No, it's actually not okay to yell at your kids

I've had this post sitting in my head for a few weeks now.

It seems there are a lot of articles floating around the world wide web at the moment declaring it's okay to yell at our children because "we are human and make mistakes and that's okay for kids to witness" and "children need to learn that even adults have big emotions."

I actually agree with both of those statements; just not that they are justifications for yelling at our children (or anyone for that matter).

Yes, we are all human beings. And we make mistakes. Daily. And yes, our children need to see us as real, authentic people so that they too can accept themselves completely as authentic people who will make so many mistakes they'll never be able to count them all. And they need to be okay with that, and accept that, just like parents should. There is no time or place to hold onto guilt and to scrutinize ourselves over every mistake we make or have made, and it's imperative that we also teach ourselves that.

But it also doesn't give us a justification for yelling at our children.

I get mad. I get angry. I get straight up pissed off some days.

And 99% of the time I don't yell.

It doesn't mean I'm bottling it all inside. It doesn't mean I don't know how to handle my anger or frustration.

In fact, it's the opposite. I've worked really hard to find ways to handle my upsets in manners that are not only healthy for myself, but also for my children.

It's no secret that I was a born yeller; the progeny of yellers who grew up with yellers. So it was no surprise that as a mother I was also a yeller.

And it wasn't until my sweet, wee girl told me that it scared her that I even stopped to reflect on what I was doing. Yes, hearing others yell still made me sick to my stomach. Yes, I felt horrible doing it. But I also just thought it was part of life and part of parenting.

There aren't many things in life I'd like a re-do on. But with yelling, I would. Just to erase all the yelling I did before I realized how damaging it really was. How unhealthy it is.

And I was never and am not the sort of yeller who just went on and on. I didn't yell unkind words or obscenities. It was usually when I'd made a request several times and was exasperated. Like, "Put your shoes on!" or "Enough! Don't touch your brother!" It was all that frustration boiling up and it seemed to be the only way to get H to listen sometimes.

When I first made a vow to myself that I wouldn't yell like that anymore, I was certain H would never listen again. I mean, I had to yell to make her know I was serious, right? Wrong. There is nothing that says "Mommy is serious" more than getting right down on their level, physically with them, and helping them with what you want/expect.

Her shoes need to be on and she hasn't done it despite that I've requested 50 million times and we are all ready late. Okay. I put our bag down. I put the baby down. I grab her shoes, and I physically help put them on her. Calmly. Gently. We're late anyway. The extra 30 seconds of me physically helping isn't going to make a difference in time, but it will make all the difference in teaching her how we treat other human beings. Even the ones we are frustrated with. Most especially the ones we are frustrated with.

Or she won't stop touching her brother (or whatever), after being told it's not okay? Again, what's more serious than me - gently - stopping her hand and looking her in the eye and telling her, "I will not let you poke your brother."

And I get it. I really, truly do. We all have days where we are frazzled and falling apart at the seams. I get it.

But the truth is, I would never yell at my husband. Ever. In his words, "The big things we made sure we were on the same page before we got married, and the little things are just little - not worth arguing over, much less yelling over." When I was a member of the work force, I would have never yelled at my employer or co-workers. I wouldn't yell at my friends. I wouldn't yell at any adult human being.

So why do we think it's acceptable to yell at children? Why do we find justifications for it? Because it's not. It's not okay to yell at our kids. Maybe in a very dangerous situation. But not over shoes or late homework or a messy bedroom or annoying their sister. It's just not.

Don't get me wrong. I do get frustrated and mad. I've even had moments where I felt like my blood must literally be boiling and had no idea how two tiny people whom I love so wholly and unconditionally could make me feel such negative feelings.

But I don't typically yell at my kids when I have these feelings. I don't pretend that my upset feelings don't exist in order to raise them in an ever-happy bubble either.

I will be the first person to announce, "I'm really frustrated/upset/mad right now." And even, "I'm really frustrated with you." I have zero qualms telling my children my less-than rosy emotions. But instead of taking out those feelings on my kids by yelling, I try my dandiest to model how I want them to handle those exact same feelings when they're experiencing them.

Ideally, being able to walk away from the situation is usually my first choice. Just a few minutes to calm down and regain my composure before we address whatever the issue may be. To think about the situation objectively and in the grand scheme of things to realize how trivial it actually is in most situations. Obviously, this isn't always a possibility. And in those times I close my eyes and take deep breaths and I remind myself in those ten seconds of the things I love best about my kids. I think about the first time I laid eyes on them, how peaceful they look when they sleep, something funny they've said recently, etc.

After all, "When I get mad and want to roar - I take a deep breath and count to four." That Daniel Tiger is a genius. And he knows how to handle his anger. And my sweet babes sing that song a lot. So if a little tiger knows that it's not okay to yell; we big humans should be able to figure it out, too.

Showing my kids how I handle my big, upset emotions helps teach them how to handle theirs. No, we don't bottle them inside. That isn't healthy. But we don't yell at people either. I find it completely unacceptable for anyone to yell at me. So why in the world would I think it acceptable for myself to yell at anyone? That is terrible logic.

So, I make mistakes daily. We all do. Yelling isn't one I indulge in often anymore, but it admittedly does happen on rare occasions. Old habits die hard and all that jazz. I don't beat myself up over my mistakes. I don't harbor guilt if I slip up and yell or speak a little too curtly or a million other things that the beautiful imperfect person that is me still messes up with on occasion. Or sometimes frequently, it just depends on the vice.

But I will also never justify yelling at my kids (or anyone else) or try to pat someone else on the back and say it's okay. Because it's not. It's just not.

Once we stop trying to justify the yelling, that's when we can start to correct the behavior and find different (healthier? better?) ways to handle those situations. And if you're in a situation where you just feel like you need to yell - go do it in a pillow in another room. Let it out. Just don't direct it at your kid.

We all want to raise kids who deal with their emotions in a healthy manner. But yelling at people because we hurt is not healthy. It's hurting others because we hurt. And that's an awful cycle.

We know a lot about physical abuse these days. And verbal abuse. What about emotional abuse? Because yelling hurts the heart. It's scary for the person being yelled at, and it's often scary for the person who is doing the yelling, too. It's a very emotional experience. And not a positive or healthy one for anyone.

Again, I feel the need to reiterate for the millionth time that we are all human. We all make mistakes. Daily. And that's okay. I don't believe in beating yourself up or harboring guilt over any mistakes we may make as parents or human beings.

But I also don't believe in making excuses for or trying to justify said mistakes in order to feel better about ourselves. And that includes yelling.

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.

The Golden Rule is a parenting style it seems.

I really despise when people ask what kind of parenting style do I adhere to?

Because the truth is - I don't.

I automatically get labeled as AP (attachment parenting) a lot, because I do seem to follow most of the beliefs of AP.

Though I'll admit it wasn't all on purpose.

I don't even fully know all the principles of AP. I've never read a book over it. But I know it seems to be the "crunchy" way of parenting. I know it's based on nurturing, respecting, and being attentive of your child's needs at all times, not just when it's convenient for you.

Most AP parents seem to embrace pregnancy and child birth. They prepare and aim for a natural med-free birth. I did this, of course. But because I was strong and powerful and felt very empowered by it all. And because I was a control freak and the alternative terrified me.

It seems most AP parents strongly believe in co-sleeping. I'm neither for nor against it. I'm against CIO, but I don't care where babies sleep. We never planned to co-sleep. It just kind of happened. It was easier, and we [mostly] came to love it. Though I do love that they also now start out in their own beds these days. And B typically makes it all night in his own bed.

I guess AP parents believe in breastfeeding. Though they don't all choose this, obviously. Because how we feed our children is a choice. And all our options are legitimate. And no one should ever feel guilty for choosing to feed their child one way or another. I knew before I ever got pregnant that I wouldn't formula feed. It just wasn't an option for me. My mom breastfed, so that seemed like the natural route for me too. And quite frankly, I'm too cheap for formula. And I liked the convenience of rolling over and popping a boob in the baby's mouth at night. But I really don't care how someone else feeds their kid. And if they do breastfeed, I don't care for how little or how long. J and I originally decided we wanted to breastfeed our kiddos until they were 2 (yes, I'm saying we because I really do feel like this amazing journey has really been a team event). Then 2 rolled around and weaning seemed too difficult and completely unnecessary and everyone was still happy in the relationship so we said fuck it, and here I am, still breastfeeding a 3.5 year old and a 2 year old.

AP parents believe in positive discipline. So instead of always saying "no," tell them what they can do. No hitting or yelling. Again, I never read anything telling me to do this in the beginning, it's just what felt right. I just couldn't imagine causing my kids unnecessary physical, emotional, or mental harm. And spanking and yelling do just that.

I baby wear. That's an AP thing to do. I didn't intend to wear my firstborn 24/7, but I also didn't intend to let her cry 24/7. So something had to give and a baby carrier became the solution to the problem. Though B rarely went into the Ergo because he didn't love to be worn as much as H. And for him, we bought a stroller.

And apparently AP parents don't vaccinate either. Again, these are all just generalities. I'm sure there are a lot of people who would say they are AP who don't necessary fall into all these categories (and I could totally be making these categories up! Again, I've never read an actual AP book). Anyway, I'm not anti or pro-vaccine. But we don't do it. So I guess I fit the mold.

There are other parenting philosophies we take tidbits from.

RIE. We respect our children. We view them as capable human beings.

We let them push their own physical limits and refrain from coddling and shielding and constantly saying "be careful." Unless we foresee true danger, we let them go at it. Even though it seems to terrify most of the other moms at the playgrounds.

We validate their feelings, but we also accept that we don't necessarily have the ability to "fix" their emotions. They are their own emotions to have, and they are allowed to have them. Even if they annoy other people.

I guess you could say in some ways I'm pretty mainstream, too.

I expect my kids to respect me. But that seems incredibly easy since I respect them. And I act accordingly.

The thing is, I could probably pick up any book under the sun and find things I relate to within its pages. And things I don't relate to. Things I downright disagree with.

And I know I couldn't find any book that I 100% agree with every single thing said in it.

And that's kind of a beautiful thing. Knowing that I'm unique. Raising unique kids in a unique way. And really, nothing but time will tell if we're doing it "right." Even then, though, "right" will mean different things for different people. Some will just want their kids to make the A's and attain a college degree and have a lucrative career - happiness aside. Others will want their children to be happy first and foremost doing what they love, even if they're living off of ramen noodles, sharing an apartment with 8 other people while they strive to make it as a musician.

So I don't believe in a specific parenting style: though I will admit that I seem to practice many AP beliefs. But it doesn't mean I strongly believe in them (i.e., co-sleeping, non-vaxing, etc.).

Like all parents, we have our own groove. Our own way of doing things.

And our primary philosophy is simply to listen to our children always; to treat them with respect and compassion; and when in doubt, walk away and take a deep breath. These are our children. They will be the parents of our grandchildren. And I want them to have a good example of how not only to treat other people, but how to treat their own children. I don't ever want them to think that it's okay to be punitive to them. So that's it. Treat our kids the same way we hope they treat others, especially our their own kids.

I guess that sounds a lot like the Golden Rule. Not too bad of a parenting style, I'd say.

"You're really frustrating me, too!"

My sweet, lovely, dear Miss H has big feelings. She's sensitive and her emotions are a lot for her to deal with sometimes (and me, too!).

Sometimes this can be especially challenging for me. Mostly because, quite frankly, she's just like me in that aspect. So we tend to feed off of each other.

Luckily for her, and me, I've got 22 years on her, and in my 25 years of life have mostly mastered the ability to properly control and deal with my emotions. I'm human, so it's not perfect. But I'm pretty good.

Lately, with this craptastic cold, she's been even more emotional than typical.

We were in the car for the all of the 3 minute drive to our local community center and she was just having a hard time. Finally, I just pulled the car over and said, "H, would you rather we just go back home? You are really frustrating me."

To my surprise, she replied with, "You're really frustrating me, too!" in a nearly hysterical screech.

I shut my eyes and took a deep breath, reminding myself for the umpteenth time all ready today that I'm the adult. I don't have the right to behave as a child. I owe that much to my children.

"What can I do to help you?" I finally asked.

"You can give me a hug."

I nodded, obviously she couldn't see this. "Okay, I can do that." I put the car in park and did what I suppose would have been the atypical thing in such a situation and got out of my car and walked around to give my child a hug.

After a minute she was fine. She told me she was sorry she was screaming at me (which is why I was frustrated) and she was ready to go play at the community center now.

It's so hard sometimes to remember that she's so little. And she has such big feelings that are overwhelming.

But it's comforting to know that she sees me as her safe place with those big feelings. She knows I will still hug her and love her, even if she's screaming in my face, and I won't punish her for releasing those feelings in a non-desirable manner. Because I can see past the tantrum or "misbehavior" and see the struggling little girl inside. And because she's typically such a sweet little gem that when that is her behavior, I know something is really going awry for her. A serious need is unmet. Even if that need is just some Momma cuddles.

Spanking is narcissistic.

I loathe when people say that parents who (wisely) choose not to spank, do not discipline their children.

I also despise that people believe that discipline is synonymous with punish, but that's a different rant.

Let's just call a kettle a kettle: Spanking is narcissistic.

It's lazy, irresponsible parenting that people who lack self-discipline turn to, typically as a relief for their own frustration, because it provides them a few moments of satisfaction and temporarily stops a child's behavior (or doesn't). It's used when people would rather "fix" a short term problem instead of helping their child come up with long-term solutions that will benefit their whole person.

Because let's be honest, true discipline is hard, hard work. It demands patience, commitment, involvement, creativity and more of that hard, hard work. It's not for the weak of heart.

It takes two seconds to respond to an ornery child and get the quick fix you want by smacking them. It takes a few extra minutes to offer a calm-down and a solution (and sometimes in public, with people watching - oh, the embarrassment and the horror!). If the child is in a particularly challenging mood, it could take much longer than a few minutes. And for some reason that kind of commitment to our kids is just too much to ask for. I mean, 90% of children in the US are still spanked regularly, so that speaks volumes on our willingness to truly commit to disciplining our children (and by this, I mean role model, role model, role model!).

Not to mention that we have overwhelming data that proves how damaging spanking is. I know lots of people use the "Well, I was spanked and I turned out fine" or "My parents spanked me and I never doubted their love" logic, but plain and simple: it's crap. Spanking damages the brain. It literally reduces the gray brain matter and therefore intelligence, learning, sensory perception, speech, muscular control, emotions and memory of the person being spanked. So even if you're "fine" - you could have been "great." And you owe great to your children.

Research consistently links corporal punishment with aggression in children, poor academic performance, depression, and anti-social tendencies, which includes the harming of animals. No one wants that for their kiddos.

Children learn by example. By watching their parents. The only example a spanking gives, no matter how "lovingly" it's given, or how much you talk with the child afterwards and pour more love onto them, it only shows bullying, fear and violence. It teaches children to control others and to relieve their frustration by hitting. Preferably someone who is smaller and more vulnerable than them, and looks up to them for everything. Why would you want to teach your child that it's okay to hit someone just because you're bigger? And then we wonder why there is such a growing "trend" of bullying. Because it's first learned in the home.

And once a spanking is given, it can never be taken back. So we have to work just that much more hard at parenting to help make it right.

So yes, spanking is narcissistic. It's a narcissistic act that parents carry out solely to make themselves feel better for a very short period of time.

And it's wrong.

Non-punitive does not equal permissive

For some odd reason many people seem to equate non-punitive parenting to permissive parenting.

And it couldn't be farther from the truth.

I view non-punitive parenting as an extension of attachment parenting. Just the later years, as they grow out of infancy.

It means you value your children's emotions and words. You listen when they speak up about things, even if you disagree. You don't react brashly, especially to situations you actually didn't witness. You (rarely) give out arbitrary punishments. Time-out, grounding, spanking, etc., does very little to address the actual issue.

When my kids are crying, I'm there. When they throw tantrums, I let them. Tantrums are not unacceptable or punishable offenses. They're just how they are able to release their emotions.

When I ask H to do something and she doesn't like my request, I listen to her side of things. Typically, her side is completely reasonable. "I want to finish reading this book before I put my shoes on." "I want you to brush my hair before you brush my teeth." "I want you to help me pick up all of these dumped crayons." Etc., etc. Things that seem rather small and trivial to me quite honestly, but mean a whole lot to her. Waiting an extra two minutes while she reads a book is no big deal. Brushing her hair first or helping her pick up are such small things in the grand scheme of the world. Why make them into big deals? Why create a battle between us when we can use these moment to build our relationship positively?

If H or B comes to me tattling, I never assume they're lying. But I also never assume that the other party has done what they've been accused of. If I didn't see it, I don't know. So if H says B hit her, I help her with finding appropriate words to use in the future if such an event should occur again. I remind B of how much hitting hurts. But I don't dole out time-outs. It wouldn't make sense.

We do discipline our children. Very much so. The word discipline is derived from the word "disciple" which means "to lead." We lead our children every day to be kind, positive, helpful, compassionate human beings. We model kind manners for them and how to show others empathy.

When my children yell at me I don't yell back at them (though there are certainly times it is tempting!). I simply tell them that I do not speak to them in that tone, I'd appreciate not being spoken to like that, as well. Typically, that suffices.

I won't lie and say we never use consequences. Of course, we do. Typically it's natural consequences though. And not in a cruel manner.

I've heard of people allowing natural consequences to happen, but when they talk about it it is nearly spiteful if not downright mean.

For instance, before coming inside from playing outside we pick up our toys and chalk and put them away. One afternoon H was adamantly opposed to picking up her chalk, even with help. I calmly explained to her that it was supposed to rain and her chalk would turn to mush. Together, we could pick it up quickly and head inside. Again, she refused. So we went inside and left the chalk. Sure enough, the next morning, the chalk had disintegrated. She was disappointed, but also new she had a whole box of chalk inside in the closet (which might have made it easier for her to refuse to pick it up in the first place). She asked for the chalk and I gave it to her. But you know what, she hasn't so much as had to be reminded to pick up chalk before coming inside since that incident. I've even overheard her relaying to B a few times how it was necessary to pick it up or it would be ruined.

So it was a consequence. A mostly natural consequence. There were no power struggles between us or arbitrary punishments dished out. And she was forewarned of what would happen.

So there are consequences.

I still regress under stress and start counting to three. Of course, no one yet knows what happens when we get to that scary number three.

And I gave B his first time-out last week after a particularly stressful day of full on aggression. I called J, a little upset with myself and he simply reminded me that the rule of thumb in this house 1.) Love. 2.) Compassion. 3.) Love. 4.) Compassion. 5.) Consequence.

I remind myself daily that no person can control another human being. Yes, if they are afraid enough of you, you can likely get anyone to jump the second you ask of them. But that's not our goal in parenting. Instead, I just try to respect, respect, respect my children. In turn, they respect me. And thus typically have no qualms obeying when I ask something of them. Because they know we have a mutual respect for one another, and if they have an issue or opposition, I will listen. Because their issues and preferences and desires have value and will be heard.

We have structure and routines. We have meal times (though all day snacking), and bed times. The kids participate in organized activities and follow the rules and directions set up by other people.

It's not perfect. I'm not perfect.

During the most difficult moments I often have to stop and ask myself if I'm behaving in a way that is making my relationship with my children stronger, or weaker. Is this moment helping the adult my children will grow into, or just helping me?

As I've told J a million times, I believe so strongly and passionately in a way of parenting without punishments or (arbitrary) consequences at all. I've just not quite figure out how to make it work with our family. Or with me.

I haven't figured out how to 100% reprogram myself from my previous beliefs and ideas that I was raised with.

But I'm working on it.

But regardless. Even if I ever get to that place of 100%, we still wouldn't be permissive parents. Permissive parents don't have structure or rules. They don't teach compassion, they teach "me me me." And trust me, that's not the kind of parent I am. It's not the kind of parent J is. We're not "traditional," but we're also not stupid. We want to raise human beings who are successful on their own terms. Who are not "me-centric" and who think of the consequences to their actions and words.

So no. Permissive and non-punitive do not equate each other.

Not even remotely.

(And as I've said, we're not perfectly non-punitive anyway).

The Fit

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

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

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

I know better now.

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

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

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

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

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

Until today.

Today Mr. B wanted to bang on computer keyboards.

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

But he wanted to play on Mommy's.

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

B was having none of it.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But I don't.

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

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

And it's healthy.

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

But if he does. I will be there.

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

"Our children are spoiled, our elders abused."

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

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

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

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

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

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

Let me explain.

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

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

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

J agreed.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But I'm getting it now.

Slowly.

I still struggle with it.

Every day.

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

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

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

Yep, I'm dense.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Does this all make them spoiled?

I don't believe so.

Though I'm sure many would disagree.

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

But there you have it.

Our children are spoiled, our elders abused.

There's a lot of heart break in motherhood

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

Truly, physically, painfully, sorrowfully break.

More than once at that.

But it can.

It does.

It will.

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

And so your heart breaks.

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

Your heart breaks.

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

You heart breaks.

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

Your heart shatters.

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

It’s tough.

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

For real.

I’m trying not to take it personally.

Because it isn’t.

I’m her safe place. I know that.

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

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

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

I keep reminding myself of that.

I’m safe for her.

She knows I love her.

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

Because I do, of course.

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

I don’t know.

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

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

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

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

I don’t.

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

Until now.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She’s almost three for goodness sakes!

A big boy bed

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

He is doing amazing! I’m so surprised.

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

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

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

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

Well, B is all about the bed.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And I may very well have hoorahed too soon.

Oh, well.

We’ll always have Paris.

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

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

But really, 2 is pretty awesome.

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

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

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

 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Because 2 year olds are amazing.

Let the mommy guilt go

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

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

Who has time for that?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But I will forgive myself.

Always.

I deserve it.

And so do you.

Diffusion not distraction

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

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

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

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

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

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

How do we diffuse, you ask?

For us, we sing!

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

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

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

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

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

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

It's hard. Incredibly hard.

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

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

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

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

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

TV and I are going to go at it pretty soon

I swear I'm on the verge of banning TV. And not for the "Kids shouldn't watch x amount or certain tv" reasons either.

The shit my kids picks up from television infuriates me. Absolutely infuriates me.

The other day she is telling me she's bad, which we've never said to her or anyone else before. It broke my heart.

Then she told me that I was going to yell at her and ground her if she didn't do her chores. Um, she doesn't even have chores. And I know exactly which show this came from (Anne of Green Gables). I told her I would never yell at her, even if she didn't do something I asked, because that's not how mommies treat their kids. Mommies treat their children with the same love, respect, compassion and kindness that they expect to be treated with. And yelling just doens't make that list.

And then today. Oh, for the love of God, today. H is playing with B and suddenly she looks up to where I'm folding laundry on the couch and says to me, "I'm so sorry, Momma. I'm so sorry I make mess." They were playing for goodness sakes!

I told her, "You don't have to apologize for making a mess, H P. It's part of playing and being a kid. There is nothing wrong with that." But she only reapeated, "I'm sorry I make mess, Momma."

So then I asked her where in the world she hear that and she responded with, "Um, Jake, the little boy on TV. He made a mess and his Mommy got mad."

"Well," I told her, "your mommy won't get mad about a mess. That's just silly. Messes happen."

Yeah. She apologized again.

I hate TV.

Kids aren't adults. They should have fun.

My kids are wild. Like crazy wild. Probably because Miss H's middle name is Wilde so it simply set the stage for her and bled down to her brother.

My kids are loud. They voice their opinions, even at times when I'd rather they not - say, the middle of the super market or during mass. And they haven't yet developed class, so people look. They stare. Their mouths gape open. They're appalled.

But I'm cool with it. Because as wild as they are, they're mostly normal. And they're sweet and awesome and wonderful and everything I could ever hope to be.

And because of their loud and rowdy ways it never ceases to amaze me how well they sit down, sit still, and pay attention during story time. How well they participate in circle time and stretches at gymnastics. How very focused and how well Miss H follows directions during dance class and piano lessons.

During these moments, it's like my children are possessed. Some may say I have it backwards, these mellow, quiet, following-direction times should be "normal" and the rest of their lives the possession. But it's not. And that's okay.

Even Mr. B sits right down for circle time and makes his butterfly legs. He makes pizza with his gymnastic instructor and loudly belts out the welcome song (incoherently of course!). Both B and H do these things while other kids are typically running around the gym or story time, unable to sit and focus.

I don't think there is anything wrong with these other kids. I think they've got an agenda of their own, and that's a-okay. If it were H or B, I'd let 'em go run their bit. It's harmless and they are just babes. They're not meant to sit and follow directions at such a young age unless they want to.

Except other people don't seem to agree.

Oftentimes the other parents are "whispering" (you know, that whisper that is as loud as a yell) vehemently to their children to "sit down on their bottoms" or "get over here right now" and even "you will regret this later." It makes me so sad for those kids. They are doing what is innately natural to them, and they are being told that they are wrong or bad for simply being a small child.

I don't know why my kids participate so well in activities. H's BFF has a very similar personality and temperament as H. But she doesn't sit still during story time. And her momma is just fine with that. I don't know why H does. I don't know why B does.

But I know I've never yelled, screamed, threatened, coerced or bribed them to do so. And I never will.

Quite frankly, at this young of an age it's all fun and games. They don't have to follow directions. H just graduated up to the big kids gymnastics class (but she still gets to do toddler gym too - whew!). There she is expected to follow directions. And in that situation, if she chooses not to, I'd never make her feel bad about it. It would be her making it clear to me that either she is not ready to be in that kind of position or that she doesn't enjoy gymnastics. And I'd never make her do an extracurricular she didn't enjoy. That's just dumb.

So please, don't expect your kids to be little adults. They don't have the same patience we have(okay, that many of us have or at the very least pretend to have). They can't sit still like we can. And they like to have fun. Let them!

And fun is different for all kids. Don't expect your kids "fun" to be what you think it should be. You might think that collecting the most Easter eggs during and Easter egg hunt is fun. Your kid might think that picking dandelions is more fun. And that's fine.

Let them be little!

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.

Different

Being different it hard. Choosing to do things differently than the majority of other people is fucking hard.

It is accepting that most of the time you’ll be the only one with your ideas and beliefs. That you’ll always feel like you are working against the grain. That you’re alone. It is accepting that you won’t have anyone who supports you other than your spouse (and I know for some, not even that).

I’ve been in a terrible funk lately. I contribute it to poor sleeping, too much sugar, and being different.

Because, well, sometimes I want support. I told J this today.

He supports me. Amazingly so. He tells me every day how proud and happy he is to have me for a wife. That he loves how I’m not afraid to question everything. How I’m totally cool if the whole world hates me or thinks I’m crazy. Because I do what is right.

I have immense morals and values that no one ever instilled in me. J is amazed that someone with such a morally jaded childhood can be so damn straight-laced. Maybe too straight-laced sometimes.

For the most part, I don’t need anyone to agree with me. I’m happy alone. I’m happy in my beautiful bubble with my beautiful, happy, amazing family.

But sometimes, yes, I would like some support. It’s a lot to ask for, I know.

It’s hard.

I mean, other than genital mutilation, which I’ll never be on board with, and abuse, I respect every parents decision that they make for their child. Even if it drastically differs from mine. Even if I don’t understand it.

I don’t think less of those parents. Not even a little bit. I do think that maybe they just don’t know. Sometimes I genuinely hope that’s the case. Sometimes I realize they are doing things because their spouse “won’t let” them do things differently. And that makes me sad. Because kids pick up on that stuff and I feel like everyone deserves a better relationship then that..

But I do also realize that people make choices completely different than me, being well informed, because they want to!

And that’s okay.

I SUPPORT YOU!

I won’t shut up though about why I make my choices. I won’t shut up about my choices. Because I know that sometimes people hear me.

And more than one person has told me that their sweet baby boy was left intact because of information I shared. That even when they were exhausted and at the point of a breakdown they didn’t abandon their baby in a crib all by themselves and let them scream because of something I shared with them. That they thought twice before spanking their child. Before punishing them at all.

So it makes it worth it. It makes being different worth it when good things happen to babies and children (and their parents!) because of my “different” ideas. (Though they don’t seem so different.)

The hard part is I’m constantly changing my ideas. Drastically. Because I’m constantly learning knew things.

I mean, in education beliefs alone I’ve changed so drastically in 2.5 years. I went from feeling strongly about giving my children a good Catholic education, to wanting simply a good academically-structured education, to believing strongly in the Montessori principles (and some I still do), to feeling strongly about homeschooling, and now I’m leaning more toward unschooling.

It makes me feel crazy sometimes how much I change. So I get how others can feel bonkers too.

And I know everyone is at their one place in their learning journey. Some people are lightyears ahead of me and I won’t catch up for several more years. Some are where I was at one point in time. Others are one a completely different path.

Some people do share some of my ideas in theory. I told J that it’s hard though, because I’m often doing things alone when it comes to reality and to the actual practice of my beliefs.

I’m the one not forcing their child to say “I’m sorry” at the playdates. So I appear to be a rude and permissive parent. But I model the behavior for my child. To me, “I’m sorry” means nothing if it’s not genuine. And if you have to be told to say it, then it is NOT genuine.

But I get that other people tell their child to apologize because they feel it’s the right things to do. Because that’s how they were raised. Because they don’t question it. Because they don’t want “society” to think their child is rude.

I understand. And yet I’m so alone most times in my understanding of my own beliefs.

And that’s okay too.

I lamented to J that so many people feel I have “failed” because of my adult-choices. And while I don’t care what others think, I feel very confident in my decisions, it still hurts sometimes that the people who are supposed to care, to love you, don’t always support you.

But while discussing these, let’s face it, ridiculous feelings with J, I also said, “I don’t want my children to be like everyone else. How can I be the same and do the same if that’s not what I want for them?”

So I’m different. I have a different way of doing things. I’m a different kind of person. My children will be amazingly different.

And if I do it without the support of anyone but J, that’s okay. Because he’s the only one I need to support the decisions regarding our family at the end of the day anyway.

I realized long ago that the boat with my family’s support sailed. Long before I ever even had a chance. And that’s okay.

I’m different.

Luckily.

Thankfully.

Because I couldn’t be like some other people. I couldn’t let J make all the decisions. I wouldn’t obey if he said “Let them cry themselves to sleep.” In fact, I’d scoop up my babes and walk right out the door, and I’d keep on walking until the divorce papers were signed. And he knows that. And he agrees with that. I couldn’t drink my unhappiness away (I’m not unhappy). I couldn’t leave my kids in the care of someone else all day. Or all week. Because although I like a break, I like being with them. Yes, there will come a time when they are older that I’m sure they will spend time with someone so J and I can finally have our honeymoon. But it will not be for a long time. And not until there is actually someone out there willing to keep them, ha ha.

Just because I can have a paying job, doesn’t mean I will. Just because I can go to law school or grad school and be “successful” by most of society’s standards doesn’t mean I will. Or should.

We both decided when we had kids that they would always come first. Because, you know, we’re different. So that means there are nights that J and I spend very little or no time together because our kids need us. There are times we are tired. Exhausted.

And times we feel incredibly alone in this journey.

But I’m realizing that that is okay.

 

The people who do support me are mostly childless friends. Which doesn’t make their support any less amazing, but it’s different. It’s one thing to be able to talk to someone without kids about how exhausted you are because B hasn’t slept decently in two weeks and you just want 6 hours straight of sleep without anyone touching you. It’s another to be able to whine about this to a friend with children. One who chose different sleep arrangements for their children.

How amazing it would be if I could lament about sleep issues to someone who sleep trained their child and their first words not be, “Oh, you need to night-wean him! Oh, you need to have him in his own bed! Oh, you need to let him cry it out!” Wouldn’t it be freaking amazing if instead, although having made different decisions, they could say, “Yeah, infants and toddlers are craptastic sleepers. I feel for you.” Or even just, “That sucks.” Or “I hear you.” You don’t have to agree with how we’re sleeping. I understand you may have no advice because you don’t know any other way than what you chose for your children.

I just want someone to listen. To sympathize. To be a supportive FRIEND.

I’ve never flat out told a friend who has chosen to sleep train their child that they should co-sleep instead. I’ve never encouraged someone not to wean their infant or toddler. I’ve never told someone who has smacked their child in front of me what they could have done instead.

I respect everyone’s decisions. And I support them! I’ve helped friends find gentle ways to wean their babies. Just because it’s not what I’m doing, doesn’t mean I cannot or will not be supportive.

And yet it seems so ridiculously hard for others sometimes.

To some my choices are fearless and bold. J says that people cannot support ideas they envy, but are too afraid to implement themselves. That although many people would like to change, they just can’t without support.

So I understand. Because it’s a scary thing to do on your own.

I was scared, too.

I was scared the first time I admitted I would still breastfeed my child after a year old. I was scared the first time I admitted my child was sleeping in my bed. I was terrified the first time I stood firmly by my belief that I will not send my children to school. I was scared when I first ventured down the path of non-punitive parenting.

It’s scary. It’s scary to do new things. It’s scary to be the only one you know doing them.

But scary is good sometimes. Sometimes it can be revolutionary.

But it doesn’t mean it’s easy.

It’s hard. Incredibly hard. It’s hard to be the one still whipping out a boob for an almost 3 year old when everyone else is saying, “Dear God, haven’t you weaned her yet?” It’s hard to refrain from saying, “H you need to share that with Sally” when you know Sally’s mom is waiting for you to say such because it’s “right.” It’s hard when you tell the nice lady passing out candy canes, “No, thank you,” and it’s hard when you just have to sit awkwardly while everyone else talks about sending their kids off to kindergarten and you know that is not in the cards for yours.

So I’m different. Maybe when my kids are grown, I won’t be so different. Or maybe I will.

But at least my kids will know that it is okay to be different. It is okay to have different ideas. Different beliefs.

People once believed the sun revolved around Earth and that the world was flat. People once thought it was okay to own people and to discriminate based on something as silly as the color of skin. People once thought it was okay for husbands to beat their wives and for little girls to have their genitals mutilated.

So just because the majority believes something, doesn’t always means its right. This gives me the courage to be different. To stand alone when needed.

Maybe someday my grandchildren will be horrified that people used to think it was okay to hit their children. To yell at them. To belittle them. Maybe they will think the idea of sending 5 year olds to school for 8 hours a day to recite the alphabet and trace letters and forced to take standardized tests is ridiculous. Maybe they will be well-educated in the power of breast milk. Maybe they will have better knowledge of the chemicals in vaccines and they won’t accept artificial food coloring or GMO’s in their foods and processed shit will be a thing of the past.

Or maybe not.

But at least they will know there is a different option. An acceptable alternative. And that it’s okay to be different.

And that their family, (J, sibling, and I) will support them.

Even if they’re doing it alone.