say, they suck at spelling. Their grammar is poor. They can't figure out what "x" equals. They have little grasp of biology, chemistry, or physics. They're ignorant of basic economics. They don't know a noun from a verb, let alone an adjective. Or an adverb. Yikes!
Then they say, "I can't possibly homeschool my child. I'm not smart enough."
So, seriously, the solution is to send your children to the very same place that failed to teach these skills to you?
I can find "x" most of the time. I don't know anything in the science department. I remember making candy canes in chemistry and ice cream in physics. I have no idea how the ice cream came into play in physics...I made cookies in Health class so I didn't have to take a test. Makes complete sense. The only thing I remember from Economics class is "There is no such thing as a free lunch."
And that's all just high school.
College was the same. I never went to class. I rarely did the readings. I took the tests and passed with flying colors. I wrote 12 page essays over books I'd never read, simply flipped through and pulled out a handful of quotes to bedazzle the paper with. I never got a grade lower than a A- in an English or History class. I took three different foreign languages, and passed them all with flying colors. I can speak precisely one language. English.
But I digress.
Aside from not being able to properly educate my children, I often hear people lament that they will not be properly socialized. Well, first, you socialize dogs. You educate children. And unless you keep your kids locked in a closet, they will naturally be socialized.
"If kids don't go to school, how will they become socialized?"
First, the brand of socialization children learn in school is hardly virtuous. They learn to bully others and to accept being bullied themselves. They learn to fit in or they become outcasts. They learn to conform and obey or they're labeled as troublemakers.
But even if this type of socialization was a worthy goal for a child, what do the teachers always tell the students?
"You're not here to socialize!"
So really, they need school to socialize? I think not.
I know that J and I are both capable of home educating our children. I know our children will be far better for it.
Maybe they won't fit into the ideals of others. I'm sure I'll still have to fight off the ideas of education that have been indoctrinated into me from a very early age at times; like if B isn't reading by the time he's 6 or they don't do multiplication by 7 when I learned it.
But seeing as they're currently "ahead" of their peers in most areas, I don't worry. H reads and writes. She's not yet four. B counts to 10 (in Spanish only, we're working on it in English). He recognizes some of his letters, which is apparently what you learn in kindergarten anyway. No formal schooling necessary for these things.
Academically, the way school does things, H would be an awesome student. She loves that kind of stuff and learns everything like a sponge. B is more laid back. I don't think he'll ever ask to work in a workbook "for fun" like H. I highly doubt he'll be reading at 3.5 And that's okay! Because I have zero doubt that he will learn what he needs to know, when he needs to know it, in the best method that suits his learning needs. Just like his sister.
So maybe H & B won't be able pinpointIstanbul
But they do and will understand that they own their own bodies. They know an adult nor peer has any right to do something to them without their consent. They will know that authority figures do not always have their best interests at heart. They do and will refuse to accept asinine answers like, "because I said so." They will not resort to aggression and bullying when elementary-aged, but will know that all people should be treated kindly and with empathy. I will never fear that they will be unkind when my back is turned and there is no one there to watch and mandate a certain behavior from them.
J and I read to them a lot. We answer their questions honestly, even when they make us bite our lips and look at each other cross-eyed because we have no idea how someone so young can come to question these things all ready. We expose them to new ideas. We expose them to ideas we don't necessarily agree with, but want them to have the ability to decide for themselves. H and B thrive on this and make fantastic leaps in reasoning, forming complex theories and ideas we would have never dreamed possible. And if this is what they can do now, at 2 and 3.5, the sky is the limit, baby. There is so much possibility for them if we don't force them into conformity with everyone else their own age.
I have no doubt they will eventually learn geography, history, and multiplication (and not because someone threatens them with missing out on a field trip so they give up all recesses to memorize the times table for a week - true story!). They will learn those things when they're ready. But first, they are learning to think. Which is something so few people can do for themselves in this day and age. Creating this environment, allowing them to create and explore and form their own conclusions, has placed them on a course to control their own lives.
There is the typical - "But you're not even qualified to teach, are you!?"
Well, yes, yes I am. I am more qualified to teach my children than any other person in the world is.
If you still view education as something that can only be done in a classroom, by a teacher, then I am only 6 months of student teaching away from being able to be a teacher in our state. That's all I need to get my teaching license here. Which I will never do.
But seriously, people were educating their own children in their homes looooong before any government busybody ever decided kids should be taken from their homes and educated by strangers. I can do it. You can do it. I am the expert on my child. I know what makes B tick. I know how best to encourage H. I am highly motivated to help my children because I want them to succeed. I don't need any special training, any degree, or any kind of certification. And neither do you. All we need is patience, love, and a never-ending desire to field questions and seek answers.
It's so much simpler than most people think. Not half as complicated as I make it out to be in my head some days.
I'm still undoubtedly caught in that place, on occasion, of knowing what I want for my children - a child-lead education where I provide them with new materials and options, but don't force them to do busy schoolwork - but still have that little tick in the back of my head that says, "but education comes from workbooks. Duh! They should be bored doing mundane work, not hands-on, valuable learning."
Obviously that annoying little tick doesn't win out. Because I have J on my team, too. And he helps to set me straight because we want our kids to be so much better than us. To have a better education. A hands-on, real-life education. They deserve it. And they are definitely worth all the time and energy it takes.
Because it would be easy to send them to school, let them sit in a classroom every day, "learn" what someone else says they need to know, but it takes a lot more patience and hard work to be with them every day. Helping, guiding, listening to them. Exploring the world with them. Learning right along with them while they delve into a world of learning that they love and that truly interests them.
I mean. I hear people say, they suck at spelling. Their grammar is poor. They can't figure out what "x" equals. They have little grasp of biology, chemistry, or physics. They're ignorant of basic economics. They don't know a noun from a verb, let alone an adjective. Or an adverb. Yikes!
Then they say, "I can't possibly homeschool my child. I'm not smart enough."
So, seriously, the solution is to send your children to the very same place that failed to teach these skills to you?
I can find "x" most of the time. I don't know anything in the science department. I remember making candy canes in chemistry and ice cream in physics. I have no idea how the ice cream came into play in physics...I made cookies in Health class so I didn't have to take a test. Makes complete sense. The only thing I remember from Economics class is "There is no such thing as a free lunch."
And that's all just high school.
College was the same. I never went to class. I rarely did the readings. I took the tests and passed with flying colors. I wrote 12 page essays over books I'd never read, simply flipped through and pulled out a handful of quotes to bedazzle the paper with. I never got a grade lower than a A- in an English or History class. I took three different foreign languages, and passed them all with flying colors. I can speak precisely one language. English.
But I digress.
Aside from not being able to properly educate my children, I often hear people lament that they will not be properly socialized. Well, first, you socialize dogs. You educate children. And unless you keep your kids locked in a closet, they will naturally be socialized.
"If kids don't go to school, how will they become socialized?"
First, the brand of socialization children learn in school is hardly virtuous. They learn to bully others and to accept being bullied themselves. They learn to fit in or they become outcasts. They learn to conform and obey or they're labeled as troublemakers.
But even if this type of socialization was a worthy goal for a child, what do the teachers always tell the students?
"You're not here to socialize!"
So really, they need school to socialize? I think not.
I know that J and I are both capable of home educating our children. I know our children will be far better for it.
Maybe they won't fit into the ideals of others. I'm sure I'll still have to fight off the ideas of education that have been indoctrinated into me from a very early age at times; like if B isn't reading by the time he's 6 or they don't do multiplication by 7 when I learned it.
But seeing as they're currently "ahead" of their peers in most areas, I don't worry. H reads and writes. She's not yet four. B counts to 10 (in Spanish only, we're working on it in English). He recognizes some of his letters, which is apparently what you learn in kindergarten anyway. No formal schooling necessary for these things.
Academically, the way school does things, H would be an awesome student. She loves that kind of stuff and learns everything like a sponge. B is more laid back. I don't think he'll ever ask to work in a workbook "for fun" like H. I highly doubt he'll be reading at 3.5 And that's okay! Because I have zero doubt that he will learn what he needs to know, when he needs to know it, in the best method that suits his learning needs. Just like his sister.
So maybe H & B won't be able pinpoint
But they do and will understand that they own their own bodies. They know an adult nor peer has any right to do something to them without their consent. They will know that authority figures do not always have their best interests at heart. They do and will refuse to accept asinine answers like, "because I said so." They will not resort to aggression and bullying when elementary-aged, but will know that all people should be treated kindly and with empathy. I will never fear that they will be unkind when my back is turned and there is no one there to watch and mandate a certain behavior from them.
J and I read to them a lot. We answer their questions honestly, even when they make us bite our lips and look at each other cross-eyed because we have no idea how someone so young can come to question these things all ready. We expose them to new ideas. We expose them to ideas we don't necessarily agree with, but want them to have the ability to decide for themselves. H and B thrive on this and make fantastic leaps in reasoning, forming complex theories and ideas we would have never dreamed possible. And if this is what they can do now, at 2 and 3.5, the sky is the limit, baby. There is so much possibility for them if we don't force them into conformity with everyone else their own age.
I have no doubt they will eventually learn geography, history, and multiplication (and not because someone threatens them with missing out on a field trip so they give up all recesses to memorize the times table for a week - true story!). They will learn those things when they're ready. But first, they are learning to think. Which is something so few people can do for themselves in this day and age. Creating this environment, allowing them to create and explore and form their own conclusions, has placed them on a course to control their own lives.
And what could be better than that?
So am I worried about my ability to teach them? No, not at all.
Do I fear they will not get socialization? Not even a bit.
Do I fear they won't learn everything that other kids their ages will in school? No, because most of those kids aren't really learning those things either.
I have different ideas for my kids than a lot of people. Fortunately, I have J who believes in and wants these different things, too. So it's no so scary to be the lone ranger, walking an unpaved path with the little people who mean the most in the world to me.
School isn't the devil. I'd never say that. But I do think there is better. That there are better ways.
And my kids are worth that extra mile. They are worth taking the walk down the foreign path, even if we're walking it alone.
Monday, December 23, 2013
"Discipline is always about teaching the right, not punishing the wrong."
I've meant to sit down and blog about a million different things the past few days, but then I would get busy with something else and it never seemed to happen.
Well, I read something the other day. Something I all ready believed in, but really clicked for me.
I've always spouted that discipline and punishment are not synonymous. Discipline is "to guide or to teach" while punish is "to subject to pain, loss, confinement, death, etc., as a penalty for some offense, transgression, or fault." Yeah, and I'm definitely on the bandwagon that anything that has the words "pain, loss, confinement" or most especially "death" in their definition is definitely something I don't ever want to inflict on my child. But that's just me.
Then I read somewhere: "Discipline is always about teaching the right, not punishing the wrong." Which is obviously what I believe in, but put way more eloquently than I ever have. And I think it seems way more friendlier.
J and I were talking about this the other evening, as we both vehemently believe in that statement and a very peaceful and gentle way of parenting.
But anyone who does parent peacefully, especially beyond infancy, knows that it is certainly challenging sometimes.
It's completely easy to love on a baby all day and all night. To carry them and rock them and feed them on demand and not purposefully let them cry. Toddlers, preschoolers, and beyond...yeah, that's a different story.
Because they're their own people with personalities and opinions and if not raised to be afraid to share those with you - the certainly will! And a lot of times it brings a lot of laughs and more entertainment and insightfulness than you can imagine. Other times...yeah, not so much.
When you're 3.5 year old screams at you in the face, it takes sooooo much not scream right back. To just use a calm and respectful voice, or sometimes to walk away.
When you're 2 year old is repeatedly hitting everyone and everything in sight, it's hard not to go bonkers and to keep repeating, "Gentle hands. Mommy doesn't hit you, we don't hit other people. What's a kind way to use our hands? Let's go calm down and read a book instead." Especially when as soon as they get down to play, they're hitting again. It's frustrating.
Well, J said to me, while we were discussing what it meant to teach right and not punish wrong that we do punish the wrong.
"No, no, no," I declared. Then I pursed my lips and said, "I guess it depends on what you believe. When B hits we don't put him in time-out. We do get on his level and explain hitting isn't okay and if he continues to hit we'll have to go calm down, or if he's using an object inappropriately to hit someone/thing it will have to put away until it can be used safely."
"Isn't that punishment?" He asked.
I shrugged. I don't know, I guess. I don't take toys away to make my children behave. I do put things away if they're being used unsafely. And I always explain why the toy needs a break. I don't do it angrily. I don't yell or make my children feel bad about it. I immediately find something else for us to do together that is safe and fun.
Well, what about when H is put in her room?
I was a bit stumped.
H is a lot like me in some ways. She needs time alone to unwind and get herself into sorts. Oftentimes she will take herself away to the calm down nook or simply to another room or her own room to calm down. But on occasion when she's in epic freak-out mode and me being with her isn't going to help the situation, I do put her in her room. Again, it's not done angrily or as punishment, but maybe it can be seen that way? I just tell her that she is safe in her room and free to play. When she feels better and is more calm she can join us again and we will talk about what is going on.
I don't lock her in her room or somehow force her to stay. I just put her there and she stays out of her own choice because she knows it's the best way for her to calm down. She always tells me why she was melting down and typically gives me a way to better handle whatever scenario lead top the moment without me even prompting.
So punishment?
I guess if you really wanted to stretch things, you could say yes.
But I still say no.
As their mother and as an adult it is my job to keep everyone in this house safe. If that means removing harmful objects from little hands, than so it be. It is also my job to help my children grow emotionally, and if that means helping to remind a tiny girl of where she best re-composes herself so that she's in a state to actually be able to think, then okay.
But I don't impose arbitrary consequences. Yes, natural ones occur all the time. They leave the caps off the markers after I asked them to pick them up, offered to help them, and told them what would happen if they left the caps off? Yes, they may be short a few markers. But I didn't get mad and throw all the markers away or put them in time-out for not listening to me or anything else. I explained the situation and the outcome, they made a decision.
But I do believe in teaching the right. So although I ask my kids to pick up their toys, I don't sit back and watch them. I help them. Usually we make a game of it. H picks up the dress up clothes while B gets the blocks and Momma gets the play food or something. Although H pretty much always does her part, B doesn't always. But that doesn't mean I stop and punish or threaten. I just keep picking up my part. Because the more and more he watches me do my part, the more often he does his because he sees that mommy doesn't stop, even if he does.
Although B hits, a lot, I don't hit him back. What would that teach? That teaching is okay, of course! If you're bigger, anyway. And if my children ever think it's okay for their momma or papa to hit them - the two people who are supposed to love them most in this world and protect them - then we shouldn't be surprised when they end up in abusive relationships. Because we just taught them hitting = love. I don't want to send that message. Ever.
Instead, I just keep on loving B. I will tell him hitting hurts until I'm blue in the face. I will show him gentle ways to use his hands. I will ask him to look at his sad sister. Together we will ask her if she's okay. And now he always asks her if he can give her a hug and make her better. And 85% of the time he tells her he's sorry (because I would never force him to say this. If he's not sorry and says he is, then I've just prompted my child to lie. No way).
H will probably yell at me when her emotions get overwhelming and have a sassy little know-it-all mouth like her momma for the next 10-20 years. Okay, I'm sure she'll eventually stop yelling at me. Not so sure she'll ever not be a know-it-all. Regardless, I will just keep being calm. Using a gentle voice. Firm when needed. I will continue modeling healthy ways of dealing with her emotions. And because I see how well she has all ready learned to slowly manage herself, I know it will pay off. Slowly, but surely, she will be able to handle her emotions in a safe, healthy manner. Which wouldn't happen if I yelled at her every time she made me mad. Because then I'd just teach her that yelling is okay. And it's not. Everyone needs to let their anger out. But in a healthy manner. Yelling at other people is not healthy.
So yes, I so strongly believe that "Discipline is always about teaching the right, not punishing the wrong." I think it may be my most favorite quote ever to summarize my strong belief. Because it's said truthfully, kindly, and straight to the point.
And although many will likely never agree, I know that my children do not ever need to be subject to pain, loss, or confinement to learn what is right. They will be good people because they are taught love and tolerance. Which is proven to be better than pain on any given day.
Well, I read something the other day. Something I all ready believed in, but really clicked for me.
I've always spouted that discipline and punishment are not synonymous. Discipline is "to guide or to teach" while punish is "to subject to pain, loss, confinement, death, etc., as a penalty for some offense, transgression, or fault." Yeah, and I'm definitely on the bandwagon that anything that has the words "pain, loss, confinement" or most especially "death" in their definition is definitely something I don't ever want to inflict on my child. But that's just me.
Then I read somewhere: "Discipline is always about teaching the right, not punishing the wrong." Which is obviously what I believe in, but put way more eloquently than I ever have. And I think it seems way more friendlier.
J and I were talking about this the other evening, as we both vehemently believe in that statement and a very peaceful and gentle way of parenting.
But anyone who does parent peacefully, especially beyond infancy, knows that it is certainly challenging sometimes.
It's completely easy to love on a baby all day and all night. To carry them and rock them and feed them on demand and not purposefully let them cry. Toddlers, preschoolers, and beyond...yeah, that's a different story.
Because they're their own people with personalities and opinions and if not raised to be afraid to share those with you - the certainly will! And a lot of times it brings a lot of laughs and more entertainment and insightfulness than you can imagine. Other times...yeah, not so much.
When you're 3.5 year old screams at you in the face, it takes sooooo much not scream right back. To just use a calm and respectful voice, or sometimes to walk away.
When you're 2 year old is repeatedly hitting everyone and everything in sight, it's hard not to go bonkers and to keep repeating, "Gentle hands. Mommy doesn't hit you, we don't hit other people. What's a kind way to use our hands? Let's go calm down and read a book instead." Especially when as soon as they get down to play, they're hitting again. It's frustrating.
Well, J said to me, while we were discussing what it meant to teach right and not punish wrong that we do punish the wrong.
"No, no, no," I declared. Then I pursed my lips and said, "I guess it depends on what you believe. When B hits we don't put him in time-out. We do get on his level and explain hitting isn't okay and if he continues to hit we'll have to go calm down, or if he's using an object inappropriately to hit someone/thing it will have to put away until it can be used safely."
"Isn't that punishment?" He asked.
I shrugged. I don't know, I guess. I don't take toys away to make my children behave. I do put things away if they're being used unsafely. And I always explain why the toy needs a break. I don't do it angrily. I don't yell or make my children feel bad about it. I immediately find something else for us to do together that is safe and fun.
Well, what about when H is put in her room?
I was a bit stumped.
H is a lot like me in some ways. She needs time alone to unwind and get herself into sorts. Oftentimes she will take herself away to the calm down nook or simply to another room or her own room to calm down. But on occasion when she's in epic freak-out mode and me being with her isn't going to help the situation, I do put her in her room. Again, it's not done angrily or as punishment, but maybe it can be seen that way? I just tell her that she is safe in her room and free to play. When she feels better and is more calm she can join us again and we will talk about what is going on.
I don't lock her in her room or somehow force her to stay. I just put her there and she stays out of her own choice because she knows it's the best way for her to calm down. She always tells me why she was melting down and typically gives me a way to better handle whatever scenario lead top the moment without me even prompting.
So punishment?
I guess if you really wanted to stretch things, you could say yes.
But I still say no.
As their mother and as an adult it is my job to keep everyone in this house safe. If that means removing harmful objects from little hands, than so it be. It is also my job to help my children grow emotionally, and if that means helping to remind a tiny girl of where she best re-composes herself so that she's in a state to actually be able to think, then okay.
But I don't impose arbitrary consequences. Yes, natural ones occur all the time. They leave the caps off the markers after I asked them to pick them up, offered to help them, and told them what would happen if they left the caps off? Yes, they may be short a few markers. But I didn't get mad and throw all the markers away or put them in time-out for not listening to me or anything else. I explained the situation and the outcome, they made a decision.
But I do believe in teaching the right. So although I ask my kids to pick up their toys, I don't sit back and watch them. I help them. Usually we make a game of it. H picks up the dress up clothes while B gets the blocks and Momma gets the play food or something. Although H pretty much always does her part, B doesn't always. But that doesn't mean I stop and punish or threaten. I just keep picking up my part. Because the more and more he watches me do my part, the more often he does his because he sees that mommy doesn't stop, even if he does.
Although B hits, a lot, I don't hit him back. What would that teach? That teaching is okay, of course! If you're bigger, anyway. And if my children ever think it's okay for their momma or papa to hit them - the two people who are supposed to love them most in this world and protect them - then we shouldn't be surprised when they end up in abusive relationships. Because we just taught them hitting = love. I don't want to send that message. Ever.
Instead, I just keep on loving B. I will tell him hitting hurts until I'm blue in the face. I will show him gentle ways to use his hands. I will ask him to look at his sad sister. Together we will ask her if she's okay. And now he always asks her if he can give her a hug and make her better. And 85% of the time he tells her he's sorry (because I would never force him to say this. If he's not sorry and says he is, then I've just prompted my child to lie. No way).
H will probably yell at me when her emotions get overwhelming and have a sassy little know-it-all mouth like her momma for the next 10-20 years. Okay, I'm sure she'll eventually stop yelling at me. Not so sure she'll ever not be a know-it-all. Regardless, I will just keep being calm. Using a gentle voice. Firm when needed. I will continue modeling healthy ways of dealing with her emotions. And because I see how well she has all ready learned to slowly manage herself, I know it will pay off. Slowly, but surely, she will be able to handle her emotions in a safe, healthy manner. Which wouldn't happen if I yelled at her every time she made me mad. Because then I'd just teach her that yelling is okay. And it's not. Everyone needs to let their anger out. But in a healthy manner. Yelling at other people is not healthy.
So yes, I so strongly believe that "Discipline is always about teaching the right, not punishing the wrong." I think it may be my most favorite quote ever to summarize my strong belief. Because it's said truthfully, kindly, and straight to the point.
And although many will likely never agree, I know that my children do not ever need to be subject to pain, loss, or confinement to learn what is right. They will be good people because they are taught love and tolerance. Which is proven to be better than pain on any given day.
Wednesday, December 18, 2013
Asshole parenting
***Disclaimer: There is some a decent amount of swearing in this post. I'm still seething. If swearing offends you, this probably isn't the post for you (which you probably all ready got by the title). ***
I have a whole lot of people in my life who I like. People with vastly different personalities from myself; people who if are parents almost all parent very differently from me. And yet I still like them all.
I don't typically find any of them to be assholes, nor do I have the overwhelming urge to hit them.
Why can't all people be like that?
Seriously.
I'm probably one of those people who just shouldn't leave her house. Ever.
Because when I get thrust into totally chaotic public situations (like the Children's Museum, for example), I tend to want to vomit.
And not because there are so many people - but because there are so many people who are assholes and I want to hit.
Obviously, I don't hit them. If I did, I couldn't say to my children when they're being aggressive, "Momma doesn't hit, does she? Let's use gentle hands." Though I admit, I really, really do want to hit them.
Today I had my limit with people I don't know and can't stand.
It all started when we stood in line to see Santa at the Children's Museum.
The lady in line directly behind us kept screeching, "Mason Alexander, stop that! Mason Alexander, don't touch the rope! Mason Alexander, pay attention to the line!"
I thought I was at my limit of all the screeching I could take. I can only imagine how that poor 6 or 7 year old boy felt. Then I heard, "Mason Alexander, we are not here to play! I'm going to tell Santa and now you won't have any Christmas. Hope you're happy now!"
It took every fiber in my being not to whirl around and say, "Dude, we're in a children's museum. For children to play. The likelihood of you actually cancelling Christmas is like .000001%, so that's an empty threat. No wonder you're kid could give a fuck-shit about what you say. And threatening him with Santa and blaming him for the loss of Christmas due to being a child is not going to help him feel better and want to do better. And lastly, if you stopped freaking screeching and nit-picking every little thing, maybe he'd have some respect for you and actually want to listen."
But don't worry, I held myself together. I said none of that. But I vehemently texted some friends so that I didn't.
When she said to me, however, upon noticing B's amber necklace, "Oh, does that amber necklace really help with the grouchiness and fussiness of teething pain?" (Did I mention she had a 2 year old girl and infant as well?) I replied with, "Honestly, I have no idea. I just think it's cute. I do know that holding and loving my kids and speaking kind, gentle, soothing words, while showering them in love and compassion really seems to help them with any kind of pain, physical or otherwise."
She gave me a fake smile and didn't speak to me again.
I don't care. We were so not going to be BFFs anyway.
Then, I had the awesomeness of witnessing a kindergarten class that was there on a field trip, right in front of us in line. The teacher announced, "We are all going to stand by Santa so I can take a picture. We are not going to fight or push so that we can be the one next to him. Pick a spot and sit. Except for Anna. She's been too naughty and doesn't get to see Santa, so you get to stand on the side while we take the photo."
Immediately, obviously, the girl burst into tears. The teacher snapped, "And if you find it necessary to cry because you don't know how to be a good girl, then you can sit out of our Christmas party tomorrow."
I watched that little girl bite her lower lip wipe the tears off her face, forcing herself to soldier on. My heart freaking broke.
I have no idea what Anna did that was so "naughty," but whatever it was, it wasn't while they were in line. And wasn't worthy of being punished and humiliated like that.
And Jesus Christ, I dare someone to speak to my child like that. To treat a child of mine like that. Especially a teacher. I promise, I don't really care how hard being a teacher to 25 kindergartners is, you publicly humiliate and punish my child like that, you wouldn't be allowed to teacher in any of the 50 states by the time I was through. Just sayin'.
After we saw Santa, of whom B wanted nothing to do with, and H happily posed with and chattered away telling him how she'd like a Princess Sofia Talking Castle with Sofia's family (someone might have the best aunt and uncle in the world, because no one knew that this was the one and only thing in the world that she wanted until after they had purchased it for her for Christmas. So score for them!), I got to listen to the wonderful lady behind us with poor Mason Alexander screech, "For God sakes, Chloe (the 2 year old), sit on Santa's lap and stop crying so I can get a picture for Grandma. She won't give you any presents if she doesn't have a nice picture of you on Santa's lap."
If that's true, Grandma's Satan.
Because it's very likely not true (though a strong possibility if it's the mom's mother), that's another empty threat. And forcing your child to sit on a strange old man's lap is so many levels of creepy. Thank GOD this lady and I were not BFFs. It would be so awkward after today, that's all I'm sayin'.
As H & B played on the snow castle, I plopped a seat near a kid tunnel and took a few pictures of H & B and just mostly watched them do their thing. Suddenly a mom, not much older than me, but totally more fashionable, yelled, "Stop, Gretta! It's time to go."
This little tiny brunette of a thing, that looked a bit younger than B started to dart into the tunnel beside me as the mom reached down and grabbed her hair and pulled her back out - by the hair.
The girl wailed on the floor beside me.
"Wow, that must have really hurt. I'm sorry," I said to the kid.
The mother raised her eyebrows at me, but said nothing. "Gretta, if you hadn't of run I wouldn't have had to do that to you. If you just listened things like that wouldn't have to happen."
I'm sincerely terrified about what happens behind closed doors for that little girl. Just thinking about it make me sick to my stomach.
I know that not everyone believes in non-punitive parenting. That's fine. I don't really think any of my mom friends practice it, but I adore them nonetheless and think they're freaking stellar.
But for Christ sakes, asshole parenting is not okay. There is no justification for it. Just none.
Anyone who could treat a child, especially their own, a babe grown in their own womb, who has their own blood pumping through their veins, the way these ladies did today, shouldn't be around children. Period.
We all have bad days. I 110% understand that. I'm far from perfect. I come up short more days than I'd like. I speak a little too curtly sometimes. I sigh a bit too heavily and clench my teeth more often than I should. On occasion I've even scooped up tantruming children and forcibly removed them from the situation so other people wouldn't be subjected to them, disregarding the needs for my own child to resolve the issue at that very moment.
I'm not perfect. Holidays plus children's museum equals high stress situation. It's totally normal for everyone to be on edge.
I get it.
But to screech empty threat after empty threat, to publicly humiliate a small child, to get physical with a toddler who is still practically a baby, and not with a swift swat to the bottom that although I totally disagree with, at least isn't seen as downright abuse, I don't get. There is no excuse.
At all.
It's lazy, asshole parenting.
I loathe when people say, "The children of this generation are the worst yet..." (And they've been saying this for HUNDREDS of years, so I totally realize it's bull-cocky). Children learn from example. So maybe the parents should be examining themselves. I guarantee you that Mason Alexander screeches at other people who don't snap-to the second he says something. I bet little Anna is all ready working on that stone wall around her emotions, that is ever-so difficult, if not nearly impossible, to break down later in life, because she all ready knows that her feelings don't matter. Only "being good" does. And she's going to have a hell of time ever being able to deal with other people who do have visible emotions. And little Gretta, God help her. And her future children. Because that cycle is a vicious one to break.
I don't care how people want to parent. I mean, I do. Because I think if we all parented children in a non-punitive, compassionate, patient manner we could change the whole world - imagine if everyone was empathetic and not out for themselves? Imagine if everyone did the right and "good" thing simply because they wanted to - not because they were out for a reward or because they were afraid something bad would happen to them? We'd change the world for the better. It'd be a Utopia instead of the Dystopia we are quickly headed towards. But I digress...
I don't care how people want to parent: time-outs, rewards/punishments, threats, etc. I do get why people use those methods because although they are terrible for long-term behaviors, they're great for parents who need immediate gratification. And so long as you're not truly harming your kid, have at it.
But if you want to parent like an asshole...well, that's not cool. I really want to help give you better resources, because you and your kid both deserve better. But in the meantime, can you at least pretend to not be an asshole parent in public, because that shit really gets to me on an emotional and momma bear level. I just can't handle it. And if it hurts me, I cannot even imagine being the child.
So choose a parenting style. Any parenting style. Just not asshole parenting.
Please.
I have a whole lot of people in my life who I like. People with vastly different personalities from myself; people who if are parents almost all parent very differently from me. And yet I still like them all.
I don't typically find any of them to be assholes, nor do I have the overwhelming urge to hit them.
Why can't all people be like that?
Seriously.
I'm probably one of those people who just shouldn't leave her house. Ever.
Because when I get thrust into totally chaotic public situations (like the Children's Museum, for example), I tend to want to vomit.
And not because there are so many people - but because there are so many people who are assholes and I want to hit.
Obviously, I don't hit them. If I did, I couldn't say to my children when they're being aggressive, "Momma doesn't hit, does she? Let's use gentle hands." Though I admit, I really, really do want to hit them.
Today I had my limit with people I don't know and can't stand.
It all started when we stood in line to see Santa at the Children's Museum.
The lady in line directly behind us kept screeching, "Mason Alexander, stop that! Mason Alexander, don't touch the rope! Mason Alexander, pay attention to the line!"
I thought I was at my limit of all the screeching I could take. I can only imagine how that poor 6 or 7 year old boy felt. Then I heard, "Mason Alexander, we are not here to play! I'm going to tell Santa and now you won't have any Christmas. Hope you're happy now!"
It took every fiber in my being not to whirl around and say, "Dude, we're in a children's museum. For children to play. The likelihood of you actually cancelling Christmas is like .000001%, so that's an empty threat. No wonder you're kid could give a fuck-shit about what you say. And threatening him with Santa and blaming him for the loss of Christmas due to being a child is not going to help him feel better and want to do better. And lastly, if you stopped freaking screeching and nit-picking every little thing, maybe he'd have some respect for you and actually want to listen."
But don't worry, I held myself together. I said none of that. But I vehemently texted some friends so that I didn't.
When she said to me, however, upon noticing B's amber necklace, "Oh, does that amber necklace really help with the grouchiness and fussiness of teething pain?" (Did I mention she had a 2 year old girl and infant as well?) I replied with, "Honestly, I have no idea. I just think it's cute. I do know that holding and loving my kids and speaking kind, gentle, soothing words, while showering them in love and compassion really seems to help them with any kind of pain, physical or otherwise."
She gave me a fake smile and didn't speak to me again.
I don't care. We were so not going to be BFFs anyway.
Then, I had the awesomeness of witnessing a kindergarten class that was there on a field trip, right in front of us in line. The teacher announced, "We are all going to stand by Santa so I can take a picture. We are not going to fight or push so that we can be the one next to him. Pick a spot and sit. Except for Anna. She's been too naughty and doesn't get to see Santa, so you get to stand on the side while we take the photo."
Immediately, obviously, the girl burst into tears. The teacher snapped, "And if you find it necessary to cry because you don't know how to be a good girl, then you can sit out of our Christmas party tomorrow."
I watched that little girl bite her lower lip wipe the tears off her face, forcing herself to soldier on. My heart freaking broke.
I have no idea what Anna did that was so "naughty," but whatever it was, it wasn't while they were in line. And wasn't worthy of being punished and humiliated like that.
And Jesus Christ, I dare someone to speak to my child like that. To treat a child of mine like that. Especially a teacher. I promise, I don't really care how hard being a teacher to 25 kindergartners is, you publicly humiliate and punish my child like that, you wouldn't be allowed to teacher in any of the 50 states by the time I was through. Just sayin'.
After we saw Santa, of whom B wanted nothing to do with, and H happily posed with and chattered away telling him how she'd like a Princess Sofia Talking Castle with Sofia's family (someone might have the best aunt and uncle in the world, because no one knew that this was the one and only thing in the world that she wanted until after they had purchased it for her for Christmas. So score for them!), I got to listen to the wonderful lady behind us with poor Mason Alexander screech, "For God sakes, Chloe (the 2 year old), sit on Santa's lap and stop crying so I can get a picture for Grandma. She won't give you any presents if she doesn't have a nice picture of you on Santa's lap."
If that's true, Grandma's Satan.
Because it's very likely not true (though a strong possibility if it's the mom's mother), that's another empty threat. And forcing your child to sit on a strange old man's lap is so many levels of creepy. Thank GOD this lady and I were not BFFs. It would be so awkward after today, that's all I'm sayin'.
As H & B played on the snow castle, I plopped a seat near a kid tunnel and took a few pictures of H & B and just mostly watched them do their thing. Suddenly a mom, not much older than me, but totally more fashionable, yelled, "Stop, Gretta! It's time to go."
This little tiny brunette of a thing, that looked a bit younger than B started to dart into the tunnel beside me as the mom reached down and grabbed her hair and pulled her back out - by the hair.
The girl wailed on the floor beside me.
"Wow, that must have really hurt. I'm sorry," I said to the kid.
The mother raised her eyebrows at me, but said nothing. "Gretta, if you hadn't of run I wouldn't have had to do that to you. If you just listened things like that wouldn't have to happen."
I'm sincerely terrified about what happens behind closed doors for that little girl. Just thinking about it make me sick to my stomach.
I know that not everyone believes in non-punitive parenting. That's fine. I don't really think any of my mom friends practice it, but I adore them nonetheless and think they're freaking stellar.
But for Christ sakes, asshole parenting is not okay. There is no justification for it. Just none.
Anyone who could treat a child, especially their own, a babe grown in their own womb, who has their own blood pumping through their veins, the way these ladies did today, shouldn't be around children. Period.
We all have bad days. I 110% understand that. I'm far from perfect. I come up short more days than I'd like. I speak a little too curtly sometimes. I sigh a bit too heavily and clench my teeth more often than I should. On occasion I've even scooped up tantruming children and forcibly removed them from the situation so other people wouldn't be subjected to them, disregarding the needs for my own child to resolve the issue at that very moment.
I'm not perfect. Holidays plus children's museum equals high stress situation. It's totally normal for everyone to be on edge.
I get it.
But to screech empty threat after empty threat, to publicly humiliate a small child, to get physical with a toddler who is still practically a baby, and not with a swift swat to the bottom that although I totally disagree with, at least isn't seen as downright abuse, I don't get. There is no excuse.
At all.
It's lazy, asshole parenting.
I loathe when people say, "The children of this generation are the worst yet..." (And they've been saying this for HUNDREDS of years, so I totally realize it's bull-cocky). Children learn from example. So maybe the parents should be examining themselves. I guarantee you that Mason Alexander screeches at other people who don't snap-to the second he says something. I bet little Anna is all ready working on that stone wall around her emotions, that is ever-so difficult, if not nearly impossible, to break down later in life, because she all ready knows that her feelings don't matter. Only "being good" does. And she's going to have a hell of time ever being able to deal with other people who do have visible emotions. And little Gretta, God help her. And her future children. Because that cycle is a vicious one to break.
I don't care how people want to parent. I mean, I do. Because I think if we all parented children in a non-punitive, compassionate, patient manner we could change the whole world - imagine if everyone was empathetic and not out for themselves? Imagine if everyone did the right and "good" thing simply because they wanted to - not because they were out for a reward or because they were afraid something bad would happen to them? We'd change the world for the better. It'd be a Utopia instead of the Dystopia we are quickly headed towards. But I digress...
I don't care how people want to parent: time-outs, rewards/punishments, threats, etc. I do get why people use those methods because although they are terrible for long-term behaviors, they're great for parents who need immediate gratification. And so long as you're not truly harming your kid, have at it.
But if you want to parent like an asshole...well, that's not cool. I really want to help give you better resources, because you and your kid both deserve better. But in the meantime, can you at least pretend to not be an asshole parent in public, because that shit really gets to me on an emotional and momma bear level. I just can't handle it. And if it hurts me, I cannot even imagine being the child.
So choose a parenting style. Any parenting style. Just not asshole parenting.
Please.
Friday, December 13, 2013
A boy who likes "girl" things. The horror!
Wednesday, after story time at Barnes and Noble, H brought a tiny stuffed penguin over to me and said, while cradling it in her arms, "Momma, if I could just have this little pinguino then I will love it just like my kitty cat that went to Heaven and I won't be so sad."
Well, how can anyone with a heart say no to that?
When I told J the story later he just laughed and said age 16 might be a rough year on our bank account. I will worry about that later. I have bigger issues right now, like the sadness over a dead kitty.
Well, of course, if H got a stuffed animal, B needed one, too.
He picked a stuffed Angelina Ballerina.
I didn't even think twice about it, though was admittedly surprised he didn't pick the dragon he carries around that store all the time. But whatever.
When it was time for us to check out, B was, of course, reluctant to hand over his Angelina that I had just told him was his forever. He's 2. The concept that he will actually get it right back still doesn't quite click for him.
The older cashier smiled and said, "What a stubborn little girl you have there."
I smiled back and replied, "Or a boy."
Her eyes widened. "I just assumed with the long hair and purchasing a girl's toy."
I didn't skip a beat. "Or it's just a toy."
It irks me. Right down to my bones.
People don't tend to think much about a girl with short hair. Or a girl wearing pants or playing with a dump truck. Girls can love blue and dinosaurs and watching and playing football.
But a boy who likes "girl" things. Dear God. The horror!
B's hair isn't even that long. Yet. But I will let it get long. Because I adore long hair on boys. And if or when he decides he doesn't want long hair than cool. He can cut it.
B has a ton of "typical little boy" attributes. The things that people want to cram down your throat because that's what "real boys" do, like, play with, etc.
He loves trains and airplanes. Dinosaurs and super heroes score big in his book. His favorite color is typically blue, but like all little kids, it's subject to change by the second. He loves to play soccer and climb and get dirty. He loves fire engines and "firing" people (his version of a gun, since he doesn't know what one is). He's way more physical and aggressive than his sister.
If he is picking out his own clothes, he picks the cutest things. Suspenders. Bow ties. He often prefers button up dressy-type shirts. With the sleeves rolled. Always with the sleeves rolled. But he also typically wants his jeggings (which, gasp! come from the girls section of the stores).
He loves his ballet classes, maybe even more than H. He carries his baby dolls and now Angelina all over the place and shhh's them when they're crying and rocks them and cuddles them to sleep.
He loves wearing princess dresses and tutus and sparkly shoes. Sometimes, even in public.
And you know what?
I don't care.
And neither does J.
I don't care if my girl does "boy" things or my boy does "girl" things. I don't care what they wear if they're comfortable and happy. I don't care what activities or sports they play, as long as they're playing it because they enjoy it, not to make J or I happy.
And I hate, hate, hate that it is acceptable for girls to be "tomboys" but boys can't be...feminine...in any way?
I hope B is never afraid to cry during a sad movie or at the funeral of someone he loves.
I hope he never conforms to what society says he should play or watch or wear or like.
And although we live in a fairly progressive town, where it's really only the older folks that do a double take at a boy in a tutu, I hope by the time I have grand kids, that no one cares about such petty things. That girls can love princesses and it not be considered degrading. That they can love superheroes and it not be seen unacceptable and "masculine." That boys can be ballerinas without anyone blinking. That they can pirate without being labeled "aggressive."
Kids have the right to be kids. Without anyone, especially ridiculous, opinionated, close-minded adults telling them to "buck up, and be a man" or "sit down and be quiet, you're a lady."
I have two amazing kids. If you wanted to see them as a traditional, stereotypical little boy and girl, you'll find all those attributes there. They're easy to see. If you want to see them as atypical and original, going against the grain of what society says is the "norm", you'll see those qualities, too.
But if you look a little closer, you'll just see a little girl and little boy.
And nothing more.
Well, how can anyone with a heart say no to that?
When I told J the story later he just laughed and said age 16 might be a rough year on our bank account. I will worry about that later. I have bigger issues right now, like the sadness over a dead kitty.
Well, of course, if H got a stuffed animal, B needed one, too.
He picked a stuffed Angelina Ballerina.
I didn't even think twice about it, though was admittedly surprised he didn't pick the dragon he carries around that store all the time. But whatever.
When it was time for us to check out, B was, of course, reluctant to hand over his Angelina that I had just told him was his forever. He's 2. The concept that he will actually get it right back still doesn't quite click for him.
The older cashier smiled and said, "What a stubborn little girl you have there."
I smiled back and replied, "Or a boy."
Her eyes widened. "I just assumed with the long hair and purchasing a girl's toy."
I didn't skip a beat. "Or it's just a toy."
It irks me. Right down to my bones.
People don't tend to think much about a girl with short hair. Or a girl wearing pants or playing with a dump truck. Girls can love blue and dinosaurs and watching and playing football.
But a boy who likes "girl" things. Dear God. The horror!
B's hair isn't even that long. Yet. But I will let it get long. Because I adore long hair on boys. And if or when he decides he doesn't want long hair than cool. He can cut it.
B has a ton of "typical little boy" attributes. The things that people want to cram down your throat because that's what "real boys" do, like, play with, etc.
He loves trains and airplanes. Dinosaurs and super heroes score big in his book. His favorite color is typically blue, but like all little kids, it's subject to change by the second. He loves to play soccer and climb and get dirty. He loves fire engines and "firing" people (his version of a gun, since he doesn't know what one is). He's way more physical and aggressive than his sister.
If he is picking out his own clothes, he picks the cutest things. Suspenders. Bow ties. He often prefers button up dressy-type shirts. With the sleeves rolled. Always with the sleeves rolled. But he also typically wants his jeggings (which, gasp! come from the girls section of the stores).
He loves his ballet classes, maybe even more than H. He carries his baby dolls and now Angelina all over the place and shhh's them when they're crying and rocks them and cuddles them to sleep.
He loves wearing princess dresses and tutus and sparkly shoes. Sometimes, even in public.
And you know what?
I don't care.
And neither does J.
I don't care if my girl does "boy" things or my boy does "girl" things. I don't care what they wear if they're comfortable and happy. I don't care what activities or sports they play, as long as they're playing it because they enjoy it, not to make J or I happy.
And I hate, hate, hate that it is acceptable for girls to be "tomboys" but boys can't be...feminine...in any way?
I hope B is never afraid to cry during a sad movie or at the funeral of someone he loves.
I hope he never conforms to what society says he should play or watch or wear or like.
And although we live in a fairly progressive town, where it's really only the older folks that do a double take at a boy in a tutu, I hope by the time I have grand kids, that no one cares about such petty things. That girls can love princesses and it not be considered degrading. That they can love superheroes and it not be seen unacceptable and "masculine." That boys can be ballerinas without anyone blinking. That they can pirate without being labeled "aggressive."
Kids have the right to be kids. Without anyone, especially ridiculous, opinionated, close-minded adults telling them to "buck up, and be a man" or "sit down and be quiet, you're a lady."
I have two amazing kids. If you wanted to see them as a traditional, stereotypical little boy and girl, you'll find all those attributes there. They're easy to see. If you want to see them as atypical and original, going against the grain of what society says is the "norm", you'll see those qualities, too.
But if you look a little closer, you'll just see a little girl and little boy.
And nothing more.
Wednesday, December 11, 2013
Eye-opening
I think everyone has those eye-opening moments sometimes in life.
One of mine occurred today.
When we are in "pinching pennies" mode I'm always a little annoyed. I won't lie. Mostly because we have to do it to help financially support family outside of our little 4 person nuclear family, and sometimes that annoys me. I admit it, even if it makes a terrible person.
We've been in this "pinching pennies" mode since July.
And today I was reminded once again just how freaking good we have it. For us, cutting back means we don't go to the bakery down the block every week. Our Starbucks consumption is reserved for Wednesday story times only (unless things get really desperate, and then we splurge). The kids just had growth spurts and I bought them quite a few things new, but then I finished up their wardrobe at Goodwill. We check out a lot more books at the library as opposed to buying them. The cut backs are minor. They're things a lot of people would probably do regardless.
The only big one was the we had to forgo our family vacation. Which peeved me.
But a lot of people don't even get a family vacation, and we did go on other "vacations" - just not one with the four of us, no one else, and not visiting family.
I have no room to complain, truly.
Anyway, to my point.
The kids chose angel cards off the Salvation Army tree to buy another child a Christmas, because I want to help teach them the true meaning of Christmas. I took the kids shopping to purchase gifts for the kids this morning. I was feelings a little ungrateful that I hadn't been able to buy these two kids as nice of a Christmas as we had been able to buy last year. I felt a bit inadequate.
When I rushed the sacks of toys and clothes into the Salvation Army this afternoon, I got a hit-me-in-the-heart moment.
There was a lady there who was picking up donated gifts for her child(ren). One of the volunteers wheeled out a purple training bike and the lady cried. It was immediate. Her whole face lit up and she just kept repeating, "Oh, my God. Oh, my God. I can't believe it. Oh, my God. Thank you!" Her tears and gratitude where so genuine it nearly knocked the wind out of me.
J grew up in poverty. My family was "poor" by all accounts until I was a teenager (free lunches, Headstart, the whole shebang). I never felt poor though.
And now. Well, now we're certainly doing okay. Even when we're pinching. We're totally okay. Even if we don't always love it.
I almost cried with that lady today.
I cannot even imagine what it is like to not be able to buy your child a bike if she wants/needs it. Our kids would certainly have less stuff if it weren't for such awesome family and friends, but they certainly wouldn't want for much, if anything.
I am so grateful to have such a hardworking, honest husband who puts our children and myself before him. Always. I am so grateful to have a beautiful house that I can lament painting and cleaning and decorating. I am so grateful that my beautiful children have a playroom full of toys that I can bitch about picking up. I am so grateful to have the means to feed my family real, whole foods. I am so grateful for everything that we have, including our friends and family, who are always so willing to help in whatever way is needed - even if it's just an ear to listen or to give a bit of random advice when needed.
I'm grateful.
Because not everyone has these things. Not everyone is in a situation where it's even ever going to be attainable. And sure, perhaps not everyone wants these things either. But for those who do, and can't, my heart is heavy.
And to whomever bought that lady's little girl a bike this year, you truly are amazing. Because you will never know the tears and delight it brought to that momma. And truthfully, that just might be better than the happiness it brings to that little girl on Christmas morning. Because now her momma has a little hope and can keep on trekking, knowing that there are people who care out there. And there are people who want to help when they can. And that she and her child matter.
At the end of the day, that's all we need anyway. A little hope, and the knowledge that we truly matter.
One of mine occurred today.
When we are in "pinching pennies" mode I'm always a little annoyed. I won't lie. Mostly because we have to do it to help financially support family outside of our little 4 person nuclear family, and sometimes that annoys me. I admit it, even if it makes a terrible person.
We've been in this "pinching pennies" mode since July.
And today I was reminded once again just how freaking good we have it. For us, cutting back means we don't go to the bakery down the block every week. Our Starbucks consumption is reserved for Wednesday story times only (unless things get really desperate, and then we splurge). The kids just had growth spurts and I bought them quite a few things new, but then I finished up their wardrobe at Goodwill. We check out a lot more books at the library as opposed to buying them. The cut backs are minor. They're things a lot of people would probably do regardless.
The only big one was the we had to forgo our family vacation. Which peeved me.
But a lot of people don't even get a family vacation, and we did go on other "vacations" - just not one with the four of us, no one else, and not visiting family.
I have no room to complain, truly.
Anyway, to my point.
The kids chose angel cards off the Salvation Army tree to buy another child a Christmas, because I want to help teach them the true meaning of Christmas. I took the kids shopping to purchase gifts for the kids this morning. I was feelings a little ungrateful that I hadn't been able to buy these two kids as nice of a Christmas as we had been able to buy last year. I felt a bit inadequate.
When I rushed the sacks of toys and clothes into the Salvation Army this afternoon, I got a hit-me-in-the-heart moment.
There was a lady there who was picking up donated gifts for her child(ren). One of the volunteers wheeled out a purple training bike and the lady cried. It was immediate. Her whole face lit up and she just kept repeating, "Oh, my God. Oh, my God. I can't believe it. Oh, my God. Thank you!" Her tears and gratitude where so genuine it nearly knocked the wind out of me.
J grew up in poverty. My family was "poor" by all accounts until I was a teenager (free lunches, Headstart, the whole shebang). I never felt poor though.
And now. Well, now we're certainly doing okay. Even when we're pinching. We're totally okay. Even if we don't always love it.
I almost cried with that lady today.
I cannot even imagine what it is like to not be able to buy your child a bike if she wants/needs it. Our kids would certainly have less stuff if it weren't for such awesome family and friends, but they certainly wouldn't want for much, if anything.
I am so grateful to have such a hardworking, honest husband who puts our children and myself before him. Always. I am so grateful to have a beautiful house that I can lament painting and cleaning and decorating. I am so grateful that my beautiful children have a playroom full of toys that I can bitch about picking up. I am so grateful to have the means to feed my family real, whole foods. I am so grateful for everything that we have, including our friends and family, who are always so willing to help in whatever way is needed - even if it's just an ear to listen or to give a bit of random advice when needed.
I'm grateful.
Because not everyone has these things. Not everyone is in a situation where it's even ever going to be attainable. And sure, perhaps not everyone wants these things either. But for those who do, and can't, my heart is heavy.
And to whomever bought that lady's little girl a bike this year, you truly are amazing. Because you will never know the tears and delight it brought to that momma. And truthfully, that just might be better than the happiness it brings to that little girl on Christmas morning. Because now her momma has a little hope and can keep on trekking, knowing that there are people who care out there. And there are people who want to help when they can. And that she and her child matter.
At the end of the day, that's all we need anyway. A little hope, and the knowledge that we truly matter.
Tuesday, December 10, 2013
Christmas Hams
I though a few pictures of my little Christmas hams would be good measure for this week. Because I cannot help but smile when I look at those silly babes.
It's not them, it's me.
The last few days it has been terribly difficult to be the momma I want to be.
Typically, I feel very confident in myself. And like 98% of the time, I really feel like I have a grip on this whole parenting thing and am doing it right.
And then my children become possessed.
You laugh. You think I jest.
I dare not.
Just this morning H's head spun around and she spat pea soup everywhere - and that's super impressive - she's never even had pea soup!
But in all seriousness, they're going through a phase. Because when it's your own kids, it's always a phase. Or they're tired. Or hungry. Or getting teeth. Or, or, or...
When it's your own kids, they're never just hellions.
Okay, that's a lie.
They're going through a phase and they're absolute hellions.
Oh my gosh. Pass me a Xanax.
Just kidding. I've never taken a Xanax. But it's getting harder and harder to wait until dinner to open a bottle of wine. So I've been eating copious amounts of dark chocolate for the past four days. My antioxidants are outstanding right now.
Though actually, I've finally gotten this one figured out, too. Mostly.
Hopefully.
H is going through a phase where she's pushing boundaries. Hard. How far can she push until I snap? And I think it frustrates her more, because she's like me, and she's really looking for a reaction. And I'm not giving her the angry reaction she wants.
She even told me yesterday, after taking something from her brother, "I'm being naughty because I want to be!" and stamped her little feet. If I wasn't all ready running on a very thin strand of patience, I might have actually laughed. Instead I just told her that wasn't very kind and we don't use the word "naughty" in this house. She wasn't amused.
And B. Oh, boy. He's discovered the power of whine. No, no, not wine, which I'm truly learning the power of. But whine. It's nowhere near as amazing as wine.
Whining is a developmental achievement, like pushing boundaries, I suppose. Whining is actually supposed to be this super amazing developmental milestone because they're learning the power of manipulation and coercion (and I'm totally making this up).
It closely resembles hell.
Just sayin'.
So, hobbling on my last leg of sanity, I turned the TV on this morning and let them watch it for 5 hours.
Not even kidding. At all.
Me. The person who would annihilate the TV if she could.
They watched ridiculous amounts of Curious George, Dinosaur Train, Daniel Tiger, and Strawberry Shortcake between the hours of 6am and 11am.
And truthfully, I don't feel guilty. Not even remotely.
Because during that time, and the four hours since they abandoned the television to play "store" and "beach party" and "troll hunting" and "camp out" and a million other things, I realized that part of their problem is me.
Yep.
It's me.
While I did the most excruciating part of painting our hallway - the edging - I listened to them and contemplated life; chastised myself for actually yelling at B yesterday (which the thought of still breaks my heart, although I did stop the second I saw his face crumple...that image will be burned in my memory for life), and listened to them play and chatter about.
I'm not what I'd consider a helicopter parent. I mean, I'm a good 10 yards while my kids are climbingMt. Everest playground equipment and other playground moms are freaking out that they're too small to be climbing and doing the things they're doing. I let them figure out their own quarrels both with each other and other people unless they get physical. I don't really stop them from doing things that make my heart race, even though sometimes I want to. They stir boiling pots and put cookie sheets in preheated ovens. Really, they are not in a bubble - I'm not too helicopterish.
But I'm there.
I know, I know, I'm saying it like it's a bad thing.
But it kind of is.
I mean, they need me there. Here. Within earshot of them. But they don't need me in their faces, constantly playing with and entertaining them.
Sure, yes. Sometimes they do.
But the thing is, they have no problems telling me when they do.
They've grown and become so independent of me. Which is a good thing. But because I'm with them every single second, I didn't notice this happening so outright.
And now they need time without me. Time where I'm cooking or painting or reading a book and they're just playing without me playing, too.
And this really is oh-so appealing to me, because I just bought a Nook and really want to put it to good use. But on the same hand, it's kind of sad. Because they're totally not babies anymore.
Not remotely.
And they're pushing and whining in an effort to say, "Hey, Mom! We're not babies. Let us be all ready. We'll holler when we need you."
I like playing with them. I like tea parties and dress up and baking cookies and building forts. But now they can do those things mostly all on their own. And I'm sure there will be times they want me to play, too, but for now, they're telling me to just butt out.
Because I've fed them today. That's about the extent of our interaction. I played the "ugly troll" while painting and occasionally roared at them when they'd come tip-toeing up the stairs, and they'd flee giggling.
And that's it. That's all they want from me right now.
Because today they've not been perfect. H is still pushy, B is still whiney, but compared to the previous three days, they're saints. So it's pretty obvious that there is no exorcism needed.
And that sometimes in parenting it's not them, it's me.
Typically, I feel very confident in myself. And like 98% of the time, I really feel like I have a grip on this whole parenting thing and am doing it right.
And then my children become possessed.
You laugh. You think I jest.
I dare not.
Just this morning H's head spun around and she spat pea soup everywhere - and that's super impressive - she's never even had pea soup!
But in all seriousness, they're going through a phase. Because when it's your own kids, it's always a phase. Or they're tired. Or hungry. Or getting teeth. Or, or, or...
When it's your own kids, they're never just hellions.
Okay, that's a lie.
They're going through a phase and they're absolute hellions.
Oh my gosh. Pass me a Xanax.
Just kidding. I've never taken a Xanax. But it's getting harder and harder to wait until dinner to open a bottle of wine. So I've been eating copious amounts of dark chocolate for the past four days. My antioxidants are outstanding right now.
Though actually, I've finally gotten this one figured out, too. Mostly.
Hopefully.
H is going through a phase where she's pushing boundaries. Hard. How far can she push until I snap? And I think it frustrates her more, because she's like me, and she's really looking for a reaction. And I'm not giving her the angry reaction she wants.
She even told me yesterday, after taking something from her brother, "I'm being naughty because I want to be!" and stamped her little feet. If I wasn't all ready running on a very thin strand of patience, I might have actually laughed. Instead I just told her that wasn't very kind and we don't use the word "naughty" in this house. She wasn't amused.
And B. Oh, boy. He's discovered the power of whine. No, no, not wine, which I'm truly learning the power of. But whine. It's nowhere near as amazing as wine.
Whining is a developmental achievement, like pushing boundaries, I suppose. Whining is actually supposed to be this super amazing developmental milestone because they're learning the power of manipulation and coercion (and I'm totally making this up).
It closely resembles hell.
Just sayin'.
So, hobbling on my last leg of sanity, I turned the TV on this morning and let them watch it for 5 hours.
Not even kidding. At all.
Me. The person who would annihilate the TV if she could.
They watched ridiculous amounts of Curious George, Dinosaur Train, Daniel Tiger, and Strawberry Shortcake between the hours of 6am and 11am.
And truthfully, I don't feel guilty. Not even remotely.
Because during that time, and the four hours since they abandoned the television to play "store" and "beach party" and "troll hunting" and "camp out" and a million other things, I realized that part of their problem is me.
Yep.
It's me.
While I did the most excruciating part of painting our hallway - the edging - I listened to them and contemplated life; chastised myself for actually yelling at B yesterday (which the thought of still breaks my heart, although I did stop the second I saw his face crumple...that image will be burned in my memory for life), and listened to them play and chatter about.
I'm not what I'd consider a helicopter parent. I mean, I'm a good 10 yards while my kids are climbing
But I'm there.
I know, I know, I'm saying it like it's a bad thing.
But it kind of is.
I mean, they need me there. Here. Within earshot of them. But they don't need me in their faces, constantly playing with and entertaining them.
Sure, yes. Sometimes they do.
But the thing is, they have no problems telling me when they do.
They've grown and become so independent of me. Which is a good thing. But because I'm with them every single second, I didn't notice this happening so outright.
And now they need time without me. Time where I'm cooking or painting or reading a book and they're just playing without me playing, too.
And this really is oh-so appealing to me, because I just bought a Nook and really want to put it to good use. But on the same hand, it's kind of sad. Because they're totally not babies anymore.
Not remotely.
And they're pushing and whining in an effort to say, "Hey, Mom! We're not babies. Let us be all ready. We'll holler when we need you."
I like playing with them. I like tea parties and dress up and baking cookies and building forts. But now they can do those things mostly all on their own. And I'm sure there will be times they want me to play, too, but for now, they're telling me to just butt out.
Because I've fed them today. That's about the extent of our interaction. I played the "ugly troll" while painting and occasionally roared at them when they'd come tip-toeing up the stairs, and they'd flee giggling.
And that's it. That's all they want from me right now.
Because today they've not been perfect. H is still pushy, B is still whiney, but compared to the previous three days, they're saints. So it's pretty obvious that there is no exorcism needed.
And that sometimes in parenting it's not them, it's me.
Saturday, December 7, 2013
St. Nicholas Day
Yesterday was St. Nicholas Day. (And my big brother's birthday!)
As a little kid I knew nothing of St. Nicholas Day. As a teenager, I knew of it, but didn't know that much or the whole gist. I knew it had to do with the "real" Santa Claus.
While living in England I saw a whole slew of people participate in the tradition of leaving their shoes out for St. Nick on the eve of St. Nicholas Day (so on Dec. 5). It intrigued me.
I wanted to know more.
I read up a ton on it. Turns out that it's fairly common in most European countries to celebrate St. Nicholas Day, as well as within in Catholic families.
I mean, Saint Nicholas. He is a Catholic saint.
In a nutshell, St. Nicholas was from modern day Turkey and did a lot of good things for other people. There are stories that he threw three sacks of gold into the house of a man with three daughters for whom he had no dowry for (which meant they'd never marry, and would very likely be sold into slavery during those days). They supposedly landed into three stockings they had hanging over the fire place - so that's where the modern day hanging of the stockings at Christmas comes from.
There are a ton more stories about him - mostly helping out the poor and children. Hence he eventually became the Super Santa we know now.
I really, really loved the ideas of St. Nicholas, and the tradition of leaving your shoes out for him to fill with treats.
I have conflicted feelings about pretty much everything, ha, but decided that the kids and I would just talk a whole lot about St. Nicholas and the good things he did, which we did, since we are Catholic and Saints are totally applicable. And I really would like them to know my religion some (okay, okay, I would like to know more about some of it). Next year I'd like to find a good kid-appropriate book to read to them about the real St. Nick, as well.
I also talked to them about the typical tradition of leaving the shoes out and it being filled with treats. I never said St. Nicholas would be the one to fill it with treats, or that he ever did it, but I did tell them that this was a fun tradition that had begun in memory of St. Nicholas.
The kids were stoked.
They left their shoes on the back porch (way too much ice and snow for the front, and though I know a lot of people do outside their bedroom doors, with kids who don't sleep through the night, that was just going to be a disaster). When they awoke the next morning they had truffles and caramels and a little geometric puzzle each stuffed into their tiny shoes.
And H promptly exclaimed, "Momma, that dead Nicholas guy brought us candy!"
I'm really glad she understood the story of St. Nicholas and really took it to heart.
We'll try again next year...
And just for fun, we have gotten a ridiculous amount of snow!
As a little kid I knew nothing of St. Nicholas Day. As a teenager, I knew of it, but didn't know that much or the whole gist. I knew it had to do with the "real" Santa Claus.
While living in England I saw a whole slew of people participate in the tradition of leaving their shoes out for St. Nick on the eve of St. Nicholas Day (so on Dec. 5). It intrigued me.
I wanted to know more.
I read up a ton on it. Turns out that it's fairly common in most European countries to celebrate St. Nicholas Day, as well as within in Catholic families.
I mean, Saint Nicholas. He is a Catholic saint.
In a nutshell, St. Nicholas was from modern day Turkey and did a lot of good things for other people. There are stories that he threw three sacks of gold into the house of a man with three daughters for whom he had no dowry for (which meant they'd never marry, and would very likely be sold into slavery during those days). They supposedly landed into three stockings they had hanging over the fire place - so that's where the modern day hanging of the stockings at Christmas comes from.
There are a ton more stories about him - mostly helping out the poor and children. Hence he eventually became the Super Santa we know now.
I really, really loved the ideas of St. Nicholas, and the tradition of leaving your shoes out for him to fill with treats.
I have conflicted feelings about pretty much everything, ha, but decided that the kids and I would just talk a whole lot about St. Nicholas and the good things he did, which we did, since we are Catholic and Saints are totally applicable. And I really would like them to know my religion some (okay, okay, I would like to know more about some of it). Next year I'd like to find a good kid-appropriate book to read to them about the real St. Nick, as well.
I also talked to them about the typical tradition of leaving the shoes out and it being filled with treats. I never said St. Nicholas would be the one to fill it with treats, or that he ever did it, but I did tell them that this was a fun tradition that had begun in memory of St. Nicholas.
The kids were stoked.
They left their shoes on the back porch (way too much ice and snow for the front, and though I know a lot of people do outside their bedroom doors, with kids who don't sleep through the night, that was just going to be a disaster). When they awoke the next morning they had truffles and caramels and a little geometric puzzle each stuffed into their tiny shoes.
And H promptly exclaimed, "Momma, that dead Nicholas guy brought us candy!"
I'm really glad she understood the story of St. Nicholas and really took it to heart.
We'll try again next year...
And just for fun, we have gotten a ridiculous amount of snow!
Friday, December 6, 2013
No more time-out
It's not a secret that we used to use time-out. Almost religiously.
We've used a lot parenting methods that I'm not exactly proud of. Part of the whole, "when you know better, you do better" I suppose.
Today I had a very good reminder of why we stopped.
From about the ages of 15 months to almost 2.5 years old, we used time-out with H.
It worked.
Beautifully.
I'll even admit that sometimes when she'sa raving lunatic expressing her frustrated feelings, I think to myself, "If I just put her in time-out this will all stop. Immediately."
But then I remember the day I vowed I'd never put that girl in time-out again.
There's a picture that's made it's way around the Internet that says something like, "What you do to your kids, they will do to others" and shows a picture of a toddler spanking her baby doll. Every time I see it, it breaks my heart. And is a good reminder, because it is so, so true.
Well, time-out is the same.
When H was just shy of 2.5 years old, I was in a neighboring room, listening to her play with her babies. When suddenly she said, "Oh, baby. You're having a fit. Time-out for you! Mommy won't love you until you're nice again."
I'm fairly certain my whole heart stopped. Momentarily, Earth might have even stopped rotating. For real.
I had never in all of my life told her I wouldn't love her unless she was nice. Never even that I didn't like her or her behavior. I had never even put her in time-out while acting pissed off. I'd always been very calm and mechanical about it. I'd showered her with love and affection afterwards and we'd talk about the problem and move on. She was so mature beyond her years, that even at 15 months she actually truly seemed to understand, as she very, very rarely repeated the offense that had earned her a time-out in the first place.
That day was the first time that I realized that even if I loved my children unconditionally, it wasn't enough. I had to show them I loved them unconditionally. It meant that I had to make them see I still loved them during their ugliest moments, not matter how hard it was for me.
Because although I hugged and kissed and adored that girl when her time-out was over, when she was seated in time-out, despite my best efforts, she sat there thinking I didn't love her because her behavior wasn't nice. And I could not and can not control how she feels and reacts to how I react.
So as her momma, it's my job not to give her a reason to think I don't love her.
That doesn't mean I give her a cookie every time she asks. I'm not saying that. Or that I just stand by and let her make a mess while she tantrums.
But I help her through it. With so much patience that I know God is real because I would never be able to muster it on my own.
And you know what, it works just as well as time-out does.
In fact, once you get through that initial period when your kiddo is testing you to see how far they can push before you snap and stick them in time-out again, it is way more effective than time-out. And we're all happier and much better off for it. We're definitely more connected. And I adore that.
Today, I had a reminder of why we first ditched time-out as I overheard H and B playing with their Bitty Twins.
B said, "Diego is mad. Hit. No, hit, Diego."
And H said, "You must be really mad if you're hitting, Diego. Hit this pillow instead, and I'll sit right here until you're calm. And I will give you a big hug when you're ready because I just love you so much."
They were just playing with their baby dolls. Simple, pretend play.
But at 3.5, H knows it's okay to be mad. And that her momma will be right there with her, loving her through her big emotions.
And that's way more important that a child who doesn't have tantrums.
I don't miss time-out one bit. Not one single bit.
We've used a lot parenting methods that I'm not exactly proud of. Part of the whole, "when you know better, you do better" I suppose.
Today I had a very good reminder of why we stopped.
From about the ages of 15 months to almost 2.5 years old, we used time-out with H.
It worked.
Beautifully.
I'll even admit that sometimes when she's
But then I remember the day I vowed I'd never put that girl in time-out again.
There's a picture that's made it's way around the Internet that says something like, "What you do to your kids, they will do to others" and shows a picture of a toddler spanking her baby doll. Every time I see it, it breaks my heart. And is a good reminder, because it is so, so true.
Well, time-out is the same.
When H was just shy of 2.5 years old, I was in a neighboring room, listening to her play with her babies. When suddenly she said, "Oh, baby. You're having a fit. Time-out for you! Mommy won't love you until you're nice again."
I'm fairly certain my whole heart stopped. Momentarily, Earth might have even stopped rotating. For real.
I had never in all of my life told her I wouldn't love her unless she was nice. Never even that I didn't like her or her behavior. I had never even put her in time-out while acting pissed off. I'd always been very calm and mechanical about it. I'd showered her with love and affection afterwards and we'd talk about the problem and move on. She was so mature beyond her years, that even at 15 months she actually truly seemed to understand, as she very, very rarely repeated the offense that had earned her a time-out in the first place.
That day was the first time that I realized that even if I loved my children unconditionally, it wasn't enough. I had to show them I loved them unconditionally. It meant that I had to make them see I still loved them during their ugliest moments, not matter how hard it was for me.
Because although I hugged and kissed and adored that girl when her time-out was over, when she was seated in time-out, despite my best efforts, she sat there thinking I didn't love her because her behavior wasn't nice. And I could not and can not control how she feels and reacts to how I react.
So as her momma, it's my job not to give her a reason to think I don't love her.
That doesn't mean I give her a cookie every time she asks. I'm not saying that. Or that I just stand by and let her make a mess while she tantrums.
But I help her through it. With so much patience that I know God is real because I would never be able to muster it on my own.
And you know what, it works just as well as time-out does.
In fact, once you get through that initial period when your kiddo is testing you to see how far they can push before you snap and stick them in time-out again, it is way more effective than time-out. And we're all happier and much better off for it. We're definitely more connected. And I adore that.
Today, I had a reminder of why we first ditched time-out as I overheard H and B playing with their Bitty Twins.
B said, "Diego is mad. Hit. No, hit, Diego."
And H said, "You must be really mad if you're hitting, Diego. Hit this pillow instead, and I'll sit right here until you're calm. And I will give you a big hug when you're ready because I just love you so much."
They were just playing with their baby dolls. Simple, pretend play.
But at 3.5, H knows it's okay to be mad. And that her momma will be right there with her, loving her through her big emotions.
And that's way more important that a child who doesn't have tantrums.
I don't miss time-out one bit. Not one single bit.
Thursday, December 5, 2013
The magic word is sorry
“In some families, please is described as the magic word. In our house, however, it was sorry.” ~Margaret Laurence
Pretty much anyone who has ever read this blog or knows me in person knows I apologize. A lot. Maybe too much sometimes.
J used to be all, "hey, where's the skillet?" and I'd answer, "In the dishwasher. I'm sorry." Of course then he'd say, "WTF are you sorry for?"
Okay. That's a lie. He never said "WTF."
He heard me say "I'm sorry" just about as much, if not more than "I love you." And I'm one of those people who says "I love you" about ten million times a day. Just enough to make you wonder if maybe I really do have a few screws loose.
But, over time, I've mostly broken that habit. I don't apologize for things (often) that I have no control over or that are menial (like a skillet in the dishwasher...).
I do, however, still apologize. A lot.
Because, quite frankly, I still make a mistakes. A lot.
And I will always take responsibility for my faults. Always. Because I want kids who do the same. I think it's a great show of character. And saying you're "sorry" might just be one of the most difficult things in the world to do. But the more you practice, the more you're able to do it.
Now don't get me wrong; "sorry" doesn't fix things. I will always be of the belief that sorry can't make things better. But I still think it's important to say.
If you mean it.
And only if you mean it.
Sorry is only as powerful as the feelings behind it. Someone who isn't truly remorseful but still apologizes is just a liar and nothing more. Someone who feels true remorse and is able to apologize of their own free will is a rock star in my book.
Because it's hard.
I tell my kids I'm sorry ever single time I am curt or snappy with them. Every. Single. Time. As soon as I realize my completely inappropriate tone, I stop, continue with whatever the situation is, and as soon as things are settled down (and sometimes before depending on what is going on) I immediately tell them, "I'm really sorry that Mommy snapped at you like that. That was wrong of me and I should be kinder, always."
My kids are kids. They yell and scream and get snappy. But they also calm down. And 9 times out of 10 they'll say to me, "Momma, I was not using a kind voice. I'm really sorry."
And the more I acknowledge and apologize for my faults, the more I fix them. There was a time I was apologizing daily, sometimes multiple times a day, for being just a tad too curt. Now I go whole weeks without getting snappy because I realize that's a fault of mine and I've worked on finding ways to help regulate my own emotions in tense situations.
Sometimes I wonder if I've damaged my kids too terribly by all my mistakes. Then I look at them and I'm all, "Nah. They're so amazing."
I will always make mistakes, no doubt. I'm really good at that, ha. But I seem to make fewer as time goes on. At least I seem to repeat the same mistakes less frequently. So the mistakes I make now are all new.
So I'm not teaching them that sorry will fix things. I'm helping to teach that it is important to acknowledge and address your poor behavior, but then work on it so that you're not in a position where you need to apologize again. But, if they are, I will always show them the same grace they show me. Because never have I apologized to my kids and have had them say, "Well, too bad, too sad. The damage is done and you suck." Usually H will say, "I know you're frustrated. I shouldn't have been screaming at you like that either. Let's do something that makes us feel happy." So I at least think it's working.
And by apologizing to my kids, I've learned to lighten up. I'm of the perfectionist personality, but telling them I'm sorry and admitting my own faults helps me to not focus on all the potential damage I might be doing to them, as odd as that may seem. Instead I just get to focus on growing and learning with them, knowing that they have a mom that isn't perfect, so it's okay for them to not be perfect, too.
Don't get me wrong. Sometimes I still get a little scared, thinking about those dark months when I had PPD. I wonder what kind of damage I could have done to H. I like to think I hid that raincloud well. I still wore my babies daily, often together. I rocked them and tandem nursed them, and read stories and played. but sometimes I wonder, even though she was just a tiny toddler, if she saw that raincloud, too. If she felt it.
And then I remind myself that I'm a really kick ass mom so even if she did, we've long since come through that. She's a stellar kid and doesn't seem to have any lingering affects from those months (unless preciousness is an affect, ha).
We're open. We talk. She addresses her feelings without issue.
Right after Thanksgiving when my parents and sister were getting ready to leave to drive back north, H was acting out. And she outright told my sister M, "I'm really mad and sad that you're leaving. That's why I'm not being nice."
So we're getting there.
Slowly but surely.
We say please around here a lot, but we say sorry more. Way more. And for us, it's more important anyway.
Wednesday, December 4, 2013
I am princess, hear me roar.
Today H said to me, "Mommy, I'm Rapunzel, and E (her friend) is Ariel. B is the boy and we're going to marry him."
It stopped me in my tracks. It was the first time, despite all the princess play they've had, that I saw this princessification oozing into her.
If J had it his way, H and B wouldn't know that princesses existed. Real or otherwise.
Obviously he doesn't have it his way. They both loving dressing up and being princesses.
Of course, I deeply respect and understand J's reasoning. Obviously. We're a team, and we actually have pretty similar feelings toward the whole princess-obsessed culture going on.
But I'm much more conflicted.
Because I'm a girl, I supposed. Because I see it in more than one way.
Because I was the Disney generation and grew up with princesses.
I watched The Little Mermaid pretty much daily as a toddler.
Yet I'd never change myself for a man. Ever.
So I'm not too damaged.
I never dreamed of a man coming along and sweeping me off my feet and us living happily ever after (though it happened!).
I was raised to be a mighty woman. You know, "I am woman, hear me roar!" And boy can I ever roar!
I was raised to be tough, brave, independent, and fierce. Anything men can do, I can do better.
Needing a guy for anything was really frowned upon. I needed to stand on my own two feet and take care of myself. I should never expect anyone to do that for me.
And I got it. I understood.
I want to raise a mighty woman, too.
But at the same time, obviously how I was raised affected me way more than watching princess movies ever did.
Because when my own Prince Charming did come and sweep me off my feet, I hesitated. I cried. I ran. I said "no." I laughed at the idea of marriage. I felt bad for wanting it. I felt guilty for being in love. Like I wasn't supposed to be.
And then actually marrying him and being a wife and mother and "nothing more." Oh, geez. It took me a very long while to accept, and truly believe, that I was still mighty. That wanting to be a wife and mother was in fact a noble thing. I was tough, brave, and fierce. That I was still independent, just in a different way.
It took me a while to believe that I could be a princess, and still roar a mighty roar.
The truth is, princesses aren't all frail and dainty. Most of them are the fiercest of creatures. They are strong and courageous and will change the world.
But the way they change the world depends on a lot more than watching and playing princesses; it depends on how they're raised. What they're taught. How much they're loved and respected and cherished and shown that it's important to take care of yourself, to stand up for others, but every now and then, it's also okay to let down your guard and let someone else join your team in world domination.
While we were eating H told me, "I'm a princess and E is a princess. We're just going to marry each other."
And I knew we're doing things okay. Because in her world princesses can marry each other and it isn't something she'd ever question.
And that's the kind of mighty, fierce, strong, brilliant, open-minded princess I want to raise anyway.
It stopped me in my tracks. It was the first time, despite all the princess play they've had, that I saw this princessification oozing into her.
If J had it his way, H and B wouldn't know that princesses existed. Real or otherwise.
Obviously he doesn't have it his way. They both loving dressing up and being princesses.
Of course, I deeply respect and understand J's reasoning. Obviously. We're a team, and we actually have pretty similar feelings toward the whole princess-obsessed culture going on.
But I'm much more conflicted.
Because I'm a girl, I supposed. Because I see it in more than one way.
Because I was the Disney generation and grew up with princesses.
I watched The Little Mermaid pretty much daily as a toddler.
Yet I'd never change myself for a man. Ever.
So I'm not too damaged.
I never dreamed of a man coming along and sweeping me off my feet and us living happily ever after (though it happened!).
I was raised to be a mighty woman. You know, "I am woman, hear me roar!" And boy can I ever roar!
I was raised to be tough, brave, independent, and fierce. Anything men can do, I can do better.
Needing a guy for anything was really frowned upon. I needed to stand on my own two feet and take care of myself. I should never expect anyone to do that for me.
And I got it. I understood.
I want to raise a mighty woman, too.
But at the same time, obviously how I was raised affected me way more than watching princess movies ever did.
Because when my own Prince Charming did come and sweep me off my feet, I hesitated. I cried. I ran. I said "no." I laughed at the idea of marriage. I felt bad for wanting it. I felt guilty for being in love. Like I wasn't supposed to be.
And then actually marrying him and being a wife and mother and "nothing more." Oh, geez. It took me a very long while to accept, and truly believe, that I was still mighty. That wanting to be a wife and mother was in fact a noble thing. I was tough, brave, and fierce. That I was still independent, just in a different way.
It took me a while to believe that I could be a princess, and still roar a mighty roar.
The truth is, princesses aren't all frail and dainty. Most of them are the fiercest of creatures. They are strong and courageous and will change the world.
But the way they change the world depends on a lot more than watching and playing princesses; it depends on how they're raised. What they're taught. How much they're loved and respected and cherished and shown that it's important to take care of yourself, to stand up for others, but every now and then, it's also okay to let down your guard and let someone else join your team in world domination.
While we were eating H told me, "I'm a princess and E is a princess. We're just going to marry each other."
And I knew we're doing things okay. Because in her world princesses can marry each other and it isn't something she'd ever question.
And that's the kind of mighty, fierce, strong, brilliant, open-minded princess I want to raise anyway.
I don't understand choosing z over x.
I like to think I'm open minded. Truthfully, I know it doesn't work out that way. There are things I will never even remotely be able to see the flip-side to. Like circumcision. When every medical reason has been debunked, at the end of the day it's nothing more than an unnecessary cosmetic surgery - genital mutilation - and I will never be open minded enough to understand how someone could consciously make the decision to do that to their perfect baby. I just can't.
I have a hard time sometimes wrapping my brain around people knowing x is better, but than choosing z.
Don't get me wrong, I certainly understand that circumstances and situations make people default to y, but to purposely choose z, no, I don't get it.
I understand that financial circumstances might cause someone to choose conventional apples over organic ones. But I don't understand why anyone would choose the apple-flavored gummies that have zero nutritional value at all.
I totally understand taking your kid out once a month for an ice cream cone. Sure, it's sugar and non-organic dairy that's pumped full of hormones, but it's once a month (or less!). I don't understand buying a box of twinkies that don't even have anything in them that resemble real food.
I get being so tired and sleep deprived that you resort to "sleep training" your baby by sending papa in to snuggle her at night, or laying beside her or standing by her crib patting her back while she cries until she eventually falls back to sleep, all the while reassuring her that she's not alone and she is deeply loved. I get that. I don't understand putting your baby in a dark room by himself and walking away until morning, neglecting his emotional need for you.
I understand being so overwhelmed and frazzled and giving your toddler a smack once or twice in your life that you deeply and remorsefully regret. You know, the type of thing that breaks your heart just thinking you ever caused pain to your babe. I don't get thinking that in any way, shape, or form, spanking a child deliberately and purposefully is ever okay. No, I don't understand that.
I do understand that no one can do x all the time for everything. Because x isn't even always possible. And x is extremely difficult. And so occasionally, or maybe often, we fall into the y category. I know I'm there all too often. That group that knows better and is truly trying to do better. To do the best possible because our kids are worth it.
But I don't understand the z category. The group that knows better but just doesn't care. The "Oh, I turned out fine, my kid will too" category that is completely blasé and isn't motivated to give their children the best they possibly can.
I don't understand it. I can't even pretend to. And I can't pretend to be open minded enough to say it's okay.
It's okay to do your best. To learn and strive for better. To make many mistakes and apologize and move on.
But to just sit back and not care. To say you let your baby cry herself to sleep and feel happy that it only took 45 minutes of listening to her while you did something else. Nope, don't get it. To actually defend and think it's okay to hit your child regularly and on purpose as a form of punishment. Nope, don't get it. To not think twice about feeding your kid processed garbage and fast food. Nope, still don't get it.
And those aren't the only things, obviously. They're just examples. Examples of the things I don't understand. Can't see the other side of no matter how hard I try.
And honestly, I'm not even opposed to trying to understand that side. Because I have. No one has ever really made a legitimate argument for it though.
So yes, I really do try to be open minded. I'm pretty accepting of things like religion and politics and all that jazz. But simply doing what is easiest for you and not your kid, yeah, I don't get that. I don't understand why anyone would purposely choose z, when y is always an option, and most especially if they are mentally/emotionally/physically/financially capable of z.
I have a hard time sometimes wrapping my brain around people knowing x is better, but than choosing z.
Don't get me wrong, I certainly understand that circumstances and situations make people default to y, but to purposely choose z, no, I don't get it.
I understand that financial circumstances might cause someone to choose conventional apples over organic ones. But I don't understand why anyone would choose the apple-flavored gummies that have zero nutritional value at all.
I totally understand taking your kid out once a month for an ice cream cone. Sure, it's sugar and non-organic dairy that's pumped full of hormones, but it's once a month (or less!). I don't understand buying a box of twinkies that don't even have anything in them that resemble real food.
I get being so tired and sleep deprived that you resort to "sleep training" your baby by sending papa in to snuggle her at night, or laying beside her or standing by her crib patting her back while she cries until she eventually falls back to sleep, all the while reassuring her that she's not alone and she is deeply loved. I get that. I don't understand putting your baby in a dark room by himself and walking away until morning, neglecting his emotional need for you.
I understand being so overwhelmed and frazzled and giving your toddler a smack once or twice in your life that you deeply and remorsefully regret. You know, the type of thing that breaks your heart just thinking you ever caused pain to your babe. I don't get thinking that in any way, shape, or form, spanking a child deliberately and purposefully is ever okay. No, I don't understand that.
I do understand that no one can do x all the time for everything. Because x isn't even always possible. And x is extremely difficult. And so occasionally, or maybe often, we fall into the y category. I know I'm there all too often. That group that knows better and is truly trying to do better. To do the best possible because our kids are worth it.
But I don't understand the z category. The group that knows better but just doesn't care. The "Oh, I turned out fine, my kid will too" category that is completely blasé and isn't motivated to give their children the best they possibly can.
I don't understand it. I can't even pretend to. And I can't pretend to be open minded enough to say it's okay.
It's okay to do your best. To learn and strive for better. To make many mistakes and apologize and move on.
But to just sit back and not care. To say you let your baby cry herself to sleep and feel happy that it only took 45 minutes of listening to her while you did something else. Nope, don't get it. To actually defend and think it's okay to hit your child regularly and on purpose as a form of punishment. Nope, don't get it. To not think twice about feeding your kid processed garbage and fast food. Nope, still don't get it.
And those aren't the only things, obviously. They're just examples. Examples of the things I don't understand. Can't see the other side of no matter how hard I try.
And honestly, I'm not even opposed to trying to understand that side. Because I have. No one has ever really made a legitimate argument for it though.
So yes, I really do try to be open minded. I'm pretty accepting of things like religion and politics and all that jazz. But simply doing what is easiest for you and not your kid, yeah, I don't get that. I don't understand why anyone would purposely choose z, when y is always an option, and most especially if they are mentally/emotionally/physically/financially capable of z.
Tuesday, December 3, 2013
Frozen
I'm in love with the movie Frozen. Absolutely swooning over it. It may very well in fact be my favorite all time Disney movie. And that's a big deal. Because I never thought anything could ever beat The Little Mermaid in my heart.
But it has.
I took the kids this afternoon to see it, and two of their bffs also met up with us there for viewing pleasure.
The movie is epic.
My very first thought when it started was, "Hm...didn't Disney make a huge deal about how they weren't going to make anymore 'princess' movies after Tangled?"
But trust me, that was a fleeting thought because the movie was just was too good.
It was hilarious. Hurt-your-belly-laughing-so-hard hilarious. Other than a fleeting line in one of the first songs where Ana wants to meet a boy and she's acting all seductive with a curtain, I didn't find anything else even remotely inappropriate. And that's huge coming from the momma who can find inappropriateness in just about anything and everything.
Olaf the snowman makes the whole movie. Pretty sure whoever wrote him had a toddler/preschooler. Because that's pretty much what he is. He's got a bunch of random one-liners that I swear could have come out of H and B's mouths.
And it's not your typical love story. Yes, yes, of course they throw some of that romance stuff in there, but it's really a love story between sisters. And it's beautiful. And tragic. And phenomenal. And happy. And mostly just perfect.
Seriously, I'm not too gun-ho on a lot of kids' movies. Especially Disney movies (I know, I know...). But I love this one. Like, I'll be the first one in line to buy it on blu-ray. We will likely go see it again while it's still in theatres because the kids enjoyed it so much (and that's who it's really for, right?).
So I don't care how old you are. If you've got a brother or sister, or really just a heart, you'll love the beauty of this movie. You'll understand and embrace the love story between two sisters and totally walk out understanding how that love story is definitely more epic than the love story between two lovers.
Or maybe that's just me. Because I'm a total sap like that.
But it has.
I took the kids this afternoon to see it, and two of their bffs also met up with us there for viewing pleasure.
The movie is epic.
My very first thought when it started was, "Hm...didn't Disney make a huge deal about how they weren't going to make anymore 'princess' movies after Tangled?"
But trust me, that was a fleeting thought because the movie was just was too good.
It was hilarious. Hurt-your-belly-laughing-so-hard hilarious. Other than a fleeting line in one of the first songs where Ana wants to meet a boy and she's acting all seductive with a curtain, I didn't find anything else even remotely inappropriate. And that's huge coming from the momma who can find inappropriateness in just about anything and everything.
Olaf the snowman makes the whole movie. Pretty sure whoever wrote him had a toddler/preschooler. Because that's pretty much what he is. He's got a bunch of random one-liners that I swear could have come out of H and B's mouths.
And it's not your typical love story. Yes, yes, of course they throw some of that romance stuff in there, but it's really a love story between sisters. And it's beautiful. And tragic. And phenomenal. And happy. And mostly just perfect.
Seriously, I'm not too gun-ho on a lot of kids' movies. Especially Disney movies (I know, I know...). But I love this one. Like, I'll be the first one in line to buy it on blu-ray. We will likely go see it again while it's still in theatres because the kids enjoyed it so much (and that's who it's really for, right?).
So I don't care how old you are. If you've got a brother or sister, or really just a heart, you'll love the beauty of this movie. You'll understand and embrace the love story between two sisters and totally walk out understanding how that love story is definitely more epic than the love story between two lovers.
Or maybe that's just me. Because I'm a total sap like that.
Sunday, December 1, 2013
It's beginning to look a lot like Christmas
Turkey Day went off without a bang. No pun intended.
We had a great time spending time with my dad and step-mom, and older sister and her boyfriend. We ate too much food and drank too much wine and it was a grand time.
But I'm glad it's over.
Because I'm not a "Thanksgiving" person. Like, I enjoy the whole family aspect of it, but the whole, "let's celebrate the Native American Holocaust" not so much. And I know most factual history, not mythological history, which is what is taught in schools. So trust me, that whole sweet and charming Pilgrims and Indians First Thanksgiving thing is pretty much a rouse. I mean, it technically happened. But not at all in the fictitious way we preach.
Anyway. I digress.
Yesterday we had a ton of fun picking out a Christmas tree. Since I donated ours to Goodwill last year after discovering they're full of lead and pretty toxic if you touch them, the artificial tree had to go. H wanted a tree her size. So she picked one right out after touching every tree and smelling them and counting them and contemplating them. Mostly, it was quite the process.
Then we put it on top of one of their kiddie tables and decorated it sans lights (unless Christmas lights are RoHS compliant, they're extremely toxic with lead, cadmium, and other hazardous chemicals. So toxic, in fact, that they actually suggest that all individuals wear gloves not only while handling the lights while putting them up on the tree, but even if you're just touching them for a second to change a dead light or something. It's the string, not the actual light bulb, that is so toxic. Eek!). Hopefully sometime between now and next year I will get around to ordering some safe lights.
Anyway, the kids hung up a ton of Styrofoam ornaments full of glitter, some dye-free candy canes, and homemade ornaments and ribbons. We still intend to make some more ornaments, but we've got time. We have to pace ourselves.
We hung up our little advent calendar (and I'm not fun because it doesn't even have candy!). Stockings are hung by the chimney with care. And we made a banner from our Christmas cards from last year and hung it up on our bare wall. I managed to pull off a chunk of paint while doing it, too. Go me! Ha.
The kids painted with "snowman paint" (glue and shaving cream and a ton of glitter) while I wrapped up presents.
I said I wasn't buying any presents this year, but that didn't quite work out, ha. It never does. I got enough to fill the babes stockings, as well a drum and banjo for the kids, and two Shel Siverstein books of poems. And I bought all the kiddos in our lives gifts, as well. But otherwise, it's Christmas cards for people. But I'm pretty impressed, because I hand wrote each address (and am still working on that!) and there's over like 100. So that's impressive, in my book anyway.
The kids each got to go shopping for one another today. I took H into the store first. Last year it took her about an hour to choose a toy for B. (We go to a local "green" toy store) But this year she was Speedy Gonzales. J hadn't even made it to the end of the block with B by the time we were done. She chose a set of Plan Toys blocks for him.
Then J and I switched kids and B and I went shopping for H. It took him a few minutes to understand that we were getting something for H, not him, but once he caught on, he was totally on board. Though he carried around the banjo the whole time, hence the kids now have a banjo under the Christmas tree.
Funnily, B picked out the exact same set of blocks for H that she'd picked out for him. Fortunately, they had five different sets, and when I asked him if he'd like to choose a different one, he eagerly did so.
I have so much more to say, but even more to do right now and sweet babies to cuddle and watch "Yes, Virginia" with.
We had a great time spending time with my dad and step-mom, and older sister and her boyfriend. We ate too much food and drank too much wine and it was a grand time.
But I'm glad it's over.
Because I'm not a "Thanksgiving" person. Like, I enjoy the whole family aspect of it, but the whole, "let's celebrate the Native American Holocaust" not so much. And I know most factual history, not mythological history, which is what is taught in schools. So trust me, that whole sweet and charming Pilgrims and Indians First Thanksgiving thing is pretty much a rouse. I mean, it technically happened. But not at all in the fictitious way we preach.
Anyway. I digress.
Yesterday we had a ton of fun picking out a Christmas tree. Since I donated ours to Goodwill last year after discovering they're full of lead and pretty toxic if you touch them, the artificial tree had to go. H wanted a tree her size. So she picked one right out after touching every tree and smelling them and counting them and contemplating them. Mostly, it was quite the process.
Then we put it on top of one of their kiddie tables and decorated it sans lights (unless Christmas lights are RoHS compliant, they're extremely toxic with lead, cadmium, and other hazardous chemicals. So toxic, in fact, that they actually suggest that all individuals wear gloves not only while handling the lights while putting them up on the tree, but even if you're just touching them for a second to change a dead light or something. It's the string, not the actual light bulb, that is so toxic. Eek!). Hopefully sometime between now and next year I will get around to ordering some safe lights.
Anyway, the kids hung up a ton of Styrofoam ornaments full of glitter, some dye-free candy canes, and homemade ornaments and ribbons. We still intend to make some more ornaments, but we've got time. We have to pace ourselves.
We hung up our little advent calendar (and I'm not fun because it doesn't even have candy!). Stockings are hung by the chimney with care. And we made a banner from our Christmas cards from last year and hung it up on our bare wall. I managed to pull off a chunk of paint while doing it, too. Go me! Ha.
The kids painted with "snowman paint" (glue and shaving cream and a ton of glitter) while I wrapped up presents.
I said I wasn't buying any presents this year, but that didn't quite work out, ha. It never does. I got enough to fill the babes stockings, as well a drum and banjo for the kids, and two Shel Siverstein books of poems. And I bought all the kiddos in our lives gifts, as well. But otherwise, it's Christmas cards for people. But I'm pretty impressed, because I hand wrote each address (and am still working on that!) and there's over like 100. So that's impressive, in my book anyway.
The kids each got to go shopping for one another today. I took H into the store first. Last year it took her about an hour to choose a toy for B. (We go to a local "green" toy store) But this year she was Speedy Gonzales. J hadn't even made it to the end of the block with B by the time we were done. She chose a set of Plan Toys blocks for him.
Then J and I switched kids and B and I went shopping for H. It took him a few minutes to understand that we were getting something for H, not him, but once he caught on, he was totally on board. Though he carried around the banjo the whole time, hence the kids now have a banjo under the Christmas tree.
Funnily, B picked out the exact same set of blocks for H that she'd picked out for him. Fortunately, they had five different sets, and when I asked him if he'd like to choose a different one, he eagerly did so.
I have so much more to say, but even more to do right now and sweet babies to cuddle and watch "Yes, Virginia" with.
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