It's just a normal Monday 'round here

 It's been a morning of educational experiences...For example, if you leave a three year old to her own devices she will improvise a stool or chair out of whatever she can find available.  In this case, overturning the cat's litter box and dragging the box to the desired location to use as height enhancement.  So, in this New Englander's hurricane preparedness kit, there will need to be some wine to balance out the skeeviness factor of being mostly sure, but not absolutely sure that I have cleaned up all the random litter pebbles and wiped down all surfaces that could have been touched. 

 

When the rest of the region is preparing for a hurricane, it is a super time to contract pinkeye as a family.  I mean, no better time.  It keeps things fun and frisky, just not in that Cosmo cover-story kind of way.   Also, as a side note,  our doctor's offices have recently moved into a new complex.  While they are technically closer than before, I failed to factor in the "We've-never-been-here-before-can-we-touch/look at/lick it" factor.  Yes, lick.    I don't know what sensory madness possesses one of my children, but things continue to be touched with the tongue well beyond the age and stage where the world is experienced by the mouth primarily.    So yes, I did enter into the waiting area of our new doctor's office saying "Do not EVER lick the elevator buttons again.  EVER." 

 

Related to the above, there is fabulous art displayed in the entrance and it just happens that the entry is an echo chamber.  We walked the length of the hall with Little One chanting "Echo…echo…echo…Do you hear me?  I'm saying 'echo'."   An older gentleman stopped us and said "Boy, she really likes it here doesn't she!  I bet she could really get running in here if you turned her loose!  It's like a race track!"  Um, thanks, but no.

 

With all of this entertainment, we walked into the waiting room as they were calling our name.  Of course, the fact that four of our collective six eyes were cotton candy pink may have had something to do with getting us out of the waiting room quickly…

 

If you want maximum fun, come home with children who are a little frenzied by the impending storm and the ambient stress of all the adults around them and convince them that you need to put greasy, goopy medicine in their eyes every three hours and just for fun, estimate how frequently you will say "NO! You cannot touch your eyes!"  (HINT:  'cuz I like ya….It's a lot!)

No one to blame but myself...

 

It is the season.  That weirdly  all encompassing Merry HallowThankMas season that moves Miss Five in consumerist kinds of ways.  It begins with the first roadside pumpkin stand which sends us almost immediately into "Ineeedacostuuuuume!" and "Can we put this on my Santa list?".    

Don't get me wrong, I remember when the Penney's catalog would arrive in our mailbox in late August, (bear with me here….I know some of you have no idea what I'm talking about), my sister and I would sit down with our notebook paper and a pen and circle everything we wanted and write out detailed lists that enumerated page number, color, description, etc.   When we were done, we would start again and add things we had missed the first time.  Avarice and greed did not begin with my daughter's generation.    I am a consumer from word one.

Today we went to buy Miss Five's costume.  She is no longer content to be the adorable and cuddly costume wearer.  Now she wants to be fierce and flashy; dangerous and dastardly.  We settled in the middle on a witch costume that was more tricks and treats than "tarty".  I was congratulating myself on our compromise when I turned over the tag.  Are you kidding me?  $45 for a KMart costume?  Now I had to convince her to scale back her costume wishes once again. 

The problem was, I had just done such a good job of convincing her that this costume was the epitome of cronely comeliness  that now she was locked in.    Not budging.  Completely, utterly,  mired to the mudflaps stuck.  And….I had done it to myself.  Damn.

Just for a sidecar of entertainment, it should be noted that Little One has just turned three, no longer wishes to stay in the cart and was free-range in the double wide aisle of simultaneous ghoulish wailing and crepey mummies lurching to the tune of Jingle Bells, while Mickey in a blow-up snow globe frolicked with one of his pals who needed a hefty dose of something designed to treat erectile dysfunction.  Good times people, …good times.
After trying every crafty, loosely disguised bribe I could think of, I finally resorted to holding out the two items I could reasonably both condone and afford and asked her to choose.  She simply could not.  I had derailed her Halloween train and there was no hope of bringing her back.  She allowed me to choose one for her and we walked out of the Holiday zone with her crying and moaning dramatically.  Two aisles later I turned to her as she said "I just don't understand why you told me I could get it and then said I couldn't.  That's so mean I can't stop crying."  True to Miss Five's style, she never brings up a tough conversation when we are alone or in a place where we can have a thoughtful conversation.  We were standing at an end-cap of feminine hygiene products and Little One was flinging box after box into the cart with wild abandon stating loudly "I need these pencils with the flowers on the box!"  (Now from the safety of my home, I can see the humor.  Not so much then.)

In sheer fatigue and desperation,  I finally said to Miss Five "I just can't spend $40 on a costume for one day.  Does that make sense?"  And this is where she shows me that I have still SO much to learn about parenting.  "Mama?  Why didn't you just say that?  $40 for a costume is crazy.  And look how cool this one is!"  

Wait.  What just happened here? 

I'd like to say the heavens opened up and there was glorious birdsong and harp music, but truthfully there were more fits and starts before we got out of the store and the moment was soon forgotten in the craze of two children with four hands and two loud voices and consumer mindsets.  But in that singular moment I was so proud of her and so humbled by her ability to see outside of her own need.    

And then, she was back to her own self  before we were buckled into the car.  "Mom?  Do you think Santa would bring me that too 'spensive costume for Christmas?"

I bet he will.  Right after he does the Monster Mash with a giant turkey bearing a basket of candycanes.    Merry HallowThankMas!

Betwixt and Between

Today I read an article about spanking. 

Let me say this; I was always opposed to spanking and felt that it did absolutely no good.    I have staunchly supported those who would never, ever spank their children, and at one time counted myself among their ranks.   In my subsequent parenting of two children, I have *cringe* spanked.    It was out of sheer desperation and yet I know, the fact that I won't do it in the middle of the grocery store or  the local library is an indication of how wishy-washy at best I feel about defending it. 

And it is completely ineffective in our case.  All that happens is an already taxed and tired Mama is now additionally upset and overwhelmed with guilt and increased frustration.

 

Both of my daughters are going through a Daddy phase.  So much so that a co-worker recently asked me how long I had been a single parent as my children referred to "Daddy's house" and "Daddy's day" so frequently that she assumed we were not together.    Lately, Daddy is the only one who can make it better, and I'm the one who is home more often.  Daily, I hear "I want my Daddy!" .  (Usually at a time when I wish that I could "I Dream of Jeannie" blink myself out of here and am holding on by a toenail and an eyelash.)

 

After venting about this recently, I was subsequently told that my "real" problem is that I expect to have control of my children.    At first I protested loudly and then I realized that maybe I do expect some level of control.  A few days out, I'm thinking that maybe I'm not looking for control so much as compliance in certain circumstances.    And as much as I think that my children have a right to be who they are, separate from myself, I know that I also want them to be, in some ways, well-behaved on demand.

 

Tonight though, I had a moment of perspective.  To quote Dave Matthews,  it's about "the space between".  My children are not always nice; not always calm; not always gentle with each other, their surroundings, belongings or their Mama's heart.  But, in between those gut-wrenching moments, there are moments that make me proud.   When  Miss Five spontaneously apologized to Little One for calling her names before I could intervene, I knew that she does have compassion and remorse.  When Little One offered her doctor's office reward to her big sister who had not received one, I saw the seeds of a human being who is able to think of others and put aside her own wishes for a moment.  As we settled into our bedtime routine, Little One said "Miss Five really is brave too Daddy", I had a moment of seeing the hero worship that a younger sibling has and that an oldest never really truly appreciates for the gift that it is.

 

And so, tonight, I still have no idea what I am doing but I resolve (again) to parent with as much calm as I can muster, make apologies where they are due, and trust that in the spaces between we are finding our way and learning from one another and hopefully, loving each other a little more and a little better than the moment before.

 

Donna Reed wouldn't...

I am old.  Not necessarily chronologically, but my numbers definitely sound less fresh and dewy as I get closer to this birthday.  I am old as in black and white classics, crinolines and pearls.  Old fashioned.  I want to live in place ad time where things are a little more…classy.

I am old-fashioned and more conservative than I would have imagined in my teens.  I am easily embarrassed and blush furiously when friends launch into private aspects of their lives, marriage, relationships, and body functions.    I'm not offended.  I can giggle and laugh, see the humor, even sometimes join in the conversation, but not without a lobster-red patina. 

This is great fun for my co-workers, most of whom are younger than I am and way more cool than I have ever been, but it also leaves me wondering if I am raising my children to be as ill-fitting as I was as a teenager?    Still, I can only teach what I know and what I know is 1950's culture and values.

Recently I realized that I probably emerged from the womb at age 40 in terms of my social sensibilities.  I spent weeks agonizing over finding the right dress for my upcoming high school reunion and found that what I am drawn to is the fashion of the movies I grew up watching with my mother.  Movies where women wore dresses every minute of the day, vacuumed in pearls, and never broke a sweat.   I love dresses that seem to appear only on fetish sites these days.    

I finally found my perfect dress only to find that it is probably more dress than the occasion calls for.    So could someone please have a cocktail party with 40's jazz so I have a reason to buy this dress?  I NEED it….

Today Miss Five and I had a lesson in being lady-like.  It seems that at the age of five, some things are just not going to go away through sheer modeling or indirect suggestion.    And at this time, as well as all the others that came before it, I ask "Who am I to be teaching this?  What if I'm really all wrong and my poor daughter ends up carrying on my legacy of 'not getting it'?"    What if, for example, retrieving a "wedgie" is actually totally acceptable in the middle of the check-out line, and I'm just the last to know?

Lesson one:  If you are wearing a skirt, criss-cross applesauce may not be your go-to seated position.  Why you ask?  "Everyone can see your undies…."  (Assuming that this was a morning you actually put them on and didn't give your bear an uber-fashionable hat.)"….Yes, yes, I know your undies are really nice and have Dora on them and that your friends love Dora…No, it isn't okay to show them to your friend at daycare even if he is the boy you are going to marry…Why?  Well,…big girls just don't.  Why?....because they cover parts of your body that are more private and not for sharing with everyone…Why isn't an elbow private?...Um….I think…well, I don't know exactly, but for now  the rule is undies cover things that are private and undies are not for everyone to see."

Lesson two:  "When you are sitting in a skirt, maybe try sitting with your legs on one side….okay, nice try, but maybe on one side and your legs together?"  We actually went through a step by step that had my grown-up brain hearing it being broadcast in therapy years later…."Well first, try getting down on your knees"…(OMG, that sounds all wrong)….and then kind of sit on one side and bend your legs…together…bend your legs together on the other side…..What do you do if a bug crawls up your skirt?"…(whatever the heck you have to do to get the bug out of your skirt!  Run!  Flap!  Shake, whatever!)…"Um…I think that won't usually happen, but people will understand if you have to get up quickly."

Lesson three:  "If your hands are messy, wipe them on a napkin and not on your shirt.  Oh, no, we don't wipe them on pants or skirts either.   Socks?  Um, no….Undies?  Even bigger no….Why?  Because the Queen wouldn't do that…..Yes, I'm pretty sure that queens and princesses do not wipe their peanut butter hands on their royal undies."    We have even made up a pseudo-Mary Poppins song that cycles through "We wipe our hands on a napkin, never on a shirt.  A shirt is for a kiddo and a napkin is for dirt."

It seems like every day there is a new layer of reminding to be done and it seems increasingly a miracle to me that children ever go off to school with manners and a lack of ferity.      It seems equally amazing to me that the same child who cannot care less that her hair is an untamed bundle of fuzz; her face has peanut butter from chin to eyebrow; and fights tooth-brushing; is the same child who walks by a rack of fashionable printed bras and coos  "Oooh…..Mama, isn't that pretty?"    

Yes, very fashionable, but please… stop retrieving your undies while standing in the middle of the aisle?

Mother's Day Eve

Mother's Day Eve…when mothers leave out milk and cookies, hoping an elf will trade them for mimosas and brunch.  Or in my house, when Mama just hopes to sleep past 5:30 without being asked to sing about popping weasels or Darlin' Clementine.

Motherhood has been  wild and unpredictable; not something I usually like.  I'll say it.  I'm a control freak.  But, I love being  a mother.  Even when I have not a clue what's coming next or how to "do" what needs doing.  It's a wild, out of control ride and I wouldn't give up my tickets.

A little background…I've always been uncertain.  About everything.  I always wonder if I'm doing it right.  Motherhood has not made this less of a reality for me, it's just that I'm so tired and busy much of the time, that I can only wonder and worry half as much as I used to. (And for those of you who know me well, holy [expletive] that's a lot of worry!)Mother's Day Eve, when mother's all over the world leave out milk and cookies hoping a jolly elf will trade them for mimosas and brunch.Mother's Day Eve, when mother's all over the world leave out milk and cookies hoping a jolly elf will trade them for mimosas and brunch.when mother's all over the world leave out milk and cookies hoping a jolly elf will trade them for mimosas and brunch. The rest of the time I'm trying to keep my head above water. 

We are at the point of our children's lives when Miss Five is now old enough to realize that there are some things more powerful than Mama and the Mr.   What a shocking revelation this was for her and for the dynamics of our family.   "But why can't you fix it Mama?  Why can't you make it all better?"  How hard to explain that no matter how big a mama's love is, there are some things that are bigger than mama.  For a few days there were a lot of questions that seemed to be focused on shoring up her belief that she was safe.   Finally we hit on the idea that no matter how big something is, if Mama can't change it, she can be right beside you and holding your hand; loving you.   We have begun saying goodnight with "Love is the most powerful thing, and I love you a lot!"

Being a mother has made me very, very humble.  It's hard to take yourself too seriously or rest too contentedly on your laurels when your child is always growing and changing.   The risks and dangers can change overnight.   Today I told the story of how my child poked herself in the eye with scissors at age two.  (*Spoiler:  She is fine and her eye was not damaged.)   However, at the time, I made the 911 call in hysterics.  I waited for the response team in panic.  I held on the line with the nice dispatcher while my, now calm, daughter kept repeating "I poked scissors in ma eye.  No touch it." into the open line.   Living in a small town, the response team is comprised of your next door neighbors, friends of your parents, and perhaps the woman who assisted your mother in child-birth.  You are going to see these people again.  Frequently.  For months, I would run into one of them and have to go through the embarrassment of reliving that night, complete with "…and the funniest part of the whole call was Miss Five saying '…poke scissors in ma eye…' ".  

We moved not long after that. 

There is nothing like watching your child get hurt that shakes your faith in yourself as guardian and protector.  I used to think it was just my own uncertain brain that had this thought.  Then I started to spend more time with other mamas.  Film-makers have nothing on the real-life slow motion effect that is a mother trying to get to her child when an injury is imminent.    Mamas are superwomen without visible capes.  And their superpower?  The ability to soothe away pain and fear with kisses and crooning, hugs and gentle pats.  Today I watched one of the best mothers I know face this reality.  She still doesn't know the grace she had under pressure, although I hope she has since forgiven herself.   I watched her heart break for her child, but I also watched the child melt into her mother, find comfort in her embrace and find faith that the world was safe again in mama's arms.  This is all the child will remember.

So to all my mama friends out there…You are fabulous.  You are amazing.  You are doing an impossible job with grace and courage every day that you get up and simply love your child, try to keep them safe, and show them your humanity.  Never doubt for a moment that you are the superhero your child thinks you are.

Love to you and your families!  Happy Mother's Day!

The animals are running the zoo again...

I get it now.

 I used to roll my eyes at people who would live park in front of stores and post offices to run in, leaving their child parked in the car.  While I still feel anxious for the children in the car when I see the parent actually go in to the establishment, I have been known to stand at the door on more than one occasion offering the clerk a tip if she will please just hand-deliver the milk to the door and take my money without making me come in.   

I have also seen the light when it comes to parents who hissed like angry cats at their children in line at the grocery store.    If my two choices are child gone wild,  or hissing under my breath to try and get out of the store without losing my mind, I will hiss.  I have hissed.  I will likely hiss again.

Self-esteem and parenting a toddler are non-correlates in my house.  For example, today as  I loaded warehouse boxes of diapers and laundry soap into the car, Miss Five stated loudly "I think your hair would look nicer if it was all one color Mama."  Um-hmm, I'm sure it would.  The question at this point in the game, is which one is the dominant color?  And where does one go to buy gray hair colorant?  Moment later as I struggled Little One into the car seat, she assumed her angry starfish pose.  (Don't remember that from your tai chi and yoga classes?  It's because they only teach Zen-like, meditative poses.  The angry starfish is taught in the more aggressive, martial arts classes.) 

Anyhow, a wardrobe malfunction occurred.  Janet Jackson would be proud.  Little One announced to the parking spaces nearest us, full on a Saturday morning at a warehouse store, "Mama, your bubbles are out of your shirt."  Yes, bubbles.  I do not have the stamina to try and change her mind right now.  I'm barely head above water as it is.  Now that I am completely brought to my knees by my children it's time to slink to the cart corral, and get the hell out of Dodge.

And finally, I used to nod along with Clinton and Stacy when they would castigate a mother for wearing "Mom jeans" or the floral "I give up" dress.   Seriously, I don't know what reality those two think most moms live in, but in my world, it's a good day if the floral dress a) is clean, b) fits, c) doesn't need ironing, d) is only marginally wrinkled, e) any or all of the above.  Color coordinating my shoes and scarf or bag?  Get real.  Making sure I have a pop of color?  I'm sure the kids will spill something on me later….Voila!

Potty Humor

Last night we had a brand new parenting experience.  One would think that five years and two children in, we might have exhausted the opportunity for poop-based new experiences, but I assure you; No.

The family went for a chiropractic visit that was scheduled for the children's bedtime.  Not ideal, but necessary.  We arrived to a packed waiting room and many families there for family visits so the kid's area was filled with smalls.  And soon, filled with smells.  One of whom came to find us loudly announcing "Imaydapoop!"  Mr. and I looked at each other doing a non-verbal rock-paper-scissors, which he generously let me win.  At the same moment we realized the diaper bag was still on the counter at home.  (Insert fecal expletive.)

The Mr. went off with the odoriferous child to try to salvage the diaper currently in-use.  A LONG time passes and he arrives looking quite red in the face and barely holding back laughter  and/or tears.  I start to ask and he says "Not now.", still barely containing himself.    Little One loudly announces to the entire toy room "Imaydapoop and Daddy fush it day-own."  I sneak a look at my fuschia-faced husband.  He is shaking with silent laughter.  "He 'tuffed toyet paper in ma diaper."

So the back story goes something like this.  Mr., at 6'6", took the Little One to the closet size bathroom and opened the diaper to discover there was no redemption.    In the small space he managed to clean the child, but was left with a toddler who is not "housebroken" and one used diaper.  Using his best MacGyver skills he washed the (disposable) diaper.  It immediately became the size of  Macy's parade balloon.  Upon wringing it out, (many, many times), he reupholstered it with toilet paper and paper towels, strapped it back on and tried to reenter the waiting area with some discretion.  Not so for the toddler with a parade float on her rump.  Everyone heard about it.

You know that laughter you tried to contain in high school when you had in inside joke with a friend?  Throughout the visit I couldn't make eye contact with the Mr. without one of us bursting into red-faced hysteria.  I'm sure the staff thought we were self-medicating, but honestly, it was the best night of the week.  So for those of you who have said at the end of a long, stressful week, "I don't need anymore of this  (fecal expletive)!", you might be wrong.  Maybe it is exactly what you need.  An hour of giggling later, we all felt better. 

Well, except the swampy-pantsed Little One.  But she has a good story for her therapist someday.   Throw some change in the therapy jar!

Easy Peasy

I'm going to confess that I may have more or less, outright but unintentionally, lied to a few close friends. 

Over the last year or so couples with one child have asked "How different is it with two?"  and I had responded in what I thought was truth that it is not that different than one.  If you're making one sandwich, one more is no biggie.  Tying one pair of shoes?  Two is just  a few seconds more work.  1+1=2 , right?  Easy peasy. 

I failed to factor in a few things when answering this question. 

First, kids grow.  it's not that I didn't know this, but more a fact that when I was asked, one child was strong-willed and independent, and the other was still in her "fool you" stage of being calm and laid back.  This morning I had two independent, free-thinking, spirited children that needed to be dressed for a birthday party.    Where last year I could have dressed the youngest and tackled the oldest, this year it was a full contact sport for forty minutes to get two children into pull-over dresses and tights.  (And for those of you who saw me this morning, yeah, I lost the battle of tights in two stages; one before we arrived and one at the party.)

Second, kids sense fear and weakness.  Somewhat like wolves and other pack animals, they have a built-in sense of when you are about to go down for the count.  My children know that if I am barely dressed, with dripping hair and no mascara, I will give them anything to get five minutes of grooming time.  "Can I have cheerios with whipped cream?"  (Whatever.  Just let me dry this nest on my head.)  It is no mystery that my hair has gone from shoulder length, to chin length, to cropped, to about one inch of messy, tousled, spikes.  (It's a style…somewhere.) 

When the lead wolf has you backed into a corner of desperation, the second will circle around and make an announcement like the following "Maaaammmaaa….The dog is eating the cheese out of the fridge and the cat is licking your coffee cup."  "ARGH!"  The voice in my head screams.  "Why is it so (expletive) difficulty to get my (expletive) self out the door in the morning?!  What the (expletive) is wrong with me/ my life/ my kids that this is so hard?"  On the outside, I try to sound calm and in control when I say "Okay.  Let's go shut the door, put the dog outside, and stomach-pump the cat."  Some days go better than others.

Third, when both children are mobile and opinionated, it is much harder to get them both out the door in gear appropriate to function, occasion, season and some level of decorum.  This year I have taken one child to the car wearing only a diaper in the dead of winter.  Okay, we had a exceptionally mild winter and it was probably forty degrees out, but this is not the kind of parenting I had planned. 

I was going to be the mom who dropped her spotless and exceptionally bright children at daycare with shiny, glossy ponytail bouncing before running  ten miles and whipping up a fabulous nutritious breakfast to eat on the go and heading off to work in my relatively spotless car.  I did not plan to be the mom who dropped her kids off partially dressed, with rats-nest hair  and mismatched socks, personally sporting a still-wet, unstyled coif, (and whatever clothes were clean and didn't need ironing),  before returning to my goldfish-encrusted, sippy-cup splattered car and driving like a sweaty, panicky madwoman to work, hoping that my stomach won't growl too loudly before lunchtime because it was a decision between leaving for work fed or dressed and modesty won out.

Fourth, I failed to factor in how many times I would be orchestrating any departure without additional adult help.  Because of the work schedules in our house, weekend events are almost always  a single parent event.  This is neither good or bad, just tremendously more difficult than I expected.    When your youngest is two, and for some reason this was the turning point in our house, they know when you are outnumbered (try reading that last phrase in Vincent Price's voice).  It helped didn't it?    It's times like this when the "good parent" guilt voice kicks into high gear in my brain.  "A good mommy would be able to get two SMALL children out of the house without losing her  mind/temper/shpedoinkles."  I don't know how some parents do it without ever, ever screaming.    I am going to be totally candid that my kids have seen it more than once and I hope that I have made up for it with the remaining 99% of our time together, but holy bovine Batman, I am a reasonably smart, well-educated person and these two little people have had me over a barrel for the last two hours! 

Fifth, sometimes stages and developmental trends overlap.  Some days for all of their differences, they are just the same level of need at different heights.  I don't know if it's easier or harder to have two children close enough in age that one still has accidents and the other is wet frequently.  My children are like camels, taking up massive quantities of fluids during the day and then hitting the sheets like a tidal wave during the night.  The " no drinks after X-o'clock" theory has been massively disproved in this house.    Some mornings I feel like there is no end in sight.  And this if before I've completely woken up or had my coffee.

Finally, because children almost never come in perfectly matched sets, they arrive with their own temperaments.  So in my house I have one very sensitive and anxious, perfectionist, independent soul; and one curious, independent and limit-testing soul.  What this translates into in practice is that both children seem to need me almost constantly lately.  (How did this get written you might ask?  Um, have you noticed my last entry was in DECEMBER?  It's been a work in progress.)  When we go out, one has to be watched for the turning point when over-stimulation turns into crying, and one has to be watched for when inhibition turns into nudity.  Good times people, good times.

So to my friends who asked if two was all that different than one…I don't think I can answer you with a straight face anymore.  The two in my life have evolved into exponentially more than parenting just one.  I'm hoping for a little lull any day now though and so, all I can say is I'll keep you posted as time goes on, and if you see me in public looking disheveled and exhausted, you'll know that for that moment in time 1+1= 10.  (I never was all that good at math…)