The Little Mermaid taught me something

Those who know me know that I'm pretty anal about how much television my children watch each day, and even more so, what they watch.

Don't worry, as a girl who was watching Night on Elm Street while preschool aged and who consumed Fly and The Simpsons regularly while in elementary school, the humor of this is not lost on me.

Mostly the babes watch Curious George, Daniel Tiger, Dora/Diego, or the Leapfrog videos. There are others of course, but that's the gist of it. And if we're being totally honest, I'm not really pro-Dora/Diego either, but it works in the car and I don't despise it enough to say "no," although J typically vetoes it if he's driving.

And for the most part, they're only allowed TV while we're in the car. On rare occasions they get it at home - super early in the mornings, if a sitter is with them, or if I know we're not going to leave the house at all that day. For us, it works. Mostly.

Well, yesterday I really wanted to finish up B's comforter for his bed. Since we'll be out of town again shortly, I don't have much time to get things done around here. Since my littler helpers were being a bit too helpful, I decided to let them watch a movie. This greatly excited them and H ran over to her movie bin to see what she wanted. Unfortunately, I had taken pretty much all the DVDs out of their cases and put them in the car for our recent drive to Minnesota and had not yet returned them to their proper homes. With snow outside and me still in my pj's, I decided to break a few rules.

"Well," I told H, "We have some other movies," and I showed her a secret stash that J had put in the "banned" section of the cabinet. They were mostly all Disney, since he has some weird issue with them, especially the princesses. I'm not really for or against Disney. I loved Disney as a kid. I love Disney World. I deeply dislike Cinderella, but otherwise, I'm pretty indifferent.

Well, H picked up each DVD carefully, analysing them, (Rango and The Incredibles were immediately vetoed by Momma as very not kid appropriate for the meantime) and she finally settled on The Little Mermaid.

A girl after my own heart.

This was my favorite movie when I was her age. I could watch it over and over and over again. Although the sea witch always terrified me.

Of course, I immediately figured we wouldn't make it very far before H demanded me turn it off. That's what typically happens when we try to watch an actual movie.

Has anyone seen The Lorax?

Well, I haven't. Not passed the first ten minutes anyway. That's when my sweet daughter informed me that it wasn't nice and she didn't want to watch it. So off it went.

Well, I have seen The Little Mermaid and knew there was plenty in it that was not nice.

And yet....oh, yet. She was not phased. At all.

In fact, she loved it! She sat the entire 84 minutes of it and let me finish B's quilt. Woo hoo!

She hasn't mentioned it since, which is probably good. Other than to tell her papa that Momma let her watch it. To which he just kind of raised his eye brows and said, "Really? No. Why princesses?"

Though seriously, he can't save her from the princess epidemic. Even without having ever seen them, she is still drawn to them in the stores. She still likes to pretend she is one. Movies or not.

But I learned something yesterday. It's really hard to ease up sometimes.

It's easy to create arbitrary and ridiculous rules and forget why exactly you put them into place in the first place.

Obviously we don't condone violence. We don't want our children exposed to it as much as possible until they are able to understand the difference between reality and pretend.

Because they are so little they pick up on everything. Hence I have an almost 3-year-old who properly uses "Holy shit!"

But really, we just didn't want little TV minions who were glued to the TV every day. We wanted children with imaginations who could function without something blinking in front of their faces. We wanted kids who could play and entertain themselves when needed, not be dependent on an electronic baby sitter.

And we do have those kids. And it's okay to "break the rules" on occasions. They won't be ruined forever. They won't become TV zombies overnight.

But they still are not allowed to watch Caillou or Max and Ruby.

There are some things I just won't budge on.

There's a lot of heart break in motherhood

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

Truly, physically, painfully, sorrowfully break.

More than once at that.

But it can.

It does.

It will.

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

And so your heart breaks.

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

Your heart breaks.

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

You heart breaks.

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

Your heart shatters.

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

It’s tough.

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

For real.

I’m trying not to take it personally.

Because it isn’t.

I’m her safe place. I know that.

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

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

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

I keep reminding myself of that.

I’m safe for her.

She knows I love her.

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

Because I do, of course.

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

I don’t know.

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

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

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

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

I don’t.

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

Until now.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She’s almost three for goodness sakes!

Let the mommy guilt go

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

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

Who has time for that?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But I will forgive myself.

Always.

I deserve it.

And so do you.

Did you know snakes...?

I learned something new today.

We were at the zoo (gotta love zoo passes!), in the Desert area checking out the snakes. I'm not a fan of snakes, not even a little bit, but I really don't want to pass on my biases to my kids, so I've never verbalized that around them. They love all animals. They are fascinated and enthralled by all things with flippers or legs or feathers or hair or scales. They smile and squeal with delight. B shrieks "woah!" at pretty much any movement.

So there we are at the snakes, watching a viper slither to his water when B insisted we go to the lit part of the snake exhibit. I happily obliged him as I find that part a bit less creepy. I was looking at some blown up photos of snakes hatching from eggs while B shook some giant (fake) vertebrae. And there was this awesome picture of  a snake with two tails.

Except it wasn't.

Upon further observation and reading the caption, I quickly realized it was in fact a snake giving birth. I was fascinated. And enlightened. I had no idea that some species of snakes actually gave birth as opposed to laying eggs.

Who knew I could ever find sone strangely natural common ground with a creature I detest? And yet there it is.

And what did Miss H learn while at the zoo today? Dolphins play chase just like her and B, and baby dolphins nurse.

Living is learning. And learning is living. They are interchangeable, my friends. They are the same thing.

An email from a friend

A good "mom friend" of mine with an 8 year old and a 3 year old sent me a message the other day that really touched me, and showed me that there are people willing to learn and change. I asked her if I could copy her email onto my blog and she consented.

It read:

"I've been reading your Facebook posts, checking out the articles you link, long before you started your blog. I read that too though. At first, I thought you were so idealistic. That is was very easy to state you are against things like sleep-training or non-punitive parenting when H was only a small baby. I laughed with my husband even about how nice your perfect life must be where your children sleep through the night without crying, they always listen so you never punish, your husband is always there to help so you never feel overwhelmed and buy a happy meal, you always feed them good organic meals and they never ask for cookies, and of course, all cleaners in your house are chemical free. Your ideas were, in my home, a good laugh for me when I had yet again grounded S or  spanked L or had left him once again to CIO in his crib, or committed any of your other many transgressions. Until one day when things were just all around bad, and I figured things couldn't get worse, so why not try out some of your ridiculous ideas. I decided I'd give it a week. For one week I committed to no processed or fast food (sorry, I may never go organic). I stopped yelling at my children and forcing them to do things. L didn't want to wear his shoes one day. I said fine and didn't force it. I brought them along anyway, something my former self would have never done as it would have been "giving in". When he finally decided he wanted them, I helped him put them on. There was no power struggle or tantrum. It was so, dare I say, easy? And when S gave me lip that week or was disobedient in some other way, instead of immediately demanding respect or doling out a punishment, I talked with her. We got to the root of her behavior and together we were able to agree upon an acceptable behavior and I was able to understand her "disobedience". That first week was hard. Very hard. Especially because my husband was not on board. He strongly believed in his authoritarian ways. He's slowly coming around, the transition is definitely harder for him than it was me. But he sees how our children truly respect me, and he wants that too. He is realizing that respect out of fear will not give him the relationship he wants with our kids, especially when they're grown. We are far from perfect, but from reading your blog, I have realized that you are far from perfect as well. And I've realized that you weren't telling me I was bad, but offering a different way. And it was just hard for me to see that because to admit you could be onto something forced me to re-evaluate myself, and the last thing I wanted to admit was that I was possibly not doing things the best way for my kids. The point of this is, I want to tell you thank you. Thank you for standing firm in your beliefs even when I've witnessed other people slam you for them. Even when I was one of those people. And thank you for being such a good friend and for never making me feel bad about my choices even though they were so drastically different than yours. I mean, how many people would happily pick up a can of formula for me when you are so dedicated to boob-feeding? So thank you. You are making a difference, even if it is on a small scale and just me. It matters. To me and to my kids."

Seriously, this message made my day, maybe even the rest of my year. I've been at a bit of a low point, annoyed and fed up with certain people, but K helped to brighten my day and help me realize that although a lot of people either blatantly ignore me, or like her, mock me, sometimes it just takes one very small seed to get things rolling and then people start changing.

So thank you, K. I love you and cherish our friendship more than you know.

The blurry line of beliefs

I love how innocent and pure my babies are. How everything they say or do isn’t because of some kind of belief or conviction. How they have no prejudices yet.

It’s beautiful.

It’s terrifying.

They are perfect human beings without anyone else’s beliefs put forth on them quite yet. Everything is their own. And it’s genuine.

Yesterday, while playing with a baby doll, a friend asked H, “Oh, is your baby hungry?”

H didn’t skip a beat. She said, “No, he’s black.”

My friend and I laughed so hard we nearly cried. She wasn’t making a racial statement. She was just making a plain observation. No, her baby was not hungry. But did L want to know what the baby was? Well, he was indeed black. And that’s all there was to it. Nothing more. Nothing less. Just simple innocence.

It scares me to know that I have the ability to ruin that. Or that anyone has the ability to ruin that of my children; of any children.

Right now H doesn’t know “race” exists (I’m using the quotes because race is not a biological reality, but a social concept that is relatively new to the world…). She has no idea that she is technically “biracial” (nor had I thought about that until about a month ago when someone else pointed it out). The difference in the color of skins is equivalent to the difference in the color of hair for her. As it should be for everyone anyway.

We’re so fortunate to live in an extremely culturally-diverse town, so it’s all H and B have ever known anyway.

And “race” is just one thing that someone could fill my children’s head with. And where the line is drawn of what is okay to teach/tell them, and what is not, is extremely gray and blurry to me right now.

I would be absolutely livid if anyone ever even implied to my child that there was a “superior” race. At the same time, I know that there are people out there who believe in the idea so strongly that would be equally furious if someone taught their child the opposite.

So who’s to say I’m right?

Am I right because my belief is more universally accepted currently?

Am I right because it’s my belief and my children?

I don’t know.

What about more controversial beliefs?

I believe there is nothing wrong with homosexuality or gay marriage. Many people would disagree. So am I wrong to teach my child to also be accepting?

I have extremely mixed views about God. My spirituality is one that I’ve always been deeply conflicted about. On one hand, I believe in God. I made the choice as an adult to join the Catholic Church, and thus accepted its beliefs (mostly). At the same time, I do not agree with so many of the things that occur “in the name of God.” I don’t agree with Holy Wars, I don’t agree with taking woman’s rights away (reproductive or other), I don’t agree with the spanking of children “because the Bible says so” (it doesn’t). So at least in this one area, I can accept that my belief might not be right. At least the baggage that comes with the belief. And for sure, if my children decide not to be Catholic or Christian, I’d be fine with that so long as they believe in something. So long as they really and truly understand that there is something out there in this universe that is bigger than them, even if it’s just cosmos and super novas and milky ways.

Or, because this one has clearly been on my mind lately, even eating? Is it right for me to teach my children my eating beliefs? Maybe they could be equipped with all the knowledge that I am, but still not agree with me. Is it right then for me to restrict certain foods?

I mean, I have plenty of friends who believe it’s barbaric to force your religion on children. Your beliefs. But food beliefs are just as open to interpretation. Obviously, otherwise there wouldn’t be so much conflicting information out there.

Or what about education? Just because I’ve done my research and truly believe in a certain type of education, what if they decided at 5 or 15 or 45 they don’t agree? If they were to ask for a different type of education, do I say yes?

I do realize that I’m the adult. I’m the parent. I have more worldly wisdom, if you will, then they do. I simply have to make the decisions in some areas.

But at the same time, I also know that just because I’m the adult doesn’t mean I’m right. I may be the mom, but that doesn’t make “because I said so” or “because they’re my beliefs” a valid answer.

To what degree do you stand back and allow them to draw their own conclusions? When do you jump in and direct them a different way, likely your way?

They’re sweet, innocent, and genuine now. It won’t last forever. It’s the curse of knowledge. The more you know, the more beliefs you have.

So although I feel strongly in my beliefs, I’m big enough to admit I may not be right. I’m right for me and for the knowledge I have, but that’s it. And only for today. I may change tomorrow.

So how in the world is one supposed to teach babes with the most pure of hearts their own beliefs, but also make sure the door stays open for them to decide for themselves?

Oy vey! I’m giving myself a headache.

Unconditional Parenting - a different way to parent

It’s goinng to sound ridiculously melodramatic, but I’ve begun to have a newfound faith in people – both those I know personally and those I do not – and it’s all over a book.

I have never believed in another book as much as I do “Unconditional Parenting” by Alfie Kohn. Similarly, how my friends tell me I should advertise for Aruba because I’d happily send anyone there and could tell you a million and two reasons why you truly want to vacation there, I could do the same for this book.

And I think it speaks volumes that so many people I know (and know via the internet) are reading this book. Even though for some (many) it depicts a parenting style and way of raising children that so strongly challenges what some (most) of us have only ever known. And I love it.

I was on the road to this type of parenting before this book came into my possession. Non-punitive parenting. It was something my gut told me was right. A type of parenting, a type of parent, I badly wanted to be, and was trying, but wasn’t completely sure how to be. How to make it work. You know, work and not be a “permissive” parent. Because although I want to always be kind and gentle, I also don’t want to be the parent who let’s their child get away with murder, that isn’t doing anyone any favors either.

H has been in time-out. Numerous of times. It almost makes me want to cry when I think about the fact that I put a tiny little babe, beginning when she was roughly the same age B is now, in time-out for what I thought were infractions/misbehavior/defiance/whatever. It worked. It always worked. I always got the results I wanted. Or that I thought I wanted.

I thought instant compliance was a good thing. Not throwing tantrums was a good thing.

I just didn’t know better.

To be honest, writing this makes me nauseous. I feel sick toward how I treated H. And her time-outs and “no’s” were far more mild and infrequent than many I know, and yet, I still know it wasn’t okay. Just because it may have been to a lesser degree than how someone else may have treated their toddler, it doesn’t mean it was right. By a long shot.

My legit breaking point was when she wouldn’t stay in time-out anymore. I realized that unless I physically held her or threatened her to an extreme, she just wouldn’t stay put. And that was so not okay.

I had to ask myself what I was doing wrong.

And the “what I was doing wrong” was the way I was treating my child. I was trying to correct the symptom, punish the symptom, make the symptom go away. Not address the actual issue.

Babies, toddler, children, teenager – human being in general – don’t just act out because it’s fun. It’s how they tell others that they need help! Sometimes it’s the only way they can communicate that.

Maybe they don’t have the words to communicate their frustration or unhappiness. Maybe they’ve been requested or expected to do something they are simply not capable of, such as sitting still for a long period of time, sharing their favorite toy, etc., etc.

Emotions are huge. As an adult I know how they can swallow me whole sometimes. Imagine what it must be like to be such a tiny and fairly new person in this world who has very little experience dealing with their emotions, and when you are trying to figure it out or acting out because you need help, someone is punishing you for it and telling you that such behavior is “naughty.” Then you end up bottling those emotions up so you won’t be punished, and we all know that is unhealthy. And they end up bursting out in the unhealthiest of ways, and in the worst of ways.

I don’t want that for my kids.

So on my quest to be a better parent, the kind I so badly wanted to be, someone recommended “Unconditional Parenting” to me. I ordered it, because I tend to buy books too frequently instead of checking them out from the library. I waited for it to arrive anxiously. And then I read it front to back in a day.

And I loved it.

Yes, there were parts in it at the time that had me rolling my eyes and saying, “Yo, J! Listen to this. Isn’t xyz just absurd? That’d never work.”

So then as I tried to change things up and parent better, those absurd things kind of naturally fell into place and I was all, “Oh, wow. Maybe it does work after all.”

I don’t bribe my kids anymore. I don’t threaten. I don’t punish.

I will be the very first to say I’m not perfect. Or that I make no promises that there will never be a time in their lives that they will not be threatened, bribed, or punished again. Though J has always been the calmer, and always non-punitive parent long before that was even my goal, he’s the first to say that if there were ever a transgression that warranted it (though admittedly he cannot yet think of a situation that he would consider it warranted) he’d be the first to ground/spank/time-out/whatever our kids. But we’ll see. He still holds them and tells them it’s okay to be mad and looks at glitter jars and cuddles and kisses their anger away. So mostly, I think he’s just trying to be machismo. But we’ll see.

Things that used to be so hard suddenly became so simple. Even the most basic things that I made simple, subtle changes to ended up changing everything drastically.

Take getting into the car for example. It used to be a constant fight with H. She hated getting in the car. She had to take her sweet time and do it herself. No, she didn’t want to right now. Oh, look, there’s a sticker on the floor board, etc. Typically it’d end with me bribing her, “If you get in your seat I’ll turn Dora on” or “I’ll give you fruit leather.” Or with me threatening her, “If you don’t get in your car seat then you can’t watch TV in the car today.” Etc. Or sometimes even physically putting her in the seat and having the battle of wills to get her strapped in.

I always felt emotionally defeated when we had to drive somewhere. And I felt like a terrible mother. To the point that I avoided car travel as much as humanly possible. I always asked myself if it was worth my kid hating me over. And typically the answer was no.

Now it’s so freaking simple I wish I’d had the common sense to go about it this way earlier.

I open H’s car door to allow her to get in on her own while I put Mr. B into his seat. Typically she just gets in and is ready for me to buckle her before I make it over. If not, I just remind her how things happen. B gets buckled. H gets buckled. Mommy gets in the car and then she turns on the movies. Mommy can’t get in her seat or turn on the movie until H is buckled.

I’m not bribing her with the movie. I’m not threatening her with the movie. It comes on whether it takes her 20 minutes or 20 seconds. There is simply a routine and order to how things happen. It’s up to her how quickly it happens.

Who knew it could be that easy?

And it’s not just the car. It’s everything. She knows she’s allowed her feelings and opinions. And because of it, she’s more compliant because she knows Mommy will listen to her. When I ask her to pick up her toys, she almost immediately does. Occassionally she’ll ask for help. Or tell me she still wants to play. I’ll assess the situation. Almost always I will help. If she still wants to play I will examine why I want her to stop – is it bedtime, dinnertime, etc.? Or is the mess just getting out of control? If it’s the latter then I simply explain that x and y need to be cleaned up quickly, then she can resume playing with z.

I could go on and on and on. But mostly, life is just easier for everyone. And happier. H knows she can tell me when she’s mad or sad or whatever. When it was time for bed this evening she told me, “I don’t want to go to bed. I’m really sad.”

“Why are you sad?” I asked.

“Because I don’t want to sleep.”

“Well, if you don’t sleep how will you grow? And if you don’t sleep you’ll go from sad to mad because your body will be overtired. It’s really important that you go to sleep. And when you wake up, it will be a new day and you can play again.”

And you know what!? She didn’t fight me. She said okay and laid down. Because she knows I will listen to her feelings. I will validate her. And if she were really struggling with bedtime, as on occasion she does, she knows that I am understanding of that. Sometimes it means an extra story before bed. Sometimes it means I turn on her lamp and leave her in her bed with a book while I put B down and then I come back and either tuck her in or lay down with her. Regardless of the situation, she knows I will genuinely listen. That I will always validate; I won’t blow off her feelings. And that even if it means more work for me, I will make sure that every interaction between me and my children is one that is bringing us closer together, not further apart, as well as helping to shape the adult they will be some day, not instantly “fix” something today because it’s easier for me.

I’m sure there are many people who would read “Unconditional Parenting” and say, “Yes, this is how I parent” or “This is common sense” or even “Holy shit! You’re going to screw your kid up!” But simply being open to a – likely - new way of parenting, whether you decide to partake in it or not, is really comforting to me. That people are willing to at least consider things from a different point of view. Perhaps even willing to go as far, as I am, to say, “Wow, I should really change things. I have the ability to be a better parent and give my kids a better chance.”

I think it takes a really strong and brave kind of person to admit that perhaps they were wrong. Or maybe not even admit that they were wrong, but that they simply didn’t know better.

And it takes an even more courageous person to examine a whole new parenting style that they’d never considered. Perhaps one that even goes against everything they believe.

It just takes a seed. You don’t have to agree with everything. Or anything.

But the book will at least get you thinking. And that’s the beauty of it.

And so many people I know are currently reading it because I keep suggesting it to everyone. And I love that.

I love that they are willing to at least be open to something new. Something that challenges them.

Maybe people are more open-minded and willing to self-educate than I had once thought. People never cease to amaze me.

So if you haven’t all ready, read “Unconditional Parenting.”

It will seriously rock your world.

And hopefully your children's world, too!

People annoy me

People annoy me. To quote a good friend, "people should annoy you because generally they're lame." It's true. I'm not an exception either, without a doubt I'm generally lame, too. I'm okay with that.

But what really annoys me is how people are so freaking defensive. We would rather go on making the same mistakes our parents did because we can't admit that - gasp! - our parents weren't always right. I don't get it. At all.

I love my parents. Truly and deeply. I respect them. But I have zero qualms admitting that I do not agree with the way I was raised. At all.

I'm not saying my parents are bad. Just wrong. To me. Plenty of people would agree with how they raised their children and that's cool.

Though it never ceases to amuse me how so many people - family, friends, and strangers alike love to criticize and tell me how my parenting choices are wrong. Honestly, criticize away. I feel very confident in my decisions, so others throwing their insecurities at me doesn't bother me at all. Besides, I've met a fair share of kids in my life. I see how they turn out. How confident and independent (or not). How good their relationships legitimately are (or not) with others. It's crazy surprising how many people truly believe they have great relationships with their children, both young and grown, and they have no idea. They don't. Their kids give them just enough so that they think they are hunky dory. It's more common than most realize.

Anyway, it seems that those who criticize the most, also praise the most. I've gotten a LOT of grief over the very non-processed, typically organic diet my family eats. Along with not vaccinating and breast feeding for the natural duration. Whatever. It's not for everyone. But I can't help but roll my eyes and laugh when those so against my choices can't believe how incredibly healthy my kids are. They've had the common cold once. And other than teething related illnesses, that's it. And I'm NOT a germaphobe. I don't wash my hands every hour. I let my kids eat their dropped food from the floor. They have no idea what bleach or hand sanitizer is. Yeah, I'm doing something terribly wrong.

But the best one is how I "discipline" my children. First off, the word discipline is derived from "disciple". It means to show the correct way. It is not synonymous with punish, though few people realize that. We try very strongly not to engage in punitive parenting. And we are doing so much better at it now than 6 months ago. And -surprise! - our babes are sooo much better behaved, naturally courteous, and overall charming to be around. I have more than one family member who happily tells me my children will grow up being rude, bad people. Um, yes? Because they are rude, bad children? No. They simply think all children should be spanked, yelled at, bribed and threatened. Well, obviously if you have to do those things, numerous times, they are not working. Not to mention that those are the authoritarian actions that tend to produce the best sheeple. But maybe that's the goal for some.

Children are people too. They are learning as they go. It's our job to guide them. Lovingly. Each time you hit your child you are teaching them that violence is okay. If you are bigger. When you yell you teach them that it's okay to take out your anger and frustration on other people. It's okay to make others feel bad. When you bribe or threaten you are virtually saying, "I know I haven't taught you mutual respect, only respect through fear, so I know you won't do as I ask unless I make it worth your while it scare you with punishment."

That all being said, I'm sure there are many people okay with raising their kids that way.

I'm not one of them.

Luckily, I can learn from others mistakes. I can learn from my own.

My kids aren't perfect. My girl is what they call "high spirited". I call her vivacious. She's stubborn and strong willed and very opinionated. Yes, that can make parenting her challenging at times. But I know if my goal is to raise her to be strong and loving, not to "break" her so she always shows immediate obedience, she will be a kick ass leader some day.

Children learn by how we act. How we treat them. I don't want my babes to think that violence or screaming is acceptable. I don't want them to ever think that compliance without thinking or questioning is right. After all, the Holocaust couldn't have happened if their had been more people who questioned their orders instead of just armies full of sheeple.

Yes, people annoy me. Daily. That doesn't mean I love or like those people any less. Mostly it means I don't understand their trains of thoughts or actions.

And that's okay. I don't have to understand unless someone wants me to and takes the time to explain. We all have our own beliefs and ideas and goals and wishes for the outcomes of ourselves and our kids.

Some just really annoy me. But I'm sure I annoy plenty of people too, so it all balances out.

Passionate about....

I always hated when you had to tell people your interests, or more specifically, your passions while in grade school. Mainly because I never really had any. Other than maybe writing, but that always seemed too dorky to admit. But it seems I was destined for dorkiness (my phone auto corrected dorkiness to surliness...it's probably a sign...).

Because now I would say I am pretty damn passionate about parenting. And most would say that's incredibly dorky. I mean, how can you be passionate about something that seemingly everyone does?

But I am.

And maybe that makes sense. Why there was never a career I could see myself doing for the rest of my life.

I know a lot of people can have a career and be a steller parent at the same time.

I'm just not one if those people. I'm a perfectionist. I have to do everything 200%. There is not enough me, time, or energy, to do both.

But I can at least do one thing and do it awesomely. And for me, that's being a parent. It's my "career" and though I didn't even know it was what I was truly passionate about until it fell into my lap, I am.

I love my job. I'm passionate about my job.

I fucking rock at my job.

And that's enough.

Support and an open mind can go a long way, motherhood is hard.

Wow.  The amount of reponses I received from my last post were huge.  Several people sent me private messages saying that they also struggle with their parenting decisions and often feel like such an outsider.

But what was shocking was the amount of women who said they also found motherhood to be an extremely isolating experience.

I mean,  what is wrong with us?  Not for feeling isolated,  but for doing this to eachother?  You would think that since we know how difficult motherhood is,  we would stick together.

I'm not saying we should compromise our morals and values.  If you don't agree with sleeping with your kid,  there is no need to pat me on the back for doing it.  But also,  comments about how they will never sleep is not helpful.

Unless someone is genuinely harming their child,  why can't we just be more supportive?  I might not stick my child in time out for acting out or swat her bottom for misbehaving in the grocery store,  but I sure as hell don't condemn someone who chooses to do so.

A little support for each other would go a long way,  instead of all the wars. And we would all be so much better off for it

It is interesting in ways because when things get really hard for me,  I have two go-to people for advice.  And their advice is often different,  sometimes to the extremes ,  but always incredibly beneficial.  Sometimes I employ the methods they prescribe to an exact,  other times simply hearing other ideas and taking on a new perspective help me to come up with something entirely different that works for us.

And that's ok.

But why is it that when someone shares a new idea or perspective,  so often we get bitter and defensive?  Motherhood is a learning journey.  No one is born knowing everything.  We learn.

All the things I know now -  all of my parenting beliefs and ideas -  I didn't have 3 years ago.  I have them because I was open to knew things.  My desire to better myself is an unending thing.  And as I know better,  I try my damndest to do better.

Sometimes I hear things that I feel are crazy and absurd.  Patenting styles or tactics I just feel could never work or be okay.  But then as I warm up to otherideas ,  I find myself using those same methods and laughing about how not so long ago I had thought it was crazy.

So be kind,  you can't rewind,  so always keep an open mind.

Be supportive.  Oh,  for Lord's sake,  please be supportive.  So the next time you judge the mother screaming at her child on the playground,  remind yourself that you have no idea what's going on,  even if you don't agree with the yelling.  Or the mom at Target who is coddling her tantruming preschooler when you think discipline should be handed out,  why don't you just smile instead?  You just don't know.

And it doesn't matter anyway.   We should just be pillars of support for mothers everywhere,  not another eye roll or muttered sentiment of disdain.

Motherhood is hard

What's the learning rush?

There is so much hype these days to have a “gifted” child. A fast, advanced, talented child. Take your pick.

But honestly, I don’t get it.

I have one child that totally fits into that category. She’s always been well ahead of her peers. She was walking at 10.5 months old, had at least 30 solid words by the time she turned one year. She knew her ABC’s and spoke in sentences, as well as climbed the “big slide” at the playground and could go down on her own long before she turned 18 months. She potty trained herself before her second birthday. At not quite 2.5 years old she knows her letters and their sounds, she’s started putting letters together to make words. She can do simple math.

Everyone has always told me how “fast” she is. Heck, she was holding her own neck up at birth. For real.

What no one ever bothered to tell me is that being “fast” is normal, too. Ask anyone you know, they know at least one, but probably many, “advanced” kids. It’s just as normal as being “average.” It’s not really a big deal.

Except that it is. To a lot of people anyway. There seems to be this overwhelming need for many people that their child(ren) be first. The first to walk and speak and tie their shoes. The first to know their colors and shapes and letters.

But why? Does it even matter?

No.

At least I don’t think so.

I have one perfectly “average” child. He babbles a ton, actually only says “Mama”, “hi”, “muh [more]” and “aaaah duh! [all done!]”. And none of that is consistent. He’s a year old. Unlike his sister at this age, he doesn’t know the toilet is anything other than a big bucket that is fun to throw things into. Though he sometimes tries to repeat the animal sounds I make, I certainly cannot say “vaca” to him and have him make a “moo” sound without prompting, as I could his sister.

He likes to eat the woodchips on the playground. He is not typically interested in sitting with me and reading books, though he will occasionally let his big sister “read” to him. He will scribble on paper for just a minute or two before deciding that it is way more fun to eat the crayons.

As I said. He’s normal. He’s “average.” He’s perfect.

Do I ever wish he were more like his sister?

Yes.

Sometimes.

Not because I want him to be as fast or whatever, but because it is more difficult sometimes to know what he wants due to his limited communication skills. Other than that though, I don’t care if he takes his sweet time.

He doesn’t have to know his colors in the near future. I don’t care if he doesn’t sing his alphabet before his second birthday. I don’t even care if he doesn’t realize a toilet is for peeing in before his third birthday.

Because at the end of the day, he’s just as intelligent as his sister, without a doubt. He’s just at his own pace.

Miss H is fast. That’s her pace. I never forced her to learn any of the stuff she knows; she just wanted to. She’s a sponge. For awhile I was a bit caught up in the idea that she needed something better to help her little brain. Better teachers at a good school. Until I realized who in the world could ever be better than her parents? We’ve gotten her this far, surely we know her best and can teach her best.

Would she learn even more and likely even faster in an academic setting where all she does is learn?

Sure. I bet she would.

But she’s 2.5. She’s a toddler. A baby almost. She has the right to be a child. She has her entire life to learn. But she has such a short time to be a child. And of course, she’s still learning anyway. It’s not like that gets turned off if you’re not in a school.

There’s no need to rush learning. Every day is a learning experience. We simply cannot help but learn.

Baby B is taking things at his own stride. He’s marching to his own drum. That’s really a fiddle. And that’s okay.

Because I guarantee that when they’re 10 and 11, they’ll both be able to read and write. They’ll be able to add, subtract, multiply, and divide. They’ll know all about the science behind volcanoes and clouds. They’ll know about animal habitats. They’ll know geography. And it won’t matter if they learned it all at 3 or 6 or 9.

So for me, there is no reason to push it.

Of course, I will encourage them to learn every day by all the things we do. And I will always help them if they want to learn. Miss H is really determined to “read the words, Momma.” So I’m doing my best to help her learn to read. But only because she wants to.

I think it’s important that kids be kids. That they do things in their own time. That they have lots of unstructured time.

And who cares if baby Joe can multiply at 3? When he’s 8, he’ll still know how to multiply, and so will all of his peers. So really, does it matter?

Maybe.

But not to me.

So does that mean I’m not proud when my 29-month-old can sound out the word “bat”? Of course not! But I wouldn’t be any less proud if she didn’t do it until she was 6 either.

"...and I turned out okay."

One of my greatest (parenting) pet peeves is when people use the excuse "Well, it happened to me and I turned out just fine" in order to justify a choice or action they make. As in, "I was spanked and turned out okay, so it's okay to spank my kid" or "I (my spouse) was circumcised and turned out fine, so it's okay to do to my kid."

Really? Really!?

So how is it that as parents we can justify doing things that we know is not in our children's best interest, even things where there is scientific proof that shows they are damaging  to our kids, and then try to justify it with the old adage that it was done to us and we're okay.

I don't know about you, but I want more than "okay" for my kids. I want them to be frakking great! But maybe that's just me. Maybe I've a few loose screws because I want my kids to grow up listening to me because they respect me, not because they are afraid I'll hit them. I want them to grow up with their whole bodies, with the ability to make their own choices if they want to alter them (and yes, I pierced my daughter's ears, and yes, I deeply regret it, and yes, I know it is was wrong of me).

The more I learn. the better I do for my kids. I'm not perfect. I would never pretend to be. There was a time in my life when spanking a child would not have been something I would have thought twice about. I mean, everyone does it, right? For the most part, we all turn out just fine. But there is just too much proof out there to show how damaging it is to kids. Sorry, but just because it happened to me and I turned out okay, does not mean I'm okay with it happening to my kids.

And it's not just spanking, or circumcision, or whatever. It's the entire attitude that many people have. Like why bother even trying for their kids, when they can half-ass it all and the likelihood is that they'll still end up with kids who go to the same college as the kids whose parents gave it their all, and their kids will likely have a job that pays enough to feed them. And what else even matters, right?

Yeah, it drives me insane. No, I'm not perfect. I make mistakes all the time with my kids. I've actually screamed at them before, and I certainly know that is wrong. But I only did it once, and the look on their faces was enough to make me physically bite my tongue and take a breath when things got to the point that I wanted to scream ever again.

No one taught me how to control my anger. Or how to deal with my emotions in general, so it's something I constantly have to check myself with. I'm ever so careful as to make sure my children always know that it's okay to express their emotions, and I help them find appropriate ways to do so when needed. Sure, I turned out okay not knowing how to express how I feel, but I want better than that for my kids.

At the end of the day, I turned out pretty a-okay. I love my parents, I recieved a double-major college diploma where I attended on full scholarship, I have a fantastic husband and two phenomenal children. What could be better? But you better believe that I will never defend the choices that others made for me when I was too young or the actions that others took, simply because I turned out well. Maybe no real ill-harm came from me being spanked or yelled at or fed hormone-filled milk and meat (though puberty at 10 may disagree on that one...), but I do know better now, so you bet your arse I'll do better for my kids.

And the times that I screw up, because I will, I know I will. I am only human after all, I will apologize to my children, because I am big enough of a person to admit when I am wrong.

And I don't want my kids to turn out okay. I want them to turn out bloody fantastic.