8:29 A.M.

May 4, 2012 By 8 Comments

It’s 8:29 A.M.  This is what my life is like.

  • Woke up a little before 7:00 to the sounds of my daughter whining that she can’t find her Binkie and Blankie.  Knowing her as I do, I know they are somewhere in her bed, next to the 3 new Disney princess dolls she got for her birthday, five books, three stuffed animals, two blankets, pillow, and God knows what other detritus that has found its way in there.  She is a hoarder. I ignored her and mentally begged JDubbs to take care of it.  He did.
  • I didn’t sleep well last night, mentally running through all the zillions of things I need to do before my photo shoots this weekend.  I was up until 11:00 pm getting some photos edited and off my memory card.  Jax developed a strange cough that kept me sleeping with one ear open, plus I had nightmares of arriving at my shoot unprepared, at the wrong time, or wrong place.  Not ready to start this day.
  • My husband comes to wake me up with a snuggle.   My eyes are not open because I cannot stand to face the glare of morning yet.  As I go to snuggle, he goes to kiss, and we smack heads.  Now I have a headache and will probably have a bruise.  Sexy.  I haven’t even opened my eyes yet.
  • 7:05.  In the shower.  Must shave legs; they are horrifying even for someone who lives in the woods of Vermont.  Kids are thundering outside the bathroom hallway, already very awake.  I am grateful for this extra five minutes of quiet.  Gave me time to wonder if there are any other tactics I haven’t tried to convince JDubbs to have another baby.  I think not.
  • 7:30.  I am dressed.  I have had a timeout with Jax to talk about his hitting.  JDubbs has had a timeout to talk to Jax about his hitting.  Em threw the contents of the box with all her hair clips into her bed.  I cleaned them out because I know I’d forgot by naptime.  I have since found more all over the house.  Had to carry each kid down the stairs individually because they insisted and it’s just that kind of day.
  • 7:45.  Kids have eaten breakfast.  It was miraculously uneventful. No spills, no meltdowns, no fights.  I emailed my clients for tomorrow’s shoot about the chance of rain.  Please God, no rain.
  • 8:00.  Bribed kids to let me clean their hands and faces with tiny containers of bubbles left over from Em’s party.  Em dumps one out immediately.  Have to get her another one.  Turn back to the kitchen to find my dog standing on all four legs on my kitchen table, licking up scraps.  Lose my mind and put him outside in the rain.  Call JDubbs to tell him that the dog is coming to work with him from now on.  No answer.
  • Get the pillowcases for the living room throw pillows out of the dryer.  Had to wash them because there was a chance my niece had headlice, something I am NOT mentally prepared to deal with.  Turns out she didn’t, but now I have clean throw pillows.  However I also have to wrangle these freaking pillows back into those tiny pillowcases.  By the end, I am covered in feathers.
  • 8:10.  Jax and Em get into a battle over the bubbles.  I realize now that was a bad idea.  Jax hits her.  I lose my mind again.  My patience is officially exhausted.  It is only 8:10.  JDubbs calls back and I start to cry because neither my son nor my dog actually listens to me.  JDubbs is not surprised they don’t listen to me.  Now I am aggravated.
  • Beg Jax tearfully to PLEASE start using his words and PLEASE stop hitting.  My tears seem to alarm him.  Hopefully he will take pity on me and begin to act like a human being again.  Otherwise he’s going to be sitting alone at the lunch table in a few years.  I waste precious time wondering if he is a sociopath.
  • 8:18.  Head upstairs to get the kids’ clothes.  Here a crash downstairs.  Come downstairs to find a basketball in the wine rack and one of my wine glasses in a million pieces on the floor.  The pieces are EVERYWHERE.  Mom always said, don’t play ball in the house.
  • 8:29.  Finish cleaning up the wine glass, have put on Mickey Mouse Clubhouse, am finally sitting down to eat my own breakfast, and the kids have to be at school in 31 minutes.  They are not dressed.  I have lost my mind.  I think I will put on a second cartoon after this one.  I may need time for a cocktail.
  • Resisted the urge to have a mimosa and instead wrote this blog post.  At least now I feel better for having taken a moment to write all this stuff down.  Except for the fact that now it’s 8:53 and school starts in 7 minutes.  Kids are still not dressed, still watching TV.  Shit.
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Don’t Hold Your Breath

April 27, 2012 By 10 Comments

A good friend of mine told me a while ago that I wasn’t being completely upfront with my bloggy readers.  She said I was holding back on a major element of my parenting saga thus far.  I had mentioned it, sure, but I did not give the significance of this daily drama its due.  So here I am, coming clean about Em and her diva behavior.

It’s not her pouting that is so legendary, although she is quite talented in that regard as well.  Baby girl–who turned two yesterday!!–has such epic temper tantrums that she holds her breath until she literally passes out.  I obviously don’t have a picture of her in the throes of this behavior, since I’m usually more concerned about getting her lungs kickstarted again, but if she keeps this up for another year or so I may just start documenting it for posterity.

She’s been doing this since she was very little.  If it was JDubbs’s turn to put her to bed that night, we all held our collective breaths hoping that she might have miraculously mellowed out overnight and would now allow her Daddy to put her to bed without comment or drama.  More often than not, though, when she realized it was Daddy who was wrapping her in her comfy towel and was about to read her stories, forget it.  She would lose her cool and scream like a newborn until her face, then her lips, then even her gums would turn purple until finally she had done it so long that out of self-preservation, her body would make her lose consciousness so she would breathe.  Then there’s a terrible moment when she really does look frighteningly dead, and then she gasps, her eyes will roll around a bit and she will lay like a limp rag doll while she cries pitifully.  Believe me; it’s awful for absolutely everyone involved.

It used to be that she’d do it only if she hurt herself.  Just like how everyone’s kid does the silent scream that you know is just the calm before the ear-splitting storm, Em would do that until she keeled over since she was about one.  Last summer she, Jax, my mother-in-law and I were at a hot dog stand, sitting at a picnic table, enjoying lunch when Em whacked her head on the side of the picnic table.  She then started doing her trademark breath-holding, but the problem was, she had a hunk of hot dog in her mouth.  She doesn’t always do it until she passes out, but she nearly always gives you a good twenty seconds while she turns eight shades of blue, so I knew I had a small window of time before she inhaled violently and that little hot dog bit flew into her windpipe.  My mother-in-law and I frantically debated the best strategy–we could clearly see it, should I try to reach in and grab it, which could cause me to push it into her throat myself?  We decided against it, and so I flipped Em over onto her belly and started smacking her on the back in an attempt to make the hot dog fall out before she breathed (in this instance, the longer she took to breathe, the better).  Meanwhile Em was absolutely livid that I was a) not sympathetic to her boo boo from the picnic table and was now b) beating the crap out of her for what she perceived as no good reason.  She started flailing and furiously thrashing until finally she breathed and swallowed the damn hot dog anyway.  Holy crap, what an ordeal.

Since then it’s only gotten worse; now she holds her breath for anything that pisses her off.  I look at her wrong and suddenly she’s doing it just out of spite.  She does it if she’s mad, if someone takes something from her, if she’s hurt, if I leave, if it’s JDubbs’s turn to do anything with her–she is a serious diva.  She knows what she wants and will literally injure herself in an attempt to get her own way.  Interestingly enough, our doctors could not care less.  She is not capable of actually hurting herself with this melodrama, unless she falls and hurts herself after the fact.  As long as we make sure she’s safe and not in any kind of danger, we should just lay her down and let her continue this behavior to her histrionic heart’s content.  They said it’s just an attention-seeking device like any other, so the less attention we give her (which would be rewarding her), the better.  Easier said than done when she does it in the middle of a store with kind and concerned grandmother-types hovering in horror as they watch this sweet little girl pass out in front of their eyes.  Or the other day when she did it on the busy main street of Hanover, NH, because I wouldn’t pick her up.  People nearby started getting out of their seats, coming over, asking if I needed anything, when all I really needed was a freaking cocktail because it is so unbelievably embarrassing.  I just have to stand there and wave them off, saying things like, “It’s okay, she just does this,” or “This is her thing, she’ll be fine,” when in reality I look like the world’s worst mother who doesn’t care that her child is near death!  Gee, thanks, Em.  Whatever am I going to do with you?

So now you know–Em is an epic diva, worthy of an Academy Award for her antics and ridiculously alarming behavior.  She nearly gave my aunts simultaneous heart attacks at Christmas when she did it after I ran outside to warm up the car.  I came back inside to a purple baby and four aunts who needed to be reassured, sat down and handed a beer to recuperate from the shock of seeing their great-niece waste away before their eyes.  Has anyone else had a child with this kind of stubborn, outrageous behavior?  Any advice, any suggestions, would be received kindly and with great appreciation.  And now that you know, I’ll be sure to share in the continuing soap opera that is life with this little girl.  Lord help me when she’s a teenager.

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March Musings

March 4, 2012 By 8 Comments

I’ve been thinking a lot about the choices I make in parenting lately, from the words I use to the toys we buy (especially now that I have a Disney Princess-aholic on my hands).  How I am prone to over-analyze every aspect of my role as mother and am trying to tone it down a bit.  How something as simple as word choice and language impacts my kids every day.  How I have a hard time instinctively letting them play on their own, always trying to structure them or give them something to do, when in reality, they are just fine without me.  Better, probably, because their brilliant little brains can think of a thousand awesome things to do with an empty egg carton and I have to go on Pinterest to think of one.  I don’t think it hurts them that I am so willing to be their playmate or am staving off their boredom–I just don’t know how much I’m helping them, either.  Things to consider and work on, as always.

I read a great post from Moving Smart a while ago; it was my favorite one from the blog hop and I meant to bring it up here and never did.  Well it’s an extremely well written post about how we impart not only information to our kids, but also our opinions; how in our efforts to educate them we may also be over-informing them by attaching meaning to things without letting our kids experience them for themselves.  We project adjectives onto experiences or judge a food or a movie without considering what the child may have been thinking before we opened our big mouths.  So quick to educate, so quick to inform–what if my interpretation impairs a particularly magical moment that I didn’t even know was happening, and by throwing in my two cents, I took the shine off, or the sparkle out, or labeled a soup ladle a soup ladle, when in reality it was King Arthur’s sword freshly pulled from the stone?

Or like that scene in The Lion King, when Timon, Pumba, and Simba are all sharing what they think those twinkly things shining down on them from the night sky are, and Pumba’s ideas are dismissed as insignificant and Simba’s ideas are laughed at–it makes me wonder, have I done that to my kids today?  Have I labelled something as scary, silly, insignificant, useless, when to them it was mystical and mysterious only minutes before?  When I tell them that a star is a ball of gas millions of miles away, am I erasing all the future possibilities for folk tales and fables and fairy tales to weave their wondrous way into my child’s heart?  Am I over-educating them in an attempt to share the world with them?  Very likely, knowing me.  It requires a balance to teach and yet not tell, and although it is precarious, it is attainable.  Not that I know–I’m just musing over here.

The reason I thought of this is because suddenly Jax has begun labeling things as “scary.”  The idea of being scared of the dark has come up in a few books or TV shows, but nothing that I thought particularly resonated with him.  In the book Beyond the Rainbow Bridge that we received from the kids’ school, it talks about why Waldorf schools use real, unedited age-appropriate Grimm’s fairy tales rather than the softer, edited (ahem, Disney) versions.  It says,

“In a true fairy tale as those collected by the Brothers Grimm, human beings undergo trials and suffering and accept that deeds are a part of proving oneself worthy of the reward at the end of the path…They confront evil and overcome it.  Children experience the greed of the wolf and the evil of the witch quite differently than we adults do.  They experience these qualities more as archetypal pictures about life, but do not identify themselves personally with the suffering.  They trust that there will be a happy ending or that good will triumph over evil.  Such stores strengthen the moral lives of children….This strength and guidance will help them to deal with the challenges life brings to them.”

I think it goes back to what Gill from Moving Smart was talking about–the power of suggestion, or providing too much information.  Movies have music to create anxiety or build suspense.  Stories are read with emphasis. Adults are so quick to supply preschoolers with their emotions when they are upset, rather than allowing them to give voice to their own emotion –What’s wrong, Johnny?  Are you okay?  Did that SCARE you? when in reality the idea of being scared never crossed Johnny’s mind.  Now suddenly he thinks, Oh, crap, balloons popping are scary?  Well, does that mean balloons are scary?  Does that mean clowns are scary?  Now I hate clowns!  Man, I use to really like them, too.  We put the idea in their head–stars are balls of gas, clowns are scary–and we can’t take it back.  The innocence and wonder of childhood are gone.

Maybe that’s why I am so keen to keep my kids at the Waldorf school, because they not only understand this notion (and bring it to my attention), they guard children’s innocence as fiercely as other schools guard their IPads.  Because yes, I want to keep my kids in a blissful little bubble of happiness for as long as possible.  Is it going to last very long?  Nope.  Are they going to have to grow up eventually?  Of course.  But can I hope to foster the joy and simplicity of an early childhood spent at home with mom in the backwoods of Vermont for as long as I can?  You bet.  And if I can keep my heroes noble, my witches evil and vanquished, my kids’ spirits nourished, their curiosity piqued and their anxiety at bay for a while longer in the process, even better.

I just have to figure out how to make that happen.

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Preschool Peer Pressure

January 24, 2012 By 22 Comments

As the winter continues and the temperature hovers closer to zero than to freezing more often than I’d like, my children and I are forced to spend more and more time indoors.  With that comes a sort of routine and inevitably weighing the benefits of getting my kids in their gear to head outside, even for a trip to the store, versus whether we should just suck it up, eat frozen chicken nuggets and Motts apple sauce for yet another day in an attempt to stay warm and close to home.  I’d say we’re about 50/50 and when it doesn’t seem unnecessarily cruel, we usually head out for at least part of every day.

This leads my train of thought to next year and the inevitable preschool dilemma because I imagine having to get our butts in gear and out the door by a certain time 2 or 3 days a week.  Jax will be 4 in October, which means that he still has two full years after the current one before he enters kindergarten when he will be nearly 6.  I’m happy with that situation for many reasons, but the most selfish is that he gets to stay home with me again for another year.  The older he gets, rather than looking forward to the days when he will be shipped off to school and disciplined by someone other than me, I instead feel panicky at the thought of entrusting his precious self to someone else.  Someone less than ideal.  Remember, I have been a public school teacher in my former life, and I know that all teachers have their faults and weaknesses.  Our kids will be public school kids, and I’m lucky enough to live in a town where the public elementary school is stellar.  I went in there the other day to inquire about their preschool program, and I could not have been more pleased with my first impression.  So that is not the question at hand.

The question is, Why are all preschool programs for 4-year-olds three days a week?  This is going to be Jax’s big transition to going somewhere alone, without me.  We all know where I’d LIKE him to go (ahem, Waldorf school, cough…) but where I’d like and where we can afford seem to be divergent roads in a yellow wood.  I am looking for somewhere in which I will entrust my son for the two years preceding his kindergarten year.  I am now realizing that almost every program is either for three or four days; does anyone else think that that is too much too soon?  Where is the baby step?  Or did I miss that step this year when he was three, when I was supposed to put him somewhere two days a week other than foster our relationship at home?  I don’t think either of us are ready for that.  Mostly me.  But maybe a small part of him, too.

This Saturday we went to a birthday party with probably close to 20 kids, and preschool was a hot topic discussed while arranging play mats, easing kids in and out of the bouncy house, and dishing out snacks.  All of the children present who would be three next year are going to a 3-day preschool program except for Jax and one other boy.  In a way I feel like I have to explain myself and admit that I’m not ready to send him away for three days next year.  No, we don’t have a school picked out yet.  No, we’ll probably do something a little more unorthodox (a.k.a. piece random shit together).  I want to hold off for 3-day preschool until the year before he goes to school.  Now, please note that my friends are the least judgmental crew I could have asked for, and if I told them I was going to home school Jax for the rest of his life, send him off to military school tomorrow, or send him to a local co-op, they would be more than supportive.  Just as I think it’s perfectly acceptable for them to be sending their kids somewhere a few days a week, they understand that it’s what works for our family not to.  But I felt a bit conflicted–everyone else’s kids are going somewhere, why not Jax?  What am I afraid will happen?  That he’ll learn too much?  That he’ll grow up too fast?  No and no, he’s already pretty smart and also thinks he’s the big kid of campus at our tiny little Waldorf school.  Nothing bad would happen if he went somewhere for 3 days a week next year.  So what’s holding me back?

I think one of the reasons is that I am nervous about letting go, but not because I want to keep my kids under my wing forever.  I just have very high standards for what I consider appropriate play and what I would judge a suitable playroom for my kids for that many hours a week, and those standards aren’t the norm.  I am terrified to send him into a traditional preschool, which so closely resembles a kindergarten room, and have the experience be negative and thus put a negative spin on school in the future.  That’s why I love the Waldorf school so much–it feels so much more like a home, like an extension of a beautiful, peaceful, non-academic/low pressure playground where the balance between play and learning seems to be seamless.  It doesn’t really have an academic connotation at all–that’s all under the overt radar.  I have always hated drilling children and didn’t do it in my classroom; what if a different preschool smothers the flame of his love for learning and letters and reading by overdoing it, or not doing it well?

Is this a problem that I’m going to have to face at any school, in any situation?  Absolutely.  Most parents I talk to think I’m crazy.  If I put it off traditional preschool for a year and direct his exuberance and excitement to places other than the traditional school setting for a bit, do some of you understand why?  Because I’m crazy and a bit of a micro-manager?  Yes.  Because I’m lucky enough to be home with my kids, and I’m just not in a rush to see it end?  That, too.  Call me crazy, but even on the most hectic of days, I just straight-up like being home with them.

And before you call me a hypocrite, yes, I would send Jax to the Waldorf nursery school in a heartbeat, and yes, that is three days a week.  But I am so on board with their philosophy and their manner of discipline and play that I would feel more than confident that his needs were being met and his self was being nurtured in a way of which I would approve.  Am I being a crazy, nit-picky mom who says, It’s Waldorf or the highway for preschool?  Maybe, for now.  Is that in Jax’s best interest?  Maybe not.  But as one of my friends pointed out today, we can mostly blame ourselves for the flaws in our kids’ personalities, be it co-dependence, arrogance, fear, or the like.  Of course by “flaws,” I don’t mean to say there’s something wrong with our kids–everyone has something in their personality they have to work on (for me, it’s obviously over-analyzing even the most mundane of decisions)–and kids are no exception.  One huge reason I want Jax to go to preschool is because he is the most egocentric, I-am-the-most-important-thing-in-the-universe, praise-driven first child on the planet.  He needs to learn patience and that not all adults are here to worship him.  He has to figure out that he will not get praise or rewards or accolades for every teeny step in his development.  Is he going to learn this from me?  Heck no!  I’m the one who made him that way!  I will praise and worship and love this kid like he is the coolest thing since sliced bread, because to me, he is.  It’s not my job to teach him that reality (well, it is, but in smaller doses).  I need him to be around other adults and kids and to learn the nuances of sharing, friendship, cooperation, and patience.  But does he have to be gone three days a week in order to learn it?  I thought that doing Morning Garden one day a week this year was a good first step–apparently I’m already a year behind.

I’m just wondering if anyone else has ever had a hard time entrusting their children to others at this age, or was consumed with worry about how the decisions made at this point of their development will impact them throughout their lives.  I don’t think it’s an exaggeration to think that where and how often and with whom they go to preschool will greatly form who they will grow to be.  So, to me, if my ideal preschool location isn’t an option, is it so terrible to opt for the second best option, hanging out with me?  We plan to enroll him in two separate, one-day classes where he’d have exposure to the arts and sciences in a semi-formal, fun way that nurtures his creativity but keeps it light.  Plus some form of sport, like gymnastics or maybe soccer, and our weekly trip to the library for story time and a craft, and I think we will have created a pretty good preschool-program-for-four-year-olds that doesn’t require me to get up and out the door by 8:00 three times a week or on a blustery winter day if we don’t want to.  Or continue going if he hates it.  Or continue going if I hate it!  We have a whole other year for all that.  For now, I think I’ll just keep with my alternative, hodgepodge preschool format, and pray that one of you is a secret Waldorfian who wants to be a benefactor to one charming yet self-centered little guy who is trying to thrive in this crazy world constructed by his equally crazy mother.  With me over-analyzing every move we make, I can only hope that he develops into someone who isn’t completely neurotic, but even if he does, man will this kid be loved!  And potentially a super mama’s boy, but we’ll cross that bridge when we get to it.

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Happy And Bad

January 13, 2012 By 3 Comments

When I wrote this post last Friday, I asked Jax what words he would use to describe our day that day and he said, “Happy and Bad.”  True that, little guy.

As I write this, I am sitting amid a toy graveyard: blocks, tools, books, babies, plastic food, Powerwheels, and dollhouse furniture that has been cast aside during this never-ending morning, surrounding me like a halo of weariness.  All the energy I had for today has already been sucked out due to a magically-refilling laundry basket that seems to never get any emptier, no matter how many loads I do, and a craft that left my nerves raw and my fuse very short.

Oh, excuse me for a moment.  Bleeding child.  Must tend to his wounds.

And I’m back, and oh, isn’t that just the perfect example of how this day is going?  Jax came over to show me his makeshift pinata that he made out of a plastic nail and a not-so-plastic toy measuring tape, when I saw some red smears on his hands.  Please let that be from the craft, please let that be from the craft… Nope.  Not one but two cuts on his hands from his little metal measuring tape (now in the trash).  I had to chase him back to the scene of the crime before he’d let me examine his cuts, and it was then that I realized that these wounds have been flowing freely for a little while and that Em’s new dollhouse now looks like the whole Miniature Killer bit on CSI.  Bloody point of entry (the side window), smears on the furniture, leading to two victims–the dad and the son.  The daughter probably would have been next, but I interrupted the massacre with band-aids and bacitration.  Only tetanus could make this day any more exhausting.  Sigh.  And this is supposed to be his “quiet time.”

Day started off strong with a visit from my parents mid-day on the menu, so I knew I only had to entertain them for four hours or so.  I know that sounds terrible, but I was looking forward to some company.  Breakfast was uneventful, then I put on Cinderella, started to tackle the laundry and was about to empty the dishwasher when my mother called to say that my dad has a stomach bug and they can’t make it.  Sigh.  There’s nothing worse than the tease of grandparental supervision (meaning I could shower, put the laundry away, etc. while my kids were happily engaged downstairs without me), only to have it whisked away at the last second.  I totally understood that they couldn’t possibly come now, but the first thought in my head was, “Oh, crap, I used up all our TV time already.”  Now it’s only 9:30 and I have hours upon hours of quality time with my kiddos  with no digital distraction in sight.  Damn this Waldorf mentality!  I try to keep it to an hour and a half a day (most of it during Em’s naptime), which sounds like a  lot, but when you’re planning to be home all day with no break in sight, it’s gone in a flash, believe me.

Okay, so it’s 9:30 and I decide to tackle a craft I discovered on Pinterest–a new time-sucking hobby of mine; feel free to follow me–which was such a headache from start to finish that I instantly regretted the whole thing and wished I had picked PlayDough instead (which says a lot because PlayDough and I get along about as well as PlayDough and our dog-hair-laden rug).  It’s a good craft, and it came out pretty in the end, but the process was really dicey and my blood pressure was through the roof.  Usually I’m a happy-go-lucky crafter, but today I was being the Craft Nazi and no one was having any fun.  Poor Em doesn’t even know what the hell watercolors are for, and I’m trying to give her little 20-month-old brain explicit instructions.  Even in the moment I knew I was being unreasonable, but like the Crafty Car Wreck that I can sometimes be, I couldn’t stop.  I just kept on getting more and more frustrated and sucking more and more fun out of our morning.  At least the kids seemed unfazed, but I could tell that I was being unreasonably grouchy for something I put them up to, not the other way around.

After that, the kids played nicely and independently while I cleaned up craft #1; then to add salt to my wounds, Jax asked if they could play with the stamps and construction paper.  I knew I wasn’t in the mood and I should have said no, but I had now two loads of laundry to fold and two antsy little children at my heels.  Em is notoriously intolerant of laundry and all its forms–dirty, clean, needing to be folded, needing to be put away.  She seeks and destroys my work like its a personal affront to her that I have something to do other than hold her.  So I opted for Here’s a snack, here’s some stamps, please let me do something other than entertain you for 20 minutes.  No such luck.  Dog eats snack, screaming ensues, child climbs on craft table to look out the window, child tries to climb inside the fireplace, child stamps all over any exposed skin.  But, laundry gets folded and put away, and I only had to raise my voice forty times.  Worth the trade-off?  Sure, why not.

Then a five-minute frenzy where I realize Em has diaper rash, I hear a thud then a crash, followed by, “Hey, Mom!  I did a pop-a-wheelie and I crashed!”  ”Are you okay?” I yell back, my hands covered in Desitin.  ”Yeah, I’m okay but my Power Wheels is broken.  That’s okay, I’ll fix it with my tackle box.”  Running footsteps, toy box opens, running footsteps, then an explosion of sound as a toy tool box (known as a tackle box around here; who can explain why?) is emptied with enthusiasm all over my kitchen floor.  My back stiffens and my shoulders tighten up to my ears as I picture the mess now littering the kitchen, only to be rivaled by the disaster on the living room floor.  ”Everything okay?” I holler.  More footsteps, then my son arrives brandishing a stick I recognize as being part of my drying rack–which is covered in wet towels, mind you.  I sigh, go to check out said drying rack, find it bent in half like a little old woman, and just am grateful he didn’t cut off one of his fingers extricating it in the first place.  He would rip off another one later that day, but who’s counting?  Who needs a drying rack anyway?

By now it’s nearly lunchtime, but not quite yet.  Still some time to kill.  Upstairs for a bit, where my grumpy heart of stone cracked a little as the kids played so beautifully together: Jax put clips and bows in Em’s hair, they put puzzles together as a team, he showed her how to use the toy cash register.  It was all very wonderful.  Then lunchtime came and they were wonderful still.  I was starting to feel guilty for my grouchy behavior in the morning and vowed to make it up to them.  The craft’s finished product actually looked great, after all, and they really have been well behaved, just messy.  I apologized to them for having yelled at them before.  I explained that sometimes Mommy needs her space, and sometimes Mommy is grouchy, just like anyone else.  And Jax’s sweet little face turned to me with an understanding smile and an arms-all-the-way-around hug and said, “It’s all right, Mom.  But you can’t yell again.  You have to talk and I’ll say, ‘What’s the matter?’ and you say what’s the matter.”  Yeah, my son was telling me to use my words and not let my emotions get the best of me.  Now, don’t I feel like a total ass.

I brought Em upstairs for nap while Jax continued to “work on” his PowerWheels (it was fine; he just likes to play auto mechanic), and I promised myself I would be a rockstar mom for the rest of the day.  I snuggled my little girl as we walked up the stairs, then plopped into her armchair to cuddle together and read.  But what did she do?  Began hitting me and squirming, saying “No Mama.  No chair” and pushed me with all her little strength.  Get off my chair, woman.  I’m sitting here.  Really, Em?  Right when I’m trying to make up for a crappy morning, you are relegating me to the floor during story time?  I guess I deserved it.  She sat there smugly, sucking on her binkie and loving her blankie as I sighed and began to read her a story from my spot on the ground.  Then wiggle wiggle plop, she scooted off her chair and plopped herself into my lap to read.  And I smiled and was grateful that she loves me no matter how undeserving of that unconditional love I may be.

Back downstairs, checked on Jax who was playing quietly alone (and was about to cut his fingers open on his measuring tape–you see how this comes full circle?), and went to check my Facebook, where I had grumbled about crafting and made a sarcastic comment about being  a stay-at-home mom earlier, to find a very smart friend of mine had left me this link with no explanation: Don’t Carpe Diem from the Momastery.  I couldn’t have asked for more; you have to read it.  It put my day in perspective, and surprisingly, I didn’t feel so guilty about being short-fused earlier in the day.  It was like she validated my mommy mania and reminded me that along with being a mom, I’m also human.  That being a mother is a privilege but it’s also a lot of work.  I was also reminded of the many times today that my kids made my heart smile, and felt like my drama was put into perspective.  I was glad that it’s not just me who has her bad days, and thinks that being home with the kids isn’t all roses and fairytales, but just like her, I wouldn’t trade it for anything else.  Even with all the potty training and pouting that comes with it.

We all survived the day and just in case you’re wondering, yeah, Jax watched one more half hour of TV during Em’s nap.  Girl’s gotta blog out her feelings, right?  And you know what?  I think we were all better for it, wouldn’t you agree?  Tomorrow’s another day and I know that I will be a better mom for having taken the time today to reflect on what I could have done better, and for knowing that I’m not the only one who sometimes feels inadequate and overwhelmed.  Thank God for blogging, and for being part of a community that helps me understand myself, and helps me be a better parent.  And lets me know I’m not alone.

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Calling A Spade A Spade

January 10, 2012 By 10 Comments

This Christmas I tried hard to keep the Waldorf mentality in mind when choosing gifts for Jax and Em (to become familiar with my love for Waldorf early education, go here).  Granted, we did buy them a few movies and an electric guitar shaped like a dog, but overall we gravitated toward toys that are 90% child and 10% toy.  One example is that I originally wanted to get Em the Fisher-Price Little People Happy Sounds Home, which is adorable but, predictably, it’s plastic and has things like ringing doorbells and flushing toilets, which are cool, but not what I was looking for.

That plus the fact it was MUCH more expensive than I anticipated, we decided to go with the good old Melissa & Doug Fold and Go Mini Dollhousethat I found for practically half price on Cyber Monday.  Wooden, simple, with two poseable little people and just the right amount of furniture.  I love it, Em loves it, and everyone is happy.  The Waldorfian in me rejoiced.

She plays with it all the time, brings her super-Waldorf-esque wooden horse over to play with the little people, and overall we have a grand old time playing house.  Remember that the Waldorf model encourages no televisions in the home and minimal screen time overall, so I’m happy to have something so simple that keeps her attention for so long.  My wooden-toy-loving, quasi-tv-shunning, Waldorf-wannabe heart is full.  That is until today, when Em set up her little family thus:

Yeah that’s right; they’re watching TV.  Boy, girl, horse, TV.  ”Mouse and Duck,” to be specific, which I know means “Mickey Mouse Clubhouse.”  Is this her not-so-subtle way of telling me, Enough with the puppet show, Ma, give me the good stuff.   Stop pretending to be something you’re not; you can’t even afford to send us to this fancy schmancy private school anyway.  Oh, Lord.  Please don’t have her start pantomiming Handy Manny or name a baby Elmo while at school (she started last week).  My cover will be totally blown.  And I was so close, so very close, to a very Waldorf Christmas.  I guess it’s just Em calling a spade a spade.  We watch TV, Mom.  Embrace it.

Right on, sister.  Right on.

Filed Under: parenting, Uncategorized Tagged With: ,

Settle Down

December 13, 2011 By 2 Comments

I’ve noticed that this week Jax and his peers have been a bit “spritely,” as his teacher put it.  I would have called it “hyper” or “wicked annoying,” but I like her spin on things.  He is emotional, easily tired, whiny, and grumpy.  When he gets to the end of his rope, or sometimes just by the end of the day, he can get himself into such a tizzy that he can’t get himself out of it.  Knowing that time outs are usually ineffective, I’ve been on the lookout for an alternative method of calming him down, separating him from his emotions, and I’m happy to report, I found one!

Madge, over at Chasing The Firefly, had a pretty awesome idea to distract her daughter from her anxiety about school.  I thought that the same idea could be applied to Jax during his meltdowns.  A glorified snow globe, with colorful glitter aplenty, to watch and distract and hopefully not chuck against the wall.  I envision Jax sitting and watching it for the usual time allotted for time out, but in this case, instead of screaming/crying/protesting about time out, he’ll sit and hang out until the glitter settles.  Hopefully by then he’ll have settled down as well.

So here’s what you need.

Materials: a waterproof jar (check beforehand), hot water, glitter glue, food coloring, and optional bonus glitter and stars.

I added some fun stars just for good measure.  And in case you’re wondering, yes, my jar leaked, and no, I did not check beforehand.  Shocker.

The recipe is simple.  1 cup hot water, 1 tablespoon of glitter glue, a dash of food coloring, and a sprinkle of glitter.  Madge originally made her jar red, but her daughter said it was an “angry” color, and that blue is “like the happy ocean.”  I thought that was a very insightful comment and so I followed her lead.

The kids were hypnotized by the process of making the jar; it was almost as cool as the finished product!

Oh, yeah, and then the finished product leaked…a lot…so it had to live in a tupperware container for a day or so until I got a mayonnaise jar from my mother-in-law.  Like I said, check your jar beforehand!

As luck would have it, since I made the jar, Jax has only been acting out in public, not at home, so I have yet to use it, but I bet I’ll have the opportunity before the week is out, whether Santa is watching or not!  I promise to let you know how successful it is as soon as I get the chance.  I hope it’ll be use to some of you during this supremely stimulating, oh-so-invigorating holiday season, and be sure to pass along any other tips for surviving this exciting time of year back to me!



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