A lesson in Miss Manners

Most of the time I feel like J is the one who is pretty old school the two of us (though admittedly, I'm pretty old fashioned, too, in a lot of ways). But then he goes and shows me how backwards he is, like our coversation last night. And I'm totally calling him backwards out of love here.

I have a small pile of invitations to Mr. Baby B's first birthday (How is that soooo soon?) sitting on my desk. Most of them have been mailed out, but there are a few people I currently lack current addresses for. I said to J, "I feel so bad that these haven't been mailed. His birthday is in two weeks!"

And J looked through them and then said, "Well, all of these people live out of state. They can't come anyway. Why are you even inviting them?"

I wanted to ask him if he lived under a box. If he'd never looked before and realized where all the invitations were going for Miss H's parties when he mailed them out. But I didn't. Instead I said, "You're supposed to invite everyone who you'd like to attend. Even if you know they cannot. That way they know that you are thinking of them and that you would like them there."

"That's just going to make them feel bad because they can't be."

Okay, so I admit, at this, I rolled my eyes. "No, it's not. It makes them feel loved."

"That doesn't make sense," he grumbled. "But do your thing, and I'll support it."

"Haven't you ever read Miss Manners? How do you not know these things?!"

"Is Miss Manners real?"

My eyes may have bulged out of my head here. "Um, yes. How do you not know this? Oh. My. Goodness. How did you survive before me?"

"You know, no one got thank you cards or Christmas cards before we were married. I never heard a complaint. I managed."

"But you have to have proper manners, J! You send courtesy invitations and thank you notes for any gift you recieve that the gift-giver didn't hand to you personally. You have to know this stuff. What if I die tomorrow? Our kids have to grow up knowing this stuff!"

"Well, I know now," he assurred me. "And you're not going to die tomorrow. But if you do, I'll send everyone a courtesy invitation to your funeral and a thank you card for the flowers."

"You might want to check with Miss Manners on that one."

There may very well be such a thing as too much (breastfeeding) support. Who knew?

We were in the car today and I said to J, "Some days Miss H drives me insane with breastfeeding. Today is one of them."

"Okay," he replied.

"If it didn't go against everything I feel is right, I'd wean her."

"But she's not ready to wean," he said back.

"I know. She doesn't let me forget." And she doesn’t. That girl asks to nurse every thirty seconds it seems. And if I ask her to stop nursing before she is done, it’s an epic meltdown. If I ask her if she wants a glass of milk, or chocolate milk, or even a freaking cookie she wails, “No! Milk from Mommy’s boobies!” So yeah…there is no such thing as distraction or substitution with this girl.

"Well, you can't wean her if she isn't ready," he told me, like some how this logic works for everyone. I mean, apparently he hasn't met most of America. But I digress...

"What if I'm ready?" Some days I really do feel like I am. Some days all the whining and sucking makes me resent her a little bit. I want to love on her and cuddle her, but not always with one of my boobs in her mouth.

Don’t get me wrong, most of the time I don’t feel that way. For the majority of the time I love breastfeeding her. I love that I am her comfort and security. That my milk can make anything under the sun better for her. I do like that. But then sometimes. Well, sometimes I’m just tired. And I wonder how other people do this.

"You can't be. She isn't ready. And you're the one who wants her to self wean. It's what is best for her." I love J. I really do. But why must he take everything I tell him to heart? Before we had H and we first discussed breastfeeding he was pro-boob because it was a helluva lot cheaper. Then I made him do his own research because I think it’s important we be on the same page due to our own findings, not because one of us has told them other xyz. After all his research he was all “I think you should breastfeed until at least 2. But I think maybe until the baby chooses to be done is better.” So then I did more research and was like, “Yeah! You’re right! Great idea!” And got completely on that bandwagon. But since I’m the one actually doing it, my feelings waiver occasionally. J’s do not.

"I know," I admitted a bit exasperated.  “But she is so demanding. And my nipples hurt. All. The. Time. Baby B nurses all night long (yeah, that night weaning shiznik back in May lasted a whopping week. Go figure…). I’m tired. I’m over it.”

“You’re tired. You’re not over it. You’ve still got at least another year of breastfeeding. Probably longer knowing our kids. You didn’t sleep last night. This morning has been rough. You’ll be fine tomorrow.”

I nodded. I sighed. “Probably,” I admitted. “Maybe we should just let baby B cry it out tonight. See how things go? Maybe I can get some more sleep.”

“Now you’re just screwing with me,” J said.

I laughed. “Yeah. Yeah, I am.”

She needs a Charlie

Miss H wants a dog. Like, it’s killing her, she wants one so bad.

Okay, she really wants a Charlie. Some of my dear, sweet friends visited this past week, and K brought her dog Charlie. Miss H is in love. She loves all animals, especially dogs. But Charlie stole her heart.

She cried when he left. It just about broke my heart. If I didn’t have some brains in my head I would have gone out and gotten her a puppy right then. I seriously thought about it. But common sense prevailed. Hallelujah.

So I’ve been subjected to her drawing pictures of Charlie and telling me that she misses him and he’s so soft and she needs to give him besos and hugs. And doesn’t Charlie want a treat? She wants to get him the colored treats since they don’t hurt his belly.

I lament the day I have to clean up after an animal that I didn’t give birth to. I hate the idea of potty training something that does not walk on just two legs. The nasty animal hair that will litter my house makes me want to vomit without it even being here.

And yet I’m sure when that inevitable day comes, I’ll still have to smile, because my babes seem to so genuinely love animals. And what makes them happy seems to make me happy, even if I don’t share that passion.

At all.

Sleep deprivation is real. And it may possibly kill me.

I always thought that people who complained about sleep deprivation with newborns were, well, pansies quite frankly. That they were being melodramatic.

Mostly because even Miss H, who is my “bad sleeper” (though apparently baby B is equivalent to most of the worlds “bad sleepers”) never slept more than 45  minutes at a time, but she did sleep. So even if it were in 45 minute increments, I still got sleep.

And then baby B was amazing. He did 2+ hour stretches from birth. Of course, Miss H still made sure to wake up in between him, so that I never got too used to sleep, but it was still sleep and it worked and I functioned.

But then baby B started getting teeth. Oh, the teeth!  For the first four or so days before his first tooth popped through he didn’t sleep. Like, at all. I literally had to be holding him while rocking or patting him, otherwise he was screaming bloody murder. It was awful. I was exhausted because the only sleep I was getting was when I’d just start drifting off due to exhaustion. But it was never more than 10-15 minutes because then baby B would start screaming because I had stopped moving him.

Pretty much when I thought I was at my breaking point, his first tooth popped through. Thank God! I thought. I surely couldn’t do it for one more day.

Of course, then I got really sad thinking of all the babies who are left to cry it out. Think of how many of them are in such real pain and just need their mommas to love and comfort them, but their parents are too selfish to show them that kind of compassion, even in such pain. It breaks my heart.

It breaks my heart just watching my baby be in pain. I couldn’t just walk away from him and let him deal with it on his own. Of course, then he started getting teeth all wham! Bam! And the sleep deprivation set in again.

And we’ve been working on tooth number five these past few days – it finally made its first cut-through appearance this morning. I seriously thought I was going to lose my mind last night. I didn’t even get to lie down until 2 am.

Of course, J, who has sat right next to me and told me how amazing I am on more than one all-nighter, was semi-asleep. And since I was nearing my breaking point I really wanted to punch him in his gonads. It didn’t matter that he offered to try soothing baby B (baby B doesn’t want him, so it just makes it worse). I was just mad that if he could sleep through the screaming, then he actually had the ability to sleep. And I didn’t. And it pissed me off.

So while I held my poor, teething baby, I fantasized about what it would be like to check into a hotel for a night and sleep for 6 solid hours. No, wait! I’d sleep for 12 hours! 12 solid hours of sleep. I cannot even think of what that is actually like. It’s one of those mythical things. Like unicorns or griffins or virgins after the age of 20. 12 hours of sleep just isn’t possible.

But I fantasized about it. And it was enough. I kept on rocking and patting and telling him how much I loved him. And when the sun finally came up and I climbed out of bed and drank a pot of coffee, I sincerely thanked God that his tooth has popped through and there should be better sleep for all us in the near future.

Otherwise…that hotel might not be in the too far-off distance of my future.

I used to think people created picky eaters. Now I know better

I always thought picky eaters were, well, the product of their parents. They were picky because their parents let them be picky and supported it.

And with Miss H, it seemed to ring true. That girl will eat anything. From the time she began eating solid foods she ate anything and everything. Sushi, curry, chili, you name it. Nothing was too spicy, flavorful, or strange in texture (other than purees!). Now, she has never been a big eater, as in quantity, but she's always eaten anything.

Of course, now that she is getting older, she has preferences. She has no problem telling me she wants broccoli instead of potatoes, and I respect that. But she still likes potatoes. And will eat them if she's hungry.

But baby B. Oh, that boy has thrown me for a big one! He has ruined this theory.

We've fed him just as we did Miss H. He gets what we eat. Except he doesn't eat.

Sometimes he'll put food in his mouth, and 9 times out of 10  the food he will put in his mouth he just chews the food and then spits it out instead of actually swallowing it. WTF? I don't get it.

A lot of food he just flat out won't eat though.

I know he won't starve to death. But it's still weird.

The only foods he actually likes to eat are carbs. Bread and crackers (the goldfish variety is preferred). But those he is technically allergic/sensitive/whatever to. So they just make him sick. Go figure.

I take back everything I've ever said about picky kids only being picky because their parents won't feed them an assortment of foods. I realize that there are some kids who are picky because of that, but I realize now that most of them are just naturally picky.

And it's maddening sometimes.

Teachers are amazing

I truly respect teachers. They probably serve the career I respect most in this world.

I'd venture to say that they have to most difficult job in the world.

I mean, they know what kids *need* academically, but they don't have the ability to give it to them always. They are not at liberty to allow the more advanced kids to work at a quicker pace, to keep the average kids at another, and to then give the kids who need some extra help the time they need. They are expected to keep them all together. At the same pace. On the same track. No one is allowed to be ahead. Or behind. How?

And while doing this they are expected to both actually teach our children and give them a quality education while also teaching them to perfect the art of test-taking so that their pupils are able to get the right scores.

It has to be difficult to treat 30 students in one class respectfully when 28 of them are likely not treated with respect at home, and thus show no respect for their teacher. When kids are rude and uncooperative, you want to yell and take away the only privileges they are allowed. Especially when you are not their parent, it's not your job to parent them, and really, you don't have that kind of time. You have to teach.

The politics that teachers have to put up with are ridiculous. I truly feel for them.

I may not be pro-school systems in general, but I'm very pro-teacher.

They take on a task that very few actually could, let alone do. They have so much passion and courage and drive to make a difference in this world that they are willing to put up being harrassed and bullied by parents, students, and all school authority in general, whilst being paid next to nothing, in hopes of making a difference and bettering the lives of children through education.

Seriously, these people need an award.

Some of the best people and some of the people I most respect are or were teachers (including my older sister!). There are several teachers who greatly influenced my life in a positive way (and a few in a negative...).

Teachers need a round of applause. They are heroes in the lives of so many children. They're the ones who step up to the plate and do for children what many parents either cannot do or choose not do.

In the classroom they take on the role of educator, caretaker, counselor and so much more. For 8 hours a day they are the greatest influence in the lives of many children. And (most of them) do it all so well.

So regardless of my schooling choices, I applaud teachers. They are amazing. They do amazing work. And that should never be littled or dismissed in the eyes of anyone.

The 10 most important things you could ever learn from parenting books. Seriously.

If you are a parent, you must read a parenting book. Or 20. Seriously. It's imperative. Even if you think your kids are turning out fine. Even if you've got a methodology down that seems to really work for your family. Read a parenting book. Or 20. They will Blow. Your. Mind.

But in case you don't particularly want to spend your children's precious asleep time reading how you are doing everything wrong, err, I mean, how to better yourselves, here's the shortlist of 10 things that I've learned from my many endeavors with the Parenting aisle in Barnes and Nobles.

1.) If you tell your child "good job!" - ever - you will psychologically damage them. They will immediately cease to be individuals and will begin to only do things and be interested in things that will make you pleased enough to shower them with praise. So if you were like me, and said "good job" the first time the baby latched on at birth, you are screwed! So remember, no praise. You must always remain neutral, because if you also ever say anything negative, you will have killed their spirit and will to live. That's really all there is to it.

2.) Build your child up. At all costs. At all moments. Little Johnny is coloring the walls? Do NOT, I repeat, DO NOT tell him "no!” Or that what he is doing is naughty. Even redirection is a bit sketch here. Instead, tell him what a beautiful art piece he has created, but maybe wouldn't he possibly like to think about coloring on a nice sheet of paper? Oh, no, he doesn't? Well, that's okay. He won't be 2 forever; he will eventually simply outgrow it, no redirection needed! (And then you can repaint your house).

3.) You must sleep train your child or they will never sleep. Seriously. If you do not allow your baby to cry himself to sleep, he will NEVER learn to fall asleep on his own. I mean, look at all the adults out there who cannot fall asleep. They've had really rough lives without sleep. So have all those kids who have never slept. I mean, ever. It's pretty rough. So sleep train your baby. The only way for a baby to fall asleep is by themselves. In a crib. Period.

4.) You must sleep with your child. You must never allow them to fall asleep on their own. It must always be at the breast. If they do not fall asleep on you or beside you while nursing, they will not feel attached and thus you will ruin the possibility of them ever having a good relationship with you. And let's not even talk about the relationships that you'll have completely ruined for when they're older - their romantic relationships. Make sure your baby sleeps with you. At all times. Period.

5.) If you give your baby formula they will die. It's really that simple. And if they somehow manage to survive they will be stupid and will not love you.

6.) If you breastfeed your baby she will become psychologically and sexually damaged.

7.) You must give your child choices. It makes them feel in control. Also, by giving them choices over trivial things like, "do you want to wear the purple shirt or the yellow shirt?" they will magically be okay when they get no say in the more substantial issues in their life.

8.) You must not give your child choices. Choices overwhelm small children and make them feel insecure. If mommy and daddy cannot make the choice themselves, how is little Sally supposed to?

9.) Time-out is a barbaric form of "punishment". (And you shouldn't punish your child anyway! Ever!) It's forced isolation and will make your child feel as if she is not worthy of love and you have banished her because your love is conditional on her behavior. Time-out is simply never acceptable.

10.) Time-out is the only acceptable form of punishment. Spanking is abusive and not punishing is permissive. Find a really good time-out stool.

You got all that? If you follow everything by the books, you'll have a perfect kid and be a perfect parent. So don't mess up!

I think it should go without saying that I’ve given up parenting books….